He could see the steady rise and fall of her breath as he approached from the right side. Her head was partially buried under the pillow, shutting out whatever light and noise might interrupt her deep sleep.
Liquida assessed the situation. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. If he tried to pull the bedcovers off her to get a clear strike, she might scream before he could silence her. He gauged the thickness of the bedspread against the length of the blade in his hand, and wondered if the comforter was filled with goose down or something harder. Hopefully it wasn’t Kevlar.
He crept forward, searching with his eyes for the area just above the small of her back. As he drew closer he could make out the definition more clearly.
Liquida was two feet from the edge of the bed. His foot found a weak spot and the floor squeaked as he lifted off it. A second later the body on the bed began to move. He froze in place and stared at the moving mound. He was prepared to pounce if he had to, but he knew if he did they wouldn’t be alone in the room for long. He watched as she shifted under the covers and prayed that she would not roll over and open her eyes. Instead she stretched out, took a deep breath, and settled back in. Liquida was thankful, because in the process she flattened enough of the hills to show him his target. If only she would stay still.
He looked at the floor and quietly took two more steps. It put him at the edge of the bed. He looked down. He couldn’t see her head. But he knew where it was, under the pillow.
He leaned over the bed, held his breath, and in a single fluid motion Liquida grabbed the pillow with his left hand and forced it down against the side of her face as he plunged the needle-sharp point of the knife through the covers and into her back. A few flakes of down floated like snow around his gloved hand as he pressed the knife home.
Liquida was lucky and he knew it. The blade slid cleanly between her ribs. Her body jolted with the shock. She tried to scream, but her face was buried deep in the mattress and sealed by the pillow. Liquida pressed down hard, with all of his weight. He had the knife in her but it was like riding a tiger. She was stronger than she looked. Before he realized it, she was struggling into position to do a push-up. If she got her face out of the mattress and let out a scream, they would hear it a block away.
Coming up onto the bed, Liquida forced his knee into her lower back and collapsed her arms. She struggled to escape the searing pain as he moved the blade around in the wound. Her legs thrashed at the covers and her fingers clawed the sheets, but Liquida wouldn’t let up. He searched for the sweet spot before she could throw him off. He angled the knife handle down and jammed the blade upward under the ribs as hard as he could. Jenny arched her back in a rigid bow. He felt the penetration as the tip of the blade sliced through the sac and pierced her heart.
Liquida sat on her like a jockey, his knee still planted in her back. He could feel the life force beneath him dissolve as her body settled back into the mattress.
He took a second to catch his breath, and then he lifted the pillow from her face. Her left eye was wide open, but it was too dark to see if the pupil was dilated. He swept the long blond hair away from the side of her neck and felt for the jugular. There was no pulse. Leaving the knife where it was, Liquida hoisted himself off her and back onto his feet, at the side of the bed. Then he reached over and pulled the knife out as a crimson stain seeped slowly, in a broadening circle, through the thick white muslin.
Liquida had followed the two women all night, but from a safe distance. He parked up on a hill near a hotel and watched them through his field glasses down below as they had dinner in the restaurant’s outdoor plaza. He also saw Madriani’s detective. How could he miss him? The biggest thing moving in Old Town that night. Liquida had seen him before, months earlier, in Costa Rica. He wasn’t someone you were likely to forget. A man the size of a mountain, with a shiny, bald black head that looked as if he spit-shined it at night. He stood there on the wooden boardwalk in front of the shops, smoking his cigar as he watched the two girls from a block away.
The moment he saw the investigator, Liquida knew he had the lawyer’s attention. So he followed the two women, but kept his distance. When the blonde dropped Madriani’s daughter off at home, he followed the blonde. If he killed the daughter, the FBI would throw another blanket over the lawyer and Liquida might not be able to find him again. They had done it once before. But kill her friend and there was no way to prove that Liquida was involved. After all, she was a perfect stranger. And there would be no fingerprint left behind this time. The police would start looking for jilted boyfriends or anyone who might have been stalking the blonde. But Madriani would be left to wonder. The minute his daughter told him that her friend was dead it would begin to gnaw at him.
It is true. There are things worse than physical pain and death: the certain knowledge that these are coming, not only for you, but for those you love.
THIRTEEN
It’s not quite noon. I’m in a booth at the Brigantine waiting for Harry to join me for lunch and I am about to be ambushed.
Joselyn Cole sits at one of the bar stools across the room, one shapely leg crossed over the other as we pretend not to notice each other in the largely empty restaurant.
Yesterday she went to see Herman and he slammed the door on her as I’d warned her he would. So unless Coronado is suddenly on the way back to her office in D.C., I’m assuming she’s back for one more shot at me.
The cocktail waitress cruises by to take my order.
“Gin and tonic, hold the lime,” I tell her.
Cole glances at me in the mirror over the bar, and as the waitress leaves, Joselyn swivels on her stool and steps down. This morning she looks very different. A white sweaterdress of thin-ribbed wool clings to her body like water on its way down to midthigh over skin-tight black leggings. She dangles a small purse from her arm as she nurses her drink with both hands and moves toward me with a kind of arousing feline elegance. New day-new tack.
“I thought it was you when I heard the voice,” she says.
“You come here often, do you?” I give her a big grin.
“Your secretary told me you were having lunch here,” she says. “You don’t mind?”
“I’m going to have to talk with my secretary.”
“Oh, I hope I’m not getting her in trouble,” she says. “I told her we were meeting for lunch and I forgot the location. So it really wasn’t her fault.”
“There you go, you did it again,” I say. “Did you tell her who you were this time?”
“I told her who I was the last time. It was only the stuff about the bar that I lied about. And yes, I did tell her who I was.”
“And she believed you about lunch?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? If you have a problem with me, you need to tell your secretary. After all, the woman doesn’t have a crystal ball. For all she knows we could be having a tryst.”
“I’ll make a note,” I tell her.
“I don’t like lying, really,” she says. “But you make it very difficult to tell the truth.”
“You’re talking about your attempt to ambush Herman?” I say.
“The least you could have done was give me an open field shot at the man.”
“If I’d known you could dress up and look like this, I would have gone over personally and nailed his door shut,” I tell her.
“Well, thank you, I think.” She smiles, standing there all hippy and slinky in high heels, curves in all the right places. “Besides, I can tell, you’re not really angry.”
I shoot her a glance.
“At your secretary, I mean.”
“We’re back to clairvoyance, are we?”
“Care if I sit?”
“Would it make a difference?” I ask.
She sets her drink down and slides into the booth across from me. “Tell me, is the food good here?”
“Would you like a menu?”
“No. I’ll just have what you’re having,” she says. “Do you usually eat here alone, or is someone else joining
