Hit List - Lawrence Block [68]
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I understand they’re looking for puncture marks,” she said, “like the Bulgarian that got stabbed with the umbrella, or whatever the hell it was. Then two days later he died. They’re looking for puncture marks and traces of a slow-acting poison.”
“And when they don’t find them?”
“That’ll show that it’s a poison without a trace, and one that was delivered without breaking the skin. A puff from an atomizer, say. He breathes it in, and a day or two later he has what looks for all the world like a heart attack.”
“It looked like one,” he said, “because that’s what it was.”
“Right, but how did you make it happen?”
“I didn’t.”
“It just happened.”
“Right.”
“Help me find a way to believe that, Keller.”
“Ask yourself why I would lie to you.”
She thought about it. “You wouldn’t,” she said. “Well, he was overweight, he was out of shape, and he was under a lot of stress.”
“Must have been.”
“And those stairs looked steep. In the movies when somebody gets shot on the stairs he falls all the way to the bottom, but he just sort of flopped on his face and stayed where he fell. Keller? This is even better than the guy crossing the street, and why can’t I remember his name?”
“Lee Klinger.”
“Right. There at least you were on the scene. When Petrosian got it you were watching TV in your motel room.”
“First there was a commercial,” he said, “and I couldn’t tell what they were advertising. And then Petrosian dropped dead, and the first thing I thought was the guy in the helicopter shot him. But nobody shot him, or stabbed him with an umbrella, or sprayed poisoned perfume in his face.”
“He just dropped dead.”
“In front of God and everybody.”
“Especially everybody.” She took a long drink of iced tea. “We got paid,” she said.
“That was quick.”
“Well, you’ve got a real fan club in Albuquerque, Keller. There are some people there who may not know your name, but they’re sure crazy about your work.”
“So they paid the second half. How about the escalator?”
“It was marble steps. Oh, sorry, I got lost there. Yes, they paid the escalator. You nailed the bastard before they could even swear him in. They paid the escalator, and they paid a bonus.”
“A bonus?”
“A bonus.”
“Why? What for?”
“To make themselves feel good, would be my guess. I don’t know what the prisons are like in New Mexico, but I gather they’re grateful not to be going, and they wanted to make a grand gesture. What they said, the bonus was for dramatic effect.”
“Dramatic effect?”
“On the courthouse steps, Keller? The man dies surrounded by G-men, and the whole world gets to see him do it over and over again? Believe me, they’ll get their money’s worth out of this one. They’ll be playing that tape every time they swear in a new member. ‘You think you can ever cross us and get away with it? Look what happened to Petrosian.’ “
He thought about it. “Dot,” he said, “I didn’t do anything.”
“You just went out every morning for a Mexican breakfast.”
“Huevos rancheros.”
“And here I always thought a Mexican breakfast was a cigarette and a glass of water. You ate eggs and watched television. What else? Get to a movie?”
“Once or twice.”
“Buy any stamps?”
He shook his head. “Roswell’s like a three- or four-hour drive from Albuquerque. The stamp dealers in town, a couple of them just work through the mails, and the one shop I went to was basically a coin dealer. He sells supplies and albums, a few packets, but he doesn’t really have a stamp stock.”
“Well, you can buy stamps now, Keller. Lots of them.”
“I suppose so.”
She frowned. “Something’s bothering you,” she said.
“I told you. I didn’t do anything.”
“I know, and that’ll have to be our little secret. And who’s to say it’s true?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” she said, and hummed the Twilight Zone theme. “You go to Illinois and Klinger gets hit by a car. You go to Albuquerque and Petrosian has a handy little heart attack. Coincidence?”