"Upsetting," I murmured.
He shot me a grateful look. "Afterwards, I said I was going for a long walk, did anybody want to come. I didn't think they would. It was raining, and the wind was blowing hard." The knife sagged. "I went back to Hugo."
Angie made a disgusted noise but didn't say anything, thank God.
"I hid the bike behind that stack of crates, and I used your cart to wheel him to the ice house, Angie." Keith's voice choked.
I thought of Hugo's mutilated corpse and clenched my teeth. I had to think like Keith. What did he want me to say? "It was clever of you to use the ice bin." I didn't look at Angie. Marianne gasped and began to sob.
Keith's eyes shifted. "I just... At first, I was stalling for time. Then I remembered the harvest schedule. I knew it would be a while before Bianca needed to use the ice house. I could move the body later."
"But you didn't go back?"
"N-no. I couldn't make myself go out there." He drew another ragged breath. "And what the hell does it matter? I'm getting away from here, and Hrubek's going with me. It'll take Dale awhile to drive out. We'll be long gone by the time he reaches the farm."
"You mean you've been planning your getaway?" Del rumbled.
The right question.
"You're damned right I was. I had it all figured out. I was going to slip away during the fucking reception." Keith sounded proud of himself. His mouth tightened. "I figured nobody'd miss me."
Poor baby. Bianca should have asked him to sing. I swallowed my revulsion.
"I kept calling the hospital." Keith shifted the arm across Hrubek's chest. Hrubek's eyes were closed. "When they said Jason had developed pneumonia, I thought I'd have time to make a smooth exit. He wasn't supposed to regain consciousness." He cursed comprehensively.
I was thinking about the escape plan. The Cherokee had four-wheel drive. An all-terrain vehicle. On the other hand, it was bright red. Also, driving with one hand and holding a knife on an unbound prisoner was not a very practical proposition. Of course, Hrubek wasn't part of the original plan. He was, so to speak, a bonus.
I said, "About the Cherokee, won't it be difficult--"
"There's a gun in the glove compartment." Keith's voice hardened. "There's a rope. I know what I'm doing. I'll tie Hrubek up in the back seat. I know a guy with a plane." There were half a dozen small landing strips in the area. "If there's no pursuit, I'll leave Hrubek in the car at the airfield. Otherwise--" He made the clicking sound associated with a throat-cutting gesture. "Tell Dale--"
I said slowly, "It won't work, Keith. Maybe Dale will hold off for now, but you can't count on it. My husband used to negotiate with hostage takers, persuade them to surrender peacefully. The last time he tried it, the lieutenant in charge called in the SWAT team while Jay was still talking. The man who was holding the hostages was shot to doll ribbons." And Jay was caught in the cross-fire.
What was likely to happen here was that Dale would pull in as Keith was leaving, give chase, shoot out the tires or some damned thing, and Keith would panic. He would kill Hrubek and be killed himself. Everybody would lose.
"I don't think it will work," I repeated. "Look, they can't charge you with first degree murder if you turn yourself in. It was manslaughter, maybe even self defense. A fight that got out of control. That happens. People will understand. Hugo provoked you, didn't he?"
"He saw me with--" Keith glanced at his rigid wife. "He saw something, and he misinterpreted. He was going to report it."
Mary. I hesitated, threw the dice. "There's something you should know before you make any decisions. I found Mary Sadat today. At the airport."
Bianca wheeled. Keith said something.
"She's alive?" Angie squeaked.
I nodded.
"Oh, thank God." Angie began to cry.
I kept my eyes on Keith. The knife in his right hand didn't waver, but the left clenched on Hrubek's jacket. I stopped breathing.
Chapter 17
What I'd done was not very wise, because I didn't know for sure how Keith had interpreted Mary's disappearance. I hoped he hadn't been play-acting the day we searched the farm for her. He had seemed genuinely distressed.
That Mary might have disappeared voluntarily had occurred to no one, certainly not to me. The police had been looking for a body, and the assumption was that whoever killed Hugo had also done away with Mary. When Mary disappeared, Keith must have been baffled, even terrified. Perhaps he even thought someone was framing him.
Keith's silence lengthened.
I licked my dry lips. "Were you afraid the police would charge you with Mary's abduction?" Or Mary's murder. I didn't want to say that word.
The knife sagged again. Keith nodded and licked his lips, as if they were dry too.
"Well, they won't now. All you have to contend with is a manslaughter charge." I kept my voice smooth and soft. I was lying madly, ignoring the small matter of Jason's wreck, the mutilation of Hugo's body, and the other attempts to shift the blame to innocent people. I hoped Keith wouldn't spot my omissions. The blue stare held steady. So far so good.
"Mary will be a friendly witness, Keith. She likes you." I was tolerably sure Mary had no idea Keith had killed Hugo. Mary had been afraid of Bianca, not Keith. Understandable, given that Mary was canoodling with Bianca's husband under Bianca's nose. I thought of Mike Wallace's forlorn devotion and hoped Mary's misadventure would cure her of her taste for older men.
"You talked to Mary?" Keith was almost whispering.
"Not really, not in any detail."
He let out a long, relieved breath. Maybe, I thought, his misadventure would cure him of his taste for younger women. I doubted it. It was a good thing I hadn't claimed to know more of his relationship with Mary than I had.
Bianca said, "I suppose you were having an affair with her." She sounded indifferent. Her back was to the French doors, so I couldn't see her face.
Keith glanced at her and tightened his left-handed grip on Hrubek. Keith's arms must have been getting tired by then. He didn't respond to Bianca.
Angie blew her nose. The noise exploded in the silence. Keith jumped. I jumped. Hrubek winced.
"You found Mary at the airport?" Angie sounded wounded. "Where was she going?"
I suppose Angie imagined herself in Mary's confidence. Certainly she thought of Mary as her protegé. I could sympathize with the ego blow, but it was not the time for convoluted explanations. "She was there with her sister, Angie. Finding her was pure luck."
"Sister? I don't understand."
At that point, I made a mistake. I glanced at my watch.
Keith's right hand jerked. Hrubek made a noise halfway between a gasp and a hiss, and Keith's grip tightened. "I'm getting out of here. Now. I need to get away--now!"
The wheels of my mind spun. "Christ, Keith. Think. You're a smart man, a PhD. If you take Hrubek off as a hostage, you not only make yourself liable to a kidnapping charge, you also lose the benefit of any doubt the prosecutor may have about Hugo's death."
He wasn't listening. He began moving sideways, toward the archway, toward me. "Get out of the way."
I stood my ground. "Kidnapping's a federal offence. Do you want the FBI on your tail? I don't know what arrangements you've made with your pilot, but I'll bet you didn't tell him you were a fugitive from justice." That was shaky. If, as I had begun to suspect, the friend was some kind of drug runner, he wouldn't care that Keith was fleeing to avoid prosecution.
"Besides," I added, inspired, "he won't be waiting for you. He's expecting you after dark. You'll have to hang around some dinky airstrip for hours, Keith. By that time, Dale will have all the cops in the county hunting for you, or hunting for your landing field, which will be duck soup for those guys. They know every cranny of the Peninsula."
Keith hauled Hrubek another step in my direction but he was listening. I could tell because the blue eyes darkened. His pupils dilated, I guess. I kept watching his eyes.
I made my voice softer. "They'll th
row the book at you if you harm Hrubek. Honest, Keith. If you cooperate, though, if you let Frank go and wait for the police peacefully, Bianca will have time to call your lawyer."
"Mayer? That pompous jerk couldn't settle a speeding ticket."
I said, soothing, "He's probably not a criminal lawyer, but he'll know the right people to call. Come on, think about it. A really bigshot criminal lawyer like Kunstler or Bailey. You can afford the best in the country. Think what a guy like that could do to the Shoalwater County prosecutor."
He was thinking. He didn't say anything, but he frowned, he hesitated. I held my breath. I'd wondered what he'd planned to do for money. Bianca was the one with deep pockets. I had taken another risk. My luck would run out sooner or later.
Bianca came through. "Keith, honey," she said in a voice so throaty it would have done one of her father's leading ladies proud, "I'll call Paul, and I'll call Brevart in San Francisco, too. Mama's lawyer. He'll know what to do."
"Hell," Keith said. "Hell."
"The best defense money can buy, Keith. Come on, babe. Let us help you."
I took up the choral manipulation. "Where were you going, Keith? Mexico? That's a long flight in a light plane. The pilot will have to refuel a couple of times. Each time you land, you'll risk finding the police waiting for you. You'll have to pay the pilot for all that extra fuel, too, and you won't be able to use credit cards. Do you have enough money? Mexico is hard on people without money."
I was hoping he didn't have a secret cache of negotiable bonds. "Or was the guy just going to fly you to Portland? Believe me, by the time you get to Portland they'll be watching every ticket counter and departure gate. Dale's already in touch with the Portland police because of Mary."
"Hell," Keith repeated. "Oh, all right."
And it was over, just like that. He released Hrubek, who crumpled to the floor. Keith looked at the boning knife in his right hand as if he weren't sure how it had got there.
I was breathing like a runner. I held out my own hand, raising it very slowly, palm up. Our eyes locked again. Then he gave me the knife, reversing it and laying the hilt on my palm.
I edged sideways, out of his range, and walked to the fireplace. Angie, Del, and Marianne were staring at me. Marianne's mouth compressed in a tight line.
"It's your knife," I croaked. "Put it back where it belongs."
"I'd rather stick it in the bastard's guts." Her eyes, swollen with weeping, were hostile.
"Marianne..."
She gave a sniffle, took the knife from me, and half ran from the room.
Bianca was bending over Hrubek with Keith at her elbow. Keith looked dazed. I couldn't see Hrubek's face. To be truthful, I was more concerned about Keith. He would start thinking again at any moment.
I strode over to them. "Bianca, the lawyer."
"But Frank--"
"Angie can help him. Come on, Keith." When I touched his tweedy jacket, he shied like a spooked horse. I patted his arm. "Come and sit down."
"I, uh, okay." He followed where I led him, docile, but for how long? Never mind that Marianne was right, it was not the time for forthright expressions of opinion. Not yet. We had to keep Keith calm until Dale arrived, and God knew how long that would take. Keith could still panic.
Throughout the interminable scene, I had been listening for the patrol car, hoping it wouldn't roar up and impel Keith into murderous action. Now I wanted it to sweep up, lights, siren, and all. Not to mention Jay.
I led Keith over to the comfortable armchair Del used for serious drinking and got him to sit. I perched on the arm and kept my hand on Keith's sleeve. I wasn't going to let him out of touching distance until I saw him in handcuffs.
From the hallway, Bianca's voice rang clear and loud. She had a great many faults but dumb she was not. I heard her, Keith heard her. She was calling in the lawyers.
Angie had regained her composure and common sense. She knelt by Hrubek, talking to him in a low voice. When he stirred, she helped him sit up. I suppose he had fainted from the strain, as who shall blame him? I had feared a heart attack. I hoped he hadn't injured himself falling.
Angie said something, and Hrubek's voice rumbled a reply.
"Del," she called over her shoulder, "he wants a drink."
Keith shifted in the armchair.
I said, "That's a good idea, Del. Fix Keith a whiskey, too, will you?"
Del cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure, right away." He sounded as meek as one of his unshorn lambs. He poured Hrubek a jolt of neat scotch, then measured out two shots over ice cubes with a spritz of soda. He brought that glass to me.
When he saw my expression, he said, "He don't like it plain." Del didn't look at Keith.
Keith was not taking in the subtleties of the situation. He gulped his drink, ice clacking on his teeth, and gulped again. His hands were shaking.
I could sympathize with that. As the adrenaline ebbed, I had begun to tremble, too. I hoped Keith wouldn't notice. All I wanted to do was curl up somewhere and go to sleep, but that natural impulse was just going to have to wait.
Nobody was saying anything, nobody was looking at Keith. That was dangerous. Keith was a boy who liked the limelight. I tried to think of a distraction. Ideas popped up like crocuses in January and withered on the brainstem--the weather, politics, the baseball strike. I even considered mentioning the great folksongs that had come out of American jails. Fortunately, I thought better of the midnight special.
We waited. In the hallway, Bianca talked. She was onto a different lawyer now, her voice still calm and clear. Marianne came back with a glass of ice water for Hrubek, and between the two women they got Hrubek to his feet. He announced with dignity that he had to use the bathroom, and Angie took him off to the residential wing. He leaned on her.
I watched them out of sight. If Keith had hurt Hrubek I would never have forgiven myself--or Bianca. Maybe I wouldn't forgive Bianca anyway. It was her fault that Hrubek was there at all. At least she wasn't a murderer.
Suddenly I remembered the blasted reception. I did not look at my watch again, but I was sure hours had passed. At any moment half a dozen slavering journalists would start circling the farm like jackals. I did not doubt I would be the raw meat Bianca would toss to them.
Marianne said something to Del. He shook his head no. They glared at each other, and Del went back to the fireplace. He sat incongruously on Bianca's hassock. I could feel him watching Keith, keeping his distance, but Marianne walked over to me.
"Is there anything I can do, Lark?" She still avoided looking at Keith.
I suppressed a wild impulse to tell her to whip up a coffee cake. "You could help Angie with Frank Hrubek. See if he wants a doctor."
The lines of her face eased. She nodded and glided off, once again a woman with an understandable purpose in life.
Keith had finished his whiskey and was staring at the ice cubes. I thought of the ice house the day Marianne and I found Hugo, and my gorge rose. How could Keith have done that? I had called him clever. I despised myself.
In the hallway, Bianca fell silent. I heard the phone click as she hung up the receiver. Keith's head turned. He watched his wife re-enter the living room, walking slow and careful. I thought she might ignore him and go over to the sunlit window again, but she turned and came to us.
She faced Keith without expression. "I left an urgent message for Paul Mayer."
Keith jerked up straight in the armchair. "Message!"
Her mouth tightened. "He wasn't in, Keith. It's Sunday. I'm sure he'll come right out as soon as he listens to his tape. Brevart is flying up tomorrow morning to coordinate your defense."
Keith's shoulders eased back against the chair.
"I left word for the twins to call, too."
He stiffened again. "No! Don't tell them yet."
Bianca's intense brown eyes were bleak as winter. "They have to know what's going on."
"I can't talk to the boys." I could feel Keith's agitation.
It
was unlikely that he'd be free to talk to his sons anytime soon, but Bianca refrained from saying so. She turned to me instead. "What time is it in Italy?"
After a blank moment, I cast my mind back to my last trip to Europe. "Uh, nine or ten hours' difference, I think."
"Too late, then. I'll call Mama and Fee in the morning."
"I need another drink." Keith's voice held a tight edge of hysteria.
Del stirred on the hassock, but Bianca took the empty glass and strode to the drinks trolley. She splashed scotch over the half-melted ice cubes and brought the glass back. No seltzer.
Keith took it from her, swallowed, grimaced. Bianca rubbed her hands on her tunic, as if the brief contact with her husband had been physically soiling. "About the reception tonight, Lark, I've been thinking..."
Thinking? When had she had time to think? I tried to frame a diplomatic response.
"Hi, guys."
Our heads jerked.
Mike Wallace bounced into the room from the conference wing. He must have come down the spiral staircase from the computer room. "Hi! What's happening?"
All of us gaped at him. After a moment, Del stood up. "Come out to the kitchen with me, son."
"Hey..."
Del took Mike's arm and led him away.
So there we were, Bianca, Keith, and I, all set for a tête à tête. Keith stirred.
At random, I said, "That song you played at Hugo's memorial service, Keith, the Scottish song..."
"The Lament for Charles Stuart."
"You sounded so sad. That was why I decided you hadn't killed Hugo deliberately." I was just trying to make conversation, but I realized with a small jolt that I had stumbled on the truth. Of course, I hadn't known at the time what had really happened. In fact, the song had misled me into thinking Keith was innocent. He was not innocent, just not guilty of murder.
Keith began to cry. I took the glass from him and handed it to the still-expressionless Bianca. Then I patted his shoulders. "Will ye no' come back again?" Not if you're dead. Keith buried his face in his hands and wept. I patted. I was damned if I was going to hug him.
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