Maybe Sarah is calling him, Nunn thought. Sarah preferred a liar and a scumbag like Stan Ballard over him. What’s wrong with me? Nunn thought. What’s wrong with her? Their marriage seemed like one of those modern paintings, the foundation lost in the wild chaos. Had Sarah ever loved him?
Ballard turned into an alleyway, eschewing the warm comforts of a café and a bar another block down the fogged street.
Ballard wanted privacy in the wake of the shocking revelations. Interesting.
Nunn stopped at the corner, risked a glance down the alleyway. Dumpsters and crates from the café lined the pavement. He could see Ballard, moving behind a Dumpster, and Nunn hurried forward, his hand going to his gun, the relic of the cop he used to be. Odd that the urge to wear a sidearm and bring handcuffs to the museum had taken him: the visible proof that he still thought himself a police officer, although he wasn’t. But he was grateful for his idiosyncrasy now.
Ballard’s voice made a low hiss into the phone: “It’s all going to come out, what we did to make money off the estate.” Panic touching the words, poisoning them. He sensed the presence behind him and turned, so Nunn simply stuck his service piece into Ballard’s cheek.
Ballard froze, pale with shock.
Nunn put a finger to his lips. Ballard stayed mute. Nunn snapped fingers at the phone. Ballard handed it over.
Nunn put the phone to his ears. The rant blurted into his ear: “Shut up, shut up about it.” Peter Heusen, slurring words in a whiskey drawl.
Nunn made a noise of assent.
“I don’t care, Stan. We’re safe, we’re fine, we’re, best of all, we’re cool. We’re beyond cool. We’re icy. We are non-globally warmed.” Peter’s voice cracked into hard, brittle laughter. “It doesn’t matter whatever you say that CSI guy said. It doesn’t matter. Because we can’t be caught. The money is yours, mine, and ours.”
Nunn grunted, and as Peter launched into another drunken tirade of reassurance, Nunn covered the phone and whispered to Ballard. “Tell him to stay put. Tell him you want to come to see him. Now. Don’t take no for an answer.”
“You won’t…” Ballard’s gaze darted to the gun against his cheek.
“I will,” Nunn whispered. “Nothing to lose, man. You made sure of that. You’re the one with everything to lose, Stan. Do as I say.” Nunn put the phone back up to Ballard’s face.
“Yes, Peter, I’m here.” Ballard’s voice was steady. The lawyer in him kicked in. He would not show he was rattled, not to an audience. Or to an accomplice. “I want to see you. Now.” A pause. “No, not at a bar. Stay on your boat. You’re not in any condition to be in public again tonight. I’ll be there shortly… All right… Yes, Peter. Good-bye.”
Nunn clicked off the phone. “If only I had a tape recorder so I could prove to the world what a complete waste of skin you are.”
Ballard risked a half smile. “You just assaulted me and listened in on a private conversation. I’ll sue you into complete financial oblivion unless you just turn around and walk away. You think you hit bottom after Sarah dumped you? You’re still a mile above bottom, but I will crash you, Nunn.”
“Crashing is my hobby,” Nunn said. “I’m in Olympic training for hitting bottom, Stan. Seriously. I’m impressed with the level of jackass-ery you’ve managed. You helped Peter bilk the Thomas kids out of millions after their mother, his own sister, was executed. If only they gave medals for class and integrity.”
Ballard’s mouth worked and decided on a frown. “You’re making a huge assumption.”
“No, that’s what I used to do. Assume. No more. Show me your wallet and your car keys, Stan.”
Ballard fished out his wallet and keys. A Mercedes logo gleamed on the key chain. Nunn thumbed through the thick wallet. “You’re living so much larger than when Rosemary marched off to the death chamber. You and Peter raiding the family funds? It’s hard for a dead woman to ask for an audit.”
Ballard didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
“Peter’s a jerk, but he’s also a drunk and not exactly a guy you’d entrust with a plan,” Nunn said. The need to twist the knife in Ballard ran deep through Nunn’s bones. Part of him, wrongly he knew, wanted to pull the trigger and make Ballard’s usually sneering face disappear; but then he thought of Sarah. Did she really love this man? Did she even know him?
“What?” Ballard, usually so sharp, didn’t see Nunn’s meaning.
“Someone hatched a plan to put a body in that iron maiden and frame Rosemary. It is a crime that required a great deal of forethought and planning.”
“You sound like a textbook.”
“You’re sleeping with my wife, and I have a gun, so mocking me wouldn’t be a smart strategy.”
Ballard said, “Your ex-wife-”
Nunn cut him off. “The candidate pool is thin, Stan. You’re smarter than Peter, and your motive isn’t so obvious as Peter’s would be. If Peter profits, you profit.”
Ballard’s mouth twitched, moved, turned into a frown of disbelief. “You only say that because of Sarah. Because you want to believe the worst of me.”
“I don’t want. I do believe the worst of you. Tell me what you and Peter did.”
“This wasn’t my plan.”
Nunn shoved the gun harder into Ballard’s cheek. The flesh went red in the dim light. “Whose plan?”
Ballard didn’t answer.
“You think I won’t kill you?”
“You won’t. You love Sarah too much to kill me.”
The awful truth of Ballard’s words, the blunt truth coming from a man he knew to be a liar, burned into Nunn’s brain. He pictured Sarah in Ballard’s arms. He didn’t know if he loved her or hated her. But he kept his voice steady and calm. “I won’t be the one hurting Sarah. You helped frame an innocent woman for murder. I guarantee that is a marriage ender for Sarah.”
Ballard narrowed his stare. “What do you want? Money? I can raise your standard of living.”
“That money is Rosemary’s money. Her kids’ money.”
“Rosemary is dead and that’s your fault, Nunn.”
Nunn’s finger squeezed on the trigger. Ever so slightly. Ballard saw the flexing of the vein on the back of Nunn’s hand and made a sudden, low moan in his throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t-”
“What did Peter mean, they won’t know?”
“Peter’s drunk. He’s just blathering.”
“Is Christopher Thomas alive?”
“I don’t know.”
“Has he touched any of the money since Rosemary died? Is he part of your scheme?”
“I told you, I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. You know as much as I do.”
“You thought he was dead?”
“Until twenty minutes ago.”
“You’re lying. You engineered all of this with Peter.”
“No.”
“If I killed you right now, Stan, the scales would even out.” Nunn wanted to scare Ballard, banish the smirk from his face. “You stole Rosemary’s life. You ruined mine.”
“You’re not going to shoot me.”
“I am. I am going to shoot you, Stan. More than once. First the ears. Then the nose. Then the knees. Then, when the pain is more than you can bear, I’ll shoot you in the brain that cooked up all this misery.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Nunn pushed the gun past Ballard’s ear and fired. The blast boomed down the alleyway. Ballard screamed and dropped, clutching at his uninjured head as though blood fountained from a wound. He screamed like a man trying to determine if he was alive or dead.
Nunn grabbed him, flung him against the brick wall. Did anyone hear the blast? Nunn wondered. He had maybe a few minutes before the police arrived, if anyone reported a gunshot.