And now, as the late-October wind tore at trees and shrieked into attic windows… now Rick knelt before his TV, his breath coming in gasps, as he watched the executioner finish the job.
The darkened living room was filled with shifting beams of light as the screen bloomed with various colors… and as Rick Corday cried out in ecstasy.
CHAPTER 44
Adam Morrow lay awake in his hotel room listening to the muffled sounds of the Manhattan midnight thirty stories below him.
He was being silly, paranoid.
Everything would be fine.
He had had several stern talks with his friend Rick Corday about taking crazy risks.
The worst Rick would do was go get drunk somewhere and come on to some guy. And most likely the guy would say no, for there was something disturbing about Rick; something that had initially excited Adam but that now gave him pause, greater and greater pause, actuallyand then Rick would insult him and storm out.
Then he'd go home and get even drunker by himself.
Good old Rick.
Getting time to dump him, actually.
Sleep came to Adam, then, as he assured himself for a final time that he had cured Rick of his impulsive and insane risk-taking…
Sleep…
CHAPTER 45
Following the death of her husband, Evelyn Daye Tappley had erected in her room a canopied bed of such proportion and craft that even a queen in a medieval kingdom would have been envious. In the manner of the ancient Egyptians, Evelyn had had her bedposts carved with intricate figures of myth such as unicorns and satyrs, and the bed itself hung with velvet and silk from the Orient.
It was here, when she did not wish to address mere mortals, including her daughter, that Evelyn Daye Tappley spent long hours in pajamas of the finest silk, sipping wine imported from French vineyards so celebrated that even international movie stars had a difficult time getting on the preferred customer list, and looking at photo album after photo album of her beloved second son Peter.
She was here how.
Doris knocked.
'I'll speak to you in the morning,' Evelyn said from the other side of the door.
'We need to talk now, Mother.'
'I'm in bed. Don't you have any respect for that?'
'I'm coming in, Mother.'
'Damn you, you have no right to treat me this way!'
But Doris waited no longer. Could wait no longer. If her suspicions were correct, her mother had done something that was both vile and exceedingly stupid.
The only light in the large shadowy room came from within the interior of the canopy itself, a light appended to the headboard of the vast bed.
Doris walked over and said, 'I want you to tell me about this Mr Runyon.'
Evelyn's dark eyes blazed. 'So you were listening on the extension.'
'Mr Runyon, Mother. I want you to tell me about him. And I want you to tell me what Arthur Halliwell has to do with all of this.'
Even this late in her life, Evelyn Daye Tappley had a firm and shapely body. In the dainty silk pajamas, the body looked thirty years younger than its owner.
On Evelyn's lap was a photo albumall color photos, of courseof Peter's ninth and tenth summers. Evelyn had been an inveterate documenter of her children's young years.
'He was a handsome boy, wasn't he?' she said dreamily.
'Yes, he was. Now tell me about Runyon.'
'You know, his birthday is coming up. Peter's, I mean.'
'I know.'
'I assume you'll go to the mausoleum with me.'
'Perhaps, Mother. But first'
Her mother glared up at Doris. 'You know what? The older I get, the more I wonder if you weren't jealous of Peter. I wonder if you weren't jealous all these years and I didn't understand it until recently.'
'You're changing the subject, Mother.'
'If you weren't jealous, you'd go to the mausoleum with me.'
'There's paying respectand then there's morbidity.'
'And I'm morbid?'
'You're there every day, aren't you?'
'And that's morbid?'
'Of course it is.'
Doris did not realize until it was too late what her mother had just done. There was a button on the side of the bed for summoning a servant. She had just pressed it. Martha would be here soon. Evelyn would have Martha stay with her so Doris couldn't ask any questions.
'You're very clever, Mother.'
Evelyn smiled. 'I like to think so, anyway, dear.'
'We're going to talk about Runyon.'
'Are we?'
'Jill doesn't deserve this.'
'You know what I just said about you being jealous of your brother?'
'Don't be ridiculous.'
'If you weren't jealous then you'd agree with me that that little bitch should be punished.'
'She's a decent woman. She did everything she could to save her marriage.'
Evelyn smirked. 'Oh yes, Jill Coffeya veritable saint, isn't she?' But she was angry now and could no longer control it. Her eyes grew wild again. 'Don't ask me about Runyon. Runyon is entirely my business, not yours. And I don't want you snooping around in my desk anymore, either.'
'I just can't believe that Mr Halliwell would have anything to do with this.'
'You're naive about people, Doris, and you always have been.'
A soft knock. Martha came in.
Evelyn said, 'Why don't you fluff my pillows and straighten the blankets and help me get ready for bed?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
Evelyn smiled at Doris. 'I'm sorry, dear, but with Martha here, I'm afraid we can't talk.'
Doris and Martha glanced at each other. Martha was wise in the ways of Evelyn Daye Tappley.
'I'll talk to you in the morning, then, Mother,' Doris said, and turned away from the bed.
As Doris left the room, Martha gave her a weary little smile.
CHAPTER 46
Jill heard the noise about 2 a.m. She eased herself out of bed so as not to wake Mitch, and went to the window. In the alley that ran along the side of her house, she saw the darkened shape of a police cruiser. No headlights. Two uniformed officers with long flashlights. Walking to the dumpster. Opening the lid. Aiming the beams inside. One of the officers pulling on a latex glove. Reaching down into the dumpster. Feeling around like a kid searching a treasure box at a grade-school ice-cream socialfeeling around blind for the best prize.
While the one officer, a woman, held the beam, the other, a man spent the next few minutes rummaging through the dumpster. Not a job Jill would want. The officers made faces at each other sometimes, indicating that the dumpster did not exactly smell of Chanel No. 5.
She knew they were looking for something to tie her to the murder. Mitch had once told her that the police frequently spent a lot of time going through garbage cans and dumpsters during the course of murder investigations. Something reliable often turned up.
The male officer found something.
His partner brought the light in closer.
He dug deeper.
Then he lifted something up for inspection.
Even from here, she recognized it. Her electric-blue, sandwashed blouse. But now there were dark stains all over it.
The officer folded it and put it in a large clear evidence bag.
Then he went back to the dumpster.
Behind her, Jill heard, 'What's going on?'
'Police,' she said softly.
Then Mitch stood next to her, smelling of sleep, his big hands on her thin shoulders. He felt warm and safe.
The female officer went back to shining her beam straight down inside the dumpster.
This took a few minutes longer than the blouse had, but eventually the male officer fished out another piece of her clothingher blue wraparound skirt. From this distance, Jill was unable to tell if the same dark splotches stained the skirt.
The officer placed the blouse carefully inside another evidence bag.