"So you did it," William said, barely able to control the revulsion he felt for the man who was sitting in a crumpled heap across from him. "You didn't even try seeking psychological help, did you? Instead you raised the money and tried to have her raped and killed so you could own her, because you felt she owned you! The only way you could control your sick feelings over her was to control her, and the only way to do that was to watch her suffer and actually possess a visual documentation of that! Isn't that right, Frank?"
Flank turned to him. "So you do understand?"
No, I don't. And I'm not even going to try to pretend to!
"I knew you wouldn't.'ihat's why I have to do this.' And with one swift motion he stuck the barrel of the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was loud, and the suddenness of the act made William yell and jump. His back hit the bathroom door and he felt wetness in his crotch as he peed himself. The force of the gunshot rocked Rank's head back against the wall and he slumped down, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. Twin fountains of blood gushed out of his nostrils like water shooting out of a faucet. The handgun that he had shot himself with lay in the clutches of his limp right hand, now resting on the tiled bathroom floor. A puddle of blood was slowly seeping outward from the body; more blood stained the wall and mirror in erratic splatters.
Then William's stomach convulsed and he threw up, not even aware he was yelling and crying at the same time.
Thirty-one
"How can I help you today?"
The ticket agent at the US Airways desk was young and blond. She smiled sweetly at Mabel.
"Yes," Mabel said, handing over a dog-eared US Airways envelope that held her travel information. Her hands shook, and she tried to keep the shakiness in her voice to a steady level for dramatic effect. "I was supposed to fly out yesterday morning at eight A.M., but I missed my flight. I was visiting my sister and she had an accident yesterday. I couldn't make it to the airport because I was in the hospital for most of the day, and I couldn't get my nephew to drive me out here because-"
'The agent took the ticket. "Let me see if I can help!
Mabel nodded, looking crestfallen. It wasn't hard to act her way through that; she was tired. She'd gotten some much-needed sleep last night, but her body was still bruised and sore from that long hike around the desert pass yesterday. She'd gotten so much sleep that she'd snoozed right past her originally scheduled departure time. She sniffled. "I really hope I can make it back," she said, her voice low and brittle. "I had to call a cab to take me out here because we still can't locate my nephew, and I need to get back home to get the proper papers for my sister's will if she… you know… if she…"
The ticket agent was typing information into the computer while Mabel talked, and now her smile widened. "Don't worry about anything, Mrs. Schneider. We can put you on the next US Airways flight out of Las Vegas into Philadelphia."
Mabel looked up, trying to act hopeful. "Really?"
"Really." The woman typed more keystrokes into the computer. "We have a flight leaving in thirty minutes. Flight 293. It gets in at ten thirty-six P.M. Is that all right with you?"
Mabel nodded. "Oh yes, that would be lovely. 'Thank you"
"No problem! The blond woman was all smiles as she went about preparing Mabel's ticket. Mabel smiled. If she'd made it this far, she was going to make it home. It had taken her three hours to pick her way around the low hills where they had intended to kill the Miller woman, and by the time Mabel reached the area where they had parked the cars, it was pouring rain. The SW was gone, but the Saturn had still been parked by the large rock. Mabel had taken the set of keys that Animal had left with his clothes, and she had given his body a quick inspection. He'd still been alive; he was unconscious, a knife stuck in his gut, and Mabel had seen the weak rise and fall of his chest. She'd pulled the blade out, then stuck it into his right eye, bringing slow, shuddering release. Then she'd licked the blade clean and gone to where the fat guy lay slumped on the ground, thick blood congealing out of his ears. He'd still been alive too; at least she thought he was. It had been hard to tell with the pouring rain and her own shot nerves, which were screaming at her to get the hell out of there. She'd knelt down beside him and slit his throat for good measure. Then she'd gotten into the Saturn and, after resting up for a moment, she'd started the engine and driven away.
It had taken her four hours to get back to her motel. Maneuvering through the rain had been terrifying, the only time she had been scared in a long time. She drove slowly, trying not to drive over large rocks if she could help it, and tried to remember the path Tim had taken them down. It had taken her an hour to find the road, another hour after that to find the main highway. By the time she found the first road, the rain had flooded the desert. She had felt panicked, hoping that she wouldn't be washed away in a flood. Once she'd reached the main highway, she'd felt better. The Saturn had three quarters of a tank of gas, plenty to get her back to the Strip. She'd headed back to Vegas, taking her time, and once she reached the city she tried to remember where her motel was. She remembered the name, but not the location, and one phone call to information services was enough to put her in touch with the front desk, who gave her implicit directions. She was safe in her room by eight P.M., and after a hot bath she fell into bed, exhausted.
Now it was almost twenty-four hours after they had attempted to revive Lisa Miller and begin the filming of her torture and murder. That surely hadn't happened, and Mabel didn't give a shit about it, either. She'd already been paid for her part; she'd made sure Rick Shectman had paid her in cash before she'd boarded the plane to Las Vegas a few days ago; he'd actually had it sent to her by courier from New York. The cops hadn't come nosing around her motel room, and she'd slept soundly last night. Once she had woken up she'd taken another hot bath, packed up, checked out of her room, driven to a Denny's, and ordered herself breakfast: scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausages, orange juice, and coffee. Then she'd gotten back into the Saturn, double-checked to make sure her ticket was in her purse, then driven to the airport. She'd left the Saturn in the airport parking lot after wiping the steering wheel, gearshift, dashboard, and doors with a rag. If the cops found.it, they might be led to believe that there was a third accomplice in Lisa Miller's attempted murder, but with any luck they wouldn't have her description. And in case they did… well, she was just a little old lady. Whom could she possibly hurt?
The ticket agent smiled as a printout of Mabel's new flight itinerary spit out of the printer. She pulled it out, tore off a strip of paper, folded it up and scrawled the gate number in red ink. "There you go. Gate number fourteen, US Airways Flight 293. It leaves in about thirty minutes."
Mabel smiled, trying to look grateful." hank you, dear. You've been such a big help."
No problem, ma'am. Would you like to check any bagsr
'No, thank you.' Mabel picked up her carry-on bag, which was a small duffel bag she had packed with her overnight clothes and toiletries. 'Ibis is all I have. Thank you! She smiled at the ticket agent and shuffled away, down to the security checkpoint.