Reilly 13 - Dreams of the Dead (39 page)

He fell back onto the pillows, saying, “I’m so tired. I’ll be glad to talk to you about anything at all tomorrow.”

“After the money gets wired? That’s why I’m here, Philip, to tell you that money won’t be wired if I have to wake up every cop in town tonight.”

Philip’s face crumpled. He murmured. Nina couldn’t make it out. She moved around to the side of the bed.

And a still-powerful arm flew out. Strong pulled her onto the bed, onto him. He rolled over on her, both of them thrashing, and somehow grabbed a pillow. Then he had her pinned, the pillow hard on her face, her breath cut off, his legs pinioning her arms as he crouched over her.

She fought with her legs, trying to buck him off. He sat on her chest, holding the pillow down with terrible ferocity. She kept struggling, but nothing was working even with the strength her boiling rage and fear gave her. He adjusted one knee that had been holding down her arm at the elbow, and she managed to get her arm free. She reached between his legs and he let out a yowl of pain.

But he didn’t let go, he held the pillow tightly. Down, thick, a deadly weapon.

She couldn’t take in a breath.

She must have passed out for a second. She heard a high voice.

He fell away from her. She jumped off the bed and ran to the doorway, where Kelly stood with a small-caliber pistol in her hand.

Philip did not attempt to get off the bed. He pushed out his lower jaw.

“Do it,” he shouted. “Go on, do it!” Kelly stood there, blinking hard, the gun shaking. She put her free arm around Nina.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” Nina was recovering swiftly. She looked back at Philip. For the moment, her body seemed to have no more emotion left in it. Philip seemed spent, but she wasn’t going to get close again. His gray face was covered with sweat.

“Kelly, give me the gun,” Nina said. Kelly didn’t move as Nina took the pistol and examined it. She held it on Philip.

“Now where were you, Nina?” Kelly said.

“He was starting to say something truthful for a change.”

Kelly turned back to her father. “You planned to leave Tahoe. You were going to leave me. Leave me dead broke with everybody looking at me, the daughter and sister of murdering thieves.”

“I’m sick.”

“Answer me!”

“I’m going into heart failure.”

“Liar!”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“You fucking liar. You never thought twice about me. You never cared about Jim or me, just Alex.”

“I supported you.”

“If I had money, I’d throw it in your face.”

“It’s not my fault how Jim turned out.”

“Are you talking about before or after you started screwing his wife? What did you think he’d do?”

Philip groaned and pulled up his sheet so that it covered his shoulders.

“I know about Cyndi Backus, too,” Kelly said.

Her father’s face tightened. He gritted his teeth, seemingly in pain.

“You killed her, didn’t you? You were sleeping with her.”

“I’m lonely, sweetie, I fell in love. Please try to understand. I didn’t intend for that to happen. Yes, we had an argument—but I never hurt anyone before. I was trying to keep her quiet—”

“You slit that other woman’s throat!”

“A horrible thing. Yes. Horrible.” He looked at his daughter. “Please, don’t look at me that way. I needed a fresh start. I thought I might help you. That was my intention all along, to help you. You’ve had such difficulties. So much pain, with all of this.”

Kelly walked swiftly around the bed to her father. She slapped him stingingly, once, and stepped back quickly. Her mouth was
trembling. He didn’t move, though his skin reacted, pinking. “Don’t even try to blame me.”

Nina said loudly, “Get back from him, Kelly. Don’t touch her, Philip, or I’ll shoot you.”

“You won’t like where you’re going,” Kelly said, “and don’t get any ideas about preventing it.” She looked over the bottles on the table and began picking some up, throwing them in the purse on her shoulder. “I’ll leave the aspirin. Nina, let’s go.”

Kelly took one more look at her father, her eyes hailstones. “You’re lucky I don’t have the family penchant for murder.”

“Sweetie, don’t leave me. Don’t, please, I need you. You have to forgive me. I’m your—”

“Don’t say it. I never want to hear that word again.” Kelly looked around the room. On the bureau sat a framed picture of a woman in a sixties bouffant. Kelly took the photograph and went back to her place at the door. Her bravado was beginning to desert her.

Philip stared down at the covers, his lips working as though he was talking to himself.

“Do you need a doctor?” Nina said. “I think I need a lawyer.”

“You sure do.”

“Well? You’ve been good to me,” he said.

Nina said, “I will say this: there’ll be a sale all right.”

“It’s all Jim’s fault. So much. He’s responsible for me losing the resort. I was doing my best for my family.”

“Jim’s just a chip off the old block.”

Strong shut his eyes.

Paul appeared behind them. “Hi, honey. Sorry I missed the calls.” He had a bandage on his ear.

Nina handed him the pistol and allowed herself to sag against the wall. Paul said, “Have you called the police yet?”

“Philip won’t leap up and run away, Paul,” Nina said. “We were finishing our conversation, me wondering if he’s capable of showing any real regret at all for what he’s done, and finding he isn’t.”

“Are you recording him?”

“Of course, including my resignation as his counsel.” She turned back to Philip. “Where’s your son? Where’s Jim?”

Philip looked confused. His mouth hung open.

“Jim? Jimmy. Your son. Where is he?”

“Oh.” Philip let out a long breath. “Jimmy’s at the bottom of the lake. I see him there, nights. I see his bones and wonder what is going on with him. Do you know, do they live on after they die? Do they think about us?”

“You beat the police to Jim’s grave, then?” Nina asked.

“I couldn’t let his body be found. That would have stopped the escrow account from being opened. I found it very hard, digging out my own son. Very, very hard. Though, yes, I had come to hate him. May I have some water? I’m so thirsty.”

“I’m sure the police will give you some,” Kelly said.

“How cruel of you, Daughter.”

Kelly put her face in her hands.

Paul turned to Nina. “Make the call, my phone’s out in the car.”

Nina reached into her bag and pulled out the recorder first, still going. She clicked it off, rewound it a short way, then clicked it back on.
“—digging out my own son.”

She clicked it off, took out her phone, and made the call.

Strong rolled over on his side toward the window, and Paul said sharply, “Don’t move.” But Strong kept moving as Paul propelled himself toward the bed. Philip rolled over to face the window. Then he pulled himself up. Then he stuck his head out and his torso out. Paul, who had jumped onto the bed, reaching for him, missed catching him, too late.

They heard a noise below, and it was Nina’s turn to put an arm around Kelly, holding her while Paul pulled himself to the window. He leaned out.

Paul pulled his head back in. “It’s rocks down there. Not good. Nina, you and Kelly wait here for the police. Don’t let her downstairs—and don’t let her look.”

T
wo hours later Nina and Paul lay in an exhausted heap on her couch in front of the smoldering fire. Philip Strong had been taken into custody and they would be reporting to Cheney in the morning, right after making the calls to Stamp and Korea that would stop the wiring of funds into an escrow account.

Paul had his big, muscular leg over Nina’s. He snored rhythmically. Nina’s mind drifted from point to point, thinking about pianos and horses and how it was all right to rest. She had to sleep—she felt the pillow that had almost taken her life pressing down. She felt she had traveled beyond some personal boundary and would never be able to feel the solace of sleep again, so she opened her eyes and watched the fire burn.

The phone rang. She pulled her arm gently out from under Paul’s and checked her watch. Two-forty a.m.

She disengaged from Paul, who did not waken, and padded into the kitchen.

Fred Cheney spoke. “Thought you and Paul should know. Philip Strong died while we were trying to get him moved to an ambulance for transfer back to the hospital. The paramedics were right there, but his injuries were too great, too much blood lost, and his heart probably gave out.”

“Thanks, Fred. Did you call his daughter?”

“She wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Somebody needs
to come take charge, make some arrangements. Do you know anyone?”

“No. No, I don’t. We’ll see you in the morning, Fred, good night.”

“Sleep well,” Fred said. And just like that, she did.

B
ob came down the stairs. “Hey, Paul.”

“Hey. Isn’t it getting late, even for someone who plays until all hours like you, or me?”

“What are you doing up so early?” Nina asked.

“Spanish again,” Bob said. “Mr. Acevedo. He’s tough on us. Quiz once a week. I don’t get Spanish. It would be better if I was learning Swedish. At least I remember some of that. But as for right now? Mom, I’m hungry.”

Nina got up to microwave a burrito with green chili sauce, which Bob ate with gusto.

“Done studying?” she asked Bob as he headed for his room.

“It never ends.”

“Bob, it’s going to be a difficult day. I want you to go to Uncle Matt’s after school.”

“Again?”

She felt bad, looking at his easy smile, at his forgiveness.

“Just giving you grief, Mom.” Bob smiled bigger. “I’m old enough to know how to crack the skull of an interloper, if one shows up.”

“Interloper? Wait, no!”

“Oh, Mom, don’t work yourself up. Anyway, I’ve got Hitchie here to protect me.” The dog bowed his head under Bob’s hand.

“I’ll lock all the doors.”

“Of course you will,” Bob said, emitting a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door to his room behind him.

“Matt’s phone number is—,” she called out.

“Got it. I know Uncle Matt’s number by heart,” he called back, “just like for the past many years. Oh, and I decided not to go to
Sweden with Dad. Not right now, anyway. You couldn’t handle it. You need me too much. So, okay, see you later, Mom.”

P
aul made a phone call.

Nina listened on the sidelines as the voice coming through his phone rose in tenor, argued, and finally came around.

They suited up against the snow shower that had sprung up and went outside.

“Let’s take my car,” Paul said. While she was getting into the car, he pressed his fingers so hard against the steering wheel she heard them crack. “I want what’s best for you, even if it means going to prison. I mean that, honey.”

She put her hand on his, the one closest to her, and felt the tension leaching out of his skin and into hers.

“Last escape route comin’ up,” Paul said. “Keep going and head down the mountain to Reno. The airport’s there. We can take the next flight to somewhere.”

“You’re not serious?”

“No. I was wrong not to wake you that night two years ago. I was wrong not to call the police.”

“I’ve thought so much about that night. What you did for me and Bob. I’ve thought about everything. I have dreams.”

“I can’t make it okay this time, sweet one. This is bad.”

She put her hand on his. They turned onto Ski Run Boulevard, then toward Cheney’s office.

“H
ope you got more sleep than I did,” Cheney said, letting them into the building himself after they buzzed, waving off the uniformed officer of the day.

They sat down and spent a little time talking about Philip, the murders, the escrow. “Hendricks is in custody,” Fred said. “So let’s get a statement from last night.”

He asked them numerous questions, and both of them reported what had happened to the police stenographer who was making notes. Nina kept hold of Paul’s warm hand.

Finally it was over. The stenographer left to prepare written statements for them to sign, and Cheney offered them coffee. “Job well done,” he said. “You should have called us earlier, though, Nina. It was too dangerous to go to Strong’s house, even if he was bedridden.”

“I never would have known somebody as sick as he was could still have so much strength in him.”

“Desperation will make almost anyone strong for a few minutes.” Cheney pushed his chair back, and Nina saw how weary he was and felt twice as awful, because he wasn’t finished yet.

“Fred, there’s another statement I need to make, on a related topic,” Paul said.

“Oh?” Fred yawned. “Let’s get to it, then.”

“Are you recording this?” Nina asked.

Cheney shook his head. “You know, Counselor, I have to notify you before recording.” He cleared his throat, pushed a few papers around on his desk. “You saying you want me to?”

“No.”

“All right, then. Let’s hear what this is about, before we start recording things.”

“Right,” Paul said. “We’re here to talk about Jim Strong.”

“Paul, let me tell him,” Nina said. “In a minute.”

“Please.”

Paul sat back in his chair.

“Two years ago,” Nina began, “Jim Strong was my client.” She recounted her nightmare to Fred and to Paul, describing the way Strong had traversed along the top of the hill and caused the avalanche that killed her husband. “He used to say he took whatever you loved most. Then came the night he came to my home to kill me.”

“How can you say you know what he was thinking?” Cheney asked, fingers thrumming the scarred wooden desk.

“I do know,” Nina said. “After months of working with him, I knew what was going on in his mind. He hated his family. He
wanted them dead, Kelly, his father, Philip, everyone close to him. He hated me. He understood I had betrayed him.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“You lost his case intentionally?”

“Yes.”

“You believed he had killed his wife, Heidi?”

“I did, and for that I paid such a price. He killed my husband when he realized that I had guessed.”