Never Look Away (30 page)

She hit pause, threw the remote onto a chair, and turned on me.

"My God, you really want to go to jail, don't you?"

THIRTY-SIX

The thing was, Jan didn't know whether she could pull off the role of a murderer. You needed some real acting chops for that. The motivation for most of her performances had been coping, or blending in. Biding time.

But killing? Not so much.

If an opportunity did present itself where she could take off with Dwayne's half of the loot from the diamonds, she'd take it. No question. She'd pulled off a vanishing act on David and she could do it with Dwayne, too. But was she prepared to kill him to do it?

To put a bullet in his brain or a knife in his heart?

She'd never actually killed anyone, at least not on purpose.

But she wasn't stupid. She knew the law would already see her as a murderer. Even though she hadn't been the one who clamped a hand over Leanne Kowalski's mouth and nose and kept it there until she stopped flailing about, she didn't exactly do anything to stop it, either. Jan watched it happen. Jan knew it had to be done. And it was her idea to take Leanne's body back up to Lake George--a way to tighten the noose on David, who police would know had already been up in that neck of the woods with her--and bury it in that shallow grave in plain view, using a shovel in the back of Dwayne's brother's pickup. Any jury would see that they hung for that one together.

And she knew it was only luck--or divine intervention, if you believed in that kind of thing--that Oscar Fine hadn't died when she cut off his hand to steal the briefcase he had cuffed to his wrist.

That had been--let's face it--a pretty desperate moment. They thought he'd have a key on him. Or a combination to the briefcase. And the chain that linked the case to his cuff was some high-tensile steel that the tools they'd brought along wouldn't cut. But at least they could go through flesh and bone.

The bastard hadn't left them much in the way of options.

So, once he was out cold--and that hadn't taken long after Dwayne shot the dart into him--she did it. If you'd asked her the day before whether she had it in her to cut off a man's hand, she'd have said no way. Not a chance. Not in a million years. But then there you are, in a limo parked in a Boston vacant lot, not knowing whether someone's going to come by at any moment, and suddenly you're doing things you'd have never thought yourself capable of. Of course, millions in diamonds was a great motivator.

Wasn't that what it was all about? Knowing your motivation? So she got into the role. She became the kind of woman who could do this, who could cut off a man's hand. She played the part long enough to get the job done.

Too bad he got that one long look at her face before passing out. Even tarted up with enough lipstick and eye shadow to paint a powder room, she never stopped worrying that he might remember her. Would have been a lot better--truth be told--if the son of a bitch had bled to death. Then she wouldn't have had to put her life on hold for five years, marry a guy, have a kid, work at a goddamn heating and cooling business, for Christ's sake, live a lie--

Focus
, she told herself.

Let's just take this a step at a time. We have all the diamonds. Now we just have to convert them to cash. Let's see how things play out
.

They'd driven south out of Boston, and already Jan was feeling slightly more at ease. She knew the odds of running into Oscar Fine in a city as big as Boston were remote, but it didn't make her feel any less nervous. Now that they were out of downtown, she felt she could breathe a little. They had to find this Banura-of-Braintree dude, find out what the jewels were worth, negotiate a price, get their cash, start their new life together.

Start
her
new life. One way or another, Dwayne was going to be history.

Not that he didn't have his merits. He had a fabulously taut, sinewy body, and if he could stop fucking like he was expecting the warden to walk in at any moment, he might have some actual potential in that department. And he'd been the perfect one to help her out when she got wind of the diamond courier. He had the guts--or lack of sense, depending on how you looked at it--to help her set it up, get the dart gun, drive the limo. So maybe she was the only one with the balls to cut the guy's hand off. You couldn't have everything.

But she'd needed him to get into the safe-deposit boxes. And she needed him now to connect with Banura.

But after that, well, Dwayne really wasn't what Jan was looking for in a man. The only man she wanted to see in her future was the one delivering her drink to her cabana.

One thing you had to give David, he was a hell of a lot smarter than Dwayne. There was no denying that. Smart enough to be working at a paper better than the Promise Falls
Standard
. He'd had that one offer, a couple of years back, to go to Toronto to work for the largest-circulation paper in the country, but Jan was nervous about moving to Canada. Her phony credentials were rock solid, but the idea of crossing a border when she wasn't who she said she was, that gave her pause. Jan had told David she didn't think it was a good idea to move so far away from his parents, and he had come around to her way of thinking.

Once she had her money, she'd start this identity thing all over again and invest in some foolproof passports--real high-class stuff--and then get the hell out of the States. Maybe this Banura guy could put her onto someone who did good work. Then, off to Thailand, or the Philippines. Someplace where the money would last forever. Shit, it might be enough money to last right here in the good ol' US of A, but you'd always be looking over your shoulder, never able to relax.

David, you poor bastard
.

The guy thought he was some hotshot reporter, but how hotshot could you be at the
Standard?
Not exactly a risk taker. Always played it safe. Made sure there were new batteries in the smoke detectors, a fresh filter in the furnace. Paid the bills on time. When a shingle came loose, he got up there on the roof--or got his dad up there with him--and nailed it down. He remembered anniversaries and Valentine's Day and brought home flowers some days for no reason at all.

The guy was goddamn perfect.

Perfect husband.

Perfect father.

Don't go there
.

Dwayne, driving south on Washington and peering through the windshield at street signs, shifted in his seat and ripped off a fart.

"Where the fuck is Hobart?" he said.

They found the house. A small story-and-a-half with white siding. Dwayne wheeled the truck into the driveway behind a Chrysler minivan.

"See?" Dwayne said. "The guy's smart, doesn't attract attention. He could afford a goddamn Porsche but then the neighbors are going to say, hey, where's he get off driving a car like that? And he could live in a bigger house than this, right? But again, he knows how to keep a low profile."

"What's the point getting rich if you have to live the way you've always lived?" Jan asked.

Dwayne shook his head, like the question was too deep. "I don't know. Maybe he's got another place. In the Bahamas or something."

Dwayne had his hand on the door. Half the diamonds were still tucked into his jeans, while Jan had her share in her purse.

"He said come in around the back," Dwayne said, nodding toward the end of the drive, which ran down the side of the house.

"You're not worried, us walking in here with everything we've got?" Jan asked. "What if he decides to take the diamonds off us? What are we supposed to do then?"

"Hey, he's a businessman," Dwayne said. "You think he's going to throw away his reputation, fucking over a client like that?"

Jan wasn't convinced.

"Okay, if you're worried ..." Dwayne reached under the seat and pulled out a small, short-barreled revolver.

"Jesus," Jan said. "How long you had that?"

"Pretty much since I got out," he said. "Got it from my brother when he let me have the truck."

One more thing that could have sunk us if we'd gotten pulled over
, Jan thought. But knowing they had a weapon did offer some comfort.

He reached into the small storage area behind the seats and grabbed a jean jacket. Awkwardly, he slipped it on while still behind the wheel, then tucked the gun into the right pocket. "Don't want to walk in waving the thing. But you're right, it's good to have it along. Okay, let's go get rich."

They got out of the truck and walked up the drive past the minivan. Dwayne turned at the back of the house, found a ground-level wood door with a peephole, and pressed a tiny round white button to the left of it. They didn't hear the buzz inside through the thick door, but seconds later there was the sound of a substantial deadbolt being turned back.

A tall, wiry man with very dark brown skin opened the door. His T-shirt was several sizes too large, and a rope belt cinched around his waist kept his baggy cargo pants up. He smiled, exposing two rows of yellowed teeth. "You are Dwayne," he said.

Great
, Jan thought.
Real names
.

"Banura," Dwayne said, shaking hands. He went to introduce Jan. "This is ... Kate?"

She smiled nervously. She couldn't be Jan. And she couldn't be Connie. So Kate it was. "Hi."

Banura extended a hand to her and drew them both into the house. Inside the door was a narrow flight of stairs heading down. There was no access, at least from the back door, to any other part of the house. Once inside, they watched as Banura returned to position a massive bar that spanned the width of the door. He led them down the stairs, hitting a couple of light switches on the way.

The stairway wall was lined with cheaply framed photos--some in color and some, mercifully, in black and white. Most of them were of young black men, some just children, barefoot and dressed in tattered clothes, photographed against bleak African landscapes of ruin and poverty. They were wielding rifles, raising hands together in victory, mugging for the camera. In several, the men posed over bloody corpses. One that made Jan look away showed a black child, probably no more than twelve, waving a severed arm as though it were a baseball bat.

Banura took them into a crowded room with a long, brilliantly lit workbench. Spread out on the bench was a black velvet runner, and over it three different magnifiers on metal arms.

"Have a seat," Banura said in his thick African accent, gesturing to a ratty couch that was half-covered in boxes and two IKEA-type office chairs that probably cost five bucks new.

"Sure," Dwayne said, dropping onto a narrow spot on the couch.

"You won't be needing your gun," Banura said, his back to Dwayne as he sat on the stool at the workbench.

"What's that?"

"The one in your right pocket," he said. "I'm not going to take anything from you. And you are not going to take anything from me. That would be totally foolish."

"Hey, sure, I get that," Dwayne said, laughing nervously. "I just like to be cautious, you know?"

Banura pulled his magnifiers into position, flicked another switch. They had lights built in to them.

"Let me see what you have," he said.

Jan, who had chosen not to sit, reached into her purse and withdrew her bag. Dwayne leaned back on the couch to make it easier to reach into his pants and fished out his half. He tossed the bag over to Jan, like having a bag of diamonds was no biggie, and she presented both of them to Banura.

Delicately, he opened both bags and emptied them onto the black velvet. He examined no more than half a dozen of the stones, putting each one under bright light and magnification.

"So, you know this stuff pretty good, huh?" Dwayne said.

"Yes," Banura said.

"So whaddya think?"

"Just a moment, please."

"Dwayne, let the man do his job," Jan said.

Dwayne made a face.

Once he'd finished looking at the half dozen stones, Banura slowly turned on his stool and said to them, "These are very good."

"Well, yeah," said Dwayne.

"Where did you get these?" he asked. "I'm just curious."

"Come on, Banny Boy, we went through this before. I'm not telling you that."

Banura nodded. "That's fine, then. Sometimes it is better not to know. What counts is the quality of the merchandise. And this is superb. And you have a lot of it."

"So, what do you think it's worth?" Jan asked.

Banura turned his head and studied her. "I am prepared to offer you six."

Jan blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Million?" Dwayne said, sitting up at attention.

Banura nodded solemnly. "I think that's more than generous."

Jan had never expected to be offered anything remotely close to six million dollars. She thought maybe two or three million, but this, this was unbelievable.

Dwayne stood, struggled not to look excited. "You'll never guess what my lucky number happens to be." He slapped his own ass where he'd been tattooed. "Well, you know, I think that's a figure that my partner and I can work with. But we'll need to talk about it."