Carnal Vengeance (45 page)

"Scared?" David asked in a quiet voice. It was the first word spoken between them since they had left Holly's apartment, and they both knew the silence was not merely because of the agents in the back seat.

Holly met David's glance and nodded.

Slowly, he stretched out his hand to her, palm upward, and waited.

She knew better than to touch him, but to refuse his offer of comfort was beyond her ability. Placing her hand on his, she let him reassure her that she wasn't alone—at least for the moment.

Shortly before they reached April's house, Diane went over the ground rules one more time. "Try to relax and get her talking without sounding like you're interrogating her. As soon as possible, insist on seeing Cheryl. And David, play up the story you're going to do on all the women. If we're on target, she'll grab at the opportunity to tell her side of it."

The agents wedged themselves down behind the front seats as they neared the MacLeash driveway. "Okay. We're ready whenever you are."

The moment they were parked, Holly took a deep breath, gave David a half-smile and got out of the car. She didn't hesitate to let him hold her hand as they waited for someone to answer their knock.

David was about to knock again when Theodore opened the door a crack. "May I help you?" he asked, peering over his trifocals.

"It's all right, dear," April said from behind him. "I told you I was expecting them."

Theodore stepped back slowly and opened the door wide enough for David and Holly to enter.

April came forward with a smile, but Holly thought it looked forced. The usually perfect hairdo was unkempt and purplish shadows under the eyes marred April's usual prettiness.

"Theodore, you remember Holly. She was here Saturday morning with my other friends. And I believe this gentleman is David Wells."

After introductions and greetings were exchanged, Theodore excused himself to return to his study and April suggested they make themselves comfortable.

Diane's advice turned out to be unnecessary, for as soon as they were seated, April began to talk. "I can't tell you how relieved I am that you asked to come, Holly. And you too, Mr. Wells. I really haven't been sure where to turn." She ran her hand through her hair, mussing it more than it already was. "I thought I could hold it all together. I was only trying to help everyone, you see. I don't understand how everything went so wrong." April sighed and folded her hands on her lap. "Tell me about Rachel."

As Holly offered the abridged version of what she had been told, tears slipped down April's cheeks, though she still held herself rigidly in place until Holly had told her the basics of what Agent Quick had related about the murder investigations. She didn't need to tell her what conclusions the FBI was drawing. April guessed.

"In many ways, I
am
guilty," April said. "Guilty of playing God with everybody's lives. And look what a mess I've made. Three men murdered. Rachel's gone. Bobbi and Cheryl may never recover."

"April," Holly said gently, "where is Cheryl?"

April sniffled and looked up at the ceiling. "In the attic. I made a terrible mistake about that too. And now I don't know how to fix any of it."

When it didn't appear that she would say more on her own, David stepped in. "I want to do an article on what happened to all of you in college and how it affected your lives. Naturally, I'll have to bring in the murders. If there's anything you'd like to tell me..."

April met his gaze and held it for several seconds. "There was an FBI agent here earlier, but Theodore told him I was away. I suppose I'll have to talk to one of them eventually. Maybe it will be easier if I tell you first."

Holly was afraid to breathe, lest a movement on her part would stop April from confiding in them. She had described April as petite but at the moment she looked like a tiny child whose fragile body could no longer bear the weight of her own life. She was tempted to put her arms around her and tell her it wasn't necessary to say anything, but Holly knew she couldn't do that.

Combing her fingers through her hair again, April began. "The hearing was very difficult for Cheryl. It was as if it was all happening again, including the insinuation that she had been at fault. We really hadn't expected that attitude to prevail all these years later. But Cheryl wasn't completely beaten. She decided she wanted to confront Ziegler, alone, to remind him that regardless of the outcome, she would always know the truth. She saw it as a way to stand up to her enemy one last time, then dismiss him from her life.

"It was a good idea, in theory, and though I wasn't in complete agreement, I didn't stop her. Just before his victory party, she called him and he agreed to see her in his suite for a few minutes. I waited in the lobby for her."

"I started worrying when she hadn't returned in a half hour or so, and after another fifteen minutes—I'm really not positive how long it was—I decided to go up after her." She paused and massaged her temples. "Everything blurs a little after that. I'm still not sure how I managed it all."

"Take your time, April," David said softly. "Just tell us what you remember."

She met his gaze again and seemed reassured by what she saw there. "I was almost to Ziegler's suite when the door opened. Cheryl was coming out. There was... blood... on her hands and face, and some on her clothes. She was staring at me without seeing, and when I spoke to her, she didn't seem to hear anything. Then I looked past her, into the room... and I saw him." April closed her eyes but it was clear from her expression that she could not block out the gruesome scene she had faced.

"All I could think of was protecting Cheryl. I pushed her back inside and closed the door. I used a washcloth to clean her up as fast as I could but I couldn't do anything about the blood on her clothes. I put one of Tim's suit jackets on her and tied one of his handkerchiefs over her hair to disguise her as much as possible. Then I thought about fingerprints. I couldn't even remember what I'd touched, let alone guess what she had. I wiped a few things, stuffed the cloth in my purse and led her out of there.

"We took the stairs all the way down into the underground garage and I got Cheryl into my car without attracting any attention. I had already told people I was leaving earlier in the day, so I kept to that story, only I said I took Cheryl with me right after the hearing ended and we came straight here. Rachel made sure it was official. I never told Rachel what had happened, although I thought she'd figured it out. As it turns out, she had come to the wrong conclusion."

"So Cheryl killed Ziegler?" Holly asked, though she still didn't believe it.

"I don't know," April cried. "I mean, I thought she did, but now I'm not sure. I kept waiting for her consciousness to come back from wherever it was hiding and tell me what happened. But the days passed and she wasn't making any attempt to communicate with me."

"Then I went to visit a patient in New York and stayed the night. When I returned, I found out O'Day had been killed the same way as Ziegler. Theodore had no idea if Cheryl had left the house or not. Rachel had told me how the men were cut and the next thing I knew, I was looking for our electric carving knife. Even though I didn't recall ever using it, I was sure we had one, but I couldn't find it."

"I was convinced that Cheryl had killed both men, but I couldn't turn her over to the authorities. I did the only thing I could think of. I locked her in the attic."

Holly glanced at David but he was keeping all his attention glued to April.

"You said you were no longer sure," David prodded.

"No, I'm not. She definitely didn't leave the attic this weekend, so someone else killed Frampton. Yet I understood the murder was done in the same way. Then I got to thinking about our knife and now I'm sure I gave it away years ago."

Holly tried to correlate everything April was saying with what facts Quick had given her. "Isn't it possible, then, that Cheryl wasn't the murderess, but a witness?"

April frowned. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"Would you bring Cheryl downstairs, please?" Holly asked. "Let us try to talk to her."

"I'll bring her down, but I'm afraid it won't do any good."

* * *

Diane was following the conversation going on inside so intently, she practically missed seeing the man pass by the car. Inching up a little, she watched him slowly approach the house. The way he was moving was highly suspicious.

She could hear David and Holly murmuring suppositions to each other. April had apparently left the room to get Cheryl. But the man outside now had Diane's complete attention.

"What is it?" Jim asked, unable to see for himself.

"Holly's friend, Philip, just arrived. I don't know what he's doing here but I don't think it's good."

Rather than walk up to the front door, Philip knelt down beneath the big front window and peered inside.

"Damn," Diane muttered. "Stay here. He should recognize me. I'll try to get him away before he causes a problem."

Quietly, she slipped out of the car and started toward the front porch. She was almost there when Philip suddenly stood up, pointed a gun at the glass window and fired through it.

* * *

David had just turned Holly's face toward his when he saw the figure in the window and acted without thought. He shoved Holly to the floor and threw his body over hers, a split second before glass exploded into the room. Dizziness and nausea assailed him from the sudden movement and he blacked out.

Holly looked up to see Philip about to fire at David again.
"No!"
she screamed at the same moment that another shot sounded.

"Drop the gun," Diane ordered from behind Philip, "or I'll hit something vital with my next bullet."

Philip glanced over his shoulder at her but kept the gun trained on David. "Get away from her, Wells," he shouted. "Holly's mine. She's always been mine and she always will be."

Holly twisted out from beneath David's unconscious weight so that she was now partially shielding him. "Philip, please put the gun down. You don't want to do this."

"You're wrong, Holly. I want this more than you can imagine. Now move away from him so I can reclaim my prize."

Holly saw the gun waver in his hand and interpreted it as hesitation. "Your prize? What do you mean?" She thought if she could get him talking, the mad look in his eyes might go away.

Philip angled his head and his expression softened slightly. "Why,
you're
the prize, my dear. And that womanizing bastard stole you from me after I'd worked so hard to win you. All I have to do is get rid of him and then you'll be all mine again."

With a false show of calm, Holly said, "Please listen to me, Philip. You can't win me by hurting someone else. I'd never be able to forgive you." Very cautiously, she rose to her feet. "I explained to you that we could never be more than friends. It has nothing to do with David. It has to do with
me,
facing life without your protection, or anyone else's." She took a slow step forward, keeping her body between David and the gun. When Philip lowered the weapon a fraction of an inch, she took another small step.

Though she wanted to lash out at him, she kept her voice gentle. "I'm not a prize to be won or lost, Philip. I'm a woman, and neither you nor any other man will ever control my life again. Now, give Agent Varden your gun and we'll forget all about—-"

A bloodcurdling scream cut her off. Holly jerked around and saw Cheryl pointing at Philip with an expression of pure horror. April tried to drag her back out of the room but she wouldn't budge.
"It's him,"
she shrieked. "The man I saw in the hotel room. He killed Ziegler!"

Philip whipped the gun toward Cheryl and pulled the trigger, but his shot went high. Varden instantly fired two shots into Philip's back before he could aim again. As he fell to the porch floor, Holly ran outside.

Shaken and bewildered, she dropped to her knees beside him. "Dear god, Philip! What have you done?"

"I punished the rapists," he whispered, his eyes glassy as he focused on her face. "I had to eliminate your attackers... so that you could finally love me... without them coming between us. But Wells—" He coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. "I should have eliminated him... when I first realized... you looked back."

Holly gaped in stunned silence as Philip's head lolled to the side and he exhaled his last breath.

* * *

Holly felt as though she should be doing something, but she had no idea what that might be. Though three days had passed since her personal holocaust, the shock remained.

Philip, the man she had thought of as her dearest friend and mentor, was dead. No matter that he had confessed or that his hair matched the samples found at the murder scenes. Regardless that hidden in his bedroom closet had been a canvas tote bag containing latex gloves, a prescription bottle with the same medication that had been used on the victims and a battery-operated carving knife on which blood samples of the victims were found. Holly could not think of him as a vicious killer.

The tote bag had held one other piece of evidence that offered a glimpse into Philip's tortured thoughts. On a blue, lined index card, he had printed: