Funny she hadn't mentioned it, though.
Maybe she had just been too exasperated to talk about it. This is Liz you're talking about, I told myself. We'd laughed together, commiserated together, become friends.
I stuck the flashlight back under my arm and turned to climb down. The beam hit the bookcase in front of me, and I saw something. One of the thick legal volumes had a small red stain on the spine. I plucked it off the shelf, examined it, and then climbed back down the ladder with it.
“What do you make of this?“ I said, handing it to Dad. He trained his flashlight on it.
“It's not blood,“ he said, handing it back with a shake of his head. “Blood wouldn't stay red after it dried.“
“No,“ I said. “It's stage blood. I've spent enough time with Michael and his drama department cronies to recognize the stuff when I see it.“
“You think this is connected with the murder?“ Dad asked, frowning.
“I suppose it's remotely possible that this book was already stained with stage blood before Monday,“ I said. “But I think you're looking at how the killer managed to stun Ted before strangling him.“
“Instead of a karate chop?“
I set my flashlight on a shelf, where the beam would provide some general illumination, and climbed back up the ladder.
“Imagine you're Ted. You've switched tiles so the mail cart will cruise through here. And you're lying on the mail cart, with stage blood running down from your chest. Down your sides, your arms – and onto your throat.“
“And I stop right beneath the ladder,“ Dad said, throwing himself into his role. He walked along my theoretical mail cart path, leaning back to become as horizontal as he could without actually falling on his back.
“From up here, I wouldn't need that much strength to hit someone hard,“ I said. “Gravity's on my side. So all I have to do is take a step or two down and wham!“ I slammed the book down on an imaginary Ted's throat, with a violence that clearly startled Dad. Startled me, in fact. I was angry. Not at poor irritating Ted, but at the person who'd killed him. The person I'd considered a friend.
“And then,“ I went on, “if there happened to be a mouse cord on one of the pigeonholes of the mail cart – and there probably was since people were always sending each other stray bits of hardware on the mail cart – mice, disk drives, cables – all I'd have to do wduld be to pick it up and finish the job.“
Dad and I stood, looking at each other for a few seconds. Then he reached out and patted me on the shoulder.
“Good job,“ he said. “Let's take this book to the chief and tell him – “
“I knew I was going to have to do something about you,“ came a voice from behind me.
I turned to find Liz, standing in the library door, holding a gun.
“Liz, you – “
“Stay back,“ she said. “I'm a good shot with this.“
“Yes, I remember,“ I said. “You took lessons, when you lived in a bad part of East Palo Alto. For self-defense. I don't think this counts as self-defense.“
She shrugged. “Depends on your point of view,“ she said. “Here, catch!“
She threw something at us. Dad started and clutched his flashlight with both hands; I took a half-step forward and raised my good hand, out of reflex, to catch whatever it was before it hit him, I'd caught a roll of silver duct tape. “You win the toss,“ she said. “Tie him up.“
“Does it really count as tying up with duct tape?“ Dad asked. “I think taping me up would be more accurate.“
“I stand corrected,“ Liz said. “Tape him up. Just do it.“ She kept the gun on us as I taped Dad's hands behind him, and then she ordered him to lie down, facedown, so I could tape his feet together. And roll Dad's flashlight over where she could pick it up. Which she did, very, very carefully, feeling the floor for the flashlight with her left hand without taking her eyes off me. Or, more important, without taking her gun off me.
“Okay,“ she said when she had the flashlight. “Now you sit down and – “
“What's going on here?“
A stocky form appeared in the other library door. Roger.
“I said what's going on here?“ he repeated.
“Put your hands up,“ Liz ordered.
He bunked at her. She raised the gun a little higher. He raised his hands.
“Very good,“ she said. “Now lie down on the floor.“
He started to do so, slowly. But when he was down on one knee, and no doubt thought her suspicions were somewhat lulled, he suddenly lunged to the left, trying to duck behind a shelf.
It might have worked if he hadn't been standing on one of the loose tiles, which slipped out from under him as he lunged. He fell, hitting his head with an audible thud on the bookcase for which he'd been aiming.
And even so, his lunge might have given me a chance to escape and run for help. I threw the duct tape at Liz and made a leap for the door as soon as I saw him move.
Unfortunately, my throw went wide, and as I was trying to leap outward, I ran into someone else trying to leap inward. Luis. We cracked heads and both fell down in a heap in the doorway.
The grand escape attempt ended with the three of us lying on the floor, nursing our heads. At least Luis and I were. Roger seemed to be out cold. Liz stood looking down at us, still holding the gun.
Some people have far more luck than they deserve.
“Crawl back in here and lie on the floor,“ Liz ordered.
We crawled, Luis and I crawled, anyway. Roger only moaned softly.
“You were doing such a fine job,“ Liz said, kicking the fallen duct tape back toward me. “Carry on.“
So I taped Luis's hands and feet, and then Roger's. Roger began drifting back to consciousness only when I was finishing off his feet.
“That'll do for him,“ Liz said. “Lie down.“
I did – slowly – and then I steeled myself. She would have to get closer to tie my hands. And I had to make my move as soon as she got close. A move she'd be looking for, of course. But I was bigger than she was, and even with my injured hand, I could overpower her if I could just knock the gun away.
“Now – ,“ she began, and we heard the office door open and close.
“Now what,“ she muttered, and slipped into the shadows to one side of the library door. I couldn't see if she was looking at me – was now a good time to make another escape attempt?
We heard soft footsteps approaching.
“Hello?“ called a voice.
Dr. Lorelei.
Roger moaned softly.
“Is that you, Rosenkavalier?“
Rosenkavalier? Evidently Dr. Lorelei hadn't ignored my suggestion after all.
“Someone left the door open…. Did you come in here?“
Dr. Lorelei swayed into the room. Swayed, because she was wearing her four-inch heels again. I still found it hard to imagine someone her size wearing not only four-inch heels but also a low-cut, slinky black dress, but she was. And looking pretty damned good, if you ask me.
Of course, I might have been biased by the fact that another step or two would put her squarely between me and Liz. And more important, between me and Liz's gun. Come on, Lorelei, I silently pleaded. Just one more step and I can make a leap for the other door to fetch help.
Her foot moved. I braced myself for the leap. Then her eyes glazed over, her body stiffened, and she fell over, face first, revealing Liz standing behind her. Since the gun was now pointing straight at me again, I deduced Liz had beaned Lorelei with the flashlight she was holding in her left hand.
I followed Liz's glance from Dr. Lorelei to me and then back again. I did my best to look small and harmless. Normally it's hard for me to pull off, but compared with Dr. Lorelei in spike heels, even Godzilla would look harmless.
“Tie her up, too,“ Liz said, kicking the tape back to me.
“Tape, remember,“ Dad said helpfully.
“Meg, what's going on, anyway?“ Luis asked.
&nb
sp; “Wha's going on?“ Roger slurred.
“Shut up, all of you,“ Liz said. “Tape her up.“
“Liz killed Ted,“ I explained to Luis.
“I thought you said Roger killed Ted,“ Luis said.
“1 thought he might have,“ I said. “Looks like I was wrong.“
I taped Dr. Lorelei's hands and feet. I pretended to have trouble getting the tape off the roll, in the hope that she'd wake up while I was still half-finished. No such luck.
“This is getting very untidy,“ Liz said, frowning at the litter of bodies spread across the room, “line them up.“
“You've got to be kidding,“ I said.
“line them up,“ she said, raising the gun slightly.
“One neatly aligned set of hostages, coming up,“ I said, grabbing Luis's feet.
“That's a little better,“ she said when I finished dragging everyone into a single neat line on the floor along one wall. With, alas, space left over for me. Space I didn't intend to occupy if I could help it.
“Now,“ liz began.
“Lorelei?“
We glanced over to see Dr. Glass, the mousy therapist, standing in the doorway, holding a single red rose in his hand.
“Put your hands up,“ Liz ordered.
“Lorelei!“ Dr. Glass exclaimed, seeing the lady herself trussed up with silver duct tape. He gave a great leap, and Liz jumped back, but instead of attacking her like one of the sane, sensible heroes in his books, he threw himself on top of his wife and began rather ineffectually trying to remove the tape from her mouth.
“I said put your hands up!“ Liz shouted, and threw the flashlight at him.
He either fainted or pretended to go limp. I couldn't tell which, even while I was taping him up. So much for life imitating art.
“Now that we've taken care of that, lie down,“ Liz said.
I obeyed, as slowly as I thought I could without setting her off.
“Now – “
“Hey, what's going on in here?“
Frankie, Keisha, and Rico appeared in the door of the library, their hands full of paper, pencils, dice, and other role-playing paraphernalia.
“This is really starting to piss me off,“ Liz said through her teeth.
“Meg?“ Frankie said, looking anxious. “Is something wrong here?“
“Liz is holding us hostage,“ I said.
“I have a gun,“ Liz said. That much was obvious; she was waving it rather erratically, and the three newcomers seemed transfixed by it.
“Meg?“ Frankie bleated.
“She can't shoot all of us at once,“ I said.
“Put your hands up and drop to the floor,“ Liz said.
“Rush her. On three,“ I suggested.
“I mean it,“ Liz said.
“One.“
“Meg,“ Frankie pleaded. “What are you –?“
“Two.“
“Hit the floor!“ Liz shrieked.
“Three!“ I said, but I didn't end up jumping – Frankie, Keisha, and Rico threw themselves on the floor, scattering dice, pencils, and papers everywhere.
“That's better,“ Liz said. “Now tie – tape them up.“
I followed orders. I taped their arms and legs, and then, in deference to Liz's preference for order, I dragged them into a second neat row in front of the first.
I looked up to Liz for approval when I'd finished. I hoped she wouldn't tell me to even up the rows. The back row contained Dad, Luis, Roger, Dr. Lorelei and Dr. Glass.
The front row, with Keisha, Frankie, and Rico, was two bodies shorter.
“Fine,“ she said.
That was a relief. I could have dragged Dr. Glass from the end of the first row to even them up, but he and Dr. Lorelei were staring soulfully into each other's eyes, oblivious of the rest of us. And rubbing noses. In retrospect, perhaps I'd find that touching. At the moment, I was just glad they were quiet.
The rest of the prisoners were staring hopefully at me.
Liz was looking up and down the ranks of prisoners with visibly mounting irritation. My spirits sank. Maybe she was going to have me even up the rows. Maybe even arrange them in height order.
“Dammit, why the hell are there so many people creeping around here in the middle of the night?“ she finally snarled, stomping one foot.
Exactly the way I'd felt the previous two nights, when I was trying to skulk around an office that seemed suddenly more heavily populated than it was in the daytime.
But tonight, I was hoping a few more people would show up, and that one of them would manage to get the drop on her.
Of course, to do that, he or she would have to be actually creeping, instead of thrashing around like a drunken giraffe. If you asked me, there weren't nearly enough people creeping around.
Perhaps I could get the drop on her myself. I had been so cooperative that perhaps she was beginning to take that for granted. I worked on trying to look apathetic and despondent, while actually keeping my body tense for a leap. And holding my bandage up in plain sight, to remind her that I was temporarily disabled.
“Come on, Ninja lady,“ Frankie said. “Fun's fun – why don't you let us go now.“
“Ninja lady?“ I echoed.
“Shut up,“ Liz said.
“That's what Ted always called her,“ Frankie said. “Cause she always wore black.“
“Actually, he called her that because he'd seen her in action, negotiating a contract,“ Keisha said.
I sighed. If only I'd taken more people into my confidence, maybe I'd have found out Liz was the Ninja before the situation became quite this difficult.
Liz was digging in her purse. “Damn,“ she said. “I could have sworn I brought another clip. I'm not sure I have enough ammo for all these people.“
“Don't you just hate that?“ I said. “You plan a quiet little murder and all these freeloaders show up.“
Liz just glared at me and continued rummaging through her purse – though, unfortunately, without quite taking her eyes off me.
“What kind of heartless cynic are you?“ Rico exclaimed. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? This is serious!“
“Very serious,“ I said. “Or at least way too solemn.“ Which seemed to baffle him. He stared at me, and looking back, J could see that I was doing so from the other side of a gap – in fact, an uncrossable chasm. The chasm between people who take life very seriously and those of us who laugh to keep from crying. The people who stand around lugubriously at funerals saying things like, “At least he didn't suffer“ or “Doesn't she look lifelike?“ and those of us who want to tell tall tales about what a wonderful old reprobate he was and imagine how she'd laugh if she could see the sideshow. The people who sob long-neglected prayers on the steps of the guillotine and those of us who know God will forgive us if we have to banter with the executioner to keep our courage up, as if laughter were a gauntlet we could throw in the face of death.
Or maybe I'm just a heartless cynic. “Sorry,“ I said. “Just ignore me. It's how I cope.“
“It's called displacement,“ Dr. Lorelei said. “Patients who – “
“Shut up!“ Liz shouted. “All of you just shut up!“ They shut up. For about ten seconds. Then Frankie piped up.
“Can't we even –?“
“That's it!“ Liz shrieked. “I've had it. Gag them. Gag them all. I don't want to hear another peep out of them.“
I've heard of Stockholm syndrome, when hostages start identifying with their captives and taking their side. I didn't think I was quite at that point, but I had to agree: things were a lot more peaceful when I'd put strips of silver duct tape over everyone's mouths. I felt a little guilty, but I could hear myself think again, and since I was the only one still able to do anything about rescuing us, if she ever gave me half a chance, I figured anything that helped me keep my wits about me was a good thing.
“That's better,“ Liz said. “I can hear myself think again.“
Maybe it wasn't a good thing. It scared
me that I was thinking the same thing Liz was thinking.
So use that, I told myself. If I were the one holding the gun, and my idea of what would be a nice, quiet way to dispose of inconvenient witnesses had gone to hell this badly, what would I be thinking?
No good. I'd be thinking how crazy it was, planning to shoot all these people. But for Liz, apparently, it was just another case of doing whatever needed to be done to take care of the problem. I could use that.
“Listen, I don't want to upset you or anything,“ I said, “but if I could make a practical suggestion…“
She gestured with her gun, in a way that I assumed meant for me to go ahead.
“With every person who barges in here, the odds of your getting out of this scot-free are shrinking,“ I said. “Why don't you just… well, you know… come clean. Turn yourself in. Everyone here knew Ted – I'm sure you could have a dozen witnesses to testify to what you had to put up with from Ted.“
Around the room, silver-trimmed heads bobbed vigorously.
“With a good criminal attorney, you'd get off with probation or something,“ I went on. “Maybe even acquittal – the way the chief's been handling this, odds are he's made all kinds of errors that would help you get off – he probably has no chain of custody for the evidence. I'm sure there are procedural problems with the searches, or some of the people he's questioned.“
“You've been playing Lawyers from Hell,“ she said. “I can tell. Everyone plays that damned game for an hour or two and thinks they know my job better than I do after three years of law school and four years of practice. Do you have any idea how hard law school was?“ , “Yes, I heard all about it from Rob,“ I said. “He – “
“Rob!“ she shouted. “He thinks he had it tough! Your parents paid his tuition, all his expenses. I had to work my way through college and law school. Do you think he has any idea what that was like? Any idea what I had to do?“
Something occurred to me – I remembered that on Ted's blackmail list, the Ninja's name had a note: “xxx pix.“
“No, but Ted knew, didn't he?“ I said. “The pornographic pictures, right?“
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