It was a bad idea to waste time getting lost, especially with a gun in his pocket, but Dennis enacted a rushed version of the same meandering routine he went through every time he was in the building. Thankfully, a number of the offices seemed to have cleared out early, and he didn’t encounter anyone on his path to Harding’s practice. A lucky turn brought a familiar gold plaque into view.
Dennis squared his shoulders. This was it. He tried the door handle, found it unlocked, and stepped inside. The receptionist’s desk was empty, but that was hardly surprising. The door to the inner office was open, and the sounds of rustling papers came from within. Dennis approached cautiously, catching sight of Harding at his desk just as the psychiatrist looked up.
“Ah, Dennis. Lock the door, please.” Harding continued to shuffle through the documents on his desk, arranging them into piles which he then slid into folders. Dennis obliged the request, but he didn’t turn his back. “Thank you,” Harding said after the deadbolt had slid into place. “I trust you have what I asked for?”
“Maybe,” replied Dennis. Harding looked mildly annoyed.
“Really, Dennis, there’s no need for games. Do you have the key or don’t you?”
Dennis glanced at the desk. “Where’s Luke’s money?” As an answer, Harding pulled open a drawer and tossed a sealed envelope into view. “Let me see it.” Dennis nodded at the the parcel. “I’m familiar with the bait-and-switch.”
“This is growing tiresome,” Harding said, but he opened the envelope to display a neat stack of bills. “Now, if you’re satisfied, suppose you hand over my property.”
Dennis pulled out the key, but stayed standing where he was. “Explain to me why I should give it to you.” Harding’s face reddened.
“Need I remind you that your well-being is at stake? And that of your friends?”
“That’s not what I’m asking about.” Dennis gestured with the key, keeping a tight grip on it. “If you and Eric were working together, why should you get to keep all of the money?”
“I do not need to explain myself to you.”
Dennis continued to speak, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. “See, I know the two of you had an argument, and I know that Evy died during it. What I can’t figure out is why you didn’t try to make amends afterward. It would have been easier than waiting forty-six years. I figure that Eric had a reason to hate you.”
Harding slammed his hand onto the desk. “That man would have had nothing if it hadn’t been for me! He was a fugitive from England, and I helped him when he had nobody else to turn to! Then he spent all of his money on that damned house, and repaid me with a stab in the back!” He rose from his chair, shaking with fury. “I have waited too long and sacrificed too much to see this all go to waste!” He snatched a keychain from the desk and fumbled to open a locked drawer.
Dennis guessed at the man’s motive and pulled Spinner’s revolver from his pocket. “Hold it!” Harding froze, his eyes trained on the weapon. “I came here to give you what you wanted, Sam, but I deserve an explanation first. You were using me from the beginning, and I want to know why.” He motioned with the barrel of the gun. “Throw the keys over there.”
Harding glared icily, but threw the keychain away. It clattered against the wall and fell out of sight behind the psychiatrist’s couch. “There, are you happy?”
Dennis used his upper-handed moment to repeat the question that had been bothering him. “Why me, Sam? Why did you set me up for this?”
Harding sneered. “You’re a lousy con artist, Dennis. You’re too honest, and you get personally involved.” A loathsome smirk replaced the glower. “Does your wife know that your relationship started off as a scam?”
Damn Luke’s big mouth, Dennis thought. He was the only one who could have told Harding about that. The accusation was true, at least in part: Alena had been an unwitting player in a minor confidence scheme, but only because Dennis had wanted an excuse to see her. He had confessed to everything later on, but he was still unhappy that Harding knew about it.
“She knows,” Dennis said. His arm was getting tired from holding the gun outstretched, and he let it fall to rest beside his hip. “So, what was it? You figured that Elspeth and I would become friends, is that it? I know you placed the ad with her in mind.” Harding folded his arms. “Then what? I convince her to come to you, she sells you the house, and you spend your retirement looking for this?” He waved the key again.
Harding smiled, still standoffish. “I can see you have it all figured out.”
“Not quite,” Dennis said. “What happened to Evy?”
“Honestly, Dennis, why do you care so much about a dead tart?” Dennis cocked the hammer on the revolver. “It was Eric’s own fault!” Harding yelled. “If he’d cared less about the money than he did about his daughter, none of it would have happened!”
Dennis’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“The girl was diabetic.” Dennis knew that much already, but he kept listening. “I was providing her with insulin. Eric wouldn’t do it, being too afraid of getting caught and deported. Our last job went well, incredibly well, and I saw it as a chance for him to pay me back.”
“For what? For helping his daughter?”
“For everything!” Harding seethed at some internal memory. “The man was a terrible partner, and he always took more than he deserved.” He was shaking visibly. “We were arguing over it, yes, but he promised to meet me. To discuss things. I told him that if he wanted my continued help, he’d give me what I was rightfully owed!”
Dennis couldn’t believe his ears. “You blackmailed him with Evy’s life?”
“The choice was his!” spat Harding.
“And he chose his daughter!” Dennis shouted back. “He didn’t have the key, Sam! He gave it to Evy!”
Harding clenched his jaw so hard that his eyes watered. “I am through discussing this.”
Dennis whipped the gun back up to eye level. “She was waiting for her father to come home! Eric would have brought you the key himself, but he didn’t know where it was! And instead of listening to him, instead of talking to Evy, you kept him out of the house and away from his dying daughter.” He felt almost as sick as he did enraged. “My god, Sam, you murdered her!”
Harding stared at the revolver, his bravado gone. “Dennis, there’s just over a million dollars in that safety deposit box. Some of it can be yours.”
He’s begging, Dennis thought, disgusted.
Harding continued quietly. “Maybe I was mistaken, all those years ago. Maybe I really was responsible for the girl’s death, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.” He folded his hands imploringly. “Dennis, please, think. Malcolm Spinner is emotionally unstable, and Elspeth Palin is close to death. Other than the two of them, nobody but us knows anything.” He parted his hands again, forcing a smile. “Things don’t need to be this way, Dennis. I’ll gladly share the money with you. Just give me the key.”
“You know what?” Dennis said. “Here.” He threw the key at Harding, hitting him in the chest. “It won’t do you any good anyway.”
While Harding stooped to retrieve the key, Dennis walked forward and snatched Luke’s envelope. “I’m taking this,” he said. “Just so we’re clear.” He started to head towards the door, but Harding’s voice stopped him.
“What did you mean by that, Dennis?” Harding stood, the key clutched in his hand. “That it wouldn’t do me any good?” Dennis slid the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket.
“I mean the box is empty, Sam.” He turned back to face the man. “There’s nothing in it but some jewelry.”
Harding snorted, but he looked uneasy. “You don’t know that. You don’t even know which bank it’s in. Anyone who does is dead.”
“Eric could have told someone.”
“I think not.” The psychiatrist smirked. “His family thought he was a sculptor. He wouldn’t risk losing them by confessing to the truth.”
Dennis nodded
, his eyes falling towards the floor. Well, so much for sane explanations. “Evy knew.”
“She’s dead, Dennis,” Harding sighed.
“I’m aware. It didn’t stop her from talking.”
“That’s not –”
“How did you think that Elspeth has been living?” interrupted Dennis, looking back up. “The house might be hers, but she still needs to pay for food and gardening supplies.” And investigators, he added silently. “She found the key eight years ago. Evy told her what it opened.” He suddenly felt very tired. And cranky. “I don’t care what you think. You can check for yourself. The money’s all gone. Spent.”
Harding stared in disbelief, his eyes going from Dennis to the key in his hand. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“It might seem like a novel concept, but yes.” He stepped back towards the center of the room, bringing the gun up again. “I think it’s time for you to retire, Sam. I hear Florida’s popular.”
Harding looked deflated. “And what,” he asked, “is to stop me from from reporting you for theft, Dennis? Well in excess of three thousand dollars now, I might add.”
Dennis unbuttoned a section of his shirt, revealing the tiny microphone taped to his chest. “Spinner still has a few friends on the force,” he said. “Also, a lot of really neat equipment in the trunk of his car.”
“I see.” The psychiatrist breathed out, his last bastion conquered. “Florida, you say?”
“I don’t care where you go, as long as I never see you again.” He walked forward, pointing the revolver directly between Harding’s eyes. “And if I do...” He pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped down on an empty chamber. “I’ll keep the bullets in next time.”
Nearly Departed Page 39
