Free Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) by Robert Gregory Browne Page A

minutes.
     
    J UST AS TOLAN was starting to drift off, the memory of Abby’s smile imprinted on his brain, his cell phone rang.
    Shit.
    Groaning, he groped for it, put it to his ear. “Yes?”
    There was a pause, then:
    “Dr. Tolan?”
    He opened his eyes, something small and nasty fluttering in his stomach. “Who is this?”
    A soft laugh. “You’ve forgotten me so soon?”
    The caller from this morning. The whisperer.
    Tolan sat up, keeping his tone low and even. “Look, I know you’re trying to frighten me, but I’ve heard it all before. So why don’t we move beyond the theatrics and talk about—”
    “Oh, please, Doctor. Fear is such a mundane emotion, don’t you think? I really have no desire to scare you or anyone else.”
    “Then what do you want?”
    “It isn’t a matter of what I want, but what I intend to do. And I believe I’ve already told you that. But before you get into a game of twenty questions, let me ask you one: Do you have a computer nearby?”
    The question threw Tolan. “What?”
    “You do know what a computer is, don’t you? A pornographer like yourself should be well-versed in the ways of the Internet.”
    Tolan wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he’d had enough. He wasn’t in the mood to play understanding shrink right now.
    “Do yourself a favor and get some help,” he said.
    Then he hung up.

13
     
    T OLAN SAT THERE , feeling anger rise.
    Even if the caller hadn’t been trying to frighten him—which was bullshit, of course—he felt frightened nonetheless, and he wasn’t sure why. This kind of thing was nothing new.
    But despite the low whisper, there was something about the man’s voice that rattled him. Something invasive. Primal.
    Had he heard it before?
    He thought about Bobby Fremont again and wondered if he had somehow smuggled a phone into the hospital. Reaching for the land line, he started dialing the security desk—
    —then his cell phone rang again.
    Hanging up, he grabbed it and checked caller ID. Nothing.
    Feeling a renewed flutter, he paused a moment, then clicked it on.
    “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that much. What do you want?”
    “To apologize, Doctor. Calling you a pornographer was out of line, no matter how accurate the term might be.”
    “That doesn’t sound like much of an apology.”
    “The best I can do, I’m afraid.”
    “I’ll tell you what,” Tolan said, softening his voice now, controlling his anger. He could see there was no way out of this. “Why don’t you come in here to the hospital and we’ll talk.”
    Another laugh. “I’m not a big fan of psychotherapy.”
    “Few people are. But something’s obviously bothering you and acting out is never the solution.”
    “Thanks for the two-bit analysis, Doctor, but let’s try to keep this as uncomplicated as possible. Just answer my question.”
    Tolan was at a loss. Wasn’t sure what the caller was referring to. Then it hit him. “About the computer?”
    “You are listening after all.”
    Tolan sighed. “Then, yes, I do have one. A laptop, sitting right here in front of me.”
    “Are you connected to the Internet?”
    “Yes.” Where was this going?
    “Open your favorite search engine and do a search on the name Han van Meegeren.”
    Tolan frowned. “Who?”
    “Han van Meegeren,” the caller said, then spelled it out for him. “Go ahead, I’ll wait.”
    He thought about hanging up again, but curiosity had gotten ahold of him, and he hesitated only a moment before flipping open his laptop. Hitting a button to take it out of hibernation, he waited for his wireless card to find the connection, then called up his Google screen, typed in the name, and jabbed the return button.
    The screen blossomed with the familiar blue typeface listing dozens of websites.
    Scanning the site summaries, he saw that the main theme of each centered around the subject of art forgery. Apparently van Meegeren was an infamous practitioner of the craft.
    “As you can see,”