A Function of Murder (36 page)

“Monty, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

He held up his hand and yelled, “Enough! I know you found it and I’m protecting myself
is what I’m doing.” He held out his gun-free hand and wiggled his fingers. “Give me
the card, Sophie.”

“Monty—”

He grabbed the briefcase from my hand and tried to undo the flap. He ended up dropping
the briefcase and making every effort to right it, while still training the gun on
me. If he hadn’t been holding a gun, I’d have said he was as nervous as I was, but
the balance of power gave the lie to that.

“Please let me—”

I wanted to explain that I hadn’t seen what was on the card, that I never had to see
it, that I’d swallow it whole if it would make him put the gun away and let me get
in my car and be on my way. But each time I began a sentence, his look became more
frantic, his eyes more threatening.

I perked up at the sound of a vehicle. I snuck a look to my left, in the direction
of the library entrance. Monty heard the sound, too, and we both watched as the car,
a nondescript sedan, drove toward us. I tried to play it out quickly. I could scream
but would the driver hear me? Would Monty dare shoot me in broad daylight? He looked
wild and unstable enough to follow through, taking his chances on escaping. All the
driver would see would be a tall guy in a white suit and a petite woman in jeans crashing
to the ground.

My heart fell as the car made a right, heading for the parking lot near the dorms.
I was surprised to find I was still holding my phone, technically still on a call
with Monty. If my life weren’t on the line, it would have been a funny moment.

Monty was unnerved by the arrival of the car and what could have been his undoing.
For me, the event had been a roller coaster of hope and despair as the car went on
its way to the other side of campus.

“Get in your car,” he said, his voice nothing like the confident, often cajoling businessman-instructor
that I knew. He used the gun to nudge me along the few yards to my car. This Monty
was ready for a serious institution of the mental kind.

Where was everyone? It was the middle of the afternoon. I knew very well where everyone
was. On vacation. At home, catching up with all the things that got neglected during
the busy end-of-year days. My colleagues were doing laundry and paying bills while
I was held captive outside my own building.

What could I do to get away? I fingered my cell phone, now in my jeans pocket, wondering
if I could manage a nine-one-one call without looking at the keypad. First I’d have
to mute the sound or Monty would hear the dispatcher’s voice. I felt around my phone
to determine its orientation. I found the long edge that had no portals, which was
on the right side of the protective case. That would put the mute switch on the upper
left. I used my fingernail to tuck the lever to the left.

There were still many more steps to go. I’d have to click the button on the bottom,
slide the lock to the right, find the phone app, then the keypad, then…tears welled
up in my eyes. It was hopeless.

As much as I hated to, I followed Monty’s deadly instructions and climbed into my
car.

“Drive,” he said.

I tried to adopt a pleasing, cooperative demeanor. “Of course. Where are we going?”
You might think we were headed for a getaway at the beach.

Monty had difficulty entering my car, what with the pesky briefcase and the gun to
manage. He placed the briefcase on the floor between his legs. I couldn’t imagine
why he was having trouble finding the SD card since the plastic sleeve that held it
was simply stuck between two folders of the same size.

I put my car in gear and coasted toward the library gate. Surely someone would be
coming in at this time. I could drive into him. A fender bender, which Massachusetts
was famous for, would help my cause. Or get the other guy killed also, I feared.

Maybe I could alert the guard at the gate, if there was one. During off-season, sometimes
we swiped our ID cards to enter and exit. I looked ahead to the checkpoint. And, wouldn’t
you know, we were in the unmanned season.

“Use my card,” Monty said, retrieving his from his pocket. I shouldn’t have been surprised
that he was prepared. After all, he’d brought a gun. He probably learned his lesson
on the night of the murder when he’d had to improvise with a letter opener. Looking
at him on the seat beside me, I had no doubt that he had the strength to plunge the
blade into a man’s back.

I turned right, toward the police station, though we weren’t even close. “Make a U-turn,”
Monty said, waking up to his responsibility to give me directions.

With my vast experience with crime dramas on television I knew the key to survival
was to get your captor talking. But I couldn’t get started. It was not a good time
to be tongue-tied. Monty helped me out.

“He deserved it, you know.”

The mayor, I assumed. “Why do you say that?”

“Not just what he did to my sister. That was the last straw. He stiffed me on the
waste contracts, then fired me. As if his contracts were all aboveboard. He was in
bed with the CEO of Thomas. That guy was one of his biggest campaign contributors,
so, big surprise, Graves wants to throw the city’s waste business his way.”

“But you’d already made a deal with the Stewart Brothers.” That was me, making an
educated guess.

“So?”

“I just wondered, that’s all,” I said, my voice faltering, but still sympathetic.

Was Monty really asking why kickbacks on city contracts were wrong? Was he also telling
me that all the rumors of the mayor’s dirty hands were true? I hated to think things
were this bad in Henley, that business as usual meant money changing hands in all
the wrong ways.

Monty let out a mean chuckle. “You really don’t know what’s on that card, do you?”

I shook my head. Monty might be willing to deal now that he knew I hadn’t read the
card. “I could—”

Monty dug the gun into my ribs. “It doesn’t matter whether you read the card or not.
I can’t very well let you go now. I had a good thing going. Not just with Stewart.
The mayor was in on a deal or two. If it weren’t for the conflict on the waste contract,
we’d still be doing business together.”

Shaky as I felt, a puzzle was a puzzle and I had to know. “The mayor’s dealings are
also on the card?”

“Sure they are. I told you, he took money from Thomas for the dump contract.” Monty
seemed angry that I hadn’t learned the lesson he was trying to teach me.

“I remember now. That’s terrible.”

“No kidding. Then out of the blue he gets an attack of conscience. I think the attention
from all those cute and adoring campaign workers went to his head and he started to
believe he was some kind of hero. He gets my secretary to let him into my office,
plants a camera, and catches me in a ton of meetings. Financial meetings that should
have been secret. Tells me he’s ready to pay for his one or two indiscretions as long
as it stops me cold. He was willing to take a little heat for his own actions, just
to see me crash.”

My mind was a jumble of thoughts and questions; my body shook with fear. Even in my
panic, I tried to put the jagged pieces together. I finished the story in my head.
The phone message started with Zeeman but it was really all about city contracts.
I imagined the end. I’d mistakenly focused on
Something’s troubling me about Zeeman
, but the important part had been cut off and he was probably in too much of a hurry
to start over.
In the meantime
should have ended with
I left an SD card nailing Monty Sizemore in your office in the “NOT TRASH” pile
.

How different this moment would have been if he’d
been able to finish his message. I made a resolution: If I lived, I’d immediately
change my message length to infinity.

Monty was reliving another moment. “He never knew what hit him. I stood there in the
office next door, listening to His Honor dissing my sister. I knew they were meeting
and I figured this was the Big Dump, you know, and I wanted to be there for her.”

“I know you love Chrissy, Monty. You just wanted to protect her.”

Sympathize, sympathize
, I reminded myself, but Monty continued as if he were alone. Except that the gun
was meant for me.

“The letter opener was on the bookcase by the door with a bunch of mail. The thing
was shining, from the lamp outside the window.” Monty rubbed his eyes and for a moment
the gun pointed straight toward the roof of my car.
If he’d only keep it that way.
“It’s like the thing was blinding me.”

He shook his head so hard it must have hurt. He wasn’t quite finished with his story.
“I let him go, you know? I could have finished it then and there, but I’m not a bad
person.” I tried not to react to Monty’s self-assessment. “I watched him stumble out
the door and I almost hoped he’d make it, that he’d find help and survive. I just
wanted to make him suffer.”

I felt like Monty was telling his story not to me, but to himself.

I’d made the turn to drive east on Henley Boulevard, trying to guess where we were
headed.

The airfield that was Bruce’s base was northwest; the police station was due west;
my home and Zeeman Academy were southwest. The only thing east was…I shuddered…the
city dump.

I couldn’t let this happen. I couldn’t drive myself and my killer to the most ugly,
remote part of town. I couldn’t
bear the thought of someone I loved being called to identify my body, clothed in garbage.

We were still on a relatively busy street, three lanes wide, but soon we’d be isolated.
If I were going to make a move it would have to be now.

I saw a signal light in the distance, probably the last one before we left the main
part of town. I checked the traffic around me. It was light, but it would do. Timing
now was everything. It was a good thing I remembered the rate-time-distance equation;
math and science could save my life. I couldn’t stop a small smile from forming. Or
my stomach from churning.

Monty must have noticed my thinking, planning, puzzle-solving look because he said,
“Don’t do it, Sophie. Whatever you’re thinking. I have nothing to lose. I want this
to be over, for my sister’s sake. I never intended for her to suffer for what I’ve
done. If I’m going out, I’d just as soon take you with me. One less busybody on campus
would be a service to all.”

His remark unnerved me, but the setup was falling into place. Unstoppable.

First I had to adjust some things in my pockets. I pretended to be reaching for a
tissue, an action that provoked only mild irritation from Monty.

“No funny business,” he said.

Of course not.

Next I had to distract him. He’d been fishing around my briefcase on and off through
the trip and still hadn’t found the plastic sleeve with the SD card. I needed to help
him.

“Let me tell you where the card is,” I said.

“No funny business,” he repeated. I felt more than saw his strange, suspicious look.
“Why would you be helping me?”

I let out a heavy breath. “Okay, Monty, I admit I’m hoping you’ll change your mind
if I make it easy for you to get what you want.” He seemed to be considering this.
I spoke
quickly before he could figure out my plan. “Turn the briefcase so the flap is toward
you.”

He obeyed. A good start. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, ready for the next step.

“See that lineup of folders? There are two yellow ones in front.”

“Yeah.”

“Now just separate the two yellow folders.”

While Monty was busy, ever so slightly relaxing his aim with the gun, I reached into
my pocket and pulled out the pin Kira had given me. It had taken some amount of dexterity
to remove it from the box and unlock the clasp, but the tissue ploy had given me access.
I gave a silent nod of thanks to Ariana for forcing me to do the finger exercises
necessary for beadwork.

“Way down, between the two yellow folders…” I began, grateful that Monty obliged with
a slight bending of his head.

I oriented the pin with the fingers of my right hand and jabbed the sharp point into
Monty’s neck. Even though I closed my eyes at the last fraction of a second before
stabbing Monty, my aim was good and I heard the scream I was hoping for.

I jammed on the brakes inches behind a blue Camry. I’d arrived at the light, third
in line in my lane. It had turned red, but I would have slammed to a stop no matter
what the signal was. The gun fell to the floor as Monty clutched his neck, from which
blood was shooting out. I clicked off my seat belt, opened the door, and…

I think I screamed. Or fainted. Or both.

I’d always wondered what it would take for the president of Henley College to send
me flowers. Not really, but the arrival of a large bouquet in a lovely vase was quite
a surprise. Though the note read only “Wishing you a speedy recovery,” I suspected
she meant,
Thanks for getting
Heinous Murder on Campus Still Unsolved
off the front page
.