The Maze ft-2

by Catherine Coulter

  "You shocked my socks off when I listened to you let loose on Marlin in that hardware store."

  "Good, because I knew you'd be the toughest to convince."

  "As for the other women, evidently the family and friends were just trying to protect the good name of the dead. It happens all the time, and that makes it even more difficult for the cops."

  "He's got to tell me."

  He said very gently, "You've got to bring it to a close, Sherlock."

  She hated him for the gentleness, the kindness. He had no idea. He couldn't begin to understand. She jerked up to look

  at him across the table. Her voice was as cold as Albany in January as she said, "Would you like another bagel?"

  He sat back, folding his arms over his chest. "You're tough, Sherlock, but you still aren't in my league. If you put cream cheese on the bagel, I'll eat it."

  16

  BOTH CAPTAIN DOUGHERTY and Ralph Budnack were standing outside Room 423 when Savich and Lacey arrived at Boston Memorial Hospital.

  "You don't look too bad," Ralph said, peering down at her. "On the other hand, Savich doesn't look too good. You haven't been a pain in the butt, have you?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Why do you guys always stick together? I'm the one injured here, not Savich."

  "Yeah, but Savich had to make sure you didn't croak it at the hotel. He deserves combat pay."

  "I slept all the way through, didn't moan or whine or anything to disturb His Highness. He just had to order room service. How about Marlin Jones? Can we see him now?"

  Dr. Raymond Otherton, wearing surgical scrubs dotted with blood, said from behind her, "Not more than three at a time. He still isn't all that stable. You the one who shot him?" At her nod, he said, "Well, you blew a big hole in his gut. Either you're a bad shot, or you didn't want to kill him."

  "I didn't want to kill him. Not yet."

  "If that's true, then go easy now, all right?"

  Marlin Jones was pasty white, his lips bluish. His eyes were closed. She could see purple veins beneath the thin flesh under his eyes. There was an IV going in each arm, a tube in his nose, and he was hooked up to a monitor. A police officer sat in a chair beside his bed, and another officer sat in a chair outside the hospital room.

  He was awake. Lacey saw his eyelashes flutter-dark, thick lashes.

  Captain Dougherty looked at Lacey, frowned just a moment, then said quietly, "You worked him, it's only fair that you talk to him first. We've Mirandized him. He said he didn't want a lawyer yet. I really pressed him on that, even taped it. So, everything's aboveboard."

  She looked at Savich. He gave her a long emotionless look, then slowly nodded.

  She felt her blood pound, a delicious feeling, her arm began to throb and that made her feel even better as she leaned down, and said, "Hello, Marlin. It's me, Marty Bramfort."

  He moaned.

  "Come on, Marlin, don't be a coward. Open your eyes and look at me. You'll be pleased to see that my left arm is in a sling. You did punish me, don't you want to see it?"

  He opened his eyes and stared at that sling. "I've thrown a knife since I was a boy. It should have gone through your heart. You moved too fast."

  "Yes."

  "You didn't kill me either."

  "I didn't want to. I thought that a gut shot would make you feel really bad, make you suffer for a good long time. I want you to suffer until you yell with it. Are you suffering, Marlin?"

  "Yeah, it hurts like bloody hell. You're not a nice woman, Marty."

  "Maybe not. On the other hand, you're not at all a nice man. Tell me, would you have murdered another five women if you'd managed to kill me?"

  He blinked rapidly. "I don't know what you mean."

  "You killed Hillary Ramsgate. If I hadn't been a cop, then you would have killed me too. Would you have killed another five women and stopped again at seven?"

  The pain seemed to bank in his eyes. He looked off into something that she couldn't see, that no one could see, or begin to fathom, his eyes tender and vague, as if he were looking at someone or something behind a veil. His voice was soft with the radiance of worship when he finally said, "Who knows? Boston has rich pickings. Lots of women here need to be punished. I knew that long before I came here. Men have let them get away with foul language, with putting them down, insulting them. I don't know if I ever would have stopped."

  "But you stopped your killing in San Francisco at seven."

  "Did I? I don't remember. I don't like it that you're standing up and I'm not. I like women on their knees, begging me, or on their backs, watching that knife come down and down. You should be dead." Incredibly, he tried to spit at her, but he didn't have the strength to raise his head. His eyes closed, his head lolled to the side away from them.

  She felt Savich's hand on her arm. "Let him rest, Sherlock. You can see him again later. Yes, I'll let you talk to him again. I'm sure Captain Dougherty will agree as well, even though I think he'd like to pin back your ears nearly as much as I did."

  She didn't want to leave until she knew every single detail, but she just nodded, and followed them out. The little psycho was probably faking it. She wouldn't put it past him.

  Marlin Jones opened his eyes as the door closed. Who was that woman? How had she known so much? Was she really a cop? No, he didn't believe that. There was more to her than that. Bunches more. There was lots of deep wormy stuff inside her. He recognized the blackness, had felt it reaching out to him. Pain burned in his gut. He wished he had a knife, wished the cop sitting next to him were dead, wished he were strong enough, then he'd gut her but good. He needed to think before he spoke to her again. He knew she'd come back. He knew.

  "That wasn't bad for a first interview, Sherlock."

  "Thank you, Captain Dougherty. But it wasn't enough time. He was faking it."

  "I think you're right, but it doesn't matter." "No," Savich agreed. "It doesn't. We'll come back later, Sherlock. I wanted to go back to Washington today, but I don't dare take a chance of leaving you here alone. You'd probably smile at the captain here, wink at Ralph, cajole in your FBI voice, and they'd agree to anything you wanted."

  "Not true," Ralph Budnack said. "I'm the toughest cop in Boston. Nobody ever winks at me and gets away with it."

  She laughed, actually laughed, enjoyed the sweetness of it for a moment, then punched him in the arm. "I won't try it, I promise. As for you, sir, I really don't think you need to stay unless you really want to."

  "Stow it, Sherlock. We'll both go home tomorrow. What I want to do now is go over those reports again and have MAX correlate just how many times anyone said the murdered women might have even occasionally cursed or even bad-mouthed their husbands just one time."

  "I told you that no one did. Remember about not wanting to say bad things about the dead? It was just that there couldn't have been any other reason to cut out their tongues."

  "Yeah, you said that, didn't you? However, somebody had to have said something sometime."

  "He's anal, ain't he?" Ralph said, and Lacey laughed.

  "Thank God the cursing was right on," Captain Dougherty said. "You nailed him good with that, Sherlock. My people told us that you really surprised him when you let out with the curses the first time at the lumberyard. They thought Savich was going to fall over with shock. Well, not really, but you didn't do badly."

  "Thank you, I think."

  "I'm sure glad we weren't wrong about the cursing being the red button for Marlin Jones. And talking back to the husbands. I guess we have to score a big one for the Profilers. Of course it made sense, since old Marlin had cut out their tongues."

  She knew, Savich realized, looking at that sudden brightness in her eyes. She knew without question that was what pushed Marlin Jones into violence. But how? There was something else that had happened seven years ago. It drove him nuts not to know what it was. If MAX couldn't find anything in any of the interviews of the other murdered women, then that meant that Sherlock had based everything on t
he Profilers' reports, that, or, well, something else had to have happened. But how could she have possibly known something that no one else did?

  It was just past lunchtime in San Francisco when Lacey got through to Douglas Madigan at his law office.

  "Lacey, that really you? What's happening? Are you all right? It was all over the TV on the early news about that guy being caught. You were in on it, weren't you?"

  "Yes, I was, and yes, I'm fine, Douglas. We've got him.

  I've already spoken to him once. I'll find out everything from him, Douglas, everything."

  "But what more is there to know?"

  "I want to know why he killed Belinda. You know she never cursed all that much. She worshiped you, you told me that, so she wouldn't have ever cursed you out in front of any strangers."

  "That's right, but so what?"

  She drew a deep breath. "The reason he picked each of the women is because he knew she cursed and bad-mouthed her husband or boyfriend. If that's not true in Belinda's case, then there has to be another reason. I just want to know, Douglas. I have to know."

  "Were you the police decoy?'"

  "Yes, but please don't publicize it. I was the best one for the job. I know him better than anyone else."

  "My God, that was nuts, Lacey." It was his turn to calm down. She heard his breathing become slower. He was an excellent lawyer.

  "I'm going to call Dad."

  "No, let me do it, although I bet he already knows about it and that you were involved. He'll be relieved that you weren't injured."

  Her arm started throbbing. She needed another pain pill. "Oh no, I'm just fine. What have you done about Candice Addams?"

  "I married her last weekend. Funny thing was she got her period on our wedding night."

  "She wasn't pregnant?"

  "She told me that she had had a miscarriage just two days before but that she loved me so much she was afraid to tell me. She believed I wouldn't have married her if I'd known there wasn't a baby involved."

  "Would you have?"

  "Married her? No, of course not. I don't love her, you know that."

  "What a mess, Douglas." She was very thankful she was three thousand miles away at that moment. "What are you going to do?"

  "I haven't decided yet."

  "Do you think she really loves you?"

  "She claims she does. I don't know. I wish you were here. I wish I could see you, touch you, kiss you. I miss you, Lacey. So do your father and your sweet mother. Both of them hoped we'd marry, you know."

  "No, I didn't know. No one ever said a word to me about that. You were my sister's husband, nothing could ever change that."

  "No, maybe not." He sighed. "Here's my lovely wife, standing here in the open doorway of my office." She heard him say to her, "How long have you been there, Candice?"

  She heard a woman's voice but couldn't make out what she said, but that voice was shrill and angry. Douglas came back on the line. "I'm sorry, Lacey. I've got to go now. Will you come home now that you've gotten rid of your nightmare?"

  "I don't know, Douglas. I really don't know."

  Slowly, she placed the phone back into its cradle. She looked up to see Savich standing there, a cup of tea in each hand. How long had he been there? As long as she imagined Candice Addams Madigan had been standing in Douglas's office?

  He handed her the cup. "Drink your tea. Then we'll go to the hospital again. I want to get this wrapped up, Sherlock."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Call me by my name or I'll tell Chico to wrap your karate belt around your neck."

  "Yes, Dillon."

  "Here's to catching the String Killer and ridding you of all your baggage. Is your brother-in-law to be considered baggage?"

  She took a long drink of the hot tea. It was wonderful. She still needed another pain pill. She said finally, shrugging, "He's just Douglas. I never really realized the way he felt, until he was here in Washington just a couple of weeks ago. But he's remarried now."

  "Lucky for you, I'd say. I can't see that guy giving up all that easily."

  "How would you know that?"

  "I know everything. I'm a Special Agent."

  He probably did, she thought, and excused herself to take another pill.

  Rain splattered against the hospital window. The officer in the chair was sitting forward. Lacey leaned over the bed and said in a soft voice, "Hello, Marlin. Do you remember me? I'm the woman you bashed on the head, took to your little playhouse, and forced through your little house of horrors. But I really won and you lost big-time."

  "What's your name?"

  "Lacey Sherlock."

  "No one's named that. That's stupid. That's out of some dumb detective story. What's your real name?"

  "It's Sherlock, Marlin. Didn't I track you down? Didn't I bring you in? Wouldn't you say I've earned the name?"

  "I don't like you, Marty."

  "It's Lacey."

  "I like you even less now than I did before."

  "Do you mind if I turn on the tape recorder again, Marlin?"

  "No, go ahead. Turn it on. I like to hear myself talk. I'm a real good talker. Mr. Caine, he's the guy who owns the Appletree Home Supplies and Mill Yard, he begged me to be his assistant manager. He knew I could sell anybody anything, and he knew that I was an expert on everything to do with building."

  "Yeah, you're really great, Marlin. But a question. Tell me why you refused to say a word to the police. Why?"

  "I just want to talk to you, Marty. I'm going to kill you one of these days, and I want to get to know you better."

  "If it makes you feel good, you just keep holding on to that thought, Marlin. You want to talk? Tell me why you killed Hillary Ramsgate. She wasn't married. All the other women you've killed were married."

  "I knew her boyfriend, well I didn't really know him, I just saw him a bunch of times. He told a group of guys that she was a ball buster and once he had her married, he was going to teach her a lesson."

  "Where was this, Marlin?"

  "At a bar, the Glad Rags, in Newton Center. He was there a whole lot. He'd sleep with her, let her tell him what a jerk he was, then come to the bar and let it an out. I told him he should punish her, that she deserved it."

  "Did you go into the Glad Rags a lot?"

  "Oh yeah. I wanted to see this Hillary woman. He brought her in one night. They had a big argument right there. She even threw a beer in his face. She cursed him up one side and down the other. She even called him a motherfucker. Most women, even bad ones like you, they don't say that word. That's a word for real bad guys. Well, all the other guys were laughing, but I wasn't. I knew she had to be punished and that he wasn't ever going to do it right. No, if anything, he'd just smack her around a little bit. You know that while she was tearing him down, that guy just laughed, he just took it. I would have sliced her up right there."

  "Maybe her boyfriend liked exactly the way things were between them. Did you ever think of that?"

  "No, that's impossible. She was bad. He was just weak and stupid."

  "Did you go to lots of bars, Marlin?"

  "Oh yes. I like bars. You can sit there in the dark and watch people. No one hassles you. I saw lots of women who needed to be punished."

  "How many different bars?"

  He shrugged, then winced, lightly touching his fingertips to his stomach. "About a half dozen, I guess. Lots more in San Francisco. You should have been sliced up too, Marty. But you don't cuss, do you? Not really. I'll bet you're not married either. You're just a cop. You just said all those bad words to trap me."

  "I didn't trap you, Marlin. I just gave you a woman you could relate to. Nothing more, nothing less."

  "I never should have believed you. You just fell into my lap. You're still wearing the sling. I like that."

  "Yeah, but I'm not lying flat on my back with my gut burning through my back."

  He tried to lurch up. The cop beside the bed was up in an instant, his hand on his gun. Lacey just smiled at h
im and shook her head. "Marlin doesn't have a knife now, Officer Rambling. He's like an old man without his teeth."

  1 sure would like to kill you," Marlin said and tell back against the pillow, breathing hard.

  "Not in this lifetime, Marlin. Now, you're so good at talking, you like to do it so much, why don't you tell me about the women you killed in San Francisco? I know each of them was married. Did you hear them all bad-mouthing their husbands?"

  "Why should I tell you anything? You don't like me. You shot me in the belly. It still hurts real bad. I just might want a lawyer now."

  "Fine. Do you have any money or shall I call the public defender?"

  "I can get the best and you know it. Those guys don't care if I have a dime or not, they just want their faces in the news. Yeah, get me a phone book and let me pick out the highest-priced one of the lot."

  "I could connect you to the ocean bottom, if you like."

  "That was funny, Marty. Lawyers and bottom feeders, yeah, that was pretty funny."

  "Thanks. It's Agent Sherlock. I'm with the FBI. You want to call a lawyer now, Marlin? Or would you like to answer just a few more of my questions?"

  "I'll call a lawyer later. Sure, I can answer anything you ask. I can always take it back. I read all about the Toaster. He'll get off because he's crazy, and it won't cost him a dime. I'll get off too, you'll see, and then I'll come after you, Marty."

  She felt a shock of rage, but no fear. She should have killed him right there in the warehouse to ensure there'd be justice. She was a fool to want all her questions answered. Besides, he could lie to her as easily as he could tell her the truth. Her face was flushed red with her fury. She'd been a fool. At that moment, she heard Dillon singing quietly from beside the door, "/ always played it cool when I was young, always swam when I wanted to sink, always laughed when I wanted to cry, always held my cards tight when I wanted to fold..."

  He hadn't said a single word until now. She jerked, then turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable. He was just singing those words. They weren't great lyrics, but it worked. He winked at her. She grinned; she couldn't help herself. Talk about finding words to ht the situation. She thought briefly of her classical music training. Mozart would have cast her out of the classical club if he knew she was smiling over some god-awful country-and-western music. Her rage fell away.