Muller, Marcia - [10] The Shape of Dread (v1.0) (html) (31 page)

Emmons said to me, "Rob was there in Jay's office when your
assistant called and said you'd gone to L. A. looking for Tracy. You
found Lisa instead, didn't you?"

"The lead in L.A. didn't pan out," I lied. Since he'd been there,
Soriano also had overheard Larkey tell Rae he'd realized there was
something odd about Tracy's dental records. Blowing up a crowded
nightclub seemed an extreme measure to take to prevent Jay from passing
on his suspicions to the authorities, but Soriano had committed murder
and arson before—maybe more than once. He couldn't be aware that I knew
about his past, however…

I cast a pointed look at the gun in Soriano's hand and said, "What
is this, anyway? I came up here because Amy and Marc want me to help
them deal with the sheriff about a minor obstruction-of-justice charge.
I don't understand why you're here."

Soriano said, "I wasn't aware you were an attorney."

"I'm not. Seems they're too cheap to hire one."

He didn't respond. I glanced at Amy and Emmons, to see if they
understood how I wanted to play this. Comprehension was dawning in
Emmons's eyes; Amy merely flashed me a reproachful look.

Emmons said to her, "Is that what you told her, Ame? I said I'd be
glad to pay. Why didn't you just bring one of the lawyers, honey?"

Even now nothing registered with her. She glared down at him. "That
wasn't the plan—"

"Honey, it was too." To me he added, "I'm sorry she dragged you up
here. Why don't you just go back to the city? We'll settle our problem
with Rob and get in touch with one of the lawyers in the morning."

"Marc! I'm not staying here with him—"

"Then you go with Sharon, honey. The problem's really between Rob
and me."

Soriano was observing the exchange with grim amusement. "Not too
bright, is she?" he said. His meaning was clear; he saw through our
charade.

Amy whirled on him, face suddenly twisted in fury. "I'm not too
bright! Look who's talking!"

Emmons reached for her arm in a panic, but she slapped his hand
away. My God, I thought, she's going to tell him off while he's got
that gun in his hand!

The smile faded from Soriano's lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, just look at you. You're dead broke—oh yeah, Marc told me all
about that—and then you go and burn the club down with all those people
inside, including Jay. I suppose you think you can collect on the
insurance."

Soriano half rose from his chair. His face was ashen now, and his
lips writhed, seemingly incapable of forming words. In that instant I
realized that this was a man on the brink of coming apart. Rigging the
explosion had been an act of madness, without regard to the
consequences. Silencing Emmons—which undoubtedly had been his next
intention— had grown complicated, now included silencing both Amy and
me. He had no way of knowing what we'd told others, who else might know
enough to turn suspicion on him. Soriano's world was collapsing around
him, in spite of frantic efforts to shore it up.

"See how stupid you've been?" Amy said triumphantly.

Shut up, I thought. Shut up!

"So now who's not too bright? You should have learned from the last
time."

He got himself under control, said hoarsely, "The last time?"

"Yeah, in Florida." She looked at me. "That arsonist in the
newspaper picture was old Rob, all right. I always suspected his hair
was dyed. He was just porkier then, and needed a facelift—"

Soriano took a step toward her. Amy retreated behind Emmons's chair.
Emmons sat very still, gripping the wide armrests with whitened fingers.

Soriano said to me, "You've seen the newspaper article."

"I don't know what she's talking—"

"Don't give me that! If you hadn't seen it, the first thing you'd
have mentioned when you arrived here was the fire at the club."

I didn't reply. Thanks to Amy, there was no more need for pretense.

"And I suppose," he added, "you want to turn the information over to
the police—just like Tracy Kostakos."

"Was that what she planned to do?"

"You suspected blackmail instead?"

"She had her ways of getting what she wanted."

"Blackmail wasn't one of them. The girl had an incongruous moral
streak when it came to crime. Marc had been trying to persuade her not
to do anything for over a week before she died. But that last night she
thought Jay had turned on her. She saw going to the police as a noble
protective gesture toward Jay—one that might make him forgive her
rather rampant promiscuity."

I watched Soriano silently. His eyes darted about the room, resting
first on me, then Emmons, then Amy. A tic had developed in one of the
lines that bracketed his mouth; it fluttered, was still, fluttered
again. When I glanced at Emmons, he seemed frozen. Amy had finally
figured the situation out; her eyes were wide with terror, and she was
backing up against an old upright piano on the wall behind Marc's chair.

The peculiar calm still infused me. I stared intently into Soriano's
eyes, trying to divine what his next move would be.

They showed nothing but panicky purpose; there was not a trace of
remorse, or distaste for what he intended to do.

I thought, This is the most evil person I have ever known. I refuse
to die by this man's hand.

I said, "You haven't asked about your wife. Whether she was one of
the people killed at the club."

"Was she?" He spoke almost absently.

"Yes."

I'd hoped to elicit some sort of reaction with the lie. Soriano
merely said, "Too bad."

Those cold, cold words accomplished what his obvious insanity and
the implied threat of death hadn't: my calm shattered. An equally icy
rage rose in its place.

I waited until I could speak in a deceptively level voice. "She
meant that little to you?"

"The woman was a fool. Like that one over there." He jerked his chin
toward Amy. "Like the other fool in the chair. He's a prize, Marc is.
I'm glad I won't have to rectify his blunders any longer. The idiot
couldn't even keep from getting blood all over Kathy's car when he
dumped the Kostakos girl's body. I had to lay out damn good money to
convince my assistant to report it stolen from him."

At first I thought I'd heard him wrong. But I hadn't. I narrowed my
eyes until my vision blurred. When I widened them, everything was clear.

I looked at Emmons. "You killed her."

He merely sat there, his mouth partially open.

Soriano said, "You thought I did?"

"Not anymore." He hadn't known that she'd been shot in the car. Or
that Emmons couldn't have taken her body by car to the boat where he'd
hidden it. Soriano had no reason to lie about that—not with all the
other deaths he had caused. "How much did he tell you about the
murder?" I asked.

"He wasn't making much sense when he came to our house afterwards.
He may have discussed the details with Kathy at some point, but I
didn't want to know any more than I had to."

Emmons continued to sit still. His breath wheezed faintly through
his open lips. Amy stood rigid in front of the piano, her hands jammed
over her mouth.

"Why?" I asked him. "Why?"

After a moment he shook his head, as if awakening from a trance. He
looked at me, then at the gun in Soriano's hand. Finally he let out a
sigh that was very nearly a whine. "She wouldn't agree not to go to the
cops. When I called Rob at the club after she left my place that night,
he promised me an immediate slot on the program if I would shut her up.
So I came here and tried talking to her again, but she wouldn't listen.
She tried to run out on me, so…"

"Where did you get the gun?"

"I had it at home."

"Was it the one from the club?"

"Yes. I took it a week or two before."

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"You planned to kill her, didn't you?"

He rose unsteadily from his chair, big body swaying. Shook his head
again. "I… at first I planned to kill myself. She'd left me for Jay,
and I'd heard rumors about… others. But when this thing about Rob came
up and I thought I'd have a chance at what I'd always wanted… well, all
that was standing between me and it was Tracy."

Behind him, Amy closed her eyes and screamed, "You bastard!"

His clown's face twisted. "You don't understand, Ame," he said. "I
hated her. Hated her for what she'd done to me—and what she was going
to do to me. It was my life, and she was just going to crumple it up
and toss it away."

Amy began to sob, slumping against the piano's keyboard. Chords
crashed dissonantly.

Emmons took a step toward her, stumbled and lurched back toward
Soriano. Soriano brought the gun up.

Emmons slewed around, saw it, lost his head, and lunged. I darted
inside the semicircle of chairs, intent on getting my hands on the .32.

Soriano shoved Emmons away. His big body crashed into mine, knocking
me toward the fireplace. He fell back against his chair.

As he lay there panting, Soriano shot him in the head.

Emmons's left eye became a ragged, bloody hole. He slumped back in
the chair, limbs twitching.

Amy screamed and ran toward the door.

My rage flashed from cold to white hot. As Soriano raised the .32 at
Amy's fleeing form, I grabbed the fishing pole that leaned against the
mantel. Swung it up and slashed it down on his gun hand.

He howled and dropped the .32. Whirled. Lunged at me.

I swung the pole again. It caught him a glancing blow on the temple.
The metal line guide left a bleeding track on his cheek.

I whipped the pole back, brought it down on his shoulder. He
staggered, bent over, looking for the gun.

I whacked him on the small of the back. He gave a high-pitched
scream. Then he bolted for the door. I went after him. He got the door
open before I could hit him again, and ran outside. By the time I
reached the porch, he had disappeared into the pyracantha thicket.

Behind me Amy sobbed hysterically. I turned, saw she was lying on
the floor in a fetal position, arms wrapped around her
knees. Ignoring her, I dropped the pole and hurried back to the
semicircle of chairs to check on Emmons. He was dead.

I felt none of the things that I'd come to expect when confronted
with violent death—nothing but the rage, burning dangerously high now.
Dropping to all fours, I located the gun under the chair Soriano had
sat in. Then I ran back outside.

The branches of the pyracanthas had stopped rustling. I listened,
but heard no footfall, no car engine. Cautiously I made my way to the
gate; it was closed, as Amy had left it. I looked down the road. The
car was still parked under the trees. I could make out its shape now:
it looked to be the Jaguar that I'd seen parked in the Sorianos'
driveway the previous noon.

Why was it still here? Soriano had had ample time to get to the car
and drive away. Then I thought, No, he doesn't want to leave witnesses
to his murder of Emmons. I suspected he was hiding nearby, recovering
from the blows I'd dealt him, waiting for another chance at Amy and me.

I wanted to go hunting him, but I couldn't leave Amy alone; that
would be inviting him to kill her or take her hostage. And I couldn't
summon help; the cottage had no phone. But there was another way…

I hurried back to the cottage. Amy was still lying on the floor, her
sobs diminished to whimpers now. I knelt and placed a gentle hand on
her shoulder.

She thrashed around in sudden panic, making a protesting sound.
"Amy," I said, "it's me. Soriano's gone."

After a few seconds she opened her eyes and peered at me from under
her drooping petals of hair. "Gone?"

"Yes. He can't hurt you."

She unwrapped her arms from her knees and struggled to sit up.

"Marc?"

"He's—" I hesitated. "We need to get help."

"Marc killed Trace. He killed her!"

"Don't think about that now."

"That's why he sent me for you. He was going to confess, wasn't he?"

"Probably. Everything was closing in on him." I went to where my bag
sat on the chair, rummaged around until I found my Swiss Army knife,
and jammed it into the pocket of my coat. Then I got her to her feet,
turning her so she couldn't see his body. "Let's go."

She looked down, saw the gun in my hand, and shuddered.

I said, "It's okay. He's unarmed. I'll protect us."

Slowly she nodded. I put my arm around her shoulders and led her to
the door, gripping the .32 in my other hand.

When we reached the gate, I peered through it; the Jaguar was still
there. I stood for a minute, looking up and down the road, debating
which way to go. There were no lights in the houses in the row that
extended back toward the railroad bridge, but through the trees at the
far end of the turnaround, the lights I'd glimpsed earlier were still
on. I guided Amy through the gate, and we set off, straight down the
middle of the road, where we couldn't be ambushed from the shrubbery.

Moonlight fell on the rutted pavement and the plain belonging to the
salt company; once again I was reminded of an ice floe on the barren
terrain. The air was chill, and a strong wind whipped tree branches
about; their soughing was punctuated by snaps and thumps in the
underbrush. Warped phantom shapes darted through the shadows to the
side of the road, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. My gaze
pursued the fleeting images, but they eluded it in the dark. I kept my
arm firmly around Amy's shoulders, the gun ready, and led her along.

We had almost reached the turnaround when there was a loud tearing
sound. Amy cried out as a jagged tree limb crashed to
the pavement inches from us. I spun, bringing the gun up, peering into
the underbrush. Nothing but shifting lines and shadows.

I reached for Amy, grasped her elbow. Whispered, "Just the wind,
that's all."