I'd Kill For That

by Marcia Talley

  “To protect Lincoln’s family?” he suggested. “Miranda? She’d do anything to protect her.”

  “Not pay Salinger and let him go on bleeding her—and hanging around,” she answered. “No, there’s something else we still don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” Unconsciously, she increased her stride. It would give her intense pleasure to fix Jason Salinger—permanently. She just needed the one final card, then she would be ready to play her hand. And Toni Sinclair had that; it would just be a matter of persuading her that it was in her interest to give it to Tiffany. After all, they wanted the same thing, just for different reasons.

  “I’m coming with you,” Roman stated.

  “No you’re not! I’ve a much better chance alone.”

  He said nothing, but kept pace with her.

  “No, you’re not,” she repeated.

  Again he ignored her. They were moving swiftly towards Toni Sinclair’s house. There was not much time left for argument, and she had no authority to make him go away. She stopped abruptly.

  “Look, Roman, this has got to succeed. If we make a mess of it this time, we won’t get another chance. You like her, yes? In fact, you more than like her.”

  He colored faintly.

  “Maybe she likes you,” she went on. It was ruthless. Toni Sinclair probably didn’t even know he was alive, but there was no time to be delicate. “Just get out, and leave me to do this! Please!”

  Reluctantly, he stood still. He nodded, unhappy, embarrassed.

  “Sorry,” she added, then walked away, leaving him standing there. She almost ran the last fifty yards to the door and beat on it hard until Toni opened it. Tiffany pushed her way in without asking.

  “Look. I don’t know—” Toni began.

  “There’s no time,” Tiffany dismissed her protests. “I’m a private detective. I work for Isobel Clancy, your sister-in-law. She knows Lincoln was murdered.”

  Toni was pale already; now she grew white as a sheet. What on earth did Tiffany mean?

  Tiffany took her by the shoulders and guided her backwards to the sofa. “If you’re going to faint, do it there. It’ll hurt less. Mrs. Clancy doesn’t think you did it, certainly not personally. She isn’t looking for revenge. She’d much rather it was all hushed up, primarily because she doesn’t want anyone knowing the very good reason you had for suddenly wanting your husband dead.”

  Toni said nothing, just collapsed and sat blinking—numb.

  “The schoolgirls?” Tiffany prompted, just to make sure Toni was following. “Was it Jason Salinger who actually killed him?”

  Toni nodded again, slowly.

  “And you’ve been paying him blackmail ever since?”

  Toni’s voice was hoarse, as if she could barely breathe. “He wants me to marry him. I don’t know what to do!”

  Tiffany had not thought anything could shock her, but the thought of this woman’s predicament was enough to chill her to the bone. She imagined being in the same position and it made her stomach heave.

  “For God’s sake, don’t!” she said.

  Toni whispered. “If I don’t, he’ll—he’ll tell the police I asked him to kill Lincoln—and paid him. I didn’t! I just said I wished he was dead! I didn’t mean anyone to do it! But I paid him to keep quiet. It’s too late now.” She gulped. “Nobody would believe me. I hated Lincoln for what he did to me. He destroyed what I thought I had! He smashed it all. I loved who I thought he was, who he pretended to be.” She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

  Tiffany was desperately sorry for her, but she could not afford to stop now to offer comfort. That would have to come later, when she had dealt with Jason Salinger. Now at last she knew how it had happened. Poor, stupid Toni! And yet, who hasn’t ever said they wished someone would fall under a bus or drop dead? They didn’t mean it!

  “Just hang in there,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “It’ll be sorted out. Don’t do anything stupid. Lock the door, take a hot shower, and look after yourself. Don’t get drunk! I might have something good to tell you.”

  And she went out, leaving Toni still sitting with her head bowed.

  * * *

  The wind was gusting harder, and it was nearly dark when she faced Jason Salinger in one of the private rooms in the club. No one felt like having a party tonight and there were plenty of places to choose from. This one served her purpose very well. She put on only one small light, and it gave the place an eerie quality, with the wind rattling the awnings outside and moaning around the eaves.

  “It was very cleverly done,” she said with mock admiration. “All-around a good plan—nice mixture of opportunism and preparation. You discover Lincoln Sinclair has a taste for young girls and his wife knows about it.” She looked at his face in the lamplight. “You go and comfort her distress,” she went on. “She says she wishes Lincoln were dead. So you oblige. You were the one who had designed that very special headset for him, and you knew he wore it all the time when he was listening to one of his favorite tunes. Sooner or later he was bound to go and sit on the john with it, plug it in to the amplifier you hot-wired. And then…” she clapped her hands together, “no more Lincoln. What a ludicrous end for a man of his talent, eh? Electrocuted with his pants down! Ironically satisfying.”

  “You can’t prove I tampered with that amp,” he said calmly.

  “I know you did,” she replied. “The unit was perfectly all right when it left the bench where the last technician upgraded it according to your instructions, because he tested it himself.”

  “It needs grounding to electrocute someone, sweetheart!” he said with a sneer.

  “I know that!” she snapped. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but they have sophisticated testing equipment in the workrooms! The technician checked it out thoroughly. And he’ll swear to that. He gave it to you to take and pack up for Lincoln. It wasn’t unwrapped until Lincoln had it installed.”

  He looked paler, but not pale enough. He wasn’t frightened—not really. She had just proven him guilty of murder, and he wasn’t sweating.

  “Except, I didn’t touch it,” he said with a slow smile. “I took it straight to the delivery room. Five minutes tops. And I can prove that. It would take half an hour for the sort of modification that killed him. Sorry, angel, but I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have. I may be a computer whiz, but I’m not a master electrician. I just let Toni think so because she feels as guilty as hell, and she’ll pay me for it very nicely. Maybe she did it herself? Ever thought of that?”

  “I don’t believe you!” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice. She did believe him, that was the sickening thing. He was a total opportunist, but perhaps he didn’t have the nerve or the skill to have killed Lincoln. Anyway, why would he? Simply to blackmail Toni? Too big a risk. No—she believed he had just taken his chance. “Who could prove you didn’t have it for hours?” She needed to know. If he couldn’t prove it, she might still break him.

  “Gus Devon and Arnie Whyte,” he answered without hesitation. “Sorry, sweetheart! You lose! Not very good, are you?” He straightened up from where he had been leaning against the mantel. “Is that all? Can’t stay, I have an appointment to keep. I’m going to be married soon, and I have things to do. Good night! Take care, or you’ll get wet. We’re going to have a hell of a storm.”

  Tiffany was so furious her teeth were clenched till her jaw ached. She stood still in the half-light trying to marshal her thoughts, till she heard the door open and thought perhaps it was Jason come back again. But it was Roman Gervase.

  “You lost,” he said quietly, seeing it in her face. “What happened?”

  She told him, trying to swallow the self-pity and disgust.

  “It doesn’t have to have been done before it was delivered,” he said steadily, a tiny thread of excitement rising in his voice. “Lincoln took that headset with him everywhere in his briefcase. Jason could have come by afterwards, anytime, at Lincoln’s home or at his office, and rigged the a
mplifier privately at his leisure!”

  “How would he get in?” she asked.

  “He was in control of the security of their house!” he replied. “I know that because Lincoln told me himself. Who better to break in and rewire the whole thing?”

  She stared at him incredulously. “You mean … do you think he did it?”

  “Who cares?” He shrugged. “He can’t prove he didn’t! Maybe he did? Maybe he killed Lincoln for his own reasons. Maybe he’s been threatening Toni all this time, and that’s why she paid him, so he wouldn’t electrocute her! Or worse, Miranda! He’s got the skills. He wants her, and he’s obsessive.”

  “Hasn’t he waited rather a long time for an obsession?” she said reluctantly.

  “Building up the pressure.” He dismissed the criticism. “He had to wait a decent interval, or she wouldn’t marry him, and that’s what he wants—the house, the money, the boat, and her—the whole lot. Worth waiting for, don’t you think? Especially for a man like him, ambitious, clever—but not clever enough.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, excitement and the taste of victory boiling up inside her. “Yes—exactly! Roman, you’re brilliant!” She forbore from mentioning that he was also more than a little mad, but then maybe that was in the past. People should be allowed to get over their mistakes. Heaven knows she had a few to put behind her.

  “Only if it works,” he said guardedly. “We need to get him to threaten Toni again and tell her that he killed Lincoln for her, and that she has to marry him or else he’ll tell the police the whole thing. Except he wouldn’t, of course. He’d probably say she asked him enough questions to know how to wire it herself. He’s not going to take the blame for anything. He wouldn’t even admit the blackmail. He’d say she forced it on him to silence him.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t matter now. We’ve got to get Toni to ask him back, and we’ll tape it. Do you know how to do that?”

  “Do it?” said Roman with a grin. “My dear girl, electronic surveillance is my specialty!” He pulled an audiotape from his pocket and tapped it. “I’ve already done it! This should be enough to persuade Jason Salinger to go away—as far as possible—and stay there. All we need to do is confront him.”

  “You’re on!” Tiffany said decisively. “Delivered, trussed, and ready—one turkey called Jason Salinger!”

  * * *

  It worked—it worked perfectly. There were a few agonizing moments when it seemed he might slip away, but Toni had gained a sudden hope, and with hope, a confidence. She played him perfectly. Everything he had said to her before was played back to him from the recording, in the living room of her house, as the three watched him squirm.

  “I think you should leave Maryland,” Tiffany said when they faced him. “California would be a good idea. It’s another world, believe me.”

  “Alaska,” Roman amended. “And don’t come back. The case will remain open, and several copies of the tape will be available anytime. In the interests of your own safety, you should leave tonight. Like, right now.”

  Jason stood motionless. The seconds stretched out. He looked at Toni and saw that she was no longer afraid of him.

  Roman moved a step closer to Toni.

  She looked at him as if seeing him clearly, even recognizing him, for the first time.

  Tiffany found herself smiling. She could be about to make a great report to Isobel Clancy—and get paid!

  Jason Salinger knew when he was beaten. Better to escape while he could—and live to fight another battle, another day. He hadn’t done badly out of this—considering he had not actually done anything, or run any risks.

  “Thank you,” Toni said with profound sincerity.

  Salinger shrugged and walked away, tossing his last words over his shoulder at them. “But I didn’t kill Lincoln, you know, I really didn’t! Whoever did that is still here! And still killing! Good luck!” His laughter was hollow, and the wind tore it away.

  13

  THE WINDS WERE FROTHING THE Truxton River into a frenzy of white, when Aaron stepped from the house onto the bluff, holding his new skateboard gingerly in his fingertips. He was bundled against the coming storm in a slicker that read EUPHORIC and a cap that screamed in red letters: SKATE TILL YOU BLEED!

  He checked his screws, trucks, and deck, then he ollied up and flossed a cool, one-footed, frontside boardslide down the iron railing skirting the stone steps—a long, long downhill curve to the Gryphon Gate forest. At bottom, where the rail leveled off, Aaron whipped a “540 Air”—Excellent!—then he put the four down and slalomed off into the deep, dark woods.

  Whoa! Dude! Chomp on that! Anyone stupid enough to try popping that trick the first time out—especially on a brand-new deck—would wind up squashed like your proverbial ramp pizza: trail mix, dude! But not Aaron. Maybe he was a nerd at that snooty school they’d stuck him in, but on his deck Aaron was a bird in flight.

  A few more months of practice left until school started again and—who knew?—if his plans took flight, too, by summer’s end Aaron would be executing a “900 Air”—two and a half turns in midair—like the biggest name in vert skating, his idol, Tony Hawk. Aaron would be a real pro—not one who needed photos to prove it. He’d have tricks named after him and endorsement offers for glamorous boards and barrel shoes. No more money spent on schoolyard protection for him. That is, if he played his cards right—with her—when they met across the woods, as planned, this morning.

  Aaron hadn’t recalled how dense and dark the Gryphon Gate forest was. The approaching storm had already blackened the sky, but here in the woods the trees were so high, the canopy so broad, he couldn’t even see the sky: twenty-two acres of ancient, virgin timber that went back to the days of the Indians who once lived in these parts. His late brother-in-law, Sigmond, had once told him these trees were under government protection; they would never be harvested or even thinned.

  But right then Aaron could have used a little light—it was mandatory information for a dude to obtain, when plowing downhill at breakneck speed, hurtling between giant trees on a little chip of wood. But he didn’t want to slow down if it rendered him late for this assignation with Destiny.

  His blood was rushing, the wind cutting tears from his eyes as he hurtled downhill, so distracted by the trees that he was almost at the bottom of the glen before he saw the figure.

  A tall, dark, broad-shouldered form stood in the middle of the trail at the very base of the gully, wrapped against the wind in a long black cloak, the face partly concealed by what looked like a hood—at least, as far as Aaron could tell at warp speed.

  He didn’t want to look like a twerp, slowing in fright, but his heart was pumping—and he was moving too fast to do a nose grind without flipping on his head. Then he heard that little inner voice saying, Dude, what is wrong with this snapshot here? And now the pounding moved to his ears. Had he overlooked anything?

  Why would she be meeting him in an isolated glen inside the compound, when they’d arranged to meet at the far side of the woods—as far from Gryphon Gate as possible? Why was she suddenly rigged in what looked like druid camouflage gear? And, holy noggles! The thought occurred—about a billion light years too late to do him any good—that the police still had not figured out who had murdered those four inmates of Gryphon Gate!

  Aaron felt like he was going down in a bad salad grind: This trail was the only way in or out, and it was all uphill either way—which would call for him to run flat-out for maybe three hundred yards on a grade to escape. Aaron was a skateboarder, not a pentathlon star. If he knew any prayers for winged feet, he would have said them right now.

  Then the figure on the trail tossed back the hood, and raised one hand to halt him. It was not the person he was expecting—but at this moment, in this precise situation, it was the very last person on the planet he wanted to see!

  * * *

  “Roman,” said Toni, watching the mist rise from the bottle of champagne she had just opened, “I hope you
understand that you’ve saved my life? Not to mention my sanity! When I married Lincoln, I was just a kid fresh out of high school. He was older, wealthy, brilliant. When I realized what he had found so attractive in me—what he really was.…” She turned her face away and poured the wine into two chilled glasses, then blotted her eyes. “There were times when I think I truly hated him. But I never wanted him dead.”

  “Antoinette,” said Roman, coming up to take the champagne flutes, “I never doubted for a moment that you were the one completely innocent person in all this mess. I’ve watched you from afar, you know, almost from the moment you moved here. As you probably know, I spend a lot of time on my own, outside—late at night.”

  “Roman, maybe this isn’t the right time, but I feel so close to you after what’s happened. What did Laura Armbruster mean, when she said in church that you could drop the act now—that the ’bets’ were off?”

  Roman threw his head back, and for an instant, she was afraid he would start howling like a wolf—but it was broad daylight, and there was no full moon. Instead, he laughed uproariously.

  “Listen,” he said, handing Toni her glass, “Laura and I knew that her husband, Peter, and my wife, Mignon, were having an affair. We discussed it and I gave Laura the money to hire detectives. In the course of our cooperation I shared some of my own angst with her. Years ago, I had suffered a head injury in an accident and my medication made me hallucinate badly. It made me imagine I had fur sprouting all over. I would rip my clothes off, run through the woods naked, and howl at the moon. I still have lapses, though the medication has been cut back. I actually bet Laura a pittance that I could observe more from my wolf’s-eye view, by night, than her costly private eye could, using more traditional methods.

  “The point is, my darling,” he added, “after being suffocated throughout childhood in European prep schools and military academies, I found the ability to live as a wild animal—even briefly—to be exhilarating. It’s that same feeling for nature, for the swans and deer, that I recognized in you and your daughter, that brought me to want to come to your aid.” He added, “I would love to have children.”