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had no kids, he was saved from waiting for them not to call. It was an interesting distinction. And he had warned Dorothy several times that calling him at work was forbidden. Dorothy took him at his word.
    He rigged the coffee pot and opened the box of doughnuts to see what he had picked up at the Winchell's. As he ate a cream-filled orange glaze, he leafed through the stack of mail on his desk.
    “Larry, development needs the designs for those new demonstrator peripherals toot sweet. The salesmen are screaming for them. How soon?"
    He looked up from the letters and blinked at Regis Hinkel, the vice president of marketing. “Albert tells me they're being held up because the computer fouled up on the feedthroughs. We won't get them here for another day or two."
    “Christ. We have to get on the stick or we're going to drop next month's promotion. Castle hates to drop."
    “I'm on it, Regis,” Fowler said, looking down at the spike-full of notes next to the fluorescent lamp base. “We do have these ready.” He referred to a roll of designs leaning against a file cabinet. “Development wanted these two weeks ago. Why haven't they picked them up?"
    “Beats me. I'll tell them."
    “Oh—Candice didn't bring this morning's paper. Could you remind her?"
    “Certainly. Have you heard?"
    “I doubt it. I've been away. Heard what?"
    “Looks like we won't have to service one of our accounts."
    “Why?"
    “New Mexico,” Hinkel said. “Whole town's gone. Somebody in the FBI just decided to pull the cover off. Happened less than a week ago. We had a few sales to businesses there."
    “Which town is that?"
    “Laramie or Malaru. Something like that."
    “You're kidding."
    “Scout's honor."
    “Disappeared?"
    “I'll get the paper. Hold on."
    He returned several minutes later with the front-page section and spread it on Fowler's desk.
    The headlines read:
    NEW MEXICO TOWN WIPED OUT
    Lorobu, Population 813,
    Ghost Town Overnight
    ALBUQUERQUE, New Mexico (UPI)—FBI Director Douglas Davis announced today that eight hundred and thirteen people were murdered in Lorobu, apparently on the night of November 26th, by unknown assailants. The bodies were discovered by a New Mexico Highway Patrolman, whose name has not been released, and by members of the New Mexico State Police. Neither of these agencies has released any information on the calamity. Director Davis called a special news conference late Monday evening.
    There are three survivors: Cynthia Furness, 24, a postal clerk; Beverly Winegrade, 19, employed in a local hardware store; and Timothy Townsend, 11. Reporters were not allowed to question the survivors, who are being kept under close guard at Pasteur Community Hospital in Albuquerque. Although no one connected with the case has given details, Times reporter Austin Heiser flew over the town in a light plane two days before the FBI announcement. He reported that, “Lorobu was completely deserted. I saw no sign of life whatsoever. I didn't see any bodies.” Heiser was researching another story in the area at the time.
    Fowler turned to the third page to read Davis's statement. He scanned the page, then glanced at the second page and caught a name in one of the News Brief articles.
    “Isn't that incredible?” Hinkel said. “Really nuts."
    “Oh, my God,” Fowler said, sucking in his breath.
    “What?"
    The name that had caught his eye was Henry Taggart. The article was short and terse. Jordan Taggart had murdered his son with a butcher knife and then committed suicide by hanging himself from a tree limb. The bodies had been discovered by Sam Cooper, a delivery man.
    Fowler leaned back in his chair and let the paper slip to his lap. One section fell on the floor.
    “Hey, what's the matter?"
    “I don't know,” Fowler said.
    “You look like hell. Should I get you a cup of coffee?"
    “Everybody's dead,” he said slowly.
    “Yeah, it's awful—did you know someone there?"
    “No."
    “You look like you lost—"
    “Another