Dennis’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“The girl was diabetic.” Dennis knew that much already, but he kept listening. “I was providing her with insulin. Eric wouldn’t do it, being too afraid of getting caught and deported. Our last job went well, incredibly well, and I saw it as a chance for him to pay me back.”
“For what? For helping his daughter?”
“For everything!” Harding seethed at some internal memory. “The man was a terrible partner, and he always took more than he deserved.” He was shaking visibly. “We were arguing over it, yes, but he promised to meet me. To discuss things. I told him that if he wanted my continued help, he’d give me what I was rightfully owed!”
Dennis couldn’t believe his ears. “You blackmailed him with Evy’s life?”
“The choice was his!” spat Harding.
“And he chose his daughter!” Dennis shouted back. “He didn’t have the key, Sam! He gave it to Evy!”
Harding clenched his jaw so hard that his eyes watered. “I am through discussing this.”
Dennis whipped the gun back up to eye level. “She was waiting for her father to come home! Eric would have brought you the key himself, but he didn’t know where it was! And instead of listening to him, instead of talking to Evy, you kept him out of the house and away from his dying daughter.” He felt almost as sick as he did enraged. “My god, Sam, you murdered her!”
Harding stared at the revolver, his bravado gone. “Dennis, there’s just over a million dollars in that safety deposit box. Some of it can be yours.”
He’s begging, Dennis thought, disgusted.
Harding continued quietly. “Maybe I was mistaken, all those years ago. Maybe I really was responsible for the girl’s death, but there’s nothing I can do about it now.” He folded his hands imploringly. “Dennis, please, think. Malcolm Spinner is emotionally unstable, and Elspeth Palin is close to death. Other than the two of them, nobody but us knows anything.” He parted his hands again, forcing a smile. “Things don’t need to be this way, Dennis. I’ll gladly share the money with you. Just give me the key.”
“You know what?” Dennis said. “Here.” He threw the key at Harding, hitting him in the chest. “It won’t do you any good anyway.”
While Harding stooped to retrieve the key, Dennis walked forward and snatched Luke’s envelope. “I’m taking this,” he said. “Just so we’re clear.” He started to head towards the door, but Harding’s voice stopped him.
“What did you mean by that, Dennis?” Harding stood, the key clutched in his hand. “That it wouldn’t do me any good?” Dennis slid the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket.
“I mean the box is empty, Sam.” He turned back to face the man. “There’s nothing in it but some jewelry.”
Harding snorted, but he looked uneasy. “You don’t know that. You don’t even know which bank it’s in. Anyone who does is dead.”
“Eric could have told someone.”
“I think not.” The psychiatrist smirked. “His family thought he was a sculptor. He wouldn’t risk losing them by confessing to the truth.”
Dennis nodded, his eyes falling towards the floor. Well, so much for sane explanations. “Evy knew.”
“She’s dead, Dennis,” Harding sighed.
“I’m aware. It didn’t stop her from talking.”
“That’s not –”
“How did you think that Elspeth has been living?” interrupted Dennis, looking back up. “The house might be hers, but she still needs to pay for food and gardening supplies.” And investigators, he added silently. “She found the key eight years ago. Evy told her what it opened.” He suddenly felt very tired. And cranky. “I don’t care what you think. You can check for yourself. The money’s all gone. Spent.”
Harding stared in disbelief, his eyes going from Dennis to the key in his hand. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“It might seem like a novel concept, but yes.” He stepped back towards the center of the room, bringing the gun up again. “I think it’s time for you to retire, Sam. I hear Florida’s popular.”
Harding looked deflated. “And what,” he asked, “is to stop me from from reporting you for theft, Dennis? Well in excess of three thousand dollars now, I might add.”
Dennis unbuttoned a section of his shirt, revealing the tiny microphone taped to his chest. “Spinner still has a few friends on the force,” he said. “Also, a lot of really neat equipment in the trunk of his car.”
“I see.” The psychiatrist breathed out, his last bastion conquered. “Florida, you say?”
“I don’t care where you go, as long as I never see you again.” He walked forward, pointing the revolver directly between Harding’s eyes. “And if I do...” He pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped down on an empty chamber. “I’ll keep the bullets in next time.”
Chapter Sixteen
The first thing Dennis did when he got back to the car was empty his pockets. Spinner looked irritated as ten bullet cartridges were placed in his hand, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he waited as Dennis pulled open his shirt and then helped him remove the microphone.
“Did we get it?”
Spinner nodded, tapping the receiver in his lap. “Loud and clear. You’d make a good private investigator, kid.”
“Thanks, but I think I’m going to stick to writing from now on.” Dennis sighed and sank back, relieved that the ordeal was finally at an end.
“You’re a writer?” Spinner asked.
“Some detective you are.” He turned to address Bobo, but saw that he was quietly snoring in the back seat. Spinner shrugged at the look on Dennis’ face.
“You took your time getting out. Once things were over, he dozed off.” He smiled sheepishly. “I guess you guys had a long night, huh?”
“It’s kind of hard to relax when you’re being followed.” Dennis stretched in his seat, feeling his own fatigue catching up with him. “Would you mind if we stopped by the bar? I have to drop something off.” He looked over at
