Manfred opened the case. From where he was lying on his belly, Hollis couldn’t make out the contents, but Labarde seemed satisfied.
The two men met each other halfway, eyes almost at a level, one dressed in torn twill pants and a cotton shirt, the other in a tuxedo.
‘Don’t be bitter,’ said Labarde. ‘I earned it.’
‘Oh really? How do you figure that?’
‘Manfred…’ It was Wakeley again, a note of caution in his voice.
‘You don’t want to be here,’ said Labarde, ‘but you are. You don’t want me to have it, but I’m going to walk away a rich man.’ He paused. ‘I must have done something right.’
Manfred Wallace’s face twisted into a rictus of pure hatred. ‘Here.’ He thrust the case at Labarde.
‘You mind if I count it?’
‘It’s all there.’
‘You’ll understand if I don’t trust the word of a murderer.’
He placed the case on the ground and began to count the bundles of bills.
Hollis turned to look at Hartwell beside him and only saw then that Abel was gone. He gesticulated. Hartwell shrugged. Shit, thought Hollis. Shit.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Manfred. ‘Give me the envelope.’
‘Just wait, Manfred.’
‘Tell me something,’ said Labarde. ‘What’s it like to kill your own sister?’
‘Don’t answer that,’ said Wakeley.
‘She loved you, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Just do what you have to do, and we can all go,’ said Wakeley.
‘What the hell.’ Labarde snapped the case shut and got to his feet. ‘If it’s short, I’ll drop by some time for the rest.’
He handed over the envelope. Manfred ripped it open, feeling inside, then peering inside.
‘There’s nothing in here.’ He turned to Wakeley. ‘It’s empty.’
Wakeley stepped forward and examined the envelope. ‘Where’s the document?’
‘What document?’ said Labarde.
‘The one you went to the lawyer about.’
‘The one we talked about on the phone,’ said Wakeley.
Labarde tossed the attache case to Manfred. ‘There never was one,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that—it never existed.’
‘I don’t—’ sputtered Manfred.
‘It’s simple. I just thought we should meet. Face to face. That way there’ll be no misunderstanding.’
He took a couple of steps towards Manfred.
‘I want you to know that I’m not going away, not ever, that I’ll dog you for the rest of your life. You better keep one eye over your shoulder, ‘cos that’s where I’ll be. What I do and when I do it, who knows? But I’ll tell you this—it won’t be quick and it won’t be painless.’
‘Come away,’ said Wakeley, taking Manfred by the arm.
Manfred pulled free.
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he spat.
‘Get one thing straight, I don’t care what you think of me. You’re not in charge here.’
That’s when Manfred pulled out the handgun. And that’s when Hollis began to understand.
‘Manfred, put that away.’
‘You heard him, put it away.’
Labarde was clearly provoking him; taunting a man just wasn’t his style. Hollis was aware of Hartwell unholstering his gun, about to break cover, and he held him back.
‘No,’ he whispered, his mind racing, the pieces falling into place.
Manfred Wallace had to pull the trigger. That was the point. If he didn’t, nothing had been gained. They hadn’t heard anything that a good defense attorney—and the Wallaces would hire the very best—couldn’t tear apart in a court of law, twisting their testimony into any number of shapes.
Manfred Wallace had to pull the trigger and Labarde had understood it from the very beginning. He had figured that no amount of circumstantial evidence would lead to the downfall of Manfred Wallace, but if he could only get him to commit another crime, another murder…
‘Manfred—’ Wakeley took a step towards Manfred and found himself staring into the barrel of the gun.
