"You kill her?"
I shook my head.
He nodded as though he understood something. I couldn't guess what.
"But the killings. It was just her and Phil? Doesn't go any farther. Dell?"
"Dell didn't know."
The politician in him had started calculating the impact of these developments on his self-interest.
"With these confessions in place-Phil's and Cathy's-I imagine Locard's work on this case is done, finished. The rest of the search of the ranch won't have to take place tomorrow, will it?"
"I imagine not, but it's not my decision."
His shoulders sagged. He rested the handgun on his knee.
"Well, it is up to me.
I'll just put an end to it myself. Nonetheless, this will be a circus for the press. Phil dead. Ancient murders on my ranch. A member of my staff involved. I think I'd better get on back to Washington. I don't want to be held captive here at the Silky Road when the media craziness starts percolating over what Phil once did. I'm going to need some professional help with this from my press people."
"If you shoot me you won't be going to Washington for a while, Ray. There'll be a few questions." He yawned. I fought not to mimic him. The room had brightened further with the advancing dawn. The brightness was disconcerting; I still wanted to sleep.
"Who knows all this?" he said.
"What you just told me? About the girls and Phil and Cathy?" I didn't want to answer truthfully. I said, "A lot of people know. Phil had lured all of the Locard people up to the blow down They all know. Why don't you just let me go? You won't have the satisfaction of killing me, but it will be much less messy for you than the alternative."
"You may well be right about that. But the truth is that this opportunity may be too good to pass up. See… there's that other problem."
I was surprised.
"What other problem is that?"
Some flaky sleep in the corner of one eye was bothering Welle. He scratched at it with the nail of his pinkie.
"I don't especially appreciate all the questions you've been asking people about Gloria. My wife? You had that boy's uncle send me a letter wanting to see the records from Brian Sample's old psychotherapy, right? That wasn't a good idea on your part, didn't sit right with me. That's one sleeping dog you should have just let lie."
I recalled Sam's warning to me after the incident at the tennis house in Denver.
"Tell you what, Ray-since it bothers you, I'll stop asking."
He laughed.
"I wish it were that easy. But I don't think you'll stop. Why? I don't think you like me. I don't think you like my politics. I don't think your wife liked having me in her fancy family. Yeah, I know all about your wife. You know what else? I don't think you even like having me in your sanctimonious profession. I don't think either of you wants to have me in the Senate. So, no, I don't think you'll stop pestering. You'll just keep digging and picking at it.
Won't let Gloria rest until you make something tragic look like something sinister."
"You have my word. I'll stop."
"Sorry." He wasn't. I could tell. The gun came back up off his knee.
I argued.
"You can't stop the questions by killing me. There are others who know everything I do."
He narrowed his eyes and rubbed the stubble on his chin with his free hand. The sound was audible.
"I don't think so. Some of this-the part about Gloria-only another psychologist would figure." He stood up.
"Now you get up, too. It won't look good to shoot you while you're sitting on the sofa."
I stayed where I was and reviewed my options. I could yell for help from Kimber.
Ray would probably consider it a diversion and shoot me anyway. The possibility also existed that Kimber remained so incapacitated by his panic attack that he might prove to be of no help. Either way I didn't see how it was going to increase the odds of my survival.
I could run for it and hope Ray was a lousy shot. An errant gunshot would probably rouse Kimber from his stupor and he'd run out and confront Ray, at which point one of them would shoot the other. Another possible lousy outcome.
"Up," Ray said.
"Might not look good to kill you there, but I'll do it. Don't test me. Now get up."
The circumstances were eerie. I was so tired that I thought I hallucinated a tray with Red Zinger and Girl Scout Cookies on the table between us. Without thinking, I blurted, "Where do you want me to go exactly, Ray? The closet in the guest room? So you don't have to watch what you're about to do?"
He blanched and a breath caught in his throat. His hand shook.
Until that moment I hadn't known what the stakes were for Raymond Welle. But suddenly I did.
My murder would not be the first one Ray Welle had planned at the Silky Road Ranch.
Ray's eyes stared past me. I was tempted to look over my shoulder to see what he was focusing on. He said, "You can't prove anything." He had started breathing through his mouth, the long exhalations coming from deep in his gut.
My feelings about the gun pointing at me were flip-flopping as much as the politician who was pointing it at me. One moment I felt totally intimidated by the threat, the next moment I felt totally liberated by the certainty of my death. During one of the liberated moments, I said, "That argument alone tells me I don't have to prove anything at all. It's as good as a confession."
He straightened his shoulders, trying to look congressional and imperious. The gun and the pajamas detracted from the image. He scoffed, "And what good does it do you? Now that you know-so what? You get to die a righteous man? Does that feel good? You fool! I'm so glad for you. Will that make your widow happy? Now stand up!"
I did stand. I needed to keep Ray talking and was rethinking whether or not to call for Kimber's help.
"Why did Brian do it for you, Ray? I don't get that part. Was it the transference? Was he that crazy?"
Ray took a step back from me. First one foot, then the other. He was gripping the pistol so tightly his knuckles were turning white.
"No, he wasn't crazy. He was the most suicidal son of a bitch I saw in my whole career. But he wasn't crazy. Not at all. Brian Sample had not only decided that he wanted to die, he'd also decided that he wanted to die a righteous man.
That's why he did what he did."
"And killing Gloria made him righteous?"
"Are you kidding? Brian knew that killing Gloria for me was only the price of admission." His mouth widened into a tight smile.
"You don't really know what all happened that day, do you? You only have bits and pieces."
"No," I admitted.
"I don't know what happened."
He tsked.
"I'm surprised at you. Phil eventually figured it out, every last bit of it.
He's not that bright a guy, so that surprised me some. But he was here that day so he had an advantage. But you? I've been guessing that you had it all."
"Phil knew?"
"Yeah, he knew I arranged to have Brian kill Gloria. And me? I'd suspected all along that he had something to do with those two girls dying back in 1988. Left the two of us in a kind of a standoff. Remember the cold war? Our nuclear policy with the Russians? The tacticians called it 'mutual assured destruction." MAD.
If they tried to blow us up we would blow them up. And vice-versa. It was a perfect stalemate. That's what Phil and I had, our own little mutual destruction pact. MAD right here on Mad Creek. When I got elected to the House, we decided to reduce the tension a little and become allies. It turned out all right, I think, for both of us. But now Phils dead. The rules are going to be different, I suppose. I should enjoy a little more freedom now that Ray has unilaterally disarmed."
"He killed Dorothy Levin for you."
Ray Welle raised an eyebrow.
"For us. He killed Dorothy for us. She comes here for one weekend and manages to puzzle out way too much of what had happened to Gloria. So Phil eliminated her. He did it for both of us-let's just say that over time our interests had converged."