I said nothing.
He turned his back and stared silently out at the pool. “It’s crap. All of it. I don’t know who killed Ray Sheen, and I don’t know who killed Janet Bollinger. But it wasn’t me.”
He slid the knife back into the butcher block, leaving one slot still vacant. Then he turned and faced me once more, chest out, chin squared, like he was back in the Rose Garden of the White House, about to be presented the Medal of Honor all over again.
“Let’s go,” Hub Walker said. “I got nothing to hide.”
His beautiful wife gazed at him admiringly for a long moment with her eyes pooling. Then she reached into her crocodile shoulder bag, brought out a 9-millimeter German Luger pistol, and leveled it at me.
Crissy Walker, as it turned out, had plenty to hide.
Twenty-six
“We’re getting out of here, Hub. You, Ryder and me. Start fresh down in Mexico. Everything’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Hub stared at her slack-jawed.
“Put down the gun, Crissy. We can work it out, whatever it is.”
“We should have never hired him,” Crissy said, pointing the pistol at me. “ ‘Leave well enough alone.’ Did I not tell you that? ‘Who gives a damn what Dorian Munz said or didn’t say before they put him out of his misery. Let Greg Castle fight his own fight.’ But did you listen to me, Hub? Have you ever listened to me? You didn’t marry me for my brains. Admit it. You married me because I took my clothes off once and stood in front of a camera because I was too young and too poor to know any better. A stupid hick with a face and a body. That’s all I’ve ever been to you.”
“Crissy, you know that’s not true. I respect you, for who you are. Now, please, give me the gun.”
Walker took a step toward her. She swung the Luger toward him. He froze and took a step back with his hands raised. Then she turned and aimed it at me once more.
“This is all your fault.”
“Your father was an Air Force mechanic,” I said.
“My father was a great man. A million times better than you’ll ever be.”
“What’s her father got to do with this?” Hub said.
“He taught her about airplane engines. Crissy was afraid I’d find out that Dorian Munz didn’t murder your daughter, Hub. So she borrowed Ray Sheen’s truck, pinned her hair up, put on some overalls, and drove on to the flight line that night.”
Walker gaped at me in silence, then at Crissy, waiting for a denial.
None came.
“The only problem was, I survived the crash. So Crissy tells Sheen that I found evidence confirming what Munz had said was true, that Castle Robotics was ripping off the government. Sheen told Greg Castle, and Castle ordered Sheen to shut me up, permanently.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” Crissy said.
“Not quite. I’m still scratching my head about who sent that anonymous letter to Munz, tipping him off to the scam.”
Crissy’s nostrils flared. “That was Ray’s idea. He thought Castle would resign to avoid a scandal, then he’d be named president of the company.”
“And Ray wasn’t worried about being audited,” I said, “because he’d already cooked the books by then, right?”
Crissy began to weep.
“You shot him,” Walker said, steadying himself on the edge of the kitchen counter like he’d just been punched in the stomach. “You shot Sheen.”
“Whatever I did, I did for us, Hub, for our future. You’ve got to believe me.”
“And Janet Bollinger?” I said. “What about her?”
“She called me. She said she couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Janet came after me. I just went to talk to her, that’s all. Just talk.”
“Talk about what?” Hub asked.
Crissy swallowed hard.
“About what she knew.”
“What did she know?”
Crissy couldn’t bring herself to respond.
Walker’s face was flushed. “Crissy, what did Janet Bollinger know that was so all-fired important you had to go see her in person?”
“She found out about Ray and me. I wanted her to keep quiet about it.”
“How did she find out?” Walker demanded.
Seconds passed. Crissy was panicking.
“How did she find out about you and Ray? I want an answer, goddammit!”
“She found out,” Crissy said meekly, “because Ruthie saw us coming out of a motel one night up in Carlsbad. Ruthie told Janet. I didn’t want you finding out, Hub. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Walker’s mouth fell open as the horrifying realization of all his wife had done washed over him.
“You killed Ruthie,” he whispered. “You killed my daughter.”
Crissy glanced around the room wild-eyed, like a trapped animal.
“You also threatened Janet Bollinger,” I said, “to make Janet change her testimony during Munz’s trial. All those years, enduring that guilt, knowing she’d sent an innocent man to Death Row, and finally she couldn’t handle it anymore. She told you she was going to finally tell Munz’s lawyer the truth and that’s when you went to see her. That’s why you sent him that back-off-or-die note, wasn’t it?”
Crissy’s teeth were clenched. The pistol was leveled at my head. Her gun hand was shaking.
“He’s lying, Hub. Don’t you see? He’s making up everything, to put a wedge between us. He tried to rape me. You weren’t here. I… I had to fight him off. Ask him. Go on. He’ll tell you.”
“You framed Dorian Munz, Crissy,” I said. “You stole his shirt and phone out of his locker and made hang-up calls to Ruth, to make it look like he was stalking her. Then you stabbed her, dipped the shirt in her blood, and planted it where you knew the police would find it, behind his condo. That’s why Janet Bollinger kept quiet all those years. She was afraid you’d kill her, too. And that’s exactly what you did.”
“That’s not true! She came at me! It was self-defense!”
Walker buckled and slumped to the kitchen floor. I moved to help him.
Blam!
Crissy squeezed off a shot that went high, shattering the glass cabinet over my left shoulder.
“Don’t you understand?” she said, sobbing. “I didn’t want to lose everything we had, everything we worked so hard to build. This life. Our home. Can’t you begin to understand that?”
“You mean everything you had, Crissy. Being married to a war hero has its perks, doesn’t it? Sure beats being a washed-up centerfold from the sticks.”
Her crocodile tears evaporated like an airbrushed illusion. In their place was a face I’d seen in many less-than-pleasant corners of the globe. The hard set of the jaw, the eyes gone flat and reptilian, drained of compassion. Crissy Walker’s exquisite countenance had morphed into that of a remorseless killer.
I knew by the angle of the weapon in her hand that her next shot would likely be in the direction of my head — most people unfamiliar with firearms tend to aim high — and that I had a second or two, at most, before she pulled the trigger.
I dove for her legs.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
She got off three quick shots that went high before I made contact, driving her back into the trash compactor. I had thought that my textbook tackle would separate her from the pistol, but it didn’t. She rolled on the floor and swung the Luger’s barrel toward me.
Time slowed to what seemed like a standstill.
There are two things I can truthfully say that I’d never done in my life until that moment. The first was that I’d never decked a woman before. The second was that I’d never decked a woman with my arm encased in a rock-hard plaster cast. I did both to Crissy Walker, clubbing her in the head. The blow rendered her instantly unconscious while the Lugar went skittering across the floor.