 I was looking for a Mrs. Hal Coran, the girl who'd phoned me from the bus station to so accurately prophecy the bomb explosion on the Denver-bound plane. And she left the trail easy enough for a 10-foot Boy Scout to follow. In less than an hour, I was pounding on her door. Is that you, Hal? Open the door, please. Who is it? Let me in. What do you want? I want to talk to you.