The Big Killing
Page 34
She couldn’t go beyond the metal detector, and as they neared it, she felt her sense of dread begin to dispel.
“I’m going to miss you, babe,” Rick said, keeping his eyes on his bulging duffel bag as it went through the metal detector. His fingers absently played with her hair, and before she realized what he was doing, he had pulled out the pins that held it up. It tumbled in slow motion down to her shoulders. “This is the way I want to remember you,” he said.
She was annoyed and showed it. Above her was a huge sign advertising Disneyland. Mickey Mouse and all the gang. The Mouseketeers, the Three Musketeers, Barry, Georgie, Buffie ... No, Buffie had said Barry was D’Artagnan. Who, then, was the third Musketeer? The one Buffie had called after Georgie was murdered.
The metal detector went off with a small buzzing noise, and Rick leaped forward. “Wait a minute,” he shouted, “I’ll get that. Must be my keys.” He was wildly agitated. “Here, I’ll show you.” He opened the duffel and pulled out some keys on a ring, zipped up the duffel, and they sent it through again. No buzzing this time. “See, I told you,” he said. He set the duffel down, leaving it, and came back to her. He looked distracted. His eyes were black and they frightened her.
“I want to remember you as you look right now,” he said, with an odd laugh. “Pissed as hell at me, and beautiful.” He kissed her on the lips. “Right person, bad timing.” He touched her cheek for a moment with a peculiar gentleness, then he broke away. She watched him racing down the hallway to his plane.
She shook herself. Something was terribly wrong. He wasn’t going to San Diego, he was going to Mexico. She’d enjoyed—no—needed him, but she wouldn’t miss him. Hell, she hadn’t even liked him in her dreams. But he had helped her get the cassettes.
Smith had never liked him, seemed not to trust him. Smith. Wetzon felt a ripple of guilt run through her. Smith was innocent, only concerned for Wetzon, and Wetzon had doubted her, even suspected she might be involved in the murders. Suddenly it all seemed so absurd.
Sighing, she turned to go and bumped squarely into Silvestri, who had been standing close enough to touch her, perhaps even to read her thoughts.
“Goddammit, Silvestri. What are you doing here?” She was angry and embarrassed.
“Working on a case. Besides, weren’t you coming to see me?” He was looking down at her appraisingly. He did not move away. She touched her hair, self-conscious. It was the second time that he had seen her romantically entwined with Rick.
“Yes, but I said I’d get back to you.”
“We had a little unfinished business.”
“With me?”
“With the good doctor.”
“Rick?”
“Yup.”
She half-turned, seeking Rick in the streaming crowd. But he was gone. A child began to cry and its mother tried to soothe it, crooning in Spanish. Why did Silvestri want to talk to Rick?
“A little question of unauthorized commerce.” Silvestri always seemed to be able to read her thoughts. He was scowling, but it wasn’t at her. His attention seemed to be elsewhere.
She was so tired. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Silvestri. I have something to give you. The cassettes Barry made of Jake Donahue’s conversations. Barry had a secret locker at the Caravanserie. Rick helped me get them.”
He looked down at her; his eyes were slate-colored. “Along with a cache of drugs, uppers, downers, painkillers, Quaaludes, you name it. Drugs and money. A hell of a lot of money. Oh, and papers, letters, and a diary.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“He took the stuff out of Stark’s second locker. The one you had the combination for.”
“No, it can’t be.” Her head spun. “Rick said there wasn’t anything else there.” Something eluded her. “What does the locker, Barry, everything ... what does it have to do with him?”
“Stark and Pulasky were buddies. They grew up together. Pulasky was his connection. Just coincidence that you and I ended up at York Hospital after being sideswiped, but it made it easy for Pulasky to approach you. He had to find out if Stark had told you anything. York Hospital, for your information, Ms. Wetzon, does not have an emergency outpatient program.”
“I can’t believe this—” The Three Musketeers, Buffie had said. Georgie, Barry, and Buffie, only Barry was D’Artagnan. Rick was the third Musketeer, the man Buffie had run to when she was alone and frightened, after Georgie died.
“Pulasky went back to the hospital that night because he’d been told by a resident that narcotics was doing a search of the lockers. The serious drugs were kept in a special cabinet.”
“Then the key—” she said. “It was Rick who put the key in my pocket?”
“Yeah.” Silvestri shoved his hands in his pockets. “It was the new key to the drug cabinet. They had just changed the lock. He was being watched. He’s been lifting drugs from the hospital for a long time. We had someone undercover there. Pulasky was feeding the stuff to Stark, who sold it on the Street. When the hospital authorized a search, he got worried we were on to him, so he parked the key with you temporarily, figuring he could get it back easily enough.”
“I don’t understand why he let me have the tapes. He could have used them....”
“Who knows? We’ll ask him. Didn’t cost him anything; didn’t mean anything to him. They weren’t what he was after. It was easy enough to let you have them. It made you happy, didn’t it?”
“I feel like a fool,” she said miserably. “Now I understand why the police were so conspicious that night at the hospital. I thought it was because of you.”
The corners of Silvestri’s mouth lifted slightly. “It was a little of both. You’d better stand here, out of the way.” He stepped back, pulling her with him. “We’re going to bring him through.”
“You’ve taken him off the plane—oh, God—”
“We had to catch him with the stuff.”
“Will he be handcuffed?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him to see me, please.” She was shivering. He’d think she gave him away. But she hadn’t. Why did she care what he thought, damn him. He’d made a fool of her. But there was something horribly humiliating about having people see you in handcuffs, she thought, projecting. What nonsense. He deserved to be treated like that. “You’re saying that Barry was the Wall Street connection,” she said, her back to the hallway down which Rick had disappeared. “And Rick was his supplier.”
“Yup.”
Silvestri was not looking at her. He was watching something happening behind her. They were taking Rick away. She knew she had to face him. Turning slowly, she saw three men in street clothes, one carrying the duffel, several airline security guards, and four uniformed policemen walking toward them. Rick was positioned between two of the men in street clothes, his gray head down; his hands were behind him, and she knew, without looking, that they were cuffed.
Unexpectedly, Wetzon felt anger well up. “You bastard,” she yelled, “you were running out on Buffie.” Rick’s head came up. Their eyes locked. Then he dropped his head and the entourage passed from view.
Wetzon turned back to Silvestri, shaken by her rage. Her cheek brushed the rough wool of his jacket. “Oh, shit. How stupid could I get? Rick was hanging around me trying to get the key back, trying to find out if I knew where Barry had stashed the money and drugs. That’s why my things weren’t where they should have been....” She looked up at Silvestri unhappily.
Silvestri’s eyes, turquoise now, met hers. He didn’t say anything. He needed a shave. There were dark circles under his eyes.
“How could I have been so dumb?” she said. “Why don’t you say something, Silvestri? Don’t just stand there.”
He looked at her, his face thoughtful, then put his hand on the place where her neck and shoulder met. She felt the same strange, soft electric shock when he touched her now that she had felt before in the lobby of her building aft
er he had barged in on her the first time.
“Come on, kid,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Smith and Wetzon Mysteries
The Big Killing
Tender Death
The Deadliest Option
Murder: The Musical
Blood on the Street
These Bones Were Made for Dancin'
The Groaning Board
Hedging
The Olivia Brown Mysteries
Free Love
Murder Me Now
Repentances
and writing with Martin Meyers as Maan Meyers
The Dutchman
The Kingsbridge Plot
The High Constable
The Dutchman's Dilemma
The House on Mulberry Street
The Lucifer Contract
The Organ Grinder