“I told you about a day ago that I would call you after it’s taken care of. I think I told you that I didn’t want you calling me.”
“I know, I know. But there were special circumstances. It was before I burned down the house and the office. And now I think I’m going to need you for something else.”
Hobart’s mind seemed to darken, and then flash wildly from one step to the next, changing each of the topics that had occupied him for the past few days. “You set those fires?”
“Yes, I did. Kramer had some things that I couldn’t leave lying around much longer. They had to be in his house or the office.”
“I told you I would handle everything here.”
“It was a totally separate issue. You’re handling Emily Kramer for me. I had to prepare for what happens next. After she’s dead, the police would have searched her house and her husband’s office completely. I couldn’t have my name connected with the Kramers or the agency. So I took care of it.”
Hobart could hear the pride in Forrest’s voice. Forrest was enjoying telling him in this casual tone that he had taken care of his problem himself. Hobart stopped walking and stood in the dark field a hundred yards from the house. He turned to look at the road in the distance. He could see it, but only because a car came along, the bright cone in front of its headlights illuminating a stretch at a time. He said, “I’m surprised you would do something like that yourself. I hope you managed to accomplish it without getting noticed.”
“I’m positive I did. That’s not really why I called. I have another situation up here that I’d like to have you handle for me. When can you finish what you’re doing down there?”
“As it happens, I’m sort of in the middle of it right now. I just finished digging the grave.”
“Great! Wonderful. As soon as it’s over, come up here.”
“I was planning to, anyway. That was our deal. Have you got my pay ready?”
“Of course.”
“All right, then. She’ll be dead and buried in a half hour or so. This other thing you want me to do. What is it?”
“Just the same kind of job.”
“Same pay.”
“This one’s much, much easier. I’ve already got her locked up. There’s no hunting or stalking involved.”
“The hard part isn’t that stuff, it’s keeping anyone from figuring out why. That’s what the money buys you: never having to take the blame. I’ll be up to get my pay for what I’m doing now. I’ll probably be there tomorrow evening. If you want me to do anything else, fine. The pay will be the same. If you decide you don’t, that will be fine, too. Are we set?”
“Yes. I’ll have the money for both jobs here.”
“As I said, the second one’s up to you. From here on, let me be the one to call you. And after tomorrow, you’ll want to throw away that cell phone.”
“I will. See you tomorrow.”
Hobart put his telephone away. The call from Forrest was not merely a shock, it was a contravention of the rules of the universe. He could accept the idea that Theodore Forrest would think burning the house and the office might be to his advantage. But he had not imagined that Forrest would drive all the way down here and set the fires himself, or that he could accomplish the job and drive back without getting caught.
Hobart had acted on the axiom that Theodore Forrest would never do anything risky himself, particularly when there was no guarantee that the evidence would be destroyed. Hobart had assumed that the ones who had set the fires had to be Emily Kramer and her boyfriend, the detective from the agency. Hobart had interpreted the fires as a sign that they had already found the evidence and wanted to throw him off.
Forrest’s call changed everything.
It was entirely possible that Emily Kramer had never found anything, and that Theodore Forrest had succeeded in destroying the evidence himself, just by striking two matches. Hobart had spent all this time and effort to get his turn in line for the big money. He could have dropped the hammer on Emily Kramer on the first day, but he hadn’t. He had taken risks, shown his face all over town, rented cars and hotel rooms. Now he was back at zero. While Hobart had been screwing around trying to find proof of whatever the hell Theodore Forrest had done, he had given Forrest time to burn it.
He hated Theodore Forrest. He had done something, all right. He had almost said it on the phone. He had done something so shameful that he would come all the way down here alone and take the chance of getting caught committing arson to hide it. What could he have done that rated this kind of risk? It had to involve killing somebody, at least. Knowing that made Hobart feel worse. He could have made Forrest pay millions to keep that hidden, but Forrest had beaten him.
Hobart thought about Emily Kramer and got angrier. He was going to have to put her in that grave and shovel the dirt on top of her tonight. He resumed his walk through the weeds toward the house. He had begun to like Emily Kramer. He knew that her looks affected him, but it wasn’t her fault. She was not the sort of woman who was beautiful enough to have a lifetime of special treatment behind her. She had married a loser of a private detective instead of some billionaire. But she was appealing to him. He hated the fact that she was going to die so soon. He and Emily Kramer were both getting screwed by Theodore Forrest.
Hobart went to the SW and took out the ski mask and the gun. He pulled the mask over his head and adjusted it so he could see through the eyeholes, slipped the gun into his belt, and walked back to the farmhouse. He stepped up on the porch, and when he was up there on the sloping boards, his head nearly brushed the overhanging roof. Most old farmhouses in places like this were small, like cottages. The farmer would build a little structure for his wife and himself, and if the marriage lasted and the crops came in, they would add rooms to the building for children. This farm must have been one where the marriage had soured. He walked across the bare parlor, hearing the boards creak under his weight, unlocked the bathroom door and opened it.
She was sitting where he had left her hours ago, her forearm resting on the sink so there was slack in the handcuff that held her to the bar. “Hello, Mrs. Kramer,” he said.
“Hello.” She held her head straight toward him. He could tell she had taken aside the tape over her eyes so she could see, and had pushed it back only when she had heard him step up on the porch. He reached to the corner she had pushed back. When he touched her, she pulled back and gave a startled cry.
“I’m taking your tape off.”
“Please don’t.”
“Why not?”
“If I don’t see your face, you can still let me go. And if you don’t let me go, I don’t need to see what’s coming.”
Hobart studied her for a moment. “I’m wearing the mask.” He reached to her face and peeled back the part of the tape that was already stuck only lightly, then gave a quick tug to pull off the rest.
“Ow!” Her eyes remained shut for a couple of seconds, then squinted and blinked in the light.
Hobart reached into his pocket for the key, then unlocked the handcuffs from the steel bar. “Stand up.”
She stood. He spun her around, took her free hand behind her back, and closed the handcuff on it. Then he stepped back, but the sight of him in the ski mask seemed to paralyze her.
“Come on.” He took her arm and conducted her toward the door. She didn’t resist, and it made him wonder. He expected her to ask where they were going, but as he pulled her through the house and opened the front door, she said nothing. She seemed to have realized that what she said would not dissuade him from whatever he intended to do, so she just walked. Later she would try to fight. She had her hands cuffed behind her, she was unarmed against a much bigger, stronger, armed opponent, but she would fight.