Murder One (46 page)

“So anyway, he comes in at just the wrong moment and sees me and Andrea on top of Joe, both of us drenched in blood. It sent his already fragile mind into a frenzy. He didn’t know what to do. Talked about calling the police.”

“But you stopped him.”

Keri grinned. “He’d been lusting after me all his life, since we were kids. Remember when I told you my daddy and I were close? It was true.” She winked. “Another clue you missed, Sherlock. Anyway, I think Kirk had always been jealous of what Daddy and I had. So when the time came that I needed his help, needed him to do some horrible things he otherwise would never think about doing, I gave him what he’d wanted all those years. His dream come true.”

Ben was unable to speak.

“Mind you, I made it worth Kirk’s while. I gave him a good piece of action, I really did. I mean I could’ve just done it quick and dirty, but I knew he’d been waiting for this a long time, so I tried to make it memorable. And I think I succeeded. I hadn’t been a stripper all that time without learning a few things. After all the bumping and grinding was done, I told him to stop crying and help. And it worked. Kirk kept his mouth shut—even helped us move the body around. It was great. Sent poor Kirk over the edge, though. Kirk had me on some kind of exalted plateau, in his twisted little mind. Some kind of madonna-whore thing, I guess. I don’t know.” She saw Ben’s reaction and smiled. “You’re surprised I know about things like that. You might be amazed at what I know. I’m a bright young babe. Well read. Matthews tried to tell you I was smart, remember? But of course, you didn’t listen to him. I may be from Stroud, Ben, but I’m nobody’s fool. Anyway, after we were done, Kirk bailed. Took all his stuff and ran out of the room. He was totally out of his mind.” She paused. “He’s the one who slashed that woman in your office, you know.”

“
What!
”

“Oh, yeah. I kept an eye on him, even after he flew the coop. I had to—he was a security risk, right? That’s why I was out so often, late at night. He was doing all kinds of bizarre stuff—mutilating his body, sleeping with prostitutes. He was trying to expiate his guilt, trying to come to terms with what he’d done, to Joe and to me. When he went to your office, sadly enough, I think he was looking for me. The super at my apartment told me he’d been by asking after me; they suggested he try your office, which he did. He’d finally decided to strike back. He thought by killing me, by venting his anger on the source of his pain, he could rid himself of all that guilt. But alas, I wasn’t there and your librarian buddy was. So she took the fall. Later, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. Which only intensified his despair.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Use some brains, Kincaid. If you’d gotten your hands on Kirk, he would’ve spilled everything. No, after that business with the librarian, I realized he was too dangerous to live.”

“But—but he killed himself. I saw it!”

“Yeah, he killed himself. With my help. I made a late night visit to his hellhole of an apartment. Happily, he’d just been with a prostitute, so he was feeling particularly guilt-ridden. I said exactly the words I knew would push him over the brink. And sure enough, he went down. Fifty stories down.”

“But I saw you! You were torn apart with grief!”

“Quite the little actress, aren’t I?” She laughed. “ ‘Oh, Ben, I love you so. Please hold me.’ ” She laughed again, loud and bitter. “Do you remember exactly when Kirk jumped? It was when Matthews told him I was coming to get him. I was the guilt he could never escape.” She shook her head. “What a fool Kirk was.”

“Your brother loved you!”

“My brother was a headcase ever since my parents died. Before, actually. He was such a simp. He was much better off after they were out of the picture; he just couldn’t see it. Mother’s perverted pranks weren’t even the worst of it. They were always riding us, trying to control us. Butting into my private life. Telling me I was dirty and sinful. So I remedied the situation.”

“You—you said they were killed in a traffic accident.”

“They were. It’s bad news when a truck comes at you in an intersection. Particularly if someone has drained most of your brake fluid.”

“I can’t believe it. I—can’t believe it.” Ben knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was as if his brain was frozen and nonfunctional.

“Oh hell, honey, you haven’t heard the worst of it.” She turned toward Andrea. “Should I tell him?”

Andrea shook her head.

“Aw, come on. I want to.”

Andrea continued shaking.

“Spoilsport.”

“Tell me what?” Ben bellowed.

“I’m sorry, Andrea, but I just can’t hold this back any longer.” She leaned forward eagerly on the sofa, providing an ample display of cleavage. “I’m the one who planted the knife in your office.”

“
What!
”

“You heard me.”

Ben grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to steady himself. It was all too much, too impossible. “I could’ve been convicted of murder! I could’ve been disbarred! Why in God’s name would you do that?”

“To throw the dogs off my scent, dearie. I knew you’d never be convicted of anything. And I also knew that if they found the murder weapon in your office, you—and maybe others as well—would be convinced someone was trying to frame me. See, I knew about the Blue Squeeze. Contrary to what you proved in court”—she giggled a bit at that one—“Andrea wasn’t behind the police harassment. Why should she want to hassle me? It was all that bozo Matthews’s idea, trying to prove his manhood by deifying his former partner. But once we knew about it, Andrea figured we could use it to muddy the waters. To create more reasonable doubt. And to make you more certain than ever that I was innocent.”

“So you put the knife in my file cabinet?”

“Of course. And I phoned the anonymous tip to Matthews. Think about it, Ben. Who else would have that thing? It was my knife, after all. Happily, I didn’t leave it in my apartment, so the cops didn’t find it. I had that much sense. But I knew where it was. I retrieved it and planted it on you. Brilliant, huh?”

Ben found himself barely able to speak. “And—and you don’t have any … regret?”

“I’m proud to say that I do not. Now, Andrea, here, is another story.”

Andrea gave her a silent, cold glare.

“Andrea has a bit of a whiny streak. She says she wanted to punish Joe, not to kill him. She didn’t approve of mutilating his body.
Wah, wah, wah.
She says I seduced her husband, then I seduced her. Made them both do horrible things they should never have done. She says I ruined her life.” She scooted closer to Andrea on the couch. “But you still love me, don’t you, Andrea? That’s what you hate most. You despise yourself for it afterward, but you just can’t resist me.” She pressed her body against her collaborator. Andrea hesitated, but soon her lips were locked with Keri’s for a protracted kiss.

Ben pushed himself away like a man recoiling from a monster. Which he was. “You lied to me. You lied to everyone.”

“I’m afraid that is correct.”

He moved toward the door. “If you think I’m going to keep quiet about this, you’re wrong.”

“You have no choice. You can’t say anything.”

“Watch me.”

“Settle down and think for a minute, Mr. Crusader. What are you going to accomplish here? No one can touch me. As you said yourself, I cannot be retried for the same crime. Never again.”

“They could go after your accomplice, then.”

“Andrea? Based on what? The hearsay ravings of a defense attorney? Which they can’t use in court? I don’t think so. Besides, you know as well as I do that after the D.A. loses a case, they never bring charges against a different defendant. Because to do so would be to admit they were wrong the first time. That they were trying to convict an innocent person. No D.A. is going to do that—certainly not Mr. Politico LaBelle.” She leaned back into the soft sofa. “Face it, Ben—it’s over. If you go flapping your mouth, the only thing you’ll accomplish is getting yourself disbarred.”

Ben’s jaw was clenched so tightly he could barely speak. “I can’t let you get away with this.”

“Uh-huh,” Keri said, bored to tears. “Honey, you don’t have any choice. Tell you what. When you figure out how to get back at me, be sure to give me a ringy-dingy. I’ll be somewhere in the Bahamas, improving my tan.” She laughed, then waved her hand in the air. “Oh, stop quivering in your boots like some outraged moron. You screwed up and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. So pack up your moral outrage and leave already.” She turned back toward Andrea, her lips parted, her eyes wide and hungry, running her fingers through Andrea’s lustrous black hair. “And close the door behind you.”

B
EN SAT IN HIS
car, staring at the open window on the third floor of the apartment building. His brain was a blur. All the thoughts, revelations, surprises, kept whirling through his head, spinning around him, making him dizzy with disappointment, and worst of all, the inescapable knowledge that he had made a total fool of himself. How could he possibly be so stupid?

Every so often, he would see one or the other of them float past the window. He couldn’t tell what they were doing. Packing, maybe. Having dinner. Having wild and passionate sex. The possibilities were endless.

At one point, he saw Keri’s barely clad figure come to the window, stop for a moment, grin, then move on. Did she know he was there, watching? Was Keri intentionally taunting him, flaunting the fact that there was nothing he could do to stop her? Probably not, but it was making him crazy, just thinking about it.

He pressed his fingers against his temples. He couldn’t keep this bottled up any longer. He had to tell someone. But who? What Keri had said was right: the attorney-client privilege protected everything she’d said, not only the parts that incriminated her, but the parts that incriminated Andrea as well. He couldn’t tell anyone—

Except someone who was inside the privilege. He had a partner now, by God. A member of the firm. She couldn’t tell anyone else, but he could tell her everything.

But how? He didn’t want to stop watching the apartment. He had to make sure Keri didn’t blow town, had to follow her if she did. If she left that apartment, chances were she’d be gone forever.

Slowly, carefully, he considered all the possible options, weighing the ramifications of each.

And then he remembered his mother’s Christmas present.

He popped open his briefcase and pulled out the small metallic gray Palm Pilot. He typed out a message to Christina on the little keyboard. Then he transmitted it to myFax.

After he was done, he turned off the electronic gizmo and put it back in the briefcase. It must be true that confession is good for the soul, he mused. By no stretch of the imagination did he feel good. But he did sense the tiniest alleviation of the awful aching in his gut. The disquietude that ravaged his brain was easing—only a little, but enough that he could almost think clearly.

His eyes, however, remained focused on that third-floor window. He settled back into the seat and waited for his message to be received.

“Ben?”

Mike stepped through the glass doors that led to the main lobby of the office. The doors were locked but fortunately, Ben had given him a key some time ago, when they were working together on an Internal Affairs case.

“Ben? Are you in here?” Probably not. But he had missed their eight o’clock get-together and he hadn’t been at home and he wasn’t answering his phone. It was probably stupid to worry, but Ben had raced out of Kirk Dalcanton’s apartment with a stricken expression on his face, and he did have a profound talent for getting himself into trouble. Look what happened when Mike went out of town for a few weeks. He just felt better when he knew what his friend was doing.

“Ben? Are you here?”

He heard an abrupt beeping sound. A sign of life? He walked to the front desk, the post normally occupied by Jones. So what was the—?

Ah. The fax machine. Someone was sending a late-night message. Probably an advertisement for a 1-900 sex number or something equally important. Or was Ben expecting it? Did this mean he would be here soon?

He glanced at the page spit out by the printer. No, it was for Christina. So it couldn’t possibly—

Wait a minute. He scooped the fax up. He didn’t normally read other people’s messages, but before he’d even realized it was for someone else he’d read more of it than he could disregard.

His eyes quickly scanned the short message. Jesus God—could this possibly be true?

He saw the name at the bottom of the page. This message was from Ben. So it had to be correct.

His buddy was going to be pissed that Mike had read his message. Tough. Mike couldn’t overlook this. He snatched the nearest phone receiver and began dialing.

“Maurice? I need three patrol cars immediately. Here’s the address …”

“Police!”

Mike didn’t give them a second chance. He shouted “Police” again, then knocked down the door.

It was an old door, well worn and probably cheap to begin with. It didn’t take much effort. He swarmed into the apartment, Sig Sauer at the ready. Six uniformed police officers closed in behind him.

“I have a warrant,” Mike shouted, as he glided through the apartment. “A warrant to search, and a warrant to arrest.” He motioned to the officers. “Spread out,” he told them. “Cover the whole place. Fast.”

Mike was the lucky one who burst into the bedroom. He recognized the persons inside immediately. Keri Dalcanton was on one side of an unmade bed, throwing on a white T-shirt. Nearly naked, Andrea McNaughton was on the other side.

The bedspread was thrown off and the sheets were dangling crossways. This bed had obviously seen some spirited action. Clothes were strewn about all over the floor. The room was stripped almost bare; everything was in the packing boxes that littered the apartment.

But those weren’t the details that ranked most prominently in Mike’s mind. There was one other.

Andrea McNaughton was holding a gun.

“Please lower your weapon, Mrs. McNaughton,” Mike said, in a voice that sounded a lot calmer than he really was.