Diehl, William - Show of Evil (6 page)

He had slicked up a bit since then: the hair was a little shorter
and his suits weren't so bagged-out, but the cutting edge was still
there, just under the surface. Even as a prosecutor he was a gambler,
unlike most of the lawyers she knew, who were more concerned with how
close to the corner of the building their office was and what kind of
car to move up to next.

What the hell, we started something, I'll be damned if I'm going
to let it fizzle.

Then she laughed at herself.

Fizzle! It hasn't even started yet. What's the matter with you?

Aw, screw you
, she said to herself.

She stuffed the brief in her attache case and headed out the door.

On the fourth floor of the Criminal Courts Building, Abel Stenner
burst out of his office and raced towards Naomi's desk.

'My God, Abel, what set you on fire?' she asked.

'Is he busy?' Stenner asked, ignoring her question.

'He's on the phone with - '

'Won't wait,' Stenner cut her off, and entered the office with Naomi
trailing close behind. Vail was sitting in his chair with his back to
the door, blowing smoke into the exhaust fan. He wheeled around when
Stenner entered, took one look at his chief investigator, and knew
something was up.

'I'll call you back,' he said, and put down the phone.

'They made a bust in the Delaney case,' Stenner announced.

'Already? Who?' Naomi asked with surprise.

'His executive secretary. Fifty-three years old. Crippled husband,
daughter in college.'

'Sweet Jesus. How did they nail her so quickly?' Naomi said.

'Shock must've been on the case,' Vail answered.

'You're right. Called me from his car. They had just Mirandized her
and she came out with it. Said it twice. "I killed him." They're
bringing her in now. Murder one.'

Vail whistled slowly through his teeth.

'Why'd she do it?' Naomi asked.

'That's all I know. Maybe we ought to head down to Booking.'

They breezed out of Vail's office. Shana Parver was deep in a law
book as Vail and Stenner passed her cubbyhole. Vail's rap on the glass
startled her.

'C'mon,' said Vail.

'Where?'

'Downstairs.'

Edith Stoddard cowered as Shock Johnson and Si Irving led her
through the wave of press that swarmed towards her when she got out of
the car. They brought her into the booking office just as Stenner,
Vail, and Parver got off the lift, which was directly across the hall
from the entrance to Booking. Three TV crews, several photographers,
radio interviewers, and reporters crowded through the doorway as they
brought Stoddard in. Her hands were cuffed behind her and she seemed
terrorized by the media and the police and the grim surroundings. Her
eyes flicked from one group to another. Detectives crowded around a
railing that separated the desk from the hallway to see who the
celebrity was. The press shoved microphones in her face, yelled
questions at her, jostled for space, while TV cameras scorched the
scene with searing lights.

Shock Johnson led the stunned and frightened woman towards the
booking desk as she looked around in bewilderment, flinching every time
a strobe flashed, cowering under the blistering TV lights, while the
press screamed at her. At that moment, Eckling appeared from a side
room and took his place beside the tiny, trembling woman, displaying
her like a big-game trophy. Vail watched the feeding frenzy with
disgust.

'Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?' Shana Parver
said.

'That son of a bitch is turning this into a freak show,' said Vail,
and he charged into the room followed by Parver and Stenner.

In the back of the crowded room, Jane Venable eased her way into the
crowd of newshounds. She watched the scene with disgust, then saw Vail
charge the crowd and grab Shock Johnson by the arm. 'What the hell's he
doing?' Vail demanded.

The man leaned over his worktable, concentrating on the job of
soldering a cobweb-thin piece of wire to a chip smaller than his
fingernail. He was a husky man; his shirtsleeves were rolled up over
machine-moulded biceps. A pair of magnifying goggles was perched on his
nose.

'Hey, Raymond, goin' to lunch?' Terry called to him.

'Can't stop now,' Raymond answered without taking his eyes off his
task.

'Want me to bring you something?'

'Yeah. Cheese crackers and a Coke.'

'You got it.'

Raymond heard the door slam shut. He finished the soldering job and
placed the hot iron in a small, fireproof tray, took off the goggles,
and leaned back in his chair. He stared through the window at the
office across the way, watching the secretaries as they puttered
around, getting ready to go to lunch.
Creatures of habit
, he
thought. He could set his watch by their moves. Noon, five days a week,
and they were out of there. He watched them until they left the office,
then he walked across the small repair room choked with VCRs, TVs, and
PCs and picked up a VCR and brought it back to the worktable. He
removed the top and took out a small minicomputer and a black box about
two inches square. He attached the box to the minicomputer with a short
length of phone wire, then turned on the computer. He typed MODEM on
the keyboard and a moment later a menu appeared on the screen. He moved
the cursor to RECEIVE and hit enter. A moment later, the words ON LINE
flashed in the corner of the screen. He watched the empty office across
the way while he waited. Five minutes passed and the words INCOMING
CALL flashed on the screen and a moment after that:

ARE YOU THERE, FOX?

HERE, HYDRA. ARE YOU PREPARED?

ALWAYS, FOX.

HAVE YOU SEEN THE SUBJECT?

YES, FOX. THREE DAYS AGO.

AND THE REFERENCE?

IN MY HEAD.

EXCELLENT. LEAVE TONIGHT.

OH, THANK YOU, FOX. IT HAS BEEN SO LONG.

THE TIME IS PERFECT. THANK YOU, THANK YOU. IT IS AN
EXCELLENT PLAN. BE CAREFUL.

ALWAYS.

IN TWO DAYS. SAME TIME. TWO DAYS.

Lex was pissed off. The last trip of the day and he had to drive
thirty-five miles down to Hilltown to deliver a stinking package.
Thirty-five fucking miles, and he had two ladies lined up that night.
Pick-and-choose time. He laughed and slapped the wheel of the minivan.
Maybe he could get them both interested. Hell, what a night that would
be!

But first things first. Thirty-five miles down to Hilltown. He
couldn't speed.

Two tickets down, one more and I'm out
. He couldn't afford
to lose his licence, the job was too good, except when they dumped a
late load on him and he had to drive thirty-five miles down and
thirty-five miles back. And drop off the stupid package. Seventy miles.
Ten minutes to do the package. Two hours, no more. He'd be back in town
by 8 P.M. Then he'd make up his mind.

Toni?
Or Jessie? What
a choice. Brunette or redhead
?

He was thinking so hard he almost missed the turnoff.

He wheeled the minivan off the main highway and headed down the last
two miles on a two-lane blacktop.

Christ, who the hell would want to live out in this godforsaken
place
? His headlights led him to the city
limits.

What a joke. City limits? A city? Twelve hundred people? The
whole damn town would hardly fill up the old Paramount Theatre in St
Louis
. He turned on the dome light and took out the delivery slip.

Calvin Spiers. RFD 2.

Shit, the whole place was one big RFD.

He turned it over. Someone had scribbled instructions on the back.
He slowed down and squinted under the dim dome light.

'Left past public library. One and a half miles to bright red
mail-box just past Elmo's Superstore.'

Well, that oughtta be easy enough.

Ten minutes later found him out on a country road on the other side
of Hilltown. Elmo's Superstore was on the right, a garish, low-slung
cinder-block building with a flashing BUD sign on the roof. He drifted
past it and his headlights picked up the red mailbox.

'Piece a cake,' he said aloud.

He pulled down the dirt road, peering into the darkness for signs of
life. Finally he saw the house, off to the left through the trees. It
was a small bungalow set back in the woods with a well-kept yard. The
porch light was out, but he could see a light behind the curtains of
what he assumed was the living room. He turned into the rutted driveway
and beeped the horn twice, then got out, went to the other side of the
van, and slid the door back. The package was about a foot square and
light, no more than one or two pounds. He checked the name, took his
delivery pad, and went to the front door.

Must not of heard me
, he thought as he went up the steps to
the porch. Then he saw the note. It was tucked in the screen door. He
put the package down and pulled out the note.

UPD man: Had to run to the store. Door open. Please put package on
table in den, second door on left. Thank you.

He tried the door and it swung open to reveal a long, dark hallway
that led back to an open door. Light from the living room spilled over
into the hall, reflected into the darkness of the hall.

Shit, I oughtta just leave it here. What the hell do they think
I am?

'Anybody here?' No answer. 'Mr Spier?'

But he picked up the package and headed down the hall. He saw a
light switch and flicked it, but there was no bulb in the overhead
socket.

Great. Coulda left me a flashlight at least.

'Anybody here? UPD,' he called as he approached the den door.

He peered inside the darkened room, squinting his eyes to try to
make out a light or a lamp. He put the box down and, facing the wall,
swept his hands over its smooth surface, feeling for the light switch.
He did not hear the figure emerge from the darkness behind him, moving
slowly, raising its hand high. There was a flash in the light from the
living room. Lex started to turn, then felt a searing pain piercing
deep into his back and into his chest.

He screamed and stumbled forward, felt the blade slide out of his
back as he grabbed the doorjamb. Then he felt it again, this time
plunging down through his shoulder. He fell to his knees, reached out
in the dark and felt the back of a chair, and grabbed it.

'Oh God,' he cried out, 'I'm just

The red rays of dawn filtered through the wooden slats of the
shutters, casting long, harsh shadows across the hardwood floors. Vail
lay on his back and stared up at the pickled-blonde cathedral ceiling,
softly crimson in the floor's reflection of morning light. Vail turned
his head. Jane lay on her side, her forehead resting against his arm.
He pulled the feather comforter up over her naked shoulders and slid
out of her bed, gathering up his clothes and shoes from where they were
strung out across the floor.

'Whew!' he said to himself, remembering how they had got there.

Tudor Manor was one of an ensemble of mansions built in the
mid-Twenties and modelled after the Tudor mansions of England. From the
outside they seemed strangely incongruous with the more midwestern
architecture of Rogers Park. Each building (there were four in what was
collectively known as Tudor Estates) had sweeping projecting gables
decorated with gargoyles and crenellations, a slate roof, ornamental
chimney pots, and towering casement windows.

Inside, Venable had turned her apartment into a bright, cheery
place. Its walls were painted in soft pastels, the woodwork and
cabinets were pickled-white oak. There was a large living room with
casement windows facing Indian Bounty Park, fifty yards away. The rear
wall of the room faced a hedged courtyard and was divided by a
bullet-shaped copper-and-glass atrium, which towered up to the bedroom
above. Two tall ficus trees dominated its core and climbing plants
adorned its glass walls. Begonias, narcissi, and impatiens wove
colourful patterns between and around the two trees. There was a guest
bedroom and a formal dining room and a kitchen that looked like a
chef's dream.

He found filters and a pound of coffee in the freezer and started
the coffee before heading into the guest bath. Thirty minutes later,
dressed in the previous night's wrinkled suit and shirt, he poured two
cups of coffee and took one back up the stairs to the bedroom.

He placed her cup on the night table, leaned over the bed, and
kissed her on the cheek. She stirred for a moment and reached out for
him. Her arm fell across the empty sheet. She opened one eye and
squinted up at him.

'You're due in court in three hours,' said Vail. 'Pryor won't be
happy if you're late. If you'd like to hustle, you can join me at
Butterfly's for breakfast.'

She rolled over onto her back.

'I'll be busy for the next three hours,' she said sleepily.

'You got something up your sleeve, Lawyer Venable?'

She pulled the comforter slowly down until it was two inches below
her navel, held her arms towards the ceiling, and wiggled them slowly.

'No sleeves,' she said.

'You're gonna catch cold.'

'I always wake up this way,' she said. 'It's too chilly to fall back
to sleep. And I wouldn't dare set foot in Butterfly's this soon. It's
your turf. They'd probably lynch me.'

'I thought we were putting all that behind us.'

'After Stoddard.'

'That's Shana's problem.'

'We'll see where we stand after the bail hearing.'

He leaned over her, supporting himself on both arms, and kissed her
on the mouth. 'Great,' he said.