That was the problem. The easiest thing about this hit was also the hardest. He had total access. That meant they would come looking to him for answers. If they didn’t buy the suicide angle, they’d know it was murder; nothing in her condition far as he knew would suggest natural causes. So they’d assume he had something to do with it. Somebody else bodyguarding her might be able to say he’d stepped out to take a piss and get away with it, but not him. They had it in for him, the lousy motherfuckers. He needed something good, something that could be corroborated. He needed to be seen somewhere. The cafeteria, maybe? He could kill her, string her up, then go down there and pick a fight with somebody. That would get him noticed, and it would also have the added benefit of explaining any marks on him if the little bitch resisted. Then he’d come upstairs and pretend to discover the body. It was a possibility.
He went back into the room and sat in the chair in the corner, watching her sleep, thinking about how to do it. It was around ten o’clock. Bright light spilled into the darkened room from the hallway. Still a lot of activity on the ward. Middle of the night would be better, so nobody would hear the struggle. It had to be done tonight-that was a condition of the deal. So he didn’t have time to get no heart-attack drug or any fancy shit like that. A knife, a gun, he already had, but they wouldn’t fly if he was gonna fake the suicide. Suffocation, then, or maybe strangulation. Strangulation, now there was an idea. The white flesh of her skinny neck under his thumbs as he crushed her windpipe. Jesus, he was turning himself on again.
She stirred in her sleep, sighing and flopping her bandaged arm around on the blanket. He walked over and stood there looking at her. When he was sure she was sound asleep, he carefully tugged the blanket down to her waist, looking at the outline of her body under the thin hospital gown. She was too goddamn skinny. Pointy little tits, she had, needed a boob job. He liked ’em bigger, like that prosecutor today-now, she was a ripe one. The idea of fucking a girl after she was dead had always appealed to him, but this one here was a bag of bones. There was the DNA evidence, too. Hairs he could explain from bodyguarding her, but semen would be a problem. He better watch what he drank, or he’d find himself doing it anyway. Controlling himself was never his thing.
He went back to the chair, sat down, and stretched his legs out. He pulled out his pint, tipped it back and drank till it was empty and he felt that glow. It would be hours before he could do anything. He oughta save his energy. Time for a little snooze.
FLANAGAN WOKE WITH A START FROM A DEAD sleep. He’d heard a weird popping noise. Or was it just a dream? It was getting light outside. He pushed the button to light up the display on his digital watch, his head pounding. He’d slept most of the night away. Jesus, better get moving if he was gonna get this job done. He couldn’t afford to miss his chance; he needed the paycheck too bad.
The door to the hallway was closed. Funny, he didn’t remember doing that. Must’ve been a nurse. He stood up stiffly and straightened out his clothes, hawking to clear the phlegm from his throat. Sleeping in a fucking chair. Everything hurt. Something smelled funny, almost like blood. He hated hospitals, so depressing. Man, he was groggy. He needed a drink to clear his head. His hands shook as he reached for his pint. Fucking empty! Shit! He didn’t remember finishing it off. How the fuck was he gonna do this job without another drink? He might have to go out for some, he was getting the DTs so bad.
He walked over to the bed, remembering that he hadn’t decided whether to strangle or suffocate her. Looking down at her, though, it took him a minute to process what he saw. Amanda’s eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. A neat black hole sat square in the middle of her forehead, as a dark stain spread slowly across her pillow.
He was shaking all over now, trying to work out what had happened-could he have done it and blacked it out?-when he heard a noise behind him and turned. A Spanish guy with a pointy face and little bitty eyes stood there looking at him. Kid was fierce-looking, but small. Fucking prick, stealing his twenty-five Gs. Bill saw in his mind’s eye how he’d beat the kid to death with his bare fists.
“Hey, asshole,” he said, his voice hoarse, moving toward the kid, “what the fuck you doing? This is my gig.”
The kid smiled and raised his arm from where it hung at his side. He held a sleek nine-millimeter with a silencer a mile long coming off the muzzle, pointed straight at Bill’s face. Nice piece, Bill thought, listening to the loud pop it made when it went off.
HE WALK TO THE ELEVATOR AND GET ON, SIMPLE as that. It pretty quiet in the hospital this early in the morning. He like the early morning. When he get outside, the street feel real fresh. Garbage don’t stink the way it do later in the day, when the sun so hot. Nobody seen him. Even if they did, so what? He left the door closed. By the time they find the bodies, he be long gone and nobody gonna give him a second thought.
He been mad productive lately. It like he unstoppable. Kill people right in front of witnesses, and still ain’t no- body catch him. He on a mad winning streak. No reason to stop when you hot. He take care of that Chinese bitch today, that architect. Then maybe he finally get a payday off this fucked-up job.
38
FROM THE DEPTHS OF HER SLEEP, MELANIE HEARD a telephone ringing. She struggled to the surface through waves of fatigue. By the time she sat up and reached for the receiver on her bedside table, the answering machine had clicked on in the other room.
“Hello? Hello?” she repeated, eyes burning, wincing at the screech on the line as the machine cut off.
“Hello, Melanie, it’s Elsie.”
She looked at the clock sitting next to the telephone. It was nearly seven. The alarm was just about to go off, and the bed felt empty without Steve in it. She’d barely slept last night, with everything that was on her mind. Given the length of Elsie’s commute and the fact that she obviously hadn’t left home yet, Elsie was going to be late to work. Which meant Melanie was going to be late to work.
“Hey, Elsie, what’s up?” she asked, her stomach sinking. She had so much to do today.
“Did I mention today was my birthday?” Elsie asked.
“No. No, I didn’t know it was your birthday. But I’m glad you told me. I’ll pick up a cake on my way home from the office today, and we’ll celebrate.”
“Well, my children want to take me out. After how much I’ve been working, I need the day off. So I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it today,” Elsie said.
“I beg your pardon?” Melanie asked, hoping she’d misunderstood.
“I said I can’t come in today.”
“Elsie, if you want to take a personal day for your birthday, we can talk about that, but I need some notice. I’m in the middle of a major murder investigation.” She was panicking, breathing hard.
“I’m sorry, Melanie. I really can’t make it today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Elsie hung up.
SHE CHECKED ON MAYA, STILL SOUND ASLEEP in her crib. Por favor, stay that way a little longer, nena! Melanie needed to concentrate on solving this problem. She made some coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, rubbing her eyes. Tired as she was, coping with this unexpected complication seemed beyond her abilities. Think, think. Who could she call? Well, Steve, of course. He was Maya’s father, wasn’t he?