Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
You had to take your time with these things. Just as good food took time to prepare, enabling chaos was something to be embraced artfully. And again, to follow that analogy, some foods were made for elaborate feasts, and other were designed to be appetizers. Every set that went out the door had a different level of potency. It wasn’t so much a quality control issue. Nabler didn’t let anything leave the store that wasn’t top-notch. But just like if you ran a deli, sometimes a customer left with nothing more than a wedge of Brie, while the next guy ordered a Smithfield ham. They catered to different appetites but both had to be delicious.
So one train set, once it had been set up in a household, might spark nothing more than a flooded basement or a nasty argument or maybe a bird flying through the window and landing in a bloody, feathery heap on the dining room table. But a set with a little more oomph to it, well, who could guess what kind of mayhem would ensue? Explosions? Missing limbs? Decapitations?
Suicides?
That woman in the bathtub was a nice one. Hit that right out of the park, Nabler thought, giving himself a mental pat on the back. Perhaps, of all the toys he had prepared, that one had the most life—or death?—in it. He didn’t think that little set was done yet. It had potential, even if that dead woman’s husband was packing up the engine and cars and track and hoping to hand it off to someone else when the opportunity arose.
Nabler had been working through the night on the layout in the back of the shop. He had little use for sleep. Occasionally he would sit down for a spell, and there was no doubt his work was taking a toll, but closing his eyes and tuning out for seven or eight hours at a stretch had never been part of his routine. Yes, it was about time he found someone else to take over.
But in the meantime, Edwin Nabler was determined to give it his all, and that was exactly what he had been doing. The progress he had been making back here was impressive, if he did say so himself, and Gavin’s contributions to the project had been most welcome.
His hair, once dyed green and brown and cut into short lengths, was used to create a grassy field. His rib cage, once draped with plaster-soaked paper towels and painted green, had served nicely to make a small mountain. And his teeth, once extracted and filed down, came in handy when Nabler set his mind to making a little rock garden in the miniature town square.