“You’re too late. The police are on their way. They should be here within the hour.”
“Hmm. Probably a bluff. Still, I can’t afford to take the risk.” Rob Fielder stood up, brushed off his hands, and gripped the first rung of the giant’s ladder. “Very well. I’m coming after you.”
51
BEN WAS PARALYZED WITH fear. He didn’t know which he was most afraid of—falling sixty feet to the ground or coming within an arm’s reach of Rob Fielder.
He’d already tangled with Fielder back at the house. For that matter, so had Mike and Tomlinson, two men vastly better-qualified to defend themselves than he. If Fielder laid his hands on him, Ben didn’t stand a chance.
Ben watched Fielder climb steadily upward. In the few seconds Ben had spent thinking, Fielder had already made it to the third rung. Another minute or two, and they’d be standing side by side.
Ben sidestepped toward the oak tree, his only chance. He had to keep moving forward, to get to the end of the course and ride the zip line down. In his heart, Ben knew Fielder would catch him before he reached the end. But there was no turning back now that Fielder had the giant’s ladder covered. Ben had to keep plowing through the course. The smartest thing he could do was keep Fielder distracted in the meantime.
“The way I figure it,” Ben said, as he inched toward the tree, “you lied. Hamel wasn’t dead at all. At least not when we first found him in my office.”
Fielder paused on the fourth rung. “Pretty smart, Kincaid. And it only took you a fucking week.”
“You lied about being a first-aid expert so I would let you take Hamel’s pulse and you could tell me he was dead. Then, after I ran for help, Hamel got up and simply walked away. Later that night, you killed him. And since you knew the police suspected me already, you dumped the corpse in my backyard and smeared some blood in my car.”
“All true, I’m afraid,” Fielder grunted, as he pulled himself onto the fifth rung. “How did you figure it out?”
“A paramedic reminded me that you never give a head injury victim anything to drink. He might aspirate on his own vomit. Plus he might require surgery. Then I remembered that you did just that—you gave Crichton a drink after he was clobbered by Doug’s wild throw. Beer, no less. At first I thought you just didn’t know, but a trained first-aid expert should be better informed. Then I started to think: maybe you were lying about having Red Cross certification. Maybe it was important that you be the one who checked Hamel’s vital signs. Then it all made sense.”
“Very smart,” Fielder said. “Bravo.”
“And it relates to the Kindergarten Club, right? You’re the member whose name was deleted from the list.”
“Guilty as charged. That list never should’ve been put on the central computer. Only an idiot like Hamel would’ve done such a thing.”
“I assume Hamel downloaded a copy onto the floppy disk. Then, when he saw us on his way out of the computer room, he hid in my office. When I opened that door, he played dead. And you covered for him so he could get away. Temporarily.”
“Too true. By the way, Ben. Your shoestring’s untied.”
Ben stiffened. “Nice try.” He returned his attention to the tree, almost within his grasp.
“The Club was my brainchild. I set it up for Apollo perverts who were too cowardly to handle their own procurements. I made a lot of money at it, too. A lot of money. Hamel was sort of the secretary of the Club. I gave him a share of the profits, and in exchange, he set up appointments, made reservations, and arranged for the personnel.”
“A regular Boy Scout.”
“Yes. He liked the money and the house it allowed him to buy. Everything was dandy, until he panicked. Was certain the police were closing in on us. Threatened to turn state’s evidence to save himself. I assume that’s why he wanted the address list—so he could turn it over to the police. Or a newspaper reporter. Obviously I couldn’t allow that to happen.”
Ben grabbed the tree with both hands and hugged it tightly. He’d made it. He lowered himself down to the wooden platform, then started across the Burma bridge.
He couldn’t resist looking back over his shoulder. Fielder was almost on the top rung of the ladder; he’d be on the bridge in no time at all. Keep him talking, Ben. Keep him talking.
“But why the girls? Why did you have to kill them?”
Fielder paused reflectively. “Hamel’s irrational threats made me aware of the danger the continued existence of the Club presented to my career. Not to mention my freedom. I decided it was time to eliminate all possible witnesses. Especially the cheap whores who would tell everything they knew for ten bucks.”
Ben walked toe-to-toe across the bridge, pushing his arms but, smooth and steady. “If you wanted to eliminate all possible witnesses, you’d have to kill all the members, too. Every name on the address list.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Fielder said, with astonishing detachment. “But the girls were a higher priority.”
Halfway across the bridge, Ben felt it begin to shake. He glanced over his shoulder; Fielder held the ropes and was swinging them violently back and forth.
“Don’t let this throw you, Ben,” he said, laughing. “The principles are all the same, even if the bridge is sideways. Or upside down. Just don’t fall out. It’s a long way to the ground.” He laughed again, a sickeningly merry tone to his voice.
Ben clung to the ropes for dear life. The ropes burned into his hands, reopening me wounds that had only superficially healed from the weekend before. Hang on, damn it. Fielder had him practically horizontal now. It would be so easy to fall, to just let go and…
Ben’s right foot slipped off the balance rope. He fell forward, but held tightly onto the ropes in his hands. Swinging himself backward, he managed to fall inside the triangle, onto the balance rope.
Fine—any port in a storm. He’d crawl the rest of the way.
“Good show!” Fielder yelled. “Admirable recovery. Slow way to proceed, but feasible. If I weren’t coming after you.” Fielder pushed away from the tree and started across the bridge.
Ben reached out with both hands and hauled himself forward. He wasn’t going to try to stand up. It would take too long and it was too risky—one misstep and the bridge would toss him to the ground. He struggled along, trying to close the gap between himself and the next tree, trying not to think about how close Fielder must be behind him.
“Twenty feet and closing!” Fielder shouted. “I’m excited about this. Aren’t you?”
Ben pulled himself through the last foot of the bridge. He was drenched in sweat; he felt as if he had just stepped out of a swimming pool. He was breathing much too rapidly and had burns and bruises in a hundred places. Nonetheless, he managed to pull himself erect beside the next tree, the one connected to the horizontal telephone pole.
“So you started killing the prostitutes even before you killed Hamel?” Ben shouted.
Fielder stopped again, apparently pleased to tell his colorful story. “True. They were the most likely to talk, the most easily bought, the ones with the least to lose. Fortunately, Hamel, always the deviant, had taken photos of them. I searched his house trying to find a missing photo, without success. Didn’t matter. I found most of them in Hamel’s briefcase, and I had all of the girls’ names. They were easy to kill. All you had to do was drive down the street, pick them up, and take them to a hotel.”
He gazed contentedly toward the sky. “Slip the bag over their heads, tighten the cord around their throats, and wait. It didn’t take long. And the whole time, I was in complete control. I dominated—I was God to them. It was fabulous. I usually kept a souvenir, just to remember them by. And then I eliminated all the clues. And dumped the bodies on The Playground.