“I was looking at this the wrong way.”
“What are you talking about?”
Myron took another step toward her. “When I asked myself who knew about the blood in the basement,” he began, “I only remembered Clip and Calvin. I forgot I told you. When I wondered why Greg’s lover would have to keep her identity a secret, I thought about Fiona White and Liz Gorman. Again I forgot about you. It’s hard enough for a woman to get respect as a female sports reporter. Your career would be ruined if anybody found out you were dating one of the players you covered. You had to keep it quiet.”
She looked at him, her face a wet, white blank.
“You’re the only one who fits, Audrey. You knew about the blood in the basement. You had to keep a relationship with Greg a secret. You had a key to his house so access would be no problem. And you were the one who had a motive to clean up the blood in order to protect him. After all, you killed to protect him. What’s cleaning up some blood?”
She brushed her hair away from her eyes and blinked into the rain. “You can’t seriously believe that I—”
“That night after TC’s party,” Myron interrupted, “when you told me how you had put it all together. I should have wondered then. Sure, my joining the team was unusual. But only somebody with a personal connection— somebody who truly knew that Greg had vanished and why—would have been able to come up with it so fast. You were the mystery lover, Audrey. And you don’t know where Greg is either. You cooperated with me not because you wanted the story, but because you wanted to find Greg. You’re in love with him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said.
“The police will comb the house, Audrey. They’ll find hairs.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said. “I interviewed him a couple of times—”
“In his bedroom? In his bathroom? In his shower?” Myron shook his head. “They’ll also comb the murder scene now that they know about you. There’ll be evidence there too. A hair or something.” He took another step toward her. Audrey raised the gun with a quivering hand.
“Beware the Ides of March,” Myron said.
“What?”
“You were the one who pointed it out to me. The ides are the fifteenth of March. Your birthday was the seventeenth. March seventeenth. Three-one-seven. The code Greg set on his answering machine.”
She pointed the gun at his chest. “Turn off the tape recorder,” she said. “And the phone.”
Myron reached into his pocket and did as she asked.
Tears and rain mixed together and cascaded down her cheeks. “Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?” she wailed. She pointed to the still body on the wet grass. “You heard what he said: no one else knows. All the blackmailers are dead. I could have destroyed this thing”—she held up the box—“once and for all. I wouldn’t have had to hurt you. It would have finally been over.”
“And what about Liz Gorman?”
Audrey made a scoffing noise. “That woman was nothing more than a conniving blackmailer,” she said. “She couldn’t be trusted. I told Greg that. What was to stop her from making copies and bleeding him dry? I even went to her house that night and pretended I was an ex-girlfriend with an ax to grind. I told her I wanted to buy a copy. She said sure. Don’t you see? Paying her off would do no good. There was only one way to keep her quiet.”
He nodded. “You had to kill her.”
“She was just a low-life criminal, Myron. She’d robbed a bank, for chrissake. Greg and I…we were perfect together. You were right about my career. I had to keep our relationship a secret. But not much longer. I was going to get transferred to another beat. Baseball. The Mets or Yankees. Then we could be open about it. It was going so well, Myron, and then this low-life bitch comes along….” Her voice drifted off with a hard shake of the head. “I had to think about our future,” she said. “Not just Greg’s. Not just mine. But our baby’s too.”
Myron’s eyes closed in pain. “You’re pregnant,” he said softly.
“Now do you see?” Her wide-eyed enthusiasm was back, though it took on a more twisted dimension now. “She wanted to destroy him. Destroy us. What choice did I have? I’m not a killer but it was either us or her. And I know how it looks—Greg running off and not telling me. But it’s just the way he is. We’ve been together for more than six months. I know he loves me. He just needed time.”
Myron swallowed. “It’s over now, Audrey.”
She shook her head and held the gun with both hands. “I’m sorry, Myron. I don’t want to do it. I’d almost rather die first.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Myron took another step. She moved back. The gun trembled in her hand. “They’re blanks,” he said.
Her eyes squinted in confusion. The man in the ski mask sat up like Bela Lugosi in an old Dracula film. He pulled off the mask and showed his badge. “Police,” Dimonte shouted. Win and Krinsky came over the crest. Audrey’s mouth formed a perfect circle. Win had made the fake blackmailer call; Myron had set his cellular phone’s volume on high to be sure Audrey overheard it. The rest was easy.
Dimonte and Krinsky made the arrest. Myron watched, no longer feeling the rain. After Audrey was put into the back of a cruiser, he and Win walked toward the car.
“Superhero partner?” Myron said.
Win shrugged.
Chapter 39
Esperanza was still in the office when the fax machine rang. She crossed the room and watched the machine begin to spew out paper. The facsimile was addressed to her attention, from the FBI:
Re: FIRST CITY NATIONAL BANK—TUCSON, ARIZONA
Subject: Renters of Safe-Deposit Boxes.
She’d been waiting for this transmission all day.
Esperanza’s theory on the blackmail plot had gone something like this: The Raven Brigade robbed the bank. They hit the safe-deposit boxes. People keep all kinds of things in those. Money, jewelry, important documents. That was what hooked the timing together. Simply put, the Raven Brigade had found something in one of those boxes that was damaging to Greg Downing. Then they hatched their little blackmail scheme.
The names came out in alphabetical order. Esperanza read down the list while the paper was still being transmitted. The first page ended in the Ls. No name was familiar. The second page ended in the Ts. No name was familiar. On the third page, when she reached the Ws, her heart leaped into her throat. Her hand fluttered to her mouth, and for a moment she feared that she might scream.
It took several hours to sort through the mess. Statements had to be taken. Explanations made. Myron told Dimonte practically the whole story. He left out the videotape of Thumper and Emily. Again, it was nobody’s business. He also left out the part about meeting up with Cole Whiteman. Myron somehow felt he owed him. For her part, Audrey would not talk at all, except to ask for a lawyer.
“Do you know where Downing is?” Dimonte asked Myron.
“I think so.”
“But you don’t want to tell me.”
Myron shook his head. “He’s not your business.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Dimonte agreed. “Go on. Get out of here.”
They were downtown at One Police Plaza. Myron and Win walked out in the city night. Large municipal structures consumed the neighboring area. Modern bureaucracy in its most extreme and intimidating form. Even this late at night, you could visualize lines of people heading out the door.
“It was a good plan,” Win said.
“Audrey is pregnant.”
“I heard.”
“Her baby will be born in jail.”
“Not your doing.”
“She thought it was her only way out,” Myron said.
