Duncan’s voice was unsteady. “I have to stop. I don’t dare let her catch me with this tape recorder. I’d warn you right now in person, but what if I’m wrong? What if she hasn’t turned against me? I can’t give her up. And if I’m right to be suspicious about her? In that case, I’m dead. I’ve got nothing to lose. Make sure she doesn’t destroy you the way she did me. Get even for me, even though I deserve whatever she might do to me. I have absolutely no loyalty to her. God help me, though, how I need her.”
The tape hissed. Something made a scraping sound, possibly Duncan’s hand setting down the microphone. Then the tape became silent, although Coltrane could see it continuing to turn in the tape deck.
“Now?” Blaine asked. “Now would you explain what this is about?”
26
WHEN JENNIFER FINISHED, BLAINE LEANED BACK FROM THE documents she had spread on the desk.
“We have to take this to the police,” Coltrane said.
Blaine shook his head. “I don’t know what good it would do. These materials don’t prove anything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A skillful defense attorney would have a case predicated on these flimsy connections dismissed before it went to trial. You’re filling in blanks without any support for your conclusions. In the eyes of the law, the theory you’re proposing is wildly circumstantial.”
“But what about all the names she used?”
“To protect her privacy. The defense would argue that she’s an unfortunate young woman who, through no fault of her own, has been plagued by men who want to dominate her. A chain of terrible consequences, for which she bears no responsibility, has forced her to keep changing her name and where she lives. You can’t prove she manipulates men into fighting over her. You can’t prove she arranges for the victors to have lethal accidents. The law deals with facts, not supposition.”
“What about Duncan’s tape?”
“The ravings of a man deranged enough to commit suicide. The defense would deny any sexual connection between her and Duncan. It would argue that Duncan was fantasizing. In my professional opinion, these materials are worthless.”
“But they might convince the police to look more closely into Duncan’s death. It’s clear now that he didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.”
“Clear to you. But if Melinda Chance is as calculating as you believe she is, I think it’s highly unlikely that she left anything to incriminate herself.”
Coltrane started to say something, then gestured in frustration.
“But my personal opinion is another matter,” Blaine said. “I think this woman is dangerous. I think you should give this material to the police in the hopes that they might finally investigate her. Then I think you should run like hell.”
27
“I BOUGHT A REVOLVER AND A SHOTGUN HERE BEFORE Christmas.”
The clerk at the gun shop nodded.
“But I couldn’t take the handgun because of the five-day waiting period.”
“You’ve come to pick it up?”
“Yes – and another shotgun.”
28
JENNIFER’S FACE WAS STARK WITH DISMAY AS COLTRANE SET THE shotgun in the backseat along with the briefcase-like container that the revolver came in. “It’s happening again.”
“I know how you feel about guns,” he said. “But I don’t see another choice. It’s my fault I got into this mess. If I’d stayed away from her… You don’t deserve to be at risk. You’ve already helped a great deal. I’m going to take you home and-”
“Like hell you are.”
Coltrane blinked.
“She makes me furious,” Jennifer said.
The force of her words made Coltrane study her in surprise.
“I’m furious at the way she used you,” Jennifer said. “At the way she’s threatening you. At what she did to us. So don’t give me any bullshit about taking me home. I’m going to do my damnedest to help you stop her.” Jennifer thought about her tone and started to laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“Just like old times. Did you ever argue with…”
“Her?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
Their laughter subsided.
“Never,” he said.
Jennifer remained silent for a long, somber moment. “Maybe you and I just aren’t a match.”
“Because we disagree about some things? Hey, it’s easy not to disagree when someone’s playing a role and constantly lying the way Tash was.”
“Maybe that’s my problem. I always tell the truth,” Jennifer said.
“I wouldn’t call that a problem… If I know what’s good for me, you said. I’ll tell you what’s good for me. You are.”
Jennifer studied him. Studied her hands. “But how will you feel tomorrow?”
“The way I feel right now,” Coltrane said. He couldn’t help thinking, If we’re still alive tomorrow.
29
HE HAD CHOSEN A REVOLVER BECAUSE HIS LACK OF EXPERIENCE with handguns warned him to get something simple. There wasn’t any magazine to be loaded and inserted, any slide to be pulled back, any slight possibility of jamming, characteristics of a semiautomatic pistol. With the weapon he had chosen, a Colt.357 Python, all he had to do was press a lever on the left side of the frame, tilt out a cylinder, push six rounds into its chambers, and shove the cylinder back into place. As easy as that, it was ready to use, an important consideration for someone with Coltrane’s inexperience. Granted, a semiautomatic in a similar caliber held more than twice as many rounds as the Python, but Coltrane had concluded that a weapon he didn’t feel comfortable with was almost as bad as not having a weapon at all.
He explained this to Jennifer after he pulled into his garage, loaded the handgun, and shoved it under his sport coat. It gouged his skin.
“You’re going to carry that with you?”
“If we need it, it’s no use in a drawer.” Coltrane loaded the shotgun. “You remember I showed you how to use this?”
“I swore I never would.”
“That was then. What about now?”
“Yes, I remember how to use it.”
Coltrane had closed the garage before loading the weapons. Now he held the shotgun in his left hand, used his right hand to unlock the garage’s entrance into the house, and pushed the door open. Jennifer came behind him. She closed the door as he turned to disarm the intrusion detector, but a fidgety corner of his mind was already warning him that something was wrong. The detector should have let out a thirty-second beep, reminding him to deactivate the system before it went into full alarm mode.
But it wasn’t beeping.
“No,” Coltrane said.
Jennifer secured the dead bolt on the door. “What’s wrong?”
The glowing words on the keypad chilled him: READY TO ARM.
He spun toward the murky stairs that went up and down, aiming the shotgun. “I turned on the alarm when I left, but now it’s off. Somebody’s in the house.”
Jennifer bumped backward against the shadowy wall.