Whiplash (35 page)

Sherlock looked from Jane Ann Royal to Mick Haggarty. "It will be difficult. I'm sorry." She paused a moment, then said quietly, "I hate lies, Jane Ann, particularly when I can't see the reason for them. Tell me, how long have you been sleeping with Mick?"

Jane Ann Royal jerked as she dashed her hand across her cheek. "What? What a thing to say to me the day after my husband was murdered! I didn't think you were like that-"

"Like what, Jane Ann?"

"I expected kindness from you, but you're being cruel."

"Well, fact is, I'm a federal cop and I'm investigating a particularly brutal murder." Sherlock flicked her finger toward the bedroom. "I saw a dress on the floor in the bedroom. Mick forgot to close the bedroom door before he answered my knock. Or maybe it's another woman's dress, Mick?"

Mick looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "No, no, th-there is no other woman. We're not sleeping together. Poor Jane Ann was exhausted. She came over here, all upset, and so I let her sleep in my bed. I slept on the sofa."

Sherlock looked back and forth between the two of them. "Your salary, Mick, I checked. No way do you earn enough to afford this lovely apartment. You only moved in two months ago. Your former residence was far more basic than this one, on the other side of the tracks. Do you have many paying clients, or is it just Jane Ann who keeps you in comfort?"

Jane Ann Royal jumped to her feet, her face flushed, waves of anger rolling off her. "I didn't lie to you, I didn't! But it wouldn't matter if I had. I did come to Mick for comfort, so what? What business is it of yours? It had nothing to do with anything.

"Look, I didn't want to hear all the nauseating pap I'd get from my girlfriends, they're idiots. I knew Mick would understand, he wouldn't just mouth platitudes, he'd care, and that's why I came here. It's the day after my husband's death, surely not the time to screw around with another man.

"I want you to leave now, Agent Sherlock. I'm not going to sit here and let you make crazy accusations. You've done nothing to find his murderers-those two men who also tried to kill you and your husband, if you'll remember."

Sherlock asked, voice mild, "Are you paying for this very nice apartment, Jane Ann? I really can't see you visiting the Merriam Bartlett down the road twice a week. Someone would recognize you, and then Caskie would have done something, wouldn't he? I know he had the money in the family, not you. You worried about a divorce? Losing your lovely lifestyle?"

"All right, okay. So what if I do trade the cost of the apartment for tennis lessons? What's wrong with that?"

Mick Haggarty roared to his feet. "I wouldn't sleep with her. Do you think I'm insensitive? Jane Ann is in pain. I've done what anyone would do, I've given her shelter, a place to rest, what comfort I could."

"You and Jane Ann have been sleeping together how long? Three months, maybe a month before you broke your existing lease to move in here?"

"No! Never! I'm not interested. Jane Ann's too old for me. Who wants to sleep with his mother?"

His stark words rode a violent tsunami into the now silent living room.

Mick yelled, "Wait, wait! I didn't mean that. I mean Jane Ann is a great tennis player and I like her a lot, but I mean, I'm twenty-four years old and she isn't, she's a mother, for God's sake, and her husband was murdered and I'm her friend, really, that's all-"

"You puking little freak!" Jane Ann Royal roared at him and slammed her fist into his jaw. Mick fell back onto the sofa. He sat there, holding his jaw, staring up at her, pinned.

"All you can do is play tennis. You, an actor? That's a joke. I saw you in
Taming of the Shrew
-you were ridiculous, you hear me? All you did was prance around, and everybody could tell you're a no-talent little creep! You don't even have any talent in bed. You're a huge conceited bore!"

Sherlock jumped up and hauled Jane Ann back as she pulled and heaved toward Mick again. "Don't hit him again, all right? Or I'll have to arrest you. Listen to me, this is going to stop, all the lies, and especially this little drama you're enacting for me."
Drama
. Is that what all this was? Sherlock saw a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, but she wasn't fast enough.

A man's fist struck her temple hard and she fell to the beautiful Persian rug. She hit the edge of the coffee table as she went down. Pain exploded in her head, and then she didn't feel anything at all.

Sherlock heard Jane Ann Royal's panicked voice through a blinding fog of pain. "You idiot, she doesn't know anything! Dammit, she was just guessing, throwing stuff out there to see if we'd bite, that's all. Now look what you've done. She's a freaking FBI agent! What are we going to do now?"

As she listened to them fight, Sherlock knew she'd wondered deep down whether Caskie's murder really was part of a big conspiracy. When Mick wanted to show off his acting talent, it was all there, right in front of her nose, two greedy people who saw their opportunity to get rid of their big obstacle, and cash in.

She saw Dillon's face, sharp and clear.

She forced herself to focus on Mick's voice now, scared, defensive, thin as soup. "I'm not an idiot! She knew, I know she did. I saw it in her eyes when she looked at me. I didn't have a choice, I didn't. I'm not going to jail! It's not going to happen. The next Mel Gibson can't go to jail!"

"You're too tall to be the next Mel Gibson! You look like a pretty boy, he doesn't. Why am I even talking to you? I've got to figure out what to do."

Mick's voice faded in and out. Sherlock realized he was pacing the length of his lovely living room. He was saying, "We've got to be calm here. We can't lose it, not now. We've got to find out what she knows, then we can decide what to do with her. You've got to get me out of this, Jane Ann. You owe me."

"All right, all right." Jane Ann was taking slow deep breaths, smoothing herself out. Yoga breathing. "She isn't dead, is she?"

Sherlock heard Mick's footsteps crossing to her, felt his warm hitching breath on her cheek as he came down on his knees beside her. She felt his fingers on the pulse in her neck, smelled the sweat on him as he leaned over her. "I hit her pretty hard, but she seems okay. I've done that in my martial arts classes, but this is my first time I ever hit a real person." He sounded more pleased with himself now than scared.

Keep breathing, keep listening, stay unconscious. Do not puke.
 Sherlock felt nausea roiling in her stomach, and knew the not puking part could be a tall order. She tried to breathe slowly, lightly, like Jane Ann.

Sherlock knew Jane Ann was standing over her now; she smelled her too, a fresh jasmine scent. "I liked her, you know? I thought she liked me too, but it was all an act. She suspected something was off, but Mick, she really didn't know a thing. Oh, I wish you hadn't lost it-where's my cell?"

He rolled right over her, anger and aggression spilling out of his mouth, "Yeah? Well, she was going to haul you away, and me too, and I don't deserve that, I don't! You are nearly old enough to be my mother! Look what you've got me into. She's a federal agent. Why do you need your freaking cell? Who do you want to call?"

Sherlock heard the sound of Jane Ann's hard slap against his face.
Not smart, Jane Ann, not smart, he's nearly boiling over.
"I'm thirty-six, you fool. Don't you ever call me your bloody mother again!"

"You hit me! Don't you ever slap me again, Jane Ann."

Sherlock felt the air shimmer with violence, heard Jane Ann's harsh breathing. She heard a smack that sounded like Mick catching Jane Ann's hand when she would have hit him again, knew he'd twisted her wrist because Jane Ann moaned. They were face-to-face, their rage beating the air between them. But when Mick spoke, it was in nearly a whisper, but there was rage in his voice, deep and thick. "You hit me again, Jane Ann, and I'll knock your perfect teeth down your throat, you hear me? Poor old Caskie paid for those pretty teeth, didn't he, just like he paid for all your tennis lessons? Did you ever pay for anything in your life?"

Jane Ann jerked away from him, and, smart woman, she moved to the other side of the living room, cursing under her breath. Sherlock slitted her eyes open to see Jane Ann vigorously rubbing her wrist, trying to regain control of herself and the situation. "Listen, Mick, we're losing it. We have to focus here. None of this is important now. We've got to tie her up."

"Yeah, well, that's the first smart thing you've said."

Sherlock was dead weight when Mick hauled her up and laid her on her back on the sofa. "I know just the thing. I'll be right back. How long is she going to be out?"

"We'll throw some water in her face, that'll bring her back." Jane Ann was moving away. "I'll get some. Then we can find out what she knows."

Sherlock heard Mick coming back into the living room. She moaned and slowly opened her eyes to stare up at the young man who was sitting next to her, a roll of duct tape in his hand, studying her face.

She blinked and gave him a smile. "Mick? Is that you? What happened? Did I faint? Oh good, you stretched me out on the sofa. Thank you."

He froze. "You think you fainted?"

She frowned at him in confusion. "Didn't I? All I remember is you were telling me how you were an actor and then, well, I woke up here on the sofa. My head hurts a bit. Hey, I think it's low blood sugar. It's happened before, my blood sugar just bottoms out and down I go. Mick, thank you for making me comfortable."

"Isn't your blood sugar still low?"

"Well, yes, it is. There's usually a brief spike then it falls again. Do you think I could have a glass of juice? Or maybe a regular soda? It's got sugar in it, and that'll get me back to normal."

Mick called out, "Jane Ann, bring some orange juice in here. Agent Sherlock says it was low blood sugar that made her faint."

"
What?
Faint?"

"Yeah, she fainted. It's okay, really, just bring in the orange juice."

Sherlock's temple pounded where his fist had struck her. Her palms itched to flatten the jerk. She whispered, "Could you help me sit up, Mick?"

Automatically, he pulled her to a sitting position. "How do you feel?"

"A little woozy, but I'll be okay. Like I said, this has happened before."

"Jane Ann, where's the orange juice?"

"Just a minute."

Still, it was another couple of minutes before Jane Ann wrapped Sherlock's fingers around a glass. Sherlock smiled up at her. "Ah, orange juice. Thank you, Jane Ann." Sherlock drank down half a glass, then leaned her head back, closed her eyes. "Thank you both. This doesn't happen often, but when it does, I'm down and out for a minute. I'm very glad you had some orange juice. It acts really fast, and hey, it's better for you than soda."

Sherlock waited, opened her eyes again, and set the orange juice on the coffee table. She stretched and smiled at the two of them, both standing directly in front of her, both looking worried, both still a bit on the blurry side. She had a ferocious headache, but she wasn't about to tell them that. She hoped she looked nice and pale. She sure felt rotten enough.

They hadn't taken her SIG, it was still clipped to her belt.

She stuck out her hand toward Mick and he took it and pulled her to her feet. She held still a moment to make sure she had herself back together again. "Do you know, a couple of months ago, I was shot. They removed my spleen. I'm all well again, but sometimes, like now, where my spleen once resided, it aches. Isn't that strange? It aches now." And she massaged her side a moment, continuing to smile at the two of them. "Thank you both for taking care of me. Jane Ann, I'll see you when you get back with your sons. Mick, you're a great guy, I know you'll make it in Hollywood."

She walked away from them through the beautiful archway, breathing deeply, evenly, not hurrying. Once she was a good six feet away from them, she pulled out her SIG and turned to face them. "All right, you two, I hope you didn't have great plans for Caskie's money since you won't be able to touch it. It's called ill-gotten gains."

Mick's face went red with outrage. "You were playing us! You were making all that up! Low blood sugar? It was all an act?"

"Well, yes, I had to. You two did take good care of me. Thank you. You know, Mick, it's not all that difficult to shoot people if you have the high ground and two guns blasting away. Then again, you didn't want to hit either of us, did you? I mean you couldn't kill us since we were Jane Ann's perfect alibi. We wouldn't have been any use to her at all dead. Tell me, what did Caskie do when you walked in on him in the laundry room? Did he even know who you were? Before you shot him in the forehead, did you tell him you were his wife's lover? Did you tell him it wasn't personal, you just wanted his money?"

Mick was shaking his head, back and forth. "Listen, Agent Sherlock, I don't know what you're talking about. None of what you said is true. I didn't do anything."

"This grand plan of yours, you both took a huge risk but I guess you thought the payoff would be worth it. We could have so easily killed you, Mick, and for what? For money? That was a very bad decision you made, but you know, I don't think it was your idea.

"You came up with it, didn't you, Jane Ann? You thought it all through, decided to call me so I'd give you the perfect alibi. I can see it on your face. You set up the cold-blooded murder of your own husband. I'd hoped I was wrong, hoped it was Mick here who was the grand manipulator. But no, it couldn't have been Mick's idea, he's too young, too self-absorbed, and frankly, he's not bright enough. But you made sure he was in so far he couldn't get himself out when he discovered how you'd used him.