She set it on the stand by her bed and tried to lie down and get some rest. It was probable she did pass out, at least for a couple of hours. But then she bolted awake as if struck by another remark from her conversation with the Acid Man. It was almost as if he had hissed it into her ear while she slept.

“We have a bargain. Independence Day is six days away. I would like to celebrate my freedom then. Close all the files so to speak. I’m sure you understand why.”

July fourth was the day Mommy had died—that was obvious. But his use of the word files was more subtle. For one thing he used the plural. Also, she had given him a file that related to Amy. And tonight Amy had almost died. Coincidence?

“Hardly,” she gasped.

It went deeper. In the Acid Man’s own life, Amy was insignificant compared to Julie. His wife was key—he had told Kelly as much before he had tried to kill her. He had said he could not leave the country as long as Julie was alive. When Kelly coupled that perspective with his confidence that she would be with him July fourth, she realized that he had practically shouted at her that he was going to kill his wife the same day. That was why he had spoken in the plural. The files belonged to the women who had cheated on their men. There was perverse logic in the timing. Julie had behaved like Mommy. Julie should die the same day as Mommy.

Kelly reached for the phone and called Julie Banks and Michael Grander. It took a long time before Michael answered. He sounded sleepy. “Hello?” he mumbled.

“Michael. This is Kelly Fienman. Sorry to call so late. I’ve been worried about you and Julie. Is everything all right there?”

“Yes. Everything is fine. Why?”

“Julie’s there? Is she okay?”

“Yes. She’s right here. She’s sleeping beside me. What’s up?”

“Don’t wake her. I’ll explain later. I’ll be in your area tomorrow, late afternoon. Mind if I stop by?”

“You’re always welcome. Has something bad happened?”

Kelly hesitated. If she explained that there had been an attack that copied Banks’s MO, then Michael would press her for details. He might call the police, or even the FBI, and she would be forced to tell what she knew about Matt. She could not risk that. The best she could do was to get to their house quickly. It was a gamble.

“I’ll explain tomorrow. Go back to sleep. Again, I apologize for waking you.”

“No problem,” he said.