Walsh had said she had four hours to live. He’d been wrong. It was only 10:15, and she was dead already. Had to be.
C.J. was dead.
40
“We aren’t friends,” C.J. said softly. “We never were.”
“Ouch.” Adam grimaced. “That stings.”
“Quit grandstanding. This cold-blooded killer act isn’t working. I can see right through it.”
“Can you?”
“You’re more scared than I am right now.” Which is saying something, she added silently. “You know you won’t get away with it.”
“I know I will. It’s all set up, right down to the e-mail I sent you.”
“The Four-H Club-I still don’t get it.”
“Private joke. But Detective Walsh will figure it out when he checks the contents of your computer.”
“I deleted the message.” This was a lie. She remembered saving it, but she wanted to rattle him.
She failed. “No problem,” he said nonchalantly. “It’ll still be in the Web cache. Probably still on the ISP’s server, as well. Someone will find it.”
“And trace it to you.”
“It was scrubbed. Sent through a mixmaster-that’s tech talk for a service that renders e-mail anonymous. It can’t be traced. I’ve been very careful, C.J. I just spent a half hour with the great Detective Walsh himself, and by the end of the interview he was ready to hold my hand and comfort me in my distress. That’s how convincing I was.”
“You’re not that good an actor.”
“I fooled you, didn’t I? All those months when I was banging Ashley, you never suspected a thing. She was a lot better than you, by the way. Fucking you was more like a domestic chore than an erotic adventure.”
This was so transparent, she actually laughed. “You’re pathetic. God, how did I ever fall for a loser like you?”
She saw his mouth twist in anger, then smooth into a smile. “A loser who’s holding all the cards in this particular game.”
“You’re not holding any cards. You can’t shoot me. It’s not the right MO. The method of murder is the most distinctive thing about a serial killer. You fire a gun at me, and you might as well turn yourself in to Walsh right now.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“To kill me, you’ve got to disarm me. Want to try? Come within reach, and I’ll slice your carotid artery. Severing that artery causes death within seconds. No blood to the brain.”
He looked uneasily at the shard. “You can’t hold me off all night.”
“You can’t afford to be here all night. Walsh will want to talk to you again. You know he will. Even if you’re not a suspect, you’re still my ex-husband. And if you gave as good a performance as you claim, he’ll be sure to keep you posted on developments in the case-just for your own peace of mind.”
“You going somewhere with this?” He sounded irritated, and she knew she was finally breaking down his facade of composure.
“No, I’m not, Adam. That’s the point. Neither of us is going anywhere with this. It’s a stalemate. You’ve played this game to a draw.”
“Maybe so, C.J. Maybe this particular strategy is a dead end.” He pocketed the gun. “But you know what that means? It means I have to improvise a new approach.”
He bent and picked up the overturned crate. With one downward swing he battered it to pieces against the floor. What was left in his hands was a single plank, ragged at one end, with two or three nails still imbedded in the wood.
“See that, C.J.? See how well I can think on my feet?”
He whipped the plank back and forth like a batter warming up at the plate. C.J. retreated, feeling the breeze on her face.
“The Hourglass Killer doesn’t club his victims either,” she said.
“First time for everything. They say these guys get more savage as time goes on. Just killing doesn’t get it up for them anymore, so they start getting… creative. Maybe I’ll get creative with you, babe.”
The plank flashed at her, cutting an arc through the air, and she withdrew another step.
“No,” he said. “On second thought, I really don’t have time. Got to do this quick and dirty. So here’s the plan. I’ll whack you good, you’ll go down, and I’ll get you all duct-taped again. Then slap you awake so you can be there when you die.”
He swung the plank at her head. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and backed up still farther.
“Wouldn’t want you to miss the grand finale, after all. That’s when I wrap my hands-my gloved hands, naturally-around your throat and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, all the time looking into your wide-open green eyes.”
She didn’t dare glance behind her, couldn’t risk taking her gaze off the plank in Adam’s hands, but she knew-sensed-that she was running out of room. He was backing her into a tight spot where she would be unable to maneuver, and there was nothing she could do about it. The glass shard was useless now. She couldn’t slash at him without bringing herself within range of the plank.
“The tattoo,” he went on, his voice toneless and almost calm, “will be applied postmortem. I understand that’s how he does it. Which is a shame, really-I’d like to carve it into your flesh while you’re still around to feel the pain.”
“You really need to get out more,” she said.
“I intend to. I’ll have a lot of celebrating to do. It’s not everyone who can pull off the perfect murder. Of course a large part of it is selectivity. You have to choose the perfect victim. That’s you, C.J.”
He feinted with the plank, and she drew back, her shoulder blades thumping against concrete.
A wall.
But there are no walls in here, she wanted to protest. After she removed the blindfold, she’d looked around and seen only open space at the perimeter of the garage.
Hadn’t looked behind her, though, had she? The rear of the garage did have a wall, and she was up against it now-up against it in more ways than one.
“Gotta tell you, C.J., I am thoroughly enjoying this.”
The plank again, circling toward her face. She dropped to one knee and sliced at his leg with the shard, hoping to cut the hamstring, cripple him, but he sidestepped the attack and brought the plank down.
She flung herself clear, scrambling along the wall into a doorway that opened on a new space-a stairwell, heading up-but before she could take the stairs, Adam was there, his foot on the first step, cutting off her exit.
“No way, babe. This is as far as you go.”
She was trapped on the landing, and all she could do was retreat on hands and knees into the far corner while Adam advanced.
Deep darkness here. The light from outside barely penetrated this niche. She could see Adam only as a vague silhouette against the dim glow in the doorway.
She was stuck in the corner now. Nowhere to go. The shard was her only weapon, and it was no good to her.
She groped for some new tool to use against him, and behind her, in a recess in the wall, her fingers touched a tangle of wires.
Electrical wires, rubber-insulated. The plate that would cover them had not yet been installed.
Live wires? Was the power on?
Could be. The workmen needed power tools.
