Endgame (19 page)

O
utside
, the rain was torrential. The wind had revived and was approaching gale force. Storms in the Sound were known for their fierce gusts as well as their
record-breaking
precipitation, but this one seemed to be trying for a new record. Inside, the remaining five guests were beset by storms of their own. Spike's body was carried upstairs and laid out in his bedroom. Sandra suggested putting the two former band members together in the same room so Sami Lee could sleep alone in Spike's room, but she refused.

“I'm staying with Max,” she exclaimed with a shake of the head. “I won't leave him.”

“But what happens …?” Sandra began, but stopped herself from saying what she was thinking.

Sami Lee turned a baleful eye on her. “What happens when the body rots and starts to stink so much I can't stand it? I'll worry about that, not you.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Sandra said, and headed for the hallway.

“Wait.” It was Crispin.

Sandra turned back.

“I think it goes without saying that we've broken the golden rule far too many times. We must all stick together from now on,” Crispin admonished roughly. “We can't afford to wander off on our own.”

Sami Lee looked at him long and hard. “Are you going to come with me when I need to take a piss?”

“Perhaps one of the ladies will go with you instead,” he said, all the fight gone from his voice.

Sami Lee took a hard look at Verna and then at Sandra. “I only see one other ‘lady' in the room besides me,” she said. “I'll take my chances on my own.”

“I don't need anyone following me around, either,” Pete spat out. “From now on, I don't trust anybody. Not a single one of you!”

“As you wish,” said Crispin. “I merely suggest it for the good of all …”

“Fuck you and your ‘good of all,'” Sami Lee sneered. “A lot of good it's done any of us so far. If we'd all stayed far apart, probably none of this would have happened. It's sticking together that's getting us killed.”

“Surely you don't believe that,” Sandra said softly. “We've all been trying to look after one another.”

“Well, if that's true, somebody isn't doing a very good job of it,” Sami Lee said.

“I will suggest one other thing then,” Crispin told them. “When we are alone in our rooms, I suggest that if anyone wants to alert the others, he or she should knock three times either on the heating vents or on everyone's door if we leave. That way, we will know that each of us has been alerted.”

T
he afternoon whiled away. Each of the guests stayed in his or her room. At three o'clock, there came three gentle knocks on each of their doors. It was Crispin, calling a conference to declare that he needed to eat to keep his blood sugar levels stable.

“The last thing I want to think about is food,” Sami Lee said, glaring at him when she opened the door.

“I'm sorry if I appear callous,” he said, “but my dietary needs are fairly important. I would appreciate it if at least one of you would come to the kitchen with me.”

“I'm hungry, too,” Pete said. “Maybe we should all eat something.”

Sami Lee looked at Pete. “At a time like this? Crispin needs to eat because he's sick. What's your excuse?”

Pete glared at her. “Why don't you shut the fuck up? I think we should all go downstairs together, even if we don't eat.”

“Fine,” Sami Lee said. “Let's go downstairs so you can fill your gullet.”

They all left together and sat gloomily in the dining room. Sami Lee smoked while the others passed a can opener, taking turns till they had opened four cans of tuna. Next they retrieved a loaf of white bread from the freezer, thawing the slices individually in the toaster.

“I'm not really hungry,” said Verna, turning away from the food when it was finally set before her.

“Me either,” Sami Lee said. “The rest of you can eat, if you have the stomach for it.”

“Of course, you realize any of this could have been doctored with poison before we even got here,” Sandra said, glancing in distaste at the bread on the table.

Pete looked up and said scornfully, “Fuck it. Gotta keep my strength up.” He grabbed two slices of toast. “At least I won't die hungry.”

“You think this is funny?” Sami Lee demanded.

“Yeah. I think it's a big fucking joke, Sami Lee. How about you?”

Her mouth tensed as she watched him. “I think you're getting a sadistic little kick out of this, you bastard.”

“Think what you like, bitch,” he told her, munching on the toast.

Smile
, the Voice told him.
Show the cunt you don't care what she thinks.

He bared his teeth at her.

“You look like a dog,” she said. “A fucking rabid dog.”

“And you look like a goddamn vampire, so shut up. Let me eat my fucking meal in peace.”

Pete turned away from the table and chewed while looking out at the rain beating against the windowpane.
Stupid cow
, he thought.
Now that Max isn't here, I'll smash her in the face if she doesn't shut her mouth
.

Once he'd finished eating, Crispin stood and cocked his head at the room. “Thank you all for coming down with me. I am going to take some bread and cheese upstairs with me to my room,” he said. “I doubt whether I'll be back down for supper.”

He waited, but no one offered to accompany him.

“If I run into any trouble, I shall call out. I hope at least one of you will be so good as to come to my aid.”

Having made his request, he turned and headed up the stairs.

Sandra stood and cleared the dishes, taking them out to the kitchen. She was back in a moment and looked around at the others.

“I'm not doing any dishes without help. Perhaps we can all clean up later. I should probably be going back to my room, too,” she said. “I doubt that my company is doing much to cheer anyone here, so I can leave feeling relatively assured that I won't be missed.”

Before she could leave the room, however, Crispin returned and stood in the doorway. He looked as though he were unable to speak.

“What's up?” Pete asked him. “I thought you said you weren't coming back.”

“Are you okay?” Sandra asked.

Crispin shook his head and swallowed. “I think someone has just been in my room.”

“What?” Sami Lee cried.

“My laptop is missing,” he said. “It's possible I may have misplaced it in all the confusion, but I don't think so.”

“But that's impossible,” Verna said. “We've all been here the entire time. Haven't we?” She looked around for confirmation.

“That's right,” said Sandra. “None of us left the room since we found Spike. The three of you arrived downstairs together.”

“I know that …” Crispin began.

“How would someone get in your room?” Sandra interrupted.

“I may have left the room unlocked when we came downstairs. In fact, I'm sure I did.”

“There has to be someone else in the house,” Verna said. “There has to be!”

“How could there be?” said Pete.

“I suggest we look again, one room at a time,” Crispin said. “I can't think of any other way to be sure.”

Verna and Sandra each retrieved their respective keys, unlocking the cupboard over the fridge. The master key ring lay where they had left it. They next went together up to Crispin's room and looked for his laptop. A thorough search revealed nothing.

“Why would someone want your laptop? What's on it?” Sandra asked him.

Crispin's voice was hesitant. “The tapes,” he said. “I've been transcribing them night after night when everyone else has gone to bed. Perhaps someone said something they don't want confirmed about their actions the night of Zerin Ames's death.”

“That could be just about anybody,” Sami Lee said scornfully.

“In any case,” Crispin continued, “at least they don't have the original recordings. I've kept those with me at all times.”

“Then you better hope they don't come back and kill you for them,” Sami Lee said.

One by one, they searched the rooms. It was difficult not to look at the bodies laid out on their beds. Noni's and Janice's rooms had already begun to be tainted by a slight thickening of the air. They discussed leaving the windows open, but agreed that would only make it easier for anyone outside trying to get into the house.

“Even up here on the third floor?” Verna asked skeptically.

Crispin nodded. “Even here. Whoever is behind this is a diabolical killer who will probably stop at nothing. We'd just be leaving ourselves open to attack.”

In the end, it was agreed the doors and windows would remain locked. After searching upstairs, the group continued downstairs. There was no sign of the laptop or anything suggestive of a forced entry.

At one point, Crispin pulled Sandra aside. “I didn't want to say anything to the others, but my entire insulin supply is in that laptop bag. Do you have any in your medical kit, in case I absolutely need it?”

“Yes, but …” She left the sentence unfinished.

“But do I really want to chance it? Is that what you're thinking?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “That's it.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

When the search was over, the master key ring was returned to its hiding place.

That night, once again, all doors were locked as the five remaining guests slept an unquiet sleep. No one stirred; no sounds were heard in the corridors. No secret knocks were enacted during what seemed like an endless night.

T
here
was no lessening of the rain overnight, but by morning the wind had died down a little. It held a promise for calmer seas on the morrow. Breakfast itself was a quiet affair, with surreptitious glances passed back and forth among the five remaining guests.

Sandra thought Crispin appeared wan and listless when he came down the stairs, but he made no complaints. The others were simply too preoccupied to notice.

“Coffee?” she asked him.

“No, thank you,” he replied. He cocked his head to the room, as though to ascertain how many people were in his company. “I know it's difficult to say these things, but it all points to one conclusion: the killer is one of us. It might help if we talk about probabilities here. Who is likeliest to have done this? Who has the strongest motive? Revenge? Hatred? Betrayal?”

His blind eyes turned toward them one by one.

“Yes, all of the above, but for what purpose?” Verna said. “A young woman died. It's sad, but why go to all this effort for revenge?”

“Yes,” Crispin said. “That's just it. Who is most likely to get upset about it to such a degree that they would seek revenge? A boyfriend? A lover? Family member?”

There was no answer.

“Again, you would think it could be all of the above, yes?” he continued. “So who knew the girl personally? Any of us?”

Everyone seemed to be avoiding his blind, questioning stare.

Verna sighed. “I never met her before the night of the party. You don't have to believe me, but it's true.”

Crispin nodded. “If we accept that this is the truth, then you clearly had no motive for wanting to see her dead. Yet you made the suggestion not to allow the emergency call to be made.”

Verna stifled a gasp. She shook her head. “I told you. I didn't want the police to get involved so I … I …”

They waited while she struggled to speak.

“Someone picked up the phone to dial emergency,” Verna continued. “I just advised them not to make the call.”

“You pulled the phone out of Spike's hands,” Sami Lee corrected her. “That's what I remember.”

Verna turned her head away. “Yes,” she said in a whispery voice. “I stopped the call.”

“Then you're in the clear,” Crispin said. “If you contributed to her death, you can't want revenge on anybody else for what happened,” he concluded. “What about a nurse? Someone sworn to saving human life? Could a nurse take exception to the awful things that went on and want revenge for what she saw as the senseless destruction of one of her patients?”

They all looked to Sandra, who shook her head. “After a while, you don't think that way. It's sad, but it happens. Especially with drug abuse. You can't save everyone. But that's not the reason I'm here. I think the killer knows this.”

The others waited for her to continue.

Sandra looked down. “Newt — David Merton — and I used to know one another back then. I supplied him with the medication he used to make his drug cocktails. I stole from the hospital pharmacy,” she said, her voice reduced almost to a whisper. “‘Party martinis,' he called them. Whatever I could get my hands on that might not be missed, I passed along. Free samples. Anything past the expiry date. I guess he made a mistake with his combinations and it turned lethal. At least, it was lethal for Zerin Ames. If she'd got help in time we could have done something, but it was a tragic chain of events that went from bad to worse.”

Crispin's hand dropped to the table with a thud. They turned to look at him. His head hung back. His eyelids fluttered, revealing those eerie blue portals. His breath came in gasps.

Sandra ran to him.

“It's my insulin,” he said.

“I'll get the medicine kit,” she said calmly. She looked at the others. “Keep him comfortable. I won't be a minute.”

She rushed to her room and quickly returned with the kit. They all watched anxiously as she stabbed the tiny bottle with a needle tip and drew a dropper of liquid into the cavity.

She looked intently at Crispin. “Do you really want me to do this?”

“I haven't any choice,” he gasped.

“We could risk waiting to see if anyone shows up this morning.”

“I might be in a coma by then. Come on, let's do it.”

She rolled Crispin's sleeve back and jabbed the needle deep into a vein, injecting the entire dosage. Crispin sighed and relaxed. At first, nothing happened. The others breathed with relief. Suddenly, a spasm shook Crispin's body. His face registered extreme agony. A cry that sounded like the howl of a wounded animal came from the depths of his being. He shook and convulsed as the others tried to hold him down. Then, almost as quickly as it began, it was over. He lay still.

“You've killed him,” Verna said in horror, looking down at his unmoving body.

Sandra stared at the syringe in her shaking hand. “I can't have,” she said. “It was just insulin.”

“How do you know?” Pete asked. “It could have been anything in that bottle.”

Sandra dropped the needle onto the floor where it rolled to one side. Tears fell from her eyes.

“My god…!”

“It's not your fault,” Sami Lee said. “We were set up from the beginning. Whoever did this is a sick, sadistic bastard. If I find out which one of you it is …”

She left the threat unfinished. Three faces stared at her in bewilderment.

“It's not me,” cried Verna. “It's not!”

“Nor me,” Sandra said, weeping softly.

“I wouldn't harm a fly,” Pete said, his head hanging down. “Or a human being.”

“Well, then, that makes four of us. But someone here is lying,” Sami Lee told them. “And I know it isn't me.”

Sandra looked at Crispin's tape recorder where he'd left it on the table. “He thought someone wanted the information he had on this,” she said, fingering the device.

“You mean our confessions,” Sami Lee reminded them, staring at it. “Yes, maybe.”

She reached across the table and pulled it toward her. “I'm in charge of this from now on. If anything else happens before help comes, I'm going to record it. So be warned that anything you say from now on will end up on this machine.”

She stood and left the room, taking the recorder with her.

“Who does she think she is?” Verna asked, looking at Sandra and Pete.

“I've been wondering that myself for the past twenty years,” Pete said.