Again Gurney waited.
“I’ll tell you why. The disgusting bitch was paying him to fuck her. On my father’s credit card. How disgusting is that? And speaking of disgusting, you should see her putting on her makeup … give you the fucking shakes watching it—like an undertaker putting a smiley face on a corpse.”
This fury, this well of bile and hatred, struck Gurney as the most authentic part of Alyssa he’d seen so far. But even about that he wasn’t absolutely sure. He wondered how extensive her acting talent might be.
She sat silently now, chewing at her thumb.
“Did she kill your grandmother, too?” he asked mildly.
She blinked in apparent confusion. “My … who?”
“Your father’s mother.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“There’s reason to believe Mary Spalter’s death was no accident.”
“What reason?”
“The day she was found dead, an individual was videotaped entering the Emmerling Oaks complex under false pretenses. The day your father was shot, that same individual was seen entering the apartment where the rifle was found.”
“Is this some kind of bullshit invented by your scumbag lawyer?”
“Did you know, the same day your father was shot, a local mobster he was dealing with was killed? You think Kay did that, too?”
Gurney got the impression that Alyssa was rattled and trying not to show it.
“She could have. Why not? If she could kill her husband …” Her voice trailed off.
“She’s a regular homicide factory, huh? Those lifers over in Bedford Hills better watch out.” Even as he tossed in this sarcastic crack, he recalled the nickname Kay had acquired from her prison-mates, the Black Widow, and wondered if they saw something in her that he’d missed.
Alyssa made no reply, just sank a little deeper into the corner of the sofa and crossed her arms in front of her. Apart from her very adult figure, she looked for a passing instant like a troubled middle-schooler. Even when she finally spoke, it was with more angry bravado than confidence. “What a pile of bullshit! Anything to free that bitch, right?”
Gurney was weighing his options. He could leave things as they were, letting what he’d revealed fester in her mind, and see what developed. Or he could press on, use all his ammunition right now, try to provoke an explosion. There were sizable risks either way. He opted to press on. He hoped to Christ his phone was still transmitting.
He leaned toward her, elbows on his knees. “Listen carefully, Alyssa. Some of this you already know. In fact, most of it. But you better listen to all of it. I’ll only say it once. Kay Spalter didn’t kill anybody. She was convicted because Mick Klemper screwed up the investigation. On purpose. The only open question in my mind is whether that was his idea or yours. I’m thinking it was yours.”
“You’re funny.”
“I’m thinking the idea was yours, because you’re the one with the motive that makes the most sense. Get Kay put away for Carl’s murder, and all the money goes to you. So you fucked Klemper—literally—into doing a frame job on Kay. Problem is, Klemper did a lousy job. So now the house of cards is collapsing. The prosecution’s case is full of gaping holes, evidence problems, police misconduct. Kay’s conviction is sure to be reversed on appeal. She’ll be out in another month, maybe sooner. As soon as that happens, Carl’s estate goes immediately to her. So you fucked that idiot Klemper for nothing. It’ll be interesting to see what happens in court—which one of you ends up doing the most time.”
“Doing time? For what?”
“Obstruction. Perjury. Suborning perjury. Conspiracy. And half a dozen other nasty legal offenses, with long prison sentences attached to them. Klemper will blame you, you’ll blame Klemper. The jury probably won’t care much for either one of you.”
As he was speaking, she drew her knees up in front of her and wrapped her arms tightly around them. Her eyes appeared to be focused on some invisible road map.
After a long minute, she spoke in a small, even voice. “Suppose I told you he blackmailed me.”
He worried whether her comment was loud enough for his phone to pick up. “Blackmailed you? How? Why?”
“He knew something about me.”
“What did he know?”
She gave him a shrewd look. “You don’t need to know that.”
“Okay. He blackmailed you into doing what?”
“Having sex with him.”
“And lying in court about things you heard Kay say on the phone?”
She hesitated. “No. I actually heard those things.”
“So you admit having sex with Klemper but deny committing perjury?”
“That’s right. Me fucking him was not a crime. But him making me fuck him was. So if anybody’s got a problem, it’s him, not me.”
“Anything else you want to tell me?”
“No.” She lowered her feet gracefully to the floor. “And you should really forget everything I just told you.”
“Why is that?”
“It might not be true.”
“Why bother telling me, then?”
“To help you understand. That stuff you were saying about me doing time? That’s never going to happen.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.
“Okay. Then I guess we’re finished here.”
“Unless you want to change your mind about my tequila sunrise. Believe me, it’s worth changing your mind for.”
Gurney stood up, pointed to his mini-recorder on the sofa cushion. “May I have that, please?”
She picked it up and jammed it into the pocket of her shorts, which were already about to burst a seam. She smiled. “I’ll mail it to you. Or … you could try to take it now.”
“Keep it.”
“Aren’t you even going to try? I bet you could take it if you really tried.”
Gurney smiled. “Klemper didn’t have a chance, did he?”
She smiled back. “I told you, he blackmailed me. Made me do things I never would have done willingly. Never. You can just imagine what kind of things.”
Gurney walked around the far side of the coffee table and out of the living room, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the broad stone steps. Alyssa followed him to the doorway and put on her pouty look.
“Most men ask me what FMAD means.”
He glanced at the big letters on the front of her tee. “I bet they do.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Okay, I’m curious. What does FMAD mean?”
She leaned toward him and whispered, “Fuck Me And Die.”
Chapter 31. Another Black Widow
The red GTO was parked at his side door, as Gurney expected it would be. He’d called Hardwick on his way home from Venus Lake and left a message suggesting they get together ASAP, including Esti if possible. He felt the need for other perspectives on his Alyssa interview.
Hardwick had called Gurney back as he was nearing Walnut Crossing and offered to come right over. When Gurney entered the house, he found the man lounging in a chair at the breakfast table with the French doors open.
“Your lovely wife let me in as she was leaving. Said she was off to therapize the local nutcases at the clinic,” he said in response to Gurney’s unvoiced question.
“I doubt she put it that way.”
“She might have put it in cuddlier words. Women love the fantasy that crazy fuckers can be de-crazed. As if the only thing Charlie Manson needed was a touch of TLC.”
“Speaking of nice women getting involved with lunatics, what’s the deal with you and Esti?”