same frightening unemotional tone.
“You thought you’d pick up where he left off, didn’t you?” His voice changed—it menaced and threatened before his kick inflicted real pain.
Assimilating the knowledge that Knox had murdered Paul and intended to murder her, she absorbed the blow soundlessly. Ideas flipped and flashed through her mind like landed fish frantically seeking escape. She tried to talk around the gag and tell him he had it all wrong—she had no idea why he’d killed Paul.
“Are you going to scream?”
When she shook her head, he loosened the napkin.
Before he changed his mind and tightened it, she said, “Let me go, and we’ll forget tonight ever happened.”
“Very funny. You’d bleed me dry. As it is, your dear . . . your dear husband drained me of almost four thousand dollars.”
“Paul blackmailed you?”
“As if you didn’t know. Wednesday, at the visitation, you told us you’d be continuing his work. You said you knew everything he’d done. Right then I decided to give you a scare, to warn you I was serious, and then to drop a letter on your door step informing you that you had one chance to stop, to warn you, you’d get what Paul got if you continued.”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong. Think about it—it’s simple. I didn’t respond to your threats or the letter because I didn’t know anything. I didn’t know anything. I still don’t.”
“I’d like to believe you. But, even if I did, it’s too late. I’ve told you I killed Paul, I have to kill you too.” He sounded resigned, but sure of his course. “Rationally, Hollis, you have to face the fact—it’s impossible. You’d go to the police, and I’d be finished. No, I’m sorry, but you have to die.”
The reasonable tone of his speech terrified her. Clearly, he saw no alternative. Rhona Simpson’s face flashed into her mind. What time was it? When Simpson arrived at eight and she wasn’t there, would she wait or come here? Time—she needed time.
Somewhere she’d read criminals loved to gloat and relate the details of a successful crime. Might an appeal to Knox’s vanity, a request for him to share the details of his clever scheme buy her minutes and improve the odds that Simpson would arrive?
“Knox, how did you organize it? Why don’t you tell me.”
“You’re stalling, but it doesn’t matter. Linda’s taken the kids to her sister’s overnight. I have hours. Once you’re dead, I’ll never be able to tell anyone else.”
Once she was dead. If Detective Simpson didn’t arrive . . .
“I devised the plan months ago, when Paul said he wanted higher payments. Impossible to raise more money without Linda catching on—Paul forced me to act and, if I do say so myself, I worked out the perfect plot.”
She shuddered at the complacency and pride in Knox’s voice but suppressed her revulsion. “Tell me how you did it.”
“I decided if I dressed like everyone else at the marathon, no one would notice one more runner. I practiced bending down to tie my shoe and then straightening up, lurching a little, and driving in the knife. I’m a zoologist and very good with knives.” Knox’s voice had lost its tonelessness. He spoke quickly and with animation in a self-congratulatory tone.
Hollis pictured her body slashed, chopped in small pieces and stuffed in green garbage bags but resolutely pushed the image away. “Weren’t you afraid someone would recognize you?”
“Oh no. Runners resemble one another. I wore one of my son’s baseball caps, dark glasses and, what was most important—I shaved off my beard. I’ve worn it ten years, and I look very different without it.”
“Yes, you do. But what about Linda? Didn’t she suspect?”
“That was easiest of all.” Contempt. “She’s such a creature of habit. She always drinks a cup of warm cocoa before bed. Quite often, if she’s plunked in front of the TV or sewing, I prepare it. On Saturday evening I added seconal the doctor prescribed for me in January when I had back spasms.” Pride resonated in his voice. “I was home by nine forty-five and by then I’d killed Paul, disposed of my runner’s bib and changed into street clothes. The stupid cops were interviewing the dropouts. I told them I hadn’t been in the race, I’d only run along with my son to encourage him. I said I was going out to the turnaround point to cheer him on, and they bought it. Hell, they didn’t even ask my name.”
He stopped as if he expected her to commend him, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“When I woke Linda at ten fifteen, I said I’d just come in from a jog and couldn’t believe she was still in bed. What with being late and seeing me beardless, she didn’t ask any questions.”
“I suppose you didn’t register for the race?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I did. At the beginning, not having a bib number would have made me conspicuous. I gave a phony name, and the address is this apartment—very simple. I dropped out at the first go-hut, where I stuffed the bib and my gloves into the tank. I did my research ahead of time and read running magazines. I’d thought of one problem—I needed to wear gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. I was afraid they would make me noticeable, but in the magazines’ photos, many runners wore gloves. I also read how tightly runners pack at the beginning—how it took many minutes for those at the rear to actually begin. It was a gamble, but I knew if I stabbed Paul in exactly the right spot, he wouldn’t cry out, and the press of the crowd would hold him upright until I moved away.”
Her horror increased. Knox felt no remorse, only pride. “Knox, forget this. I’m an honourable person. Can’t I trade my life for my silence?”
“I’m sorry, it’s not possible. It’ll be harder to kill you—I don’t hate you. Actually, I don’t even dislike you, but my life would be over if I was charged with murder or the information Paul uncovered became public.” Knox sounded sincerely sorry. “You do realize it’s really nothing personal. You’re too much of a threat. Now that I’ve gone this far, there’s no stopping.”
How could she talk to a man who wanted her complicity in accepting the necessity of her own death?
“Time to go. Get up. I’m keeping you tied, but you can walk downstairs.”
Once she reached the ground floor, her life would be measured in tiny increments. But if she balked, he’d probably knock her out and drag her down step by step. She needed a plan, needed to buy time to devise a new strategy to save her life.
Delay—delay was her only hope. In as reasonable a tone as a throat filled with fear allowed, she said, “Knox, please don’t go through with this. I had nothing to do with what Paul did to you. Please give me a chance.” She willed Knox to agree to a reprieve.
“No way, Hollis. One more death won’t send me deeper into hell. If it would prevent me from serving time in prison, I’d kill ten more people. You chose the wrong guy, Hollis.” He sniggered, “Too bad you had such lousy taste in men. You’re not a lucky woman.” Knox pulled the cords tighter. “Get up.”
She had to stop him.
“If
