“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” Jake said, and I could hear the fury, although he kept his voice low.
“Murder? No, I couldn’t leave murder alone, Jake. And I’ll tell you what: I don’t know how safe it would have been for me to leave it alone, because your boyfriend has settled on murder as the quickest and easiest way to resolve his problems.”
“Bullshit.”
“Fine. If I’m wrong, I’ll just go for a pleasant sail and come back slightly drunk and slightly sunburned. But if I’m right --”
“You think he’s going to attack you in broad daylight? There’s a crew on board, for chrissake.”
“There was a house full of people at that party in Laurel Canyon. I don’t think crowds intimidate him. And I don’t think he’s planning to shoot me. He’s going to need it to look like another accident. He’ll try to shove me overboard or push me down the stairs or something. Put something in my drink maybe.”
Jake said in choked tones, “That’s nearly as brilliant as your plan. What is your plan, by the way? Besides getting yourself killed?”
“It’s the simplest thing in the world. You come too. And you stop him from killing me. And then you arrest him.”
“On attempted murder? How the fuck does --” He abruptly lowered his voice. “Even if we get him on trying to take you out, how does that prove anything else?”
“Why would he try and kill me if it wasn’t because --”
“I can think of a dozen reasons,” Jake said.
“That hurts,” I said after a pause. He was joking -- sort of -- and that had to be a good sign, right? I added, “Anyway, I plan to wear a wire. I bought some gear at Radio Shack --” I stopped. He was laughing.
It was one of those wheezy, near-silent Muttley laughs. When he managed to speak, he sounded slightly hysterical. “You’re insane,” he said. “How did I never notice this about you before?”
“I’m not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn’t kill me, it’s foolproof.”
He said very quietly, “Listen to me carefully. Don’t get on that fucking boat tomorrow. I am not going to back you up on this. I am not going to let you manipulate me any more than I am going to let Paul manipulate me. You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do here?”
Now that threw me. Talk about ego-centric. “You think this is all about getting you to come out?”
“That’s what you’re asking of me. And you know -- you know -- I cannot do this. I will not do this.”
“You’d rather that he got away with murder?”
“He didn’t kill anyone!”
In the wake of that cry we were both silent.
I heard him cover the receiver and speak to someone, then he came back on the line. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk about this later. Don’t -- I repeat -- don’t get on that boat. Don’t do anything stupid. Do you understand?”
And I did. And I believed him.
“Jake…” I wasn’t sure how to say it. “I’ve set something in motion now that I can’t stop. He’s going to come after me, and it would be better if I could control the circumstances of it.”
“You think a boat in the middle of the ocean is controlling the circumstances?” His voice shook both with anger and something not so easily identified. “You just told me your heart is worse, and you pull this stunt. Are you out of your goddamned mind?”
By now it was clearly a rhetorical question.
I said, trying for patience, “This way I know where and I know when he’s going to try. I won’t have that opportunity again. I won’t have any control over it after tomorrow. And if I don’t show up, he’ll know that I know --”
He cut me off, and I almost didn’t recognize that low voice as Jake’s. “I know you’re trying to do the right thing. I know this is partly my fault for letting Paul bring you into this. But I am asking you…” His voice dropped lower. “I am begging you, Adrien. Don’t do this. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you -- but don’t ask this. I can’t help you this time.”
“There isn’t anyone else I can ask, Jake.”
The click of the receiver was soft but definite against my ear.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Are you really intending not to drink or eat anything this entire trip?” Paul asked lazily.
It was just after nine o’clock in the morning, and we were sailing in open water. The fog was beginning to burn off. It was going to be a beautiful day, but it was chilly, the ocean smelling of salt and rain and things down deep below the restless green water. Paul and I sat on the open deck of the Pirate’s Gambit. A brunch tray sat on the table between us and it was enticingly arranged with plates. There was something called baked omelet roll -- ham and cheese and mushroom -- fresh fruit, muffins. I was more tempted by the pot of hot coffee.
“I’ll probably have something later,” I said.
He smiled. “I would have to be pretty stupid to poison you aboard my own boat.”
“Yes, you would,” I agreed, and he chuckled.
We were by ourselves. When I had arrived at the marina Paul told me he had canceled the party.
“You obviously have something on your mind,” he’d said. “This way we can chat undisturbed.”
But we hadn’t chatted. We’d put out to sea -- and I was not particularly reassured by the sight of Paul’s captain taking the helm. I’d taken what precautions I could. I’d talked to Guy -- and if possible he was even more disgusted and furious with me than Jake. I’d written down my detailed theory on why I believed Porter Jones had been killed -- heck, I’d written down everything I could think of that might help prosecute Kane if things went wrong -- and I’d mailed it off that morning to Mr. Gracen to be opened in the event of my death.
Of course just receiving a communication like that was liable to result in dear old Mr. Gracen popping off this earthly plane, but that couldn’t be helped. If I wasn’t successful, if Kane was stupid enough -- desperate enough -- to try to kill me after I explained these precautions, then at least I wanted to know that LAPD would have sufficient cause to reinvestigate Langley Hawthorne’s death. Not to mention my own.
But I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
And certainly Paul had been easy and charming for the half hour or so we had been together, chatting pleasantly while he enjoyed his breakfast.
But at last he finished eating, brushed the crumbs from his muffin fastidiously from his hands, shoved the plate aside, and studied me with those bright, amused eyes.
“You know, I really don’t believe that you’re out here planning to try a spot of blackmail.” His mouth twitched. “I have to say, though, you’d be quite good at acting yourself. That bit in the café last night was brilliant.” He mimicked, “I can write my own screenplay!” He shook his head. “What a turn for comedy you have.”
I have to admit I wasn’t quite expecting this relaxed frankness. I said cautiously, “If you don’t think I’m trying to blackmail you, what do you think I’m doing out here?”
“Besides having seen one too many detective films? I think you want answers. I think you’re insatiably curious. And I don’t mind answering your questions. You won’t be able to prove any of this. There is no proof. Now. And I like you, Adrien.” He arched an elegant eyebrow. “I like you a good deal.”
Oddly enough, that was the first scary thing he’d said. It was like finding a cobra curled up in the foot of your sleeping bag. I said, and it wasn’t even a guess, “You destroyed Porter’s memoirs.”