The Answer Man (25 page)

Twenty minutes passed, and they had barely made a dent in the file. Maybe he was wasting his time, Ken thought. There wasn't anything here.

Faded pictures of people he didn't know.

Companies he'd never heard of.

A lifetime of dreams and accomplishments reduced to a single file folder.

Poor Sabini, Ken thought as he looked at a photo of the man's smiling face. The guy really got in over his head.

Ken leaned back and picked up a black-and-white photo of a groundbreaking ceremony, obviously part of a company press kit. There was a row of business-attired employees, one of whom was Sabini, standing in the middle of an open field.

Ken was about to toss it aside, when something caught his eye.

Or, rather, some
one.

He moved the picture closer to his face and squinted at it. There, next to Sabini, was a face he knew. A smiling face, seven or eight years younger than the one he still saw several times each week, but quite recognizable nonetheless.

“What is it?” Hound Dog asked.

“God,” Ken whispered. He gripped the photo and stared at the face, wishing it would miraculously change into another.

This couldn't be happening.

It was the one person he didn't believe—
couldn't believe
—he'd see in these photos.

“Who is it?” Hound Dog asked.

Still holding the picture, Ken stood up. “I'm sorry. I have to go.”

“You're
leaving
me?”

He could barely think straight. “Take MARTA, okay?” He fished around in his pockets and came up with a twenty. “No, take a cab. I'm sorry.”

“Don't cut me out of the loop!”

He ran from the pool hall.

K
en drove down Piedmont Road, dropping a few cassettes on the seat beside him to keep the photo from blowing away. It was just past six
P
.
M
., and the happy-hour nightspots were in full swing. Cars lined up for spaces in the jammed parking lots. Decks overflowed with buzzed customers.

Ken ran his hands through his hair a few times, breathing automobile exhaust fumes noxiously combined with a citrus odor from one of the restaurants. He glanced back down at the photo. The face was still there, only inches from Burton Sabini's.

Margot.

His ex-wife, best friend, and closest confidante.

He felt like hell.

Had the indicators been there the whole time and he just didn't pick up on them? Margot's sudden restlessness, her detachment from Bill…

Ken drove for the better part of an hour, finally finding himself in Margot and Bill's neighborhood.

He had to talk to her.

He slowed to a stop in front of his friends' house. Bill, hunched over the engine of his old Vette in the open garage, glanced up. He ambled down the driveway.

“Ken Parker lives!” he yelled out. “Where'd you get the wheels?”

Ken remained sitting, staring at the photograph as Bill stepped alongside the Mercedes. “Where's Margot?”

“Where she always is at this time.”

Ken checked his watch. “The jogging trail.”

It had been a couple of weeks since he had run with her. The evenings they spent running and talking were some of his favorite times. Even when everything else was turning to shit, he always had the jogging trail with Margot.

“What's wrong, buddy?”

No more secrets. Ken cut the engine. “I'll tell you what's wrong.”

He told Bill the whole story, from his very first encounter with Myth at Elwood's.

“I figured that Sabini's partner killed him because he didn't want to risk being exposed at Sabini's trial. Michaelson, the private detective, told Myth he knew who the partner was. He planned to approach him and blow the whistle unless he got a chunk of the money. So Michaelson was killed too.”

“Jesus.”

“I suspected that Myth killed Michaelson,” Ken said. “She was working with him, and he might have told her who Sabini's partner was, even though she said he didn't.”

“You don't trust her?”

“I wasn't sure. But listen to this. Sabini wanted
me specifically
to help him get ready for the polygraph test. But he had no way of knowing me unless maybe his partner did. So it occurred to me this person might be someone he and I both knew.”

Bill looked at him questioningly.

Ken took a deep breath, grabbed the photo from the seat next to him, and climbed out of the car. He handed the picture to Bill.

Bill looked at it incredulously. “Margot?”

Ken nodded.

“Where did you get this?”

“I have a source.”

“You're out of your mind.”

“I don't like it either. But it's the only way it makes sense. Margot and Sabini worked at Allied Industries at the same time.”

“So what? That was over five years ago. I never heard her talk about this guy.”

“You think it's just a coincidence?”

“It can't
be
anything else.” Bill glared at him. “Christ, you're pathetic. You never could forgive her, could you?”

“Bill, that isn't—”

“Don't take it out on her. You wanna get mad at somebody, get mad at me!”

“Do you think I
want
her to be involved in this?”

“I can't believe this! Whenever you needed help, I always did whatever I could to—”

“Bullshit. I
never
asked for your help!”

“You needed it!”

“No! You needed to
think
I needed your help. And you needed for the whole world to think I did too. It's always been that way. You needed that to feel good about yourself. Never mind how you made
me
feel.”

“Fuck you.”

Ken grabbed the photo and jumped into the Mercedes.

“Where are you going?” Bill shouted. “Wait!”

Ken roared away without casting another glance in his direction.

He should be running with her, Ken thought. Laughing, joking, forgetting his troubles. He shifted on the hood of the Mercedes. The car was parked on the street, facing the jogging trail. Margot would be coming any minute now.

Ken lit a cigarette. Why did it have to be her?

The last tinges of sunlight were disappearing when he caught sight of Margot coming over the hill. She drew closer, obviously surprised to see him. She stopped and pulled off her Walkman headset. “The police are looking for you.”

He didn't say anything. He took another long drag on the cigarette.

“What's going on, Ken?”

He searched for the right words. “You know, there haven't been a lot of people I could count on in this world. Not really. Nobody who tells the truth to himself or anybody else. Nobody except you.”

She frowned. “What's this about?”

“Even when you left me for Bill, it was because I practically pushed you out. You were always honest with me.”

She gave him a bewildered look.

Maybe she
was
bewildered, he thought. Maybe she didn't know any of this. God, he couldn't stop hoping.

“Why'd you do it, Margot?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. You and Burton Sabini.”

“Burton Sabini?”

“Christ, Margot.
Don't fucking lie to me!
”

“What is this all about?”

“Look, I want to hear your side of it.”

“Side of what?”

She was looking at him as if he were crazy. He studied her. He probably knew her better than he knew anyone, and she seemed genuinely perplexed.

He forged ahead. “I didn't come here for you to lie to me. I want you to explain. Tell me
why
.”

“There's nothing to explain! I barely knew Burton Sabini. We worked at the same place for a while. He just got me the job there.”

Doubt was starting to creep in. Margot wasn't this good a liar….

She continued. “Bill arranged it with him, and I was there until—”

“
Bill
knew him?”

“They were in the reserves together. I needed a job, and
Bill talked him into giving me a good word. Dammit, Ken, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

She was telling the truth. She did not have the slightest idea what was going on.

Bill.

He hadn't mentioned knowing Sabini. And now Bill knew
everything
there was to know about this case. Including the fact that Myth might know the identity of Sabini's partner.

“Holy shit,” Ken whispered.

Myth ran her hand under the showerhead, feeling the water and letting it spray against the beveled glass door.

She hoped the hot shower would help her relax, but that would probably take a tranquilizer.

It was happening again. And she couldn't stop it.

Gossip had already begun to circulate about her conduct in the Burton Sabini case, and more was certainly to follow in the days to come. Even if formal charges were not filed against her, such talk could have a devastating impact on her career.

Career? That was only part of it. Ken was gone, and she was alone again. But that's how she functioned best, wasn't it? No one to answer to, no one to tell her what to do…

She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. She knew she'd lose her looks someday, and she'd be as ugly as she felt inside.

Good, she thought. She couldn't wait.

She peeled off her robe and stepped into the shower, letting the water massage her face and neck. She could not hear the phone ringing a few feet from the bathroom door.

“If you're there, pick up!” Ken yelled into the pay phone.
“Pick up!”

No one did.

He spoke urgently. “Sabini's partner is Bill Aronson! If you get in, lock up and don't open your door for anyone but me. I'm on my way over.”

He hammered the hook and dialed another number.

“Hello?”

“Hound Dog, it's me.”

“I'm not talking to you.”

“I'm sorry, but I need you to do something.”

“Tough.”

“Please. You're closer than I am. Go to Myth Daniels's house. If she's there, get her out. If she's not, don't let her go in.”

“What's wrong?”

“She's not our killer, but she could be in danger. Be careful. If you get there and there's a sign of anything wrong, get the hell away. I'm heading there right now.”

“I just grabbed my keys and helmet. I'm on my way.”

Ken slammed down the receiver and bolted for his car.

Bill wasn't ready to give up his life.

He walked up Myth Daniels's long driveway and approached the winding stairs.

Maybe he should've hopped the first plane out of the country. Maybe he should've skipped town as soon as he had the money. But no. He didn't have the guts to start over.

The whole time he and Sabini had planned their heist, it seemed so simple. Get the money, split it, and live happily ever after.

But how? He could never tell Margot. He'd have to leave her. He couldn't stay in the United States either. Not if he wanted to actually spend the money.

He felt cheated. There had been the hard work: the research, the clandestine meetings with Sabini, coordinating the connections through his bank. All to make sure the transactions couldn't be traced back to him. He thought Sabini's ass was covered too. If only that special audit had come a few months later.

But Sabini was indicted and the bastard got scared. He wanted to give back the money and call it a day. Which would
have meant giving up Bill too. They had argued for months, until Sabini finally told him he was going to plea out despite having passed the D.A.'s polygraph test.

Bill couldn't let that happen.

That night near the Underground, Sabini didn't even fight back. Maybe he was drunk, or maybe he really wanted his sad, miserable life to be over.

Bill knew he would eventually come up with a plan. As soon as he was through stomping out these annoying fires, he could concentrate on his future.

The humid wind howled through the trees. It was getting dark.

He stepped quietly toward the front door and tried it. Locked. He rang the doorbell.

He waited a full minute, but there was no answer.

He slipped on a pair of work gloves and punched a stained glass window next to the door frame, shattering it. He pulled apart two of the heavy wire borders and reached through to unlock the door.

As he stepped over the threshold, he saw an alarm panel. No flashing lights, no alert. Myth Daniels had not yet activated her alarm for the evening. Bill cautiously stepped into the foyer, looking and listening for any sign of her. He heard a shower on the floor above.

He turned and climbed the oak stairway.

Upstairs, Myth turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. God, she was tired. She shrugged on her robe, pulling the terry cloth against her body. She opened the bathroom door.

Bed. She needed to forget everything until—

A blade snapped to her throat. An arm hooked around her waist.

She gasped.

“Are you going to scream?”

She could barely hear him. Her attention was riveted on the blade at her throat.

“Are you going to scream?” he repeated.

“No,” she whispered.

“Good. Then show me where you keep your files.”

She still did not move.

He shook her violently. “Your
files
!”

She carefully led him down the hallway, aware that any sudden movement could drive the razor-sharp blade into her larynx.

Her breathing was slow and measured even as her heart pounded furiously. She felt hyperaware of her surroundings.

The sound of the man's breathing.

The stench from his oil-stained T-shirt.

The coolness of the tiled floor on her bare wet feet.

They passed an etched mirror on the wall. She stole a glance at it, recognizing the man immediately. She'd seen him the first night she had met Ken, at Elwood's.

He caught Myth's glance but did not react.

He didn't care that she could recognize him, she realized. Because he was going to kill her.

Traffic was piling up on the I-75/85 downtown connector, and it appeared to Ken that all the southbound lanes were jammed up ahead. Probably a Braves game, he thought. Shit.

He took the shoulder and raced over mini–speed bumps to the next exit. He would have to try his luck on surface roads. The Mercedes slightly resisted the steep climb up the exit ramp, but gained power as it neared the traffic light at the top.

He braked to a screaming halt behind an old pickup truck. Two teenagers sitting in the flatbed stared at him as he waited for the light to change.

Please let her be away from home, he thought. If he was right about Bill, Myth could be in danger. And it would be nobody's fault but his own.

“Open it.”

Bill stepped back as Myth turned the key in her tall
rosewood lateral file. The top drawer pulled open just below her eye level.

“You know who I am, don't you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then I'm sure you know what files I want. Everything you have on Sabini.”

She started pulling out folders. “
You
were his partner.”

Bill smiled. “So were you, in a way. I need all your records for this case.”

“Most of them are in my office.”

“All in good time. Nothing can be left behind…except for these.”