Good King Sauerkraut (17 page)

Gale took a deep breath and said what was on her mind. “King, you're in danger, aren't you? It's not over. Whoever killed Dennis is still after you.”

He shook his head. “Nobody is after me. That's just the way the police think. They
assume
that two accidents couldn't take place at the same time. But it can happen—and it did.”

“But you're just making assumptions, too! You don't know they were both accidents. How can you take such a risk with your own life?”

“There's no risk, I tell you! What would be the point in killing off the entire design team? We're all replaceable.” Then it hit him. “You think I'm putting you in danger too? Just by bringing you here? Oh, Gale, I could never do that! Do you really think I'd ask you to come if there were any risk?”

She didn't answer, but turned away from him uneasily.
That's exactly what she does think
, King thought, stunned—and grudgingly acknowledged she had reason. It was precisely the sort of careless thing he'd been doing all his life; of course she'd think he'd just blunder on, giving no thought to the trouble he might be causing other people. King had to admit she was justified; it was probably the way everyone saw him.

He made an effort to salvage the situation. “Gale, do you know any of the details of what happened?” He went on to explain about the window in the other apartment, about how heavy it was and how it wouldn't stay up without someone holding it. He told her about the time he and Mimi together had had to struggle to keep it from slipping. “Gregory should never have tried to hold it up by himself. But Dennis was in the tub and I was already gone, and I guess he wanted to put some bread out before the pigeon flew away. He should have waited.” King was pleased with how reasonable that sounded. “The police weren't there, they don't know how it was.”

Gale was nodding. “It certainly sounds like an accident, the way you tell it. But Dennis—at the same time?”

King told her the same lie he'd told Sergeant Larch. “It's truly ironic—I'd warned him about that very thing. I saw him going into the bathroom carrying the television and I said be sure not to plug it in near the tub. He just said
yeah, yeah
, kind of annoyed, and went on in.” King gave a mirthless laugh. “Electrocuting himself—that's the sort of thing
I'd
do, not Dennis. Not Dennis.” He tried to look properly bemused.

Gale was all but convinced. “What does Warren Osterman think?”

King took her hand and led her to a settee beneath a window. “He agrees with the police.” How was that for being upfront with her? “Warren has aged a lot since the last time I saw him,” not quite so upfront. “This is his last big project and he's scared to death something will happen to screw it up. He's seeing boogeymen in every shadow. He's even had security checks run on the people who clean this apartment, for crying out loud.” Wherever had this new-found talent for lying come from? “Warren is nervous for another reason as well.”

“What's that?”

“He's supervising the project, but the real running of it is going to be in the hands of his assistant and apparent successor in the business. A woman named Rae Borchard. She seems quite competent, but Warren's bound to worry.”

Gale was silent for a long time. Finally she sighed and said, “Then Dennis's death really was an accident?”

“It really was. Believe me.”

“Poor Dennis. What an awful way to die. We were never close friends … but still, Keystone won't be the same without him there. I counted on him, to take care of things—you know?”

“I know. I counted on him too.”

“He will be missed.” She stood up briskly, deliberately breaking her gloomy mood. “Have you had time to to think what you're going to do? Run Keystone by yourself, look for a new partner? You know, hiring a manager might be a good move … if you could find someone with a robotics background.”

“That's a possibility. Do you know anybody?”

“Not offhand. Let me think about it.” Then Gale announced that she had to have a shower before one more minute passed; the air-conditioning on the plane hadn't been working too well and she felt hot and sticky. King told her he'd be in the office and left her to herself.

Mimi was already in the office. She looked up from her work and asked, “Is Gale going to take Dennis's place?”

“If I can talk her into it.”

“Talk her into it? She has to be talked into it?”

“Well, Gale has this thing about weapons and the military. She hates them.”

Mimi rolled her eyes. “Still living in the sixties, is she? Don't you have anyone more motivated?”

“I'm sure I do, but Gale's the best designer.”

“Then just
assign
her to the project, King. She does work for you, doesn't she?”

“She might quit.”

Mimi thought about that. “But you want her anyway. Is she that good?”

King nodded. “She's that good. What's more, she can stand working with me for long stretches of time without flipping out. This project needs Gale.”

“And you're the one who's going to talk her into it. Well, good luck … that wasn't sarcastic, I meant it. It's time we got rolling. I've already decided which of my partners is going to replace Gregory.”

“You've decided.”

She smiled. “I'm senior partner now. What's Gale doing?”

“Taking a shower. She'll be right in.”

Mimi stood up and gathered her papers together. “Then I'd better leave you alone. I wouldn't want to cramp your style.”

“Ah, Mimi, you could never do that,” King said gallantly. Mimi gave him one of her humorless stares and left.

King had to postpone making his pitch, though. Gale had barely finished her shower, her hair still wet, when Mimi came back to announce that the other of the two detectives assigned to their case had just shown up. The three of them went into the living room, where Marian Larch stood frankly gawking.

“All this space … and nobody actually lives here,” she greeted them incredulously. Then she spotted Gale. “Hello. I'm Detective Sergeant Larch, NYPD.”

Gale stuck out a hand. “Sergeant Larch—I'm Gale Fredericks. Keystone Robotics.”

The two women shook hands. “Ah ha,” said Sergeant Larch. “Just in from Pittsburgh?”

“That's right.”

The sergeant looked straight at King. “Dennis Cox's replacement?”

Gale shook her head while King said, “Ah, the question is premature, Sergeant.”

The detective got the message; she changed the subject and told them Dennis's parents had just made arrangements to have their son's body shipped back to Pennsylvania for burial.

“Oh, good heavens!” Mimi said, slapping a hand to the side of her face. “I didn't even think of that! I should have done something about Gregory—”

“It's all taken care of,” Sergeant Larch reassured her. “Mrs. Dillard made the arrangements yesterday.”

“Karen Dillard? She's here?”

“Not now. She flew back to California last night.”

“Without getting in touch with me?”

There was an awkward pause. “That is odd, isn't it?” Sergeant Larch said. “Why do you suppose she didn't call you?”

Mimi looked uneasy. “I don't know. I know she's feeling terrible, but you'd think she'd want to get in touch with …”

“The survivors?”

Mimi didn't answer. King knew why Dennis's parents hadn't gotten in touch with him; he'd never met them. The sergeant was speaking to King. “Mr. Sarcowicz, I came to ask you not to go to your partner's funeral—his parents have scheduled it for Tuesday. We'd prefer you to stay right here where we can keep an eye on you.”

“I understand, Sergeant. Although these precautions aren't really necessary.”

“Your opinion, not ours. Will you stay in New York?”

“Yes, yes.” Testily.

“Maybe you can have someone go to the funeral in your place.”

“I'll go,” Gale volunteered. “I'd be going anyway.” King smiled his thanks.

“What about Gregory's funeral?” Mimi asked.

“Mrs. Dillard said there wouldn't be any. She had the body cremated, since the head was smashed beyond the possibility of reconstruction. But she told me the last thing she needed right now was to preside over some public lamentation where she'd be required to listen politely to murmured clichés of condolence from people who only wanted to be
seen
grieving her husband's death. I think she's planning a memorial service of some kind in a year's time.”

“Well!” Mimi exclaimed. “If that isn't just like Karen!”

“This is a stressful time for her, Mrs. Hargrove,” the detective said kindly. “Let her do it her way.” Mimi sulked, didn't answer. Sergeant Larch shifted gears again. “What about Mr. Dillard's replacement on your project? Do you have someone?”

“Another one of my partners will be taking his place. He won't be flying in for a couple of weeks, though—not until King and I finish some preliminary work we're doing.”

That was news to King. She was shutting her partner out of the initial planning?

“Well, that's all I came here for, to make sure both of you remained in town. And stay indoors!”

“Yes, ma'am,” King said, not at all sarcastically.

The minute the police detective was gone, Mimi burst out: “That Karen! Just
ignoring
me, as if I weren't even here!”

Gale tried to play peacemaker. “She had a lot on her mind, Mimi. I'm sure it wasn't deliberate.”

“Oh, it was deliberate, all right! For a long time I've suspected she didn't like me … she's always been
so-o-o
polite to me, you know? Like, here is one of Gregory's horrible business associates and I've got to be nice to her for his sake! Now this dreadful thing happens and she—”

King interrupted her. “Why isn't your other partner coming for two weeks?”

“What? Oh, something he's working on won't be finished until then. Don't worry, I'll fill him in on whatever you and I decide.”

Neatly excluding Gale
, King noticed. Mimi was up to something—another power play of some sort, one she was counting on to put her in charge of the project? King smiled. Earlier, such a possibility would have worried him, even depressed him. But not now; a man who was apparently getting away with causing the deaths of two people wasn't so easily cowed. Now, he was more than willing to take on Mimi Hargrove.

In fact, he was champing at the bit.

Several hours later, King and Gale sat on the dark balcony looking at New York's nightscape. King had opened one of two bottles of champagne he'd found in the refrigerator—not that there was anything to celebrate, but it made a nice touch. Mimi had discreetly stayed out of sight; right then she was in the media room watching a movie.

Gale was disturbed; King could feel the unhappiness flowing out of her from the chair next to his. She was dead set against Keystone's doing military work; it wasn't just a socially-conscious pose on her part. King felt a twinge of conscience about trying to ride roughshod over her convictions, but only a twinge. He'd gotten her to look at the platform specifications and the reports on the earlier design teams' failures; as he'd hoped, she immediately got caught up in the problems the platforms presented, intrigued by the project itself while remaining disapproving of its purpose.

King had wisely kept quiet, letting her read and doodle on a notepad and think about it as much as she wanted. She'd asked some questions; he'd answered them. At last she'd looked up and sighed. “I can see how easy it is to get caught up in something like this,” she'd said. “I understand, King, I really do. But please don't ask me to work on it—I just can't.”

“But I am asking you,” he'd replied. “I'm asking you to work with
me
. The platform is a challenge I can't meet alone. But the two of us together can.”

She'd been made uneasy by his putting it on near-personal terms like that, but that was all right. He'd try anything to shake her holier-than-thou attitude. He'd gone on to point out that for every potential weapon someone had ever dreamed up, someone else had found a way to make it work; there would be an electromagnetic gun platform eventually whether Keystone designed it or not. Then he'd argued that any country that didn't take steps to defend itself in these days of high-tech weaponry was simply asking to be attacked. No, he couldn't guarantee the politicians would not use the platform offensively; who could guarantee anything politicians might do? But this gun platform was
needed
, Gale, don't you see that?

He wasn't sure how much of that he believed himself, but at least she was listening. At midnight he'd called a break. He'd poured the champagne and then suggested they go out on the balcony. He'd left the balcony lights off, and the darkness had helped mask the tension a little.

King cleared his throat. “Gale, I have to confess to being a bit underhanded with you. I've held back my trump card until last.”

A half moan, half laugh. “I can hardly wait.”

Say it; take the plunge
. “I want you to replace Dennis in more than just this project. I want you to be my new partner in Keystone Robotics. Half the business will be yours.” She was silent; King began to wish he'd turned the balcony lights on so he could see her face. “Gale?”

She finally spoke. “That's some bribe, King.”

“It's no bribe. Whether you decide to work on the gun platform with me or not, I still want you as my partner. And I can prove it. If you agree, we'll have new partnership papers drawn up immediately.
Before
you decide about the platform.”

The balcony lights suddenly came on; Gale stood by the switch, staring at him. “Are you serious?”