“I know.” She paused. “And?”
“And I’ve been there.”
“Ben … is there more to this? ’Cause I’m not really getting it …”
“I had a lovely opportunity to sort through all his personal belongings. Everything he left behind.” He stopped and, unable to resist, he turned to face her. “Including his exercise equipment.”
Keri’s eyebrows rose. “His …?”
“You heard me. What is that, a Stairmaster or something? Whatever. The point is, Kirk had it. But you know what I think? I think it used to be in your apartment. You said in court you didn’t own anything like that and it was probably true—because it was Kirk’s. And he took it with him when he left. But it used to be in your apartment. It was there when you had the knock-down-drag-out with Andrea McNaughton. She fell back and hurt herself on it. Just like she said in court. Right?”
Keri did not immediately answer.
Ben’s teeth clenched tighter together. “Am I right?”
She still did not reply.
“I thought so. But what I don’t get is, why did Andrea ‘confess’ that she had invented that detail when I called her back to the stand? That was a critical moment in her testimony. After I showed she had lied once, it was all a downward spiral. The jury never believed her again. But it was true! You really did have exercise equipment in your apartment.”
Keri’s eyes slowly rose to meet his. “It’s true, Ben. My parents bought that thing for Kirk, back when they were still in our hair. I think they saw it on some infomercial and thought it would be good for him.”
“So why did Andrea lie about it?”
Keri hesitated.
Another voice shattered the silence. “I can explain that.”
Ben whirled around. His lips parted, stunned.
Andrea McNaughton was standing in the rear of the apartment.
“So,” Andrea said, “Encyclopedia Brown finally figured a thing or two out, huh?” She crossed the room, passing Ben nonchalantly, and positioned herself on the lumpy couch. “Very impressive.”
Keri glared at her. “Shut up, Andrea.”
“Don’t talk to me that way.”
“I said, shut up!”
“Keri—”
“Listen to me!” Veins became visible on Keri’s porcelain white neck. “I’m still his client. Anything I say to him is protected by that privilege deal. He can’t repeat it, and even if he did, the cops couldn’t use it. But you’re not his client. Anything you say he can repeat all over town. So keep your lip zipped.”
Ben stared at them both, his face transfixed by the dawning horror. “You did it together.” He backed away from them. “You were both in on it together.”
Keri rolled her eyes. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”
“I—I should’ve seen—”
“Yeah, you should’ve. But you didn’t. Like most men, your mind was somewhere else whenever I was around.” Keri laughed shrill and brittle. “You probably said a million times, one petite nineteen-year-old girl wouldn’t have enough strength to pull off this crime. And you were right. But two women working together—that’s another thing altogether.”
“But you two hate each other.”
“Do we?” Keri smiled and then, touching her fingers to her lips, blew Andrea a kiss. “Men are so easily deceived.”
“But, all those fights—I saw them—”
“Staged. That time Andrea came to your office because she supposedly wanted to tell Christina something? Wrong. She came to stage a fight. For your benefit.”
“That can’t be.” Ben struggled to make sense of it all. “I saw the way you two went at each other. That was real.”
“Sure it was, Ben. Just like professional wrestling.” She laughed, then leaned toward Andrea. “The truth of the matter is, we’re very close, aren’t we, dear?” Andrea pressed close to her, and the two women locked lips for a deep and passionate kiss.
Ben braced himself against the wall. The room seemed to be moving, revolving around him. “But—why?”
Keri broke off the kiss and started to answer, but Andrea threw a sofa pillow at her. “Keep those pert little lips closed.”
“He can’t do anything about it, Andrea. He’s sworn to secrecy. Besides the case is over. I can’t be retried, and the cops will never admit they made a mistake and go after someone else. Right, Ben?” She grinned. “It’s over.”
“I asked you a question,” Ben said, his voice hollow. “Why?”
“I’m afraid the answer to that question is all too pedestrian. Money. Joe had a lot of it, remember?”
“But Andrea was already married to him.”
“He wasn’t sharing.”
“She could divorce him. By law, the money would be half hers.”
“Actually, no. The money was in a trust fund from his grandparents, remember? And Joe was the beneficiary. So the money went to him and him alone. In the event of a divorce, she would get nothing. There was a time when Joe shared the loot with his beloved, but after things got frosty between them, he stopped. So what could she do? Divorce wouldn’t help her get her hands on the goodies. But if Joe died, and Andrea was the beneficiary of his will, which she was, the proceeds of the trust fund would go to her. So he had to die.”
“And you helped?”
“Strange world, isn’t it? Who would’ve ever thought the two of us would get together? When Andrea came to my apartment that night, she was ready to tear my eyes out, just like she said. We had a bit of a tussle. Not quite as violent as she described it, but it was still a major league turn-on. Rolling around on the floor, our bodies pressed together. I thought she was hot, and I guess she felt the same way about me. Ten minutes after she arrived, we were making out like nobody’s business. And when that was finished, we talked. To make a long story short, we realized we had a lot in common. Like for instance, that we’d both be better off if Joe McNaughton was dead.”
“But—you weren’t a beneficiary.”
“No. But since Joe was going to break it off with me, I was out in the cold. Until Andrea offered me a slice of the pie for my assistance. Which I gladly gave.”
“You helped her murder her husband?”
“Hey, I was the mastermind. I came up with the ideas. When Joe returned to my apartment on that fateful night, we were both waiting for him. I did most of the knife work. But Andrea was a big help with the chains and moving the body and such, weren’t you, dear?” She quickly pointed a finger. “Don’t answer that.”
“Joe was a strong man—”
“Yes, a strong man with a strong taste for sadomasochistic sex. You may have noticed in those photos, he’s always the one on his knees in the dog collar, and I’m always the one wielding the whip. That was the way he liked it. Actually, that was the way I liked it, too. And on that fateful night, when he came home, stripped off his clothes, got down on his knees, and asked Mommy to punish him—I did, with Andrea’s assistance. Big time.”
“Even if you had to kill him, why hang his body out in such a hideously public way?”
“To confuse and distract, of course. That was the plan, anyway. If he just turned up dead, Andrea knew she’d be the top suspect. But if he turned up chained in Bartlett Square, well, a whole new world of possibilities opened up.”
“But why the mutilation?”
“Are you really surprised? Hell, Ben, you heard my shrink rattle on for more than an hour about my violent tendencies. How I fantasized about killing Joe. When the time finally came, I made the most of it.”
Ben felt a choking in his throat.
“Andrea wasn’t very happy about that part. Then she got this brilliant idea. She knew about Joe’s investigation of Antonio Catrona. She thought that if we made it look like a mob rubout, that would confuse matters even further. And she was right. You used that red herring like a pro at trial, Ben.”