Inherit the Dead (30 page)

He thought:
I have to prove to Henry Watson that I’m still a good detective.

Then he thought:
This isn’t about proving anything to Henry. It’s about proving it to myself.

No way he could fuck up again. No way he would be the fool, the dupe, the guy who walked away with his tail between his legs.

Window up, down, cold air, then heat, he couldn’t get it right. Couldn’t get any of it right, all the conflicting thoughts of this case buzzing in his brain.

Did Angel need more than a couple of hundred million on top of whatever money she was already getting?

Did Norman Loki?

Julia had said her ex-husband was well taken care of, and it looked it. But who knew what sort of debt the man might have. He was a liar and a chameleon, a weed-smoking, aging hippie one minute, a vicious drunk the next.

Perry tried to picture him pushing his ex-wife off the terrace, but the man didn’t seem brave enough.

And what about Angel? Would her nanny really lie for her?

Perry could see Athena Williams defending her charge to the death, but covering up a murder? Not that.

So what was he missing?

Window down again, another blast of night air needed to jog his addled sleep-deprived mind.

He drove through Hauppauge, Patchogue, Nesconset—towns with Native American names that hadn’t seen an Indian for hundreds of years.

He pictured the gold-framed photograph at the nanny’s home—the teenage girl with feet planted firmly on the floor, her cool blue eyes and defiant chin. A tough little girl. Not the trembling siren he’d
held in his arms, the gorgeous creature who made it impossible for him, for any man, to think straight.

Perry stared into the dark road ahead. What was it she’d said that had lodged in his brain, something that had caught in the lower register of his psyche, something that had made him think she was lying?
Know
she was lying. What the hell was it?

He tried to get at it, but all he could see was Julia Drusilla splayed on the sidewalk like a broken marionette and his last friend in the police department accusing him of reckless behavior.

But it was there somewhere, a word or two buzzing in the back of his brain like a gnat.

Perry turned off at the Manorville exit that would lead to the smaller roads connecting to the Hamptons. The moon was out, almost full, its silvery light illuminating the edges of the huge
Stargazer
sculpture on the deserted field by the side of the road. He knew it was supposed to be an abstract deer, but tonight it looked like something ferocious.

It brought him back to another night in the Hamptons, a night with no moon, no stars. Just a madman he had tracked and almost killed. A madman who had almost killed him. Another missing-persons case, another young woman. One he had not been able to save.

Like a phantom limb his side began to throb where the bullet had gone through flesh and muscle and the face of Derace McDonald was in his mind, a specter that never truly left him.

He saw other faces, too—the girl’s parents, who had hired him to find their child when the police and FBI had failed. McDonald was locked away now, a mad lab rat for psychiatrists to study. But the girl Perry had been hired to find was dead. And despite the fact that the cards had been stacked against him, that the police and the FBI had
not found the girl, it didn’t matter because she had died. In the end, he had failed and had almost died himself.

The reason, Perry knew, that he had taken this case: to get it right this time. To save a girl. To save Angel. And he’d found her and she wasn’t dead. But still, his client had died, even though there was no madman like Derace McDonald coming after his client or after him.

Or was there?

Perry thumped his palm against the steering wheel, his adrenaline pumping, nerve ends tingling.

Was it possible her father had set it all up, that right now he was arranging for Angel’s death so that he would inherit all of the money? No one had asked where the money went if both Angel and Julia were dead, and Norman Loki was the logical benefactor.

Perry put more weight on the gas pedal, broke the speed limit on the quiet two-lane road through Water Mill, then Bridgehampton, then East Hampton.

He pictured Norman at the station house, a protective arm around his daughter; then he pictured him so drunk he’d barely made sense. He saw Angel, too, tears in her eyes asking how her mother had died but not acting shocked when she’d gotten the answer.

He drove through Amagansett, trying to remember the exact words that had made him doubt her, and for a split second he could hear her voice and what she said before it disappeared into a tangle of ganglia.

Had he imagined it?

Maybe he was wrong about Angel. Maybe she was a victim—or about to be.

The road to Montauk was dark, just a few lights flickering in houses on the dunes but almost no cars. Perry gripped the steering wheel. Another mile flew by, then another, until he saw it: the turnoff to Norman Loki’s house.

Perry switched off his headlights and headed slowly down the private lane. He cut the engine halfway to the house and took the rest on foot.

An icy chill blew across the dunes and bluff, and he shivered as he walked, head down, collar up, not sure what he was going to do when he got there.

And that’s when it came to him: what Angel had said.

Up ahead he could see the house, the cars; he could just make out Norman Loki’s Jeep and Mercedes in the moonlight.

The downstairs windows were lit up and smoke billowed from the chimney.
It looks like it’s out of a storybook,
he thought,
cozy and tranquil.
But he knew better.

Nicky’s striped scarf whipped around his face as he got closer, then he spotted the car on the side of the road under a thicket of gingko trees, a black Toyota, moonlight playing off the dented back fender.

The car.

His stalker.

Here.

Perry laid a hand on the hood. Still warm.

He got out his cell and made a call. “Get here soon as you can—and keep the phone on.” He gave the address then pressed the Mute button.

Dirt and pebbles crunched under his shoes; ocean waves broke in the distance and the wind howled.

Crouching now, light from the large bay window falling across him as he moved to the side and caught a glimpse of them, Angel and Norman, being ushered to the sofa by the dark silhouette of a man.

Perry leaned closer, could hear muffled voices though not what was being said. A few steps along the side of the house, past another window, and this time he saw him: a man with dark hair, holding a gun. And he recognized him.

Perry moved faster now, making his way around the house until he found the back door, closed but unlocked. He tried to picture the interior as he turned the doorknob and then he was in, spinning through the door into a small mudroom off the kitchen. He could hear voices as he slowly made his way across the room and into a dark hallway that separated the kitchen and living room, the cell phone still in his hand, the whole time holding his breath.

Halfway down the hall he stopped. He heard them before he saw them.

“You’re crazy!” Angel’s voice rang out, a mix of arrogance and fear.

“You dare call
me
crazy!” It was the dark-haired man. “You, of all people. You have no idea, no
fucking
idea what I’ve been through!”

Perry dared a few steps closer. Back flattened against the wall, he could see them.

Angel and Norman were side by side on the couch. The man faced them, his back to Perry.

“Just take it easy,” Norman said.

Perry let out the breath he’d been holding, unsure of his next move. No quick moves, no leaps into the room until he was absolutely certain.

“Let’s talk it over,” Norman said. “I’m sure—”

“Sure of what?” There was a high-pitched edge of hysteria in the man’s voice.

“I’m sure we can work this out,” said Norman. “Whatever it is.”

“Oh, so you don’t know me?”

“Should I?”

“Why would you recognize something thrown away, cast off, a piece of your wife’s garbage.”

Angel turned to her father. “Daddy, do you have any idea who this—”

“If it’s money you want,” said Norman, “I can—”

“Oh, it’s money all right. Why she sent me. To collect what’s rightfully mine.”

“Who?”
Angel look back and forth between her father and the dark-haired man.

“Tell her,” the man said. “You know, don’t you?”

Norman Loki shook his head, but even from a distance Perry could see he was lying.

“We made a deal. Me and Julia. I’d take care of Angel; then we’d split the money fifty-fifty.”

“Take
care
of me?” Angel was up now, arms at her sides, hands in fists. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sit down. Or I’ll shoot you.” The man aimed his gun at Angel.

Perry stiffened, tried to gauge an attack. He could lunge, but what if he miscalculated, was a second too late, and the man fired his gun?

“Angel—” Norman reached out a hand to his daughter. “Please. Sit down.”

“Explain it to her,” the man said.

Angel sat, and Perry watched the scene like a play. He could see the man in profile, the tightness of his jaw, hand gripping the gun. Flames danced in the fireplace, casting eerie shadows around the room.

“He’s Julia’s son,” Norman said to Angel, almost in a whisper.

“See?” the man said. “It didn’t take you long to figure that out.”

Perry was putting the pieces together: The late-night visitor to Julia’s apartment, the masseur. And the man sitting beside him at the bar of the Memory Motel.
My mother says I’m too dramatic.

“What?”
Angel’s voice, strident.

The man took a step closer to Angel, and Perry got ready, every muscle in his body poised for attack.

“You didn’t know you had a big brother, did you? I’m your
mother’s secret, her bastard, the baby she gave away when she was fifteen, the orphan passed from one foster home to another, while you, her dear little
angel,
got everything.”

“Oh, please.” Angel folded her arms across her chest, her face a mask of incredulity and disdain.

The man waved the gun at Norman. “
Tell her
. She needs to know the truth before she dies.”

“There’s n-no reason to hurt anyone,” said Norman. “Please.”

“No? She got everything—private school, tennis lessons, clothes—while I got a pittance, an anonymous allowance, just enough to keep me off the street, paid off in dribs and drabs. But that’s how I—”

“If you only knew,” said Angel, voice dripping with irony, “what my life has been like.”

“
You?
You had a home—
two
homes! You know what it’s like to have nothing? No family, no one who cares about you.” His voice was quavering. “That lousy allowance was all I had. Julia tried to make it anonymous, but—” He turned to Norman. “You arranged that pathetic stream of guilt money. That’s how I found it, by tracing it to your defunct law practice. It took a long time, but I finally figured it out. At first Julia wanted nothing to do with me, but then she admitted it—because then,
she
wanted something from
me
.”

“This is absurd,” said Angel. “Tell him, Daddy.”

Perry saw the look of horror and dread bouncing around Norman Loki’s face. “I . . . she . . . we . . . didn’t want you to know, Angel. There was no reason—”

“But it’s true!” the man shouted. “You don’t want to know it, but it’s the truth! You hear what your father is saying, Angel? Now listen.” He took a step forward, and Perry readied himself again. But the man was still talking, wanting to, needing to.

“Your mother had me follow the detective, told me it was the perfect opportunity, that you were already missing, so when I found
you and killed you, no one would be surprised. You see, she hired the detective as a guide for
me,
and to make it look like she cared about
you
.”

Perry flinched at the thought of being used.

“Julia did her homework. She chose him, see? Because he was kicked off the force, she figured that no one would believe him when it was all over.”

Perry flinched again, then took a deep breath, tried to calculate out how he could tackle the guy before he fired a shot.

“Your mother—
our
mother—said to make it look like an accident, like you were drunk or taking drugs. She said no one would be surprised—that you’re a tramp, that they’d blame one of your boyfriends or think you OD’d or—”

Angel shouted, “Shut up!”

“She said once you were dead, she’d get all the money and split it with me. But now, I’ll get it all.”

“You’re insane,” Angel said. “My mother—I’m not surprised by anything she’d do—but she would never have given you anything, not a dime.”

“It doesn’t matter now. After you and your father are dead, I’ll inherit it all. You see, I’ll be the only heir.” He aimed his gun.

Perry got ready to pounce, but Norman Loki put up his hands.

“Wait. Listen. Angel is right. Julia used you. She lied. She always lied. You have no idea what she was like. She orchestrated her own parents’ deaths. Had them run off the road. You can’t imagine how furious she was to discover that her father had locked away the bulk of his estate for his grandchild until her twenty-first birthday and that
she
couldn’t get at it.” Norman shook his head. “As if she didn’t have enough.”

“Nothing was ever enough for her,” said Angel. “You think I had it good with a mother like that! A monster without a heart?” She
barked a laugh. “You were the lucky one! Getting away from her. From all of this.”

“So that’s why you killed her?” the man asked. “Because you hated her? Or was it just for the money?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

Perry could see Angel shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, dear sister,” the man said.