Ed McBain_Matthew Hope 12 (32 page)

“What makes you think he needs an alibi?” I asked.

“I got the feeling,” she said, and smiled.

“
Would
you alibi him?”

“Depends on what for?”

“How about murder?”

“I wouldn’t alibi
anybody
for murder. No matter how well I knew him.”

“How well do you know Bobby?”

She shrugged.

“Meaning?”

“We’ve been seeing each other on and off for four, five months now.”

“On and off?”

“He comes here, I go to his place. Like that. We’re not living together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“He told me he was here with you on the night Brett Toland was killed. Was he?”

“Yes, he was.”

“Do you remember what he was wearing?”

“When he arrived, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Something black. Or very dark blue. Slacks and a shirt. Long-sleeved shirt. Silk, from the feel of it.”

“Was he wearing a hat?”

“No.”

“Or a cape?”

“A
cape
? No.”

“What time did he get here?”

“Seven. We went out to dinner, then came back.”

“How long did he stay?”

“All night.”

“Left the next morning?”

“Yes.”

“Wearing the same clothes?”

“Well, yes. He doesn’t keep anything here.”

“What time was this? When he left?”

“About eight-thirty. We both had to get to work.”

“What sort of work do you do, Ms. Lockhart?”

“I’m an R.N.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Good Sam.”

“My alma mater.”

“I know. “You were a celebrity there. We all wanted to carry in your bedpan. Big hero lawyer got himself shot.”

“Not a hero, I’m afraid.”

“
We
all thought so. All that fan mail! Like a movie star.”

“Sure,” I said.

The room was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner. Out on the water, lightning flashed.

“Well,” I said, “I don’t suppose there’s anything else I have to know. If Mr. Diaz really
was
here that night…”

“He was.”

“Then that’s that.”

I put down my glass. More lightning flashed over the Gulf. There was the sense of a tight, enclosed space, cool and dry and
protected, while outside a storm was gathering.

“Did you
really
think he killed that man?” she asked.

“I was wondering why he volunteered an alibi, that’s all. Then again, he’d been talking to Brett earlier, so perhaps he felt…”

“Yes,” she said, and nodded.

I looked at her.

Lightning flashed again.

“He called from here,” she said.

I kept looking at her. Now there was the sound of thunder, close by, on the left.

“Isn’t that what you meant?” she asked. “About talking to Mr. Toland earlier?”

“No,” I said. “That’s not what I meant.”

From where Warren lay bound hand and foot on the lounge, he first saw the door to the head fly open and then Toots coming
out with a fiercely determined look on her face. He almost said something to her but the warning look in her eyes shut him
up at once. She moved swiftly and silently across the cabin to the starboard side opposite the head, into the small recessed
cooking area, partially hidden from above by a bulkhead adjacent to the ladder. She was reaching down to take the high-heeled
pump from her left foot when Warren saw a man’s shoes and trouser legs moving down the ladder. He almost yelled a warning
this time, but he realized at once that Toots
knew
the man would be coming down those steps, which was why she was backing away against the sink, squeezing herself into the
tiny galley, trying to flatten herself out of his sight line as he came below, the shoe gripped in her right hand like a hammer
now—she had done this before, she knew how to do this, he was confident she knew how to do this.

The man moved directly toward the bathroom door on his left, Toots’s right hand coming up alongside her head as he reached
for the doorknob, still unaware of her presence. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the shoe, her eyes focused on the
back of his head as he opened the door. She stepped into the swing, her right arm uncoiling, the heel of the shoe moving out
and sideward to catch him just behind the right ear. Stunned, he fell against the opening door, and she hit him again as he
turned toward her, catching his breath when the narrow end of the heel went deep into his forehead, opening a hole, spurting
blood. He reached for the knife sheathed at his belt, yanked it free, and took a stumbling step toward her.

Take him out! Warren thought but dared not yell.

Toots brought her arm back again like a pitcher about to hurl a fastball, unleashed it with a snap, the heel of the shoe colliding
with his right temple this time, opening another deep wound there, staggering him. She hit him yet another time because this
wasn’t fun and games here, girls, this wasn’t a coy maiden with an ardent suitor, this was a man with a knife, and a woman
who would kill him if she had to. Her next blow did almost that, ripping into his face and tearing his right eyeball from
its socket. The knife clattered to the deck. He fell unconscious beside it.

There’s still the other one, Warren thought.

With a gun.

Toots tried to catch her breath.

Far out on the water, there was sudden lightning.

The storm had swept out to sea.

Sunshine was breaking through in patches.

We sat in Sheila’s living room, the clouds tearing away in tatters beyond the sliding glass doors. She was telling me they’d
got back to the apartment at about eight-thirty on the night of the murder. She was saying that Bobby seemed anxious and upset,
constantly checking his watch, finally going to the phone to call Brett Toland.

“What time was this?”

“About nine.”

“Did you overhear the conversation?”

“Bobby’s end of it.”

“What did he say? Can you tell me?”

“I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“You told me you wouldn’t alibi anybody for murder. No matter how well you knew him.”

“I don’t think he killed anyone.”

“Then he has nothing to worry about.”

She nibbled at her lower lip. Her hands were clasped in her lap. Blue sky was beginning to show close to shore now. Dark angry
clouds were racing out over the water.

She took a deep breath.

I waited.

“He asked Mr. Toland if he’d looked at the tape.”

“And?”

“Then he said, ‘So? Do we have a deal?’”

I nodded.

“He got angry then. ‘What do you mean, no? You’re telling me
no
?’ Like that. Very angry. ‘It’s of no
use
to you? It’s only your whole fucking
case
! You’re
sorry
? Oh, you don’t
know
sorry, Brett! “You’ll find
out
sorry!’ And he hung up.”

“Then what?”

“He began pacing, back and forth, like a wild animal, cursing, telling me he’d offered the man something that would solve
all his problems and he turned it down, ‘I should have made my deal
first,
I was stupid,
stupid,
I thought I was dealing with a gentleman. But I’ll show him, oh, he’ll be
sorry,
all right, he’ll be sorrier than he’s ever been in his whole fucking
life
!’”

The room went silent.

“Were those his exact words?”

“No, not exactly. But that was the gist. Mr. Toland would be sorry for turning down Bobby’s deal, whatever it was.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t mean he killed him.”

“Not if he was here all night,” I said.

Something flitted across her eyes.

“He
was
here all night, wasn’t he?” I asked.

She shook her head.

In a very small voice, she said, “Well, no. Not exactly.”

Toots put on her shoes, picked up the knife, and went immediately to where Warren sat tied up. Neither of them said a word.
Over her shoulder, Warren was watching the ladder behind her. The blade was exceedingly sharp. She cut through the lines in
an instant. Warren massaged his wrists. Still, they said nothing. He nodded toward the ladder. She nodded back. He made a
pistol with his hand, cocked it with his thumb. She nodded again.

And suddenly, there was the sound of rain sweeping across the topside decks.

It was a good half-hour drive from Sheila’s condo on the end of Whisper to Diaz’s condo on Sabal. Sandalwind to Evensong II,
door to door. Well, to be precise, thirty-two minutes by my car clock. I got there at a little past six that evening. Rain
from the swift recent storm lay in huge black puddles on the parking lot asphalt, reflecting a clear blue sky and fast-moving
puffy white clouds. I parked the car and walked to unit 21. The same white heron picked its way along the path’s border of
Blue Daze. This time, he did not take wing at my approach. The same teenyboppers in thong bikinis were splashing in the pool
behind the condo. The same old man in red boxer trunks was sitting watching them, his legs dangling in the water. There is
sometimes, in Florida, the feeling that nothing ever changes, everything remains ever and always the same, smothered by sunshine.

Diaz had just got home from work. He was still dressed for the office except for his bare feet. His shoes and socks were on
the living room floor in front of the couch, where he’d left them when he took them off. He’d been at the bar mixing a vodka-tonic
when I arrived. He finished doing that now, asked me if I wanted one…

“No, thanks,” I said, though I was exceptionally thirsty.

…dropped a wedge of lime into the glass, and then stood with drink in hand, waiting.

“This won’t take a minute,” I said, and smiled.

He did not smile back.

“Bobby,” I said, “I hate to assume these confrontational stances with you, but…”

“Then
don’t,
” he snapped. “Because I find them frankly irritating.”

“Me, too.”

“Good. We agree on something.”

“But,” I said, “there
are
some…”

“No buts,” he said. “You said a minute. You’ve already had thirty seconds.”

“Then I’ll make it fast. Where’d you go when you left Sheila Lockhart at a little past nine on the night Brett Toland was
killed?”

“You’re
already
wrong,” he said. “I was with Sheila all night long. I didn’t leave her till eight the next morning.”

“No, I’m sorry. You made a call to Brett Toland at nine…”

“No, I didn’t make any call to…”

“I can subpoena Ms. Lockhart’s phone bills.”

Diaz sipped at his drink.

“Do we always have to pull teeth?” I asked.

“All right, I called him.”

“What about?”

“I wanted to know if he’d had a chance to look at that video.”

“And had he?”

“Yeah, he said he’d watched it.”

“Did you ask him what he’d thought of it?”

“I’m sure I did.”

“In fact, didn’t you ask him if you had a deal?”

“No, I don’t remember asking him anything like that.”

“And didn’t he say no, you
didn’t
have a deal? Didn’t he tell you the tape was of no
use
to him?”

“No, we never had that conversation.”

“Well,
gee,
Bobby, didn’t you tell him the tape was only his whole fucking
case
?”

“I’m sure I never…”

“And when he said he was sorry, didn’t you say, ‘Oh, you don’t
know
sorry, Brett! You’ll find
out
sorry!’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“No.”

“You told Sheila he’d be sorrier than he’d ever been in his whole fucking
life
! Those were your words, Bobby.”

“She’s wrong.”

“Then she’s also wrong about you leaving the condo a few minutes later.”

“I told you she was.”

“To go down for a pack of cigarettes.”

“Oh, that. Sure. I thought you meant
leave
her. I didn’t actually leave
her
till eight the next…”

“Yes, that’s what she thought, too.”

“Good. Then…”

“She thought leaving for the
night.
Not just running down to pick up a pack of cigarettes. Which is where you said you were going.”

“That’s exactly right.”

“So what took you two and a half hours, Bobby?”

He did not answer.

“Sheila says you didn’t get back till almost midnight. Where were you?”

He still said nothing.

“Where’d you go for those cigarettes, Bobby?”

“I sure as hell didn’t go to the Silver Creek Yacht Club, if that’s what…”

“Well, now, who said you did?”

“If that’s what you’re sugg—”

“But where
did
you go?”

He turned back to me. Mixed himself another drink. Dropped a wedge of lime into the glass. Turned to me again.

“What deal did you offer, Bobby?”

“Ten percent of the bear’s gross, okay?”

“For handing over that video to Brett?”

“Yes. I didn’t kill him.”

“Even though he turned you down cold?”

“That only made him a son of a bitch. It doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“What’d you mean when you said you’d make him sorrier than…”

“I meant I’d get even.”

“How?”

“By making him sorry.”

“By killing him? By going to the boat…”

“I
didn’t
go to the fucking…”

“…and shooting him twice in the head…”

“No!”

“…with his own gun? Weren’t you the man in black who parked your car outside…”

“Man in black? What man in…?”

“…the club and then walked to the boat…”

“I was nowhere
near
the boat, nowhere near the cl—”

“Didn’t you board the Toland boat at eleven-fifteen that night?”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Didn’t you shoot Brett Toland at eleven-forty?”

“No!”

“Then where were you at that time, Bobby?”

“In my car! On the way back to Sheila’s condo.”

“From where? Where the hell were you for two and a half…?”

“I went to see Brett. But not on the boat. I didn’t know he was on the boat. He was home when I called him, I thought that
was where I’d find him.”