Free Silent Witness by Richard North Patterson

running across the park.
    The night was overcast, close to moonless. A line of oaks separated the park from the Taylors’ home; Tony could see the oaks only as a deeper darkness. All that he heard were their own running footsteps, ragged breaths.
    They reached the trees. Through them, Tony saw the outline of the gabled house, looming as if a shadow, the faint glow of a light left on in back.
    â€˜We should stop,’ Alison whispered.
    Tony brought her close. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’
    She shook her head. ‘It’s cold out. You can keep the car warm.’
    They looked at each other.
    Without hurry, Alison kissed him, slowly and deeply. Tony did not want to let her go.
    Alison pulled back. ‘We’ve just used my final minute,’ she said, and smiled again. ‘See you in about fifteen.’
    Before he could answer, she gave him a last brief kiss and was running toward the house.
    Suddenly alone, Tony watched her vanish in the darkness, then reappear, wraithlike, in the light of the back porch. She turned, waving, and then the light went off.

Chapter 6
    Still parked where they had made love, Tony waited for Alison to return. The clock read 12:26.
    It was cold. Tony turned on the heater, then the radio.
    Time felt sluggish. As Bobbie Gentry sang ‘Ode to Billy Joe,’ Tony found himself silently counting, hoping that this would materialize Alison before he reached one hundred. It felt like part of him was missing.
    The clock passed 12:40.
    Restless, Tony strained to remember the feel of her, the way she had looked at him. When ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ came on the radio, he snapped it off in irritation.
    Her parents must have stopped her.
    He could imagine them waiting up for her, their older daughter and their favorite, to demand a further summit conference on the subject of Tony Lord; imagined her bare legs in the light of a living room lamp, her look of guilt and defiance as they asked her to sit down. Tony thought of his own parents, particularly his mother; without college or great expectations, Helen Lord peered suspiciously at a world she feared would snatch away her only child – this prize she had been given – as if to mock her for hoping above her status. Tony still struggled against her burdensome belief in his uniqueness; he both understood and disliked the Taylors’ proprietary love for Alison. Once her parents started in on her, it might be impossible for her to leave.
    It was one o’clock. But Tony could not desert her.
    The house was close, perhaps a hundred yards. If his view were not blocked by the trees around him, he might see a light in Alison’s window. With an instinct he could not explain, Tony knew that she would come to him. He did not want her to find her way alone.
    Locking the car behind him, Tony stepped from beneath the trees. The night was even darker than before.
    Slowly, he crossed the park toward the Taylors’ house, listening for Alison.
    Nothing.
    Tony stopped. She could be somewhere near; on this night, it was possible that she might pass him unseen. The utter silence made the dark seem infinite.
    Once more, he started toward the grove of oaks, guided only by his senses. At last, he heard the chill wind stir their branches and, a few steps further, saw them.
    Outlined against the sky, the leafless trees were skeletal. Through them he made out the roofline of the Taylors’ house; no lights were on. Then he heard the brittle snapping of a branch.
    The footstep that must have caused this was not his.
    â€˜Alison?’
    There was no answer. Edgy, Tony walked toward the sound. His voice, low and muted, carried in the night.
    â€˜Alison . . .’
    A second branch snapped, closer.
    Tony froze. He sensed that whoever made the sound had paused at his approach.
    Taut, Tony heard a second sound, fainter, perhaps the wind. Perhaps he imagined that it seemed plaintive, feminine.
    Another branch