Part 11 (2/2)
She used the towel hanging on the rack and carefully scrubbed the toilet, the lavatory, and the light switch, pausing occasionally to retch.
What else had she touched there? Nothing.
She rubbed the walls in the hall, then went to the kitchen. She leaned out to wipe the window, the sill, and the area around the sink.
In Elliot's office, she took time to turn on the monitor. At first she was hopeful. There was a disk in the right-hand drive. It took only a moment to discover it was blank. It must have taken her attacker forty seconds to erase the files forever. Annie wiped the disk, the disk jacket, the side of the CPU, the keyboard, the chair.
Her head throbbed and furious tears burned in her eyes.
What else had she touched?
The doorframe, the floor where she had lain, the light switch.
Although nausea threatened again, she used one end of the towel to pick up the bloodied blackjack, and the other to wipe it clean. She bent down to pick up the towel she'd brought to cover the disk.
A thunderous knocking erupted at the front door.
Beneath the low-flung skirt of a pine, Max crouched. The whirling red light atop the police car threw scarlet flashes around the clearing and against the dark ma.s.ses of foliage.
Max strained to see. Saulter thumped again on Elliot's door, then waved a hand behind him. Max lifted his head. Another man waited on the other side of the clearing, and Max understood. Saulter thought someone was in Elliot's tree house, and he intended to flush out the intruder for his deputy to grab.
From his vantage point, Max could see the deputy waiting near the police car, Chief Saulter at the top of the steps, and a slender form outlined against a window on the side of the tree house.
Saulter couldn't see Annie. But if the deputy turned his head, he would.
Max reached down, scooped up a large pine cone, and heaved it as hard as he could. It splatted against the back of the police car.
The deputy immediately dropped out of sight on the ground.
”Halt, or I'll shoot!”
Max smiled. That shout would forewarn Annie nicely. He scooped up five cones, nice solid ones, and, wriggling backwards, began to move toward the bike path he knew she would take.
The second and third cones landed on top of the tree house.
”Come out with your hands up,” the deputy yelled frantically, and ran, crouching, toward the back of the house.
Max moved to intercept Annie, a slight silhouette momentarily limned by the flas.h.i.+ng police light.
He hissed urgently, ”Annie-this way.”
She was moving oddly, a kind of drooping shamble. He caught her as she stumbled and fell.
A shower and a clean cotton nightgown helped. But best of all was the double whisky Max thrust in her numb hands.
”What if I have a concussion?”
”Best thing in the world for it.”
It did ease the throbbing pain. But not even telling Max eased the horror of that evening.
Max looked as grim as she had ever seen him-and that was scary.
Annie rested against the bright cus.h.i.+ons of the wicker divan, a patchwork quilt across her knees. She s.h.i.+vered, though her blue terrycloth beach robe was warm and soft. ”He'll arrest me, won't he?”
”h.e.l.l, no.”
It had a hollow ring. Max managed a smile. ”Look, Annie, this is the truth. We were here all evening. We never left the place.” His dark blue eyes narrowed in thought. ”The phone rang once, maybe about six-thirty, but we didn't answer. We didn't give a d.a.m.n about the phone.
Come on, Annie, stop brooding about it. We've got to figure out how to solve this.”
He handed her the notes he'd made from his calls while she was at Elliot's, then rolled up his sleeves and fixed ham sandwiches and brewed fresh coffee, black and strong. He brought her a tray, then plunked down in the easy chair next to her and fussily insisted she eat every bite as she read the bios. This wasn't her old, familiar, cavalier Max. There were dark shadows under his eyes, a stubble of beard on his chin. He stayed very close and occasionally reached out to touch her, but his voice remained crisp.
”All right. Let's go at it from the first-from the murderer's side.”
”The murderer's side?”
”Sure. Let's figure out what the killer did when and why and fit that against the suspects. We know Elliot's murder was premeditated, of course.”
”Because of Jill and the poison?”
”Right. The murderer needed to do several things. Get a dart, steal the poison, and set it up so the lights would go out at precisely the right time Sunday night.”
Annie shot up straight, then winced. ”Max, the murderer is a woman.”
”Why?”
”Because the dart had to be carried into the store Sunday night. A woman could bring it in a purse, but there's no way for a man to get a four-inch dart in the store.”
”No. I don't see it that way. That would be too risky. The dart would already have the wad of cotton soaked in succinyl-choline on the end.
That would leave traces. No, I see it this way. The murderer got into the store sometime Sat.u.r.day night or Sunday morning...”
”Sunday morning,” Annie interrupted.
”What time?”
Annie figured for a moment. ”About nine forty-five. I heard the cabinet slam, and that meant someone had closed the back door. I was all set to beat it out the front door, then I saw that Agatha wasn't upset, so I thought it was some other noise. That means that Agatha knows and likes the murderer.”
”If Agatha could only talk.”
Max grabbed a sheet of paper and scribbled out a timetable: SUNDAY: 1 A.M.-Jill killed, poison stolen.
9:45 A.M.-Death On Demand entered, string tied to switches, dart hidden. 7:45 P.M.-During c.o.c.ktail chatter, back door opened, storeroom door left ajar. 8:10-Lights out. 8:12-Dart thrown.
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