The Answer Man

by Roy Johansen

  He didn’t say anything. He took another long drag on the cigarette.

  “What’s going on, Ken?”

  He searched for the right words. “You know, there haven’t been a lot of people I could count on in this world. Not really. Nobody who tells the truth to himself or anybody else. Nobody except you.”

  She frowned. “What’s this about?”

  “Even when you left me for Bill, it was because I practically pushed you out. You were always honest with me.”

  She gave him a bewildered look.

  Maybe she was bewildered, he thought. Maybe she didn’t know any of this. God, he couldn’t stop hoping.

  “Why’d you do it, Margot?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You and Burton Sabini.”

  “Burton Sabini?”

  “Christ, Margot. Don’t fucking lie to me!”

  “What is this all about?”

  “Look, I want to hear your side of it.”

  “Side of what?”

  She was looking at him as if he were crazy. He studied her. He probably knew her better than he knew anyone, and she seemed genuinely perplexed.

  He forged ahead. “I didn’t come here for you to lie to me. I want you to explain. Tell me why.”

  “There’s nothing to explain! I barely knew Burton Sabini. We worked at the same place for a while. He just got me the job there.”

  Doubt was starting to creep in. Margot wasn’t this good a liar….

  She continued. “Bill arranged it with him, and I was there until—”

  “Bill knew him?”

  “They were in the reserves together. I needed a job, and Bill talked him into giving me a good word. Dammit, Ken, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  She was telling the truth. She did not have the slightest idea what was going on.

  Bill.

  He hadn’t mentioned knowing Sabini. And now Bill knew everything there was to know about this case. Including the fact that Myth might know the identity of Sabini’s partner.

  “Holy shit,” Ken whispered.

  —

  Myth ran her hand under the showerhead, feeling the water and letting it spray against the beveled glass door.

  She hoped the hot shower would help her relax, but that would probably take a tranquilizer.

  It was happening again. And she couldn’t stop it.

  Gossip had already begun to circulate about her conduct in the Burton Sabini case, and more was certainly to follow in the days to come. Even if formal charges were not filed against her, such talk could have a devastating impact on her career.

  Career? That was only part of it. Ken was gone, and she was alone again. But that’s how she functioned best, wasn’t it? No one to answer to, no one to tell her what to do…

  She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she’d lose her looks someday, and she’d be as ugly as she felt inside.

  Good, she thought. She couldn’t wait.

  She peeled off her robe and stepped into the shower, letting the water massage her face and neck. She could not hear the phone ringing a few feet from the bathroom door.

  —

  “If you’re there, pick up!” Ken yelled into the pay phone. “Pick up!”

  No one did.

  He spoke urgently. “Sabini’s partner is Bill Aronson! If you get in, lock up and don’t open your door for anyone but me. I’m on my way over.”

  He hammered the hook and dialed another number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hound Dog, it’s me.”

  “I’m not talking to you.”

  “I’m sorry, but I need you to do something.”

  “Tough.”

  “Please. You’re closer than I am. Go to Myth Daniels’s house. If she’s there, get her out. If she’s not, don’t let her go in.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s not our killer, but she could be in danger. Be careful. If you get there and there’s a sign of anything wrong, get the hell away. I’m heading there right now.”

  “I just grabbed my keys and helmet. I’m on my way.”

  Ken slammed down the receiver and bolted for his car.

  —

  Bill wasn’t ready to give up his life.

  He walked up Myth Daniels’s long driveway and approached the winding stairs.

  Maybe he should’ve hopped the first plane out of the country. Maybe he should’ve skipped town as soon as he had the money. But no. He didn’t have the guts to start over.

  The whole time he and Sabini had planned their heist, it seemed so simple. Get the money, split it, and live happily ever after.

  But how? He could never tell Margot. He’d have to leave her. He couldn’t stay in the United States either. Not if he wanted to actually spend the money.

  He felt cheated. There had been the hard work: the research, the clandestine meetings with Sabini, coordinating the connections through his bank. All to make sure the transactions couldn’t be traced back to him. He thought Sabini’s ass was covered too. If only that special audit had come a few months later.

  But Sabini was indicted and the bastard got scared. He wanted to give back the money and call it a day. Which would have meant giving up Bill too. They had argued for months, until Sabini finally told him he was going to plea out despite having passed the D.A.’s polygraph test.

  Bill couldn’t let that happen.

  That night near the Underground, Sabini didn’t even fight back. Maybe he was drunk, or maybe he really wanted his sad, miserable life to be over.

  Bill knew he would eventually come up with a plan. As soon as he was through stomping out these annoying fires, he could concentrate on his future.

  The humid wind howled through the trees. It was getting dark.

  He stepped quietly toward the front door and tried it. Locked. He rang the doorbell.

  He waited a full minute, but there was no answer.

  He slipped on a pair of work gloves and punched a stained glass window next to the door frame, shattering it. He pulled apart two of the heavy wire borders and reached through to unlock the door.

  As he stepped over the threshold, he saw an alarm panel. No flashing lights, no alert. Myth Daniels had not yet activated her alarm for the evening. Bill cautiously stepped into the foyer, looking and listening for any sign of her. He heard a shower on the floor above.

  He turned and climbed the oak stairway.

  —

  Upstairs, Myth turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. God, she was tired. She shrugged on her robe, pulling the terry cloth against her body. She opened the bathroom door.

  Bed. She needed to forget everything until—

  A blade snapped to her throat. An arm hooked around her waist.

  She gasped.

  “Are you going to scream?”

  She could barely hear him. Her attention was riveted on the blade at her throat.

  “Are you going to scream?” he repeated.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Good. Then show me where you keep your files.”

  She still did not move.

  He shook her violently. “Your files!”

  She carefully led him down the hallway, aware that any sudden movement could drive the razor-sharp blade into her larynx.

  Her breathing was slow and measured even as her heart pounded furiously. She felt hyperaware of her surroundings.

  The sound of the man’s breathing.

  The stench from his oil-stained T-shirt.

  The coolness of the tiled floor on her bare wet feet.

  They passed an etched mirror on the wall. She stole a glance at it, recognizing the man immediately. She’d seen him the first night she had met Ken, at Elwood’s.

  He caught Myth’s glance but did not react.

  He didn’t care that she could recognize him, she realized. Because he was going to kill her.

  —

>   Traffic was piling up on the I-75/85 downtown connector, and it appeared to Ken that all the southbound lanes were jammed up ahead. Probably a Braves game, he thought. Shit.

  He took the shoulder and raced over mini–speed bumps to the next exit. He would have to try his luck on surface roads. The Mercedes slightly resisted the steep climb up the exit ramp, but gained power as it neared the traffic light at the top.

  He braked to a screaming halt behind an old pickup truck. Two teenagers sitting in the flatbed stared at him as he waited for the light to change.

  Please let her be away from home, he thought. If he was right about Bill, Myth could be in danger. And it would be nobody’s fault but his own.

  —

  “Open it.”

  Bill stepped back as Myth turned the key in her tall rosewood lateral file. The top drawer pulled open just below her eye level.

  “You know who I am, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Then I’m sure you know what files I want. Everything you have on Sabini.”

  She started pulling out folders. “You were his partner.”

  Bill smiled. “So were you, in a way. I need all your records for this case.”

  “Most of them are in my office.”

  “All in good time. Nothing can be left behind…except for these.”

  Still keeping a watchful eye on her, Bill reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out two rolled-up certificates, now quite crumpled, each with a gold seal.

  “Treasury notes?”

  “From Denmark. The cops will do some checking and find that a large number of these notes were purchased right after the money was stolen. They’ll find these notes that you accidentally left behind.”

  That she left behind? Myth tried not to look as terrified as she was.

  “You should appreciate this,” he said. “I’m just using your own plan. Yours and Michaelson’s. Kenny told me all about it. This way it’ll look like you’re the one who left town with the loot. Not Ken. Same scheme, different victim.” He smiled. “You’re a beautiful woman. I can see why Sabini was so nuts about you. He was in love with you, did you know that?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “You did know,” he said with a chuckle. “I saw him only a few times in those last couple of months, but whenever I did, you’re all he talked about. He never even told you, did he?”

  Still she did not reply.

  “Did he?”

  “No.”

  “That’s because he was weak. Scared. He had big dreams, but he didn’t have what it took to follow through. This whole scheme was his idea. He approached me. But he tried to chicken out half a dozen times. Right up until the end.”

  “You killed him,” she said without looking up. “Just like you’re going to kill me.”

  He said nothing.

  —

  Hound Dog skidded to a stop in Myth Daniels’s driveway. She dismounted and looked at the house. There were no lights on. She crept up the front stairs, inching her way to the door.

  It was ajar.

  The glass panel next to it was broken.

  She was too late.

  Hound Dog whipped out her cellular phone to punch 911. But before she could punch the second “1,” a hand reached out and pulled her into the house.

  The phone hit the floor.

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  A man with a knife pulled her close. “You must be Hound Dog. Ken just told me about you…and your motorcycle.”

  She tried to ignore the knife at her stomach. “And you would be…”

  He grabbed the back of her neck and guided her toward the stairway. With the knife rising to her chest, he steered her up the stairs and down the upstairs hallway.

  She tried not to cry out when she saw Myth Daniels bound and gagged on the office floor. Hound Dog couldn’t tell if the woman was alive or dead.

  “Why are you here?” he whispered.

  Hound Dog took stock of her surroundings. There had to be a way out. If she died tonight, it wasn’t going to be without a fight.

  “Did you hear me?” the man said, pressing the knife into her. A drop of blood appeared on her sweatshirt.

  “Yes,” Hound Dog said. “Don’t kill me. Please.”

  “We’ve already established that you’re going to die. The only question is, How painful does it have to be? The choice is yours.”

  Hound Dog nodded, and then, in one lightning-fast motion, she pulled sharply on the file drawer and rammed him on the chin.

  He stumbled back.

  His blade lunged at her.

  She ducked, but wasn’t fast enough. It swiped the side of her neck.

  The slash felt cold. Wet.

  He fell to the floor.

  She stumbled, but regained her footing as she hurtled through the doorway. She could hear him pulling himself up behind her.

  Not much time, think fast…

  She jumped through a doorway and yanked the door closed behind her. It was a large closet, but she could see light underneath another door at the far end. She moved through the closet, pushing and burrowing through the clothes and boxes. Keep pushing, a little farther…

  She reached the other door, and turned the knob.

  Locked.

  Dammit!

  She fought desperately with the knob.

  She froze.

  He was coming down the hallway. His footsteps stopped in front of the closet.

  Did he know she was in there?

  She didn’t breathe.

  Why didn’t he move on?

  He was listening.

  Waiting for her to do something stupid.

  The seconds ticked by. She had to take a breath. Surely he would hear her.

  He moved away. She heard his footsteps echoing in the hallway.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  They receded, then became muffled as he entered the other room.

  The bastard had a plan, she thought. She was pretty sure the only way down to the first floor was the staircase at the far end of the hall. He was starting at that end so he could work his way back.

  He was sealing her in.

  Escape was out of the question. She had to get to a phone.

  Maybe there was one in the room on the other side of the closet door.

  If only it wasn’t locked…

  Her neck still felt cold. Numb. She yanked a sweater down and dabbed it against her wound.

  She crept back toward the hallway and listened.

  The man was still in the bedroom.

  She peered out, then silently moved toward the next room. Her eyes were trained at the end of the hallway, where he could appear at any moment.

  As she approached the door, she noticed it was slightly ajar.

  Would it creak? Better not take the chance. She sucked in a deep breath and shimmied through, brushing only slightly against the door.

  Please, please, please let there be a phone.

  In the dim light she saw one on the end table. She lifted the receiver.

  Before she could dial, she heard that tapping sound on the hallway tile.

  His footsteps.

  She dropped the handset and scrambled for the door, pressing herself against the wall behind it.

  She waited.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The footsteps stopped.

  The door slowly creaked open. It swung closer and closer, stopping only inches from her face.

  She imagined he was looking around the room. The phone was off the hook, dangling from the end table.

  “We can work out a deal, young lady.”

  She didn’t breathe.

  He took a step inside.

  This was it, she thought. Her last chance…

  She threw herself against the heavy wooden door. It swung at the man, striking his back and shoulders with bone-crunching force.

  He doubled over and staggered a few steps.

  Hound Dog jumped from the other side and
grabbed his wrist with both hands. With more speed than strength she shoved his fist—and the knife—into his stomach.

  He dropped to his knees. A crimson stain grew on his shirt.

  She jumped over him and started running toward the staircase. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow coming after her. Before she could react, he slid across the hallway and grabbed her ankles.

  She screamed.

  She tumbled down the first flight of stairs, her arms and legs banging and bruising as she tried to slow herself. She caught brief glimpses of the man sprawled above her, waiting to pounce again.

  She finally collapsed on the landing. Her right leg throbbed. Was it broken? God, no…

  The man jammed his knife into a wooden step and pulled himself down. He pulled the blade free and jammed it into the next one.

  He was working his way down to her, one step at a time….

  —

  Ken’s stomach lurched at the sight of Bill’s car parked at the curb.

  He was too late.

  He sped into the driveway, barely clearing the brick mailbox, then braking to avoid hitting Hound Dog’s motorcycle. He leapt from the car and ran up the front stairs two at a time.

  A woman screamed.

  He looked to the bay window at his right.

  They were on the landing. Hound Dog’s back was to him, and Bill was standing over her.

  Ken threw his legs over the railing, calculating the distance. Seven, maybe eight feet across.

  A moment of doubt. Don’t think, he told himself. No time.

  He kicked away from his perch, keeping his head low as he crashed through the bay window.

  His first sensations were purely of sound.

  The smashing of glass.

  The low-pitched breaking and splintering of wood.

  He felt his skin sliced in a dozen places at once—his head, shoulders, arms, legs…

  His eyes closed, he collided with Bill. They fell against the stairs.

  The knife spun crazily out of Bill’s hand.

  Stunned, Ken was vaguely aware of Hound Dog jumping for it, but Bill was faster. Bill grabbed the knife and held it against Hound Dog’s throat.

  “Don’t move. I’m finishing it, Kenny!”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Ken stood and pulled out his gun. Warm wind whistled through the shattered windowpanes, but he couldn’t have felt more chilled.