Bianca said, "I suppose you were having an affair with her."
She sounded indifferent. Her back was to the French doors, so I
couldn't see her face.
Keith glanced at her and tightened his left-handed grip on
Hrubek. Keith's arms must have been getting tired by then. He didn't
respond to Bianca.
Angie blew her nose. The noise exploded in the silence.
Keith jumped. I jumped. Hrubek winced.
"You found Mary at the airport?" Angie sounded wounded.
"Where was she going?"
I suppose Angie imagined herself in Mary's confidence.
Certainly she thought of Mary as her protegé. I could
sympathize with the ego blow, but it was not the time for convoluted
explanations. "She was there with her sister, Angie. Finding her was
pure luck."
"Sister? I don't understand."
At that point, I made a mistake. I glanced at my watch.
Keith's right hand jerked. Hrubek made a noise halfway
between a gasp and a hiss, and Keith's grip tightened. "I'm getting
out of here. Now. I need to get away--now!"
The wheels of my mind spun. "Christ, Keith. Think. You're a
smart man, a PhD. If you take Hrubek off as a hostage, you not only
make yourself liable to a kidnapping charge, you also lose the benefit
of any doubt the prosecutor may have about Hugo's death."
He wasn't listening. He began moving sideways, toward the
archway, toward me. "Get out of the way."
I stood my ground. "Kidnapping's a federal offence. Do you
want the FBI on your tail? I don't know what arrangements you've
made with your pilot, but I'll bet you didn't tell him you were a
fugitive from justice." That was shaky. If, as I had begun to suspect,
the friend was some kind of drug runner, he wouldn't care that Keith
was fleeing to avoid prosecution.
"Besides," I added, inspired, "he won't be waiting for you.
He's expecting you after dark. You'll have to hang around some dinky
airstrip for hours, Keith. By that time, Dale will have all the cops in
the county hunting for you, or hunting for your landing field, which
will be duck soup for those guys. They know every cranny of the
Peninsula."
Keith hauled Hrubek another step in my direction but he
was listening. I could tell because the blue eyes darkened. His pupils
dilated, I guess. I kept watching his eyes.
I made my voice softer. "They'll throw the book at you if you
harm Hrubek. Honest, Keith. If you cooperate, though, if you let
Frank go and wait for the police peacefully, Bianca will have time to
call your lawyer."
"Mayer? That pompous jerk couldn't settle a speeding
ticket."
I said, soothing, "He's probably not a criminal lawyer, but
he'll know the right people to call. Come on, think about it. A really
bigshot criminal lawyer like Kunstler or Bailey. You can afford the
best in the country. Think what a guy like that could do to the
Shoalwater County prosecutor."
He was thinking. He didn't say anything, but he frowned, he
hesitated. I held my breath. I'd wondered what he'd planned to do
for money. Bianca was the one with deep pockets. I had taken
another risk. My luck would run out sooner or later.
Bianca came through. "Keith, honey," she said in a voice so
throaty it would have done one of her father's leading ladies proud,
"I'll call Paul, and I'll call Brevart in San Francisco, too. Mama's
lawyer. He'll know what to do."
"Hell," Keith said. "Hell."
"The best defense money can buy, Keith. Come on, babe. Let
us help you."
I took up the choral manipulation. "Where were you going,
Keith? Mexico? That's a long flight in a light plane. The pilot will have
to refuel a couple of times. Each time you land, you'll risk finding the
police waiting for you. You'll have to pay the pilot for all that extra
fuel, too, and you won't be able to use credit cards. Do you have
enough money? Mexico is hard on people without money."
I was hoping he didn't have a secret cache of negotiable
bonds. "Or was the guy just going to fly you to Portland? Believe me,
by the time you get to Portland they'll be watching every ticket
counter and departure gate. Dale's already in touch with the
Portland police because of Mary."
"Hell," Keith repeated. "Oh, all right."
And it was over, just like that. He released Hrubek, who
crumpled to the floor. Keith looked at the boning knife in his right
hand as if he weren't sure how it had got there.
I was breathing like a runner. I held out my own hand,
raising it very slowly, palm up. Our eyes locked again. Then he gave
me the knife, reversing it and laying the hilt on my palm.
I edged sideways, out of his range, and walked to the
fireplace. Angie, Del, and Marianne were staring at me. Marianne's
mouth compressed in a tight line.
"It's your knife," I croaked. "Put it back where it
belongs."
"I'd rather stick it in the bastard's guts." Her eyes, swollen
with weeping, were hostile.
"Marianne..."
She gave a sniffle, took the knife from me, and half ran from
the room.
Bianca was bending over Hrubek with Keith at her elbow.
Keith looked dazed. I couldn't see Hrubek's face. To be truthful, I was
more concerned about Keith. He would start thinking again at any
moment.
I strode over to them. "Bianca, the lawyer."
"But Frank--"
"Angie can help him. Come on, Keith." When I touched his
tweedy jacket, he shied like a spooked horse. I patted his arm. "Come
and sit down."
"I, uh, okay." He followed where I led him, docile, but for
how long? Never mind that Marianne was right, it was not the time
for forthright expressions of opinion. Not yet. We had to keep Keith
calm until Dale arrived, and God knew how long that would take.
Keith could still panic.
Throughout the interminable scene, I had been listening for
the patrol car, hoping it wouldn't roar up and impel Keith into
murderous action. Now I wanted it to sweep up, lights, siren, and all.
Not to mention Jay.
I led Keith over to the comfortable armchair Del used for
serious drinking and got him to sit. I perched on the arm and kept
my hand on Keith's sleeve. I wasn't going to let him out of touching
distance until I saw him in handcuffs.
From the hallway, Bianca's voice rang clear and loud. She
had a great many faults but dumb she was not. I heard her, Keith
heard her. She was calling in the lawyers.
Angie had regained her composure and common sense. She
knelt by Hrubek, talking to him in a low voice. When he stirred, she
helped him sit up. I suppose he had fainted from the strain, as who
shall blame him? I had feared a heart attack. I hoped he hadn't
injured himself falling.
Angie said something, and Hrubek's voice rumbled a
reply.
"Del," she called over her shoulder, "he wants a drink."
Keith shifted in the armchair.
I said, "That's a good idea, Del. Fix Keith a whiskey, too, will
you?"
Del cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sure, right away." He sounded
as meek as one of his unshorn lambs. He poured Hrubek a jolt of neat
scotch, then measured out two shots over ice cubes with a spritz of
soda. He brought that glass to me.
When he saw my expression, he said, "He don't like it plain."
Del didn't look at Keith.
Keith was not taking in the subtleties of the situation. He
gulped his drink, ice clacking on his teeth, and gulped again. His
hands were shaking.
I could sympathize with that. As the adrenaline ebbed, I had
begun to tremble, too. I hoped Keith wouldn't notice. All I wanted to
do was curl up somewhere and go to sleep, but that natural impulse
was just going to have to wait.
Nobody was saying anything, nobody was looking at Keith.
That was dangerous. Keith was a boy who liked the limelight. I tried
to think of a distraction. Ideas popped up like crocuses in January
and withered on the brainstem--the weather, politics, the baseball
strike. I even considered mentioning the great folksongs that had
come out of American jails. Fortunately, I thought better of the
midnight special.
We waited. In the hallway, Bianca talked. She was onto a
different lawyer now, her voice still calm and clear. Marianne came
back with a glass of ice water for Hrubek, and between the two
women they got Hrubek to his feet. He announced with dignity that
he had to use the bathroom, and Angie took him off to the residential
wing. He leaned on her.
I watched them out of sight. If Keith had hurt Hrubek I
would never have forgiven myself--or Bianca. Maybe I wouldn't
forgive Bianca anyway. It was her fault that Hrubek was there at all.
At least she wasn't a murderer.
Suddenly I remembered the blasted reception. I did not look
at my watch again, but I was sure hours had passed. At any moment
half a dozen slavering journalists would start circling the farm like
jackals. I did not doubt I would be the raw meat Bianca would toss to
them.
Marianne said something to Del. He shook his head no. They
glared at each other, and Del went back to the fireplace. He sat
incongruously on Bianca's hassock. I could feel him watching Keith,
keeping his distance, but Marianne walked over to me.
"Is there anything I can do, Lark?" She still avoided looking
at Keith.
I suppressed a wild impulse to tell her to whip up a coffee
cake. "You could help Angie with Frank Hrubek. See if he wants a
doctor."
The lines of her face eased. She nodded and glided off, once
again a woman with an understandable purpose in life.
Keith had finished his whiskey and was staring at the ice
cubes. I thought of the ice house the day Marianne and I found Hugo,
and my gorge rose. How could Keith have done that? I had called him
clever. I despised myself.
In the hallway, Bianca fell silent. I heard the phone click as
she hung up the receiver. Keith's head turned. He watched his wife
re-enter the living room, walking slow and careful. I thought she
might ignore him and go over to the sunlit window again, but she
turned and came to us.
She faced Keith without expression. "I left an urgent
message for Paul Mayer."
Keith jerked up straight in the armchair. "Message!"
Her mouth tightened. "He wasn't in, Keith. It's Sunday. I'm
sure he'll come right out as soon as he listens to his tape. Brevart is
flying up tomorrow morning to coordinate your defense."
Keith's shoulders eased back against the chair.
"I left word for the twins to call, too."
He stiffened again. "No! Don't tell them yet."
Bianca's intense brown eyes were bleak as winter. "They
have to know what's going on."
"I can't talk to the boys." I could feel Keith's agitation.
It was unlikely that he'd be free to talk to his sons anytime
soon, but Bianca refrained from saying so. She turned to me instead.
"What time is it in Italy?"
After a blank moment, I cast my mind back to my last trip to
Europe. "Uh, nine or ten hours' difference, I think."
"Too late, then. I'll call Mama and Fee in the morning."
"I need another drink." Keith's voice held a tight edge of
hysteria.
Del stirred on the hassock, but Bianca took the empty glass
and strode to the drinks trolley. She splashed scotch over the
half-melted ice cubes and brought the glass back. No seltzer.
Keith took it from her, swallowed, grimaced. Bianca rubbed
her hands on her tunic, as if the brief contact with her husband had
been physically soiling. "About the reception tonight, Lark, I've been
thinking..."
Thinking? When had she had time to think? I tried to frame
a diplomatic response.
"Hi, guys."
Our heads jerked.
Mike Wallace bounced into the room from the conference
wing. He must have come down the spiral staircase from the
computer room. "Hi! What's happening?"
All of us gaped at him. After a moment, Del stood up. "Come
out to the kitchen with me, son."
"Hey..."
Del took Mike's arm and led him away.
So there we were, Bianca, Keith, and I, all set for a
tête à tête
. Keith stirred.
At random, I said, "That song you played at Hugo's memorial
service, Keith, the Scottish song..."
"The Lament for Charles Stuart."
"You sounded so sad. That was why I decided you hadn't
killed Hugo deliberately." I was just trying to make conversation, but
I realized with a small jolt that I had stumbled on the truth. Of
course, I hadn't known at the time what had really happened. In fact,
the song had misled me into thinking Keith was innocent. He was not
innocent, just not guilty of murder.
Keith began to cry. I took the glass from him and handed it
to the still-expressionless Bianca. Then I patted his shoulders. "Will
ye no' come back again?" Not if you're dead. Keith buried his face in
his hands and wept. I patted. I was damned if I was going to hug
him.
Bianca placed the whiskey glass on the trolley and walked to
the French doors. She stood there, staring out at the brilliant
afternoon with her back to us. Thinking again, no doubt.
Keith sobbed. I soothed. Off in the kitchen, I heard Mike's
high excited voice asking questions. There were a lot of questions to
ask.
When Dale finally arrived, he came to the front door, just
like the florist. Del let him in. Jay was with him, and Lisa Colman and
another deputy. They forged right in after the briefest of exchanges,
so it was clear that Del hadn't tried to explain anything.
When the doorbell rang, Keith grabbed my hand. His was
hot and damp. I didn't try to pull away.
Lisa marched right up to us. "Keith McDonald, I'm arresting
you for the attempted murder of William Johnson and Jason Thirkell.
I should warn you that other charges are pending. You have the right
to remain silent..." She had the Miranda warning letter perfect.
As she recited the familiar words Jay caught my eye. Keith
was still holding my hand in a desperate grip. Jay raised an eyebrow.
I grimaced and sat still.