He gripped the handrail as if forcing himself to remain there. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t killed you, Eleanor.”
Her peal of laughter was derisive. “You’re too good a boy to commit murder, Brad.”
She stood with her head uplifted, quite beautiful and arrogant and terrible. I didn’t know what had brought their marriage to this stage, but there was no mistaking her intent. She had publicly played the part of a fearful woman trying to hide spousal abuse. He could proclaim his innocence, but whispers and sidelong looks and disbelief would dog him forever.
“I’ll tell everyone you’re lying.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “Be my guest. No one will believe you. I’ve already made a good start on that. You’d better come down. I will explain”-and now her face was formidable, her voice cold-“exactly what I want and why you will be happy to cooperate.”
She didn’t wait to see if he complied. She turned to her left, flicked on a light, and walked into a comfortable den.
He started down the stairs, and I felt a pang of sorrow. He had a lost, bewildered look, a man facing ruin with no way out.
I dismissed thoughts of Precept Three. Though I would be happy to work behind the scenes, this time I had to make my presence known. There was only one chance to outwit Brad’s unscrupulous adversary.
I popped next to him on the stairs, gripped his arm, and whispered, “Keep her talking. I’ll video everything she says.”
He froze.
The clink of ice sounded from the den.
Brad stood rigid.
“You’d better get down here.” Her raised voice had a metallic edge. “I might have to call a friend for help. Big, bad old Brad. I don’t think you want me to do that.”
I tugged at his arm. “Do what I say.”
His head jerked from side to side.
Honestly, some men are so difficult to lead. With a little huff of exasperation, I swirled into being, admiring, as I did so, the crisp French blue of the Adelaide police uniform. Very flattering to a redhead. (A simple factual comment.)
He leaned back against the banister.
I jerked a thumb. “I’m here to help. Get down there and talk to her.” I tapped the small video camera anchored to my belt. “Every word will be recorded. Don’t give me a thought.” I disappeared.
The click of shoes on parquet flooring announced her impatient arrival in the doorway. “What’s keeping you?”
He rubbed his head as if it hurt, then made an odd, helpless gesture. “I’m coming.” He started down the stairs, but he darted several quick glances behind him.
Of course, there was no one there.
She waited, arms folded. “Who are you looking for?” She, too, gazed up the stairs, her face uneasy.
“I don’t know.” His voice was thin. “I thought I heard something.”
“Maybe you wish you did. You’d like an audience, wouldn’t you? Sorry not to oblige.”
Slowly, his expression befuddled, he followed her into the den.
She finished making her drink. “What’s your pleasure?” she asked.
I moved behind her, dropped down behind a brown leather sofa, and appeared. I unhooked the video cam from my belt and turned it on. I placed it on the floor, moved several feet away, and disappeared. The camera remained where I had placed it. Wiggins had never fully explained the physics of appearing along with whatever accessories I might need. I had learned that an accessory separated from my person remained in existence. Voilà, I now had the instrument for Eleanor’s undoing.
I lifted the video cam and propped it near a vase, the lens aimed toward Eleanor.
Brad ignored her question. He stood stiffly near a potted palm, arms folded. “I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. You know I’ve never struck you.”
She bent forward a little, pulled down the edge of her blouse, revealing a reddish purple splotch. “How do you like it?”
He strode forward, face incredulous.
I nodded in unseen approval. Now he, too, was within camera range.
He lifted a shaking hand. “Where did that come from?”
She tore off a length of paper toweling from the minibar, held it beneath a gushing faucet. “Now you see it.” She lifted the damp toweling, swiped at the splotch. “Now you don’t. The wonders of makeup, Brad. Of course”-and her tone was careless as she pulled her blouse up to cover the now unblemished skin-“what matters is that Joan Grainger got a very good look at my awful bruise in the ladies’ lounge at the club this evening. She was quite sympathetic. Of course I told her, my voice shaking, that I was perfectly all right when she offered to put me up tonight.”
“She thinks I hit you?” His shock was obvious.
“Afraid so.” She swirled the ice cubes in an amber drink, took a sip.
“You can’t do this to me.”
“Yes, I can. Tonight I laid the groundwork for some very ugly gossip that I’m an abused wife. Joan saw the bruise. Now, here’s the deal. Joan keeps her mouth shut. That’s why I picked her. Joan never says anything bad about anyone. Your secret is safe with her. She will check in with me, make sure I’m all right. If you play up, I’ll convince her the bruise was from a fall and I appeared distraught tonight because, poor little me, I had the onset of one of my dreadful migraines.”
“Play up? What do you mean?”
“No divorce. You’ve got evidence on me, but you will never use it. I like being the judge’s wife. I like the fact that you are rich enough that I can do what I like, travel, shop, entertain. You will strive to be the gentleman you are, pleasant in public, out of my way in private.”
“If I refuse?” His voice was grim.
“That would be a grave mistake. You see, most of the women I know are not as reticent as Joan. Tomorrow night I’m playing bridge with some ladies whose mouths never shut, and gossip is their life-blood. I can create quite a spectacular bruise for them. So”-she took another drink-“it’s up to you, Brad. If you file for a divorce, I’ll convince everyone who matters in Adelaide that you use me for a punching bag.”
“That’s extortion.” His voice was harsh.
“How lovely to have a lawyer in the family. Extortion has an ugly sound. Let’s say it’s quid pro quo. You do as I say, or I set you up as a wife beater.” She lifted the glass in a toast. “Here’s to us, Brad.”
In the faraway distance, I heard the unmistakable wail of the Rescue Express. Within minutes, I must be done.
I eased the camera below the side table and moved behind her to French doors that likely opened onto a terrace. The camera appeared to be floating in the air. I waggled it, catching Brad’s attention. The evident shock in his face appeared to her to be the result of her taunt.
I swirled into being, camera held high.
He appeared frozen.
I reached behind me, opened the French door.
She heard the creak of the opening door and jerked about. Her eyes widened in shock.
I suppose a police officer approaching with a stern expression was unnerving.
Brad shook his head in disbelief, but there was a sudden aching hope in his blue eyes.
I held up the video camera. “Extortion is an offense punishable by a sentence of up to four years in prison and a substantial fine.”
“You have no right to be here.” She was struggling to breathe. “You can’t come into someone’s home and tape them-”
I interrupted, “I have a full videotape and recording of your attempt at extortion.”
“-without their permission.”
“I am here at the invitation of your husband”-I looked warningly at Brad-“who had reason to believe he might be subject to threats. Therefore”-my smile was bright-“I am lawfully present and”-I tapped the video cam-“the evidence contained here is admissible in court.” Again I looked at Brad. “As any judge would explain.”