'Identification.'
'Go on.'
'Unique. Personal.'
'Go on.'
Ted shrugged. 'Mrs. Meehan. She brought up the subject repeatedly. She apparently had some idea of taking elocution lessons and she got everyone into a discussion about accents and voices.'
Scott thought of Alvirah's broken whisper. 'Wasn't the doctor… wasn't his voice…' Mentally he reviewed the dinner-conversation tapes Alvirah had recorded. Identification. Unique. Personal.
The Baron's voice on that last tape. He drew in his breath sharply. 'Ted, do you remember what else Mrs. Meehan said about voices? Something about Craig imitating yours?'
Ted frowned. 'She asked me about a story she'd read years ago in People-that Craig used to field my phone calls at the fraternity house and the girls couldn't tell the difference between our voices. I told her it was true. In school Craig used to bring down the house with his imitations.'
'And she tried to make him demonstrate it for her, but he refused.' Scott saw Ted's look of surprise and shook his head impatiently. 'Never mind how I know. That's what Elizabeth wanted me to catch when I listened to those tapes.'
'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Mrs. Meehan kept pestering Craig to imitate your voice. Don't you see? He didn't want anyone to think about his being a good mimic. Elizabeth 's testimony against you is based solely on hearing your voice. Elizabeth suspects him, but if she's tipped her hand he'll go after her.'
A wild sense of urgency made him grab Ted's arm. 'Come on!' he shouted. 'We've got to get to the Spa.' On the way out, he yelled instructions at the deputy: 'Call Elizabeth Lange at the Cypress Point Spa. Tell her to stay in her room with her door locked. Send another car over there.'
He ran through the lobby, Ted at his heels. In his car, Scott turned on the siren. It's too late for you, he thought as his mind filled with the image of the murderer. Killing Elizabeth won't help you anymore…
The car raced along the highway between Salinas and Pebble Beach. Scott fired instructions into the two-way radio. As Ted listened, the full impact of what he was hearing penetrated his consciousness; the hands that had held Leila over the terrace became arms, a shoulder, as familiar as his own, and the realization of Elizabeth 's danger made him jam his feet on the floor of the car in a futile effort to make contact with an imaginary accelerator.
Had she been toying with him? Of course she had. But like the others, she had underestimated him. And like the others, she would pay for it.
With methodical calm he stripped off his clothes and unlocked his suitcase. The mask was on top of the wet suit and tank. It amused him to remember how at the last moment Sammy had seen his eyes through the mask and known. When he'd called to her in Ted's voice, she had run to him. All the evidence hadn't in the end turned her against Ted. And all the overwhelming evidence he had so carefully laid out, even the new eyewitness he had planted, hadn't convinced Elizabeth .
The wet suit was cumbersome. When this was over, he'd get rid of all this equipment. Just in case anyone questioned Elizabeth 's death, it wouldn't be wise to have any visible reminder that he was an expert scuba diver. Ted, of course, should remember. But in all these months it hadn't crossed Ted's mind that he had the special ability to mimic him. Ted- so stupid, so naive. 'I tried to phone you; I remember that distinctly.' And so Ted had become his impeccable alibi. Until that nosy bitch Alvirah Meehan kept after him. 'Let me hear you imitate Ted's voice. Just once. Please. Say anything at all.' He'd wanted to throttle her, but then had had to wait until yesterday when he went ahead of her to treatment room C waited in the closet for her, the hypodermic needle in his hand. Too bad she didn't know she'd sampled his gift for mimicry when she thought she was listening to the Baron.
The wet suit was on. He strapped the tank to his back, turned off the lights and waited. It still chilled him to realize that last night he'd been within seconds of opening the door and confronting Ted. Ted had wanted to talk everything through. 'I'm beginning to think you're my only real friend,' he'd said.
He opened the door a crack and listened. There was no one in sight, no sound of footsteps. The fog was gathering, and it would be easy to slip behind the trees until he reached the pool. He had to get there before her, be waiting and when she swam past, grab the whistle before she could get it to her lips.
He slipped out, his footsteps noiseless as he cut across the path, avoiding the areas where the lanterns sent out beams of light. If only he'd been able to finish this on Monday night… but Ted had been standing near the pool watching Elizabeth .
Ted always in the way. Always the one with money and looks, always the one the girls flocked around. He'd forced himself to accept it, to make himself useful to Ted, first in college, then in the office: the go-fer, the tenacious assistant. He'd had to fight his way up until the executive-plane accident had instantly made him Ted's right hand, and then when Ted lost Kathy and Teddy, he'd been able to take over the reins of the company…
Until Leila.
His loins ached remembering Leila. How it had felt to make love to her. Until he'd brought her here and she'd met Ted. And discarded him, like garbage tossed into a bin.
He had watched those slim arms slide around Ted's neck, that wanton body snuggling against Ted, had helplessly walked away not able to bear the sight of them together, planning revenge, waiting for the time.
And he'd found it with the play. He'd had to prove investing in the play was a mistake. It was already clear that Ted was beginning to ease him out. And it was his chance to destroy Leila. The exquisite pleasure of sending those letters, of watching her fall apart. She'd even shown them to him as she received them. He'd warned her to burn them, to hide them from Ted and Elizabeth. 'Ted's getting awfully sick of your jealousy, and if you tell Elizabeth how upset you are, she'll quit her play to be with you. That could ruin her career.'
Grateful for his advice, Leila had agreed, 'But tell me, 'she'd begged. 'Is it true, Bulldog? Is there someone else?' His elaborate protests had had the effect he wanted. She'd believed the letters.
He hadn't worried about those last two. He'd thought all that unopened mail had been thrown out. But it hadn't mattered. Cheryl burned one, and he had taken the other one from Sammy. Everything was at last working for him. On Saturday he would become chairman and president of Winters Enterprises.
He was at the pool.
He slipped into the dark water and swam to the shallow end. Elizabeth always dived into the deepest area. That night in Elaine's he'd known the time had come to kill Leila. Everyone would believe it was a suicide. He'd let himself in through one of the guest suites on the upper floor of the duplex and listened to them quarrel, listened when Ted stormed out, and then the idea had come to mimic Ted's voice to make Elizabeth think Ted was with Leila just before she died.
He heard the sound of footsteps on the path. She was coming. Soon he would be safe. In those weeks after Leila's death, he'd thought he had lost. Ted hadn't fallen apart. He'd turned to Elizabeth. The death had been considered an accident. Until that unbelievable stroke of luck when that crazy woman had come forward and said she had seen Ted struggling with Leila. And Elizabeth had become the chief witness.
It was destined to be this way. Now the Baron and Syd had become material witnesses against Ted. The Baron wouldn't be able to deny that he had heard Ted struggling with Leila. Syd had seen Ted on the
