I realize then that Sid must have figured it all out. He may have only guessed at the truth with regard to Karen’s murder, but this afternoon, when I told him Mike’s death was a murder and not a suicide, he had to have made the final connection. It wasn’t guilt over his own actions that drove him to desperation, it was his grief over Mike and the knowledge of what his wife had done.
“So you killed Mike thinking that would put an end to it?” I say.
“Well, it did, didn’t it?” She smirks. “I realized that if I used the same gun on Mike that I used on Karen and tried to make it look like a suicide, everyone would think Mike was the one who killed her. The gun, which came from our stash here”—she gestures toward the floor—“can’t be traced back to me. I’ve had it for years, something my mother picked up from a street junkie.
“So it seemed like the perfect setup. And if someone managed to figure out that Mike’s death wasn’t a suicide, the finger of guilt would still be pointing at David for Karen’s death, and the cops would likely try to pin Mike’s death on him, as well. Just to be sure, I got a couple of hairs from the brush David keeps in his locker at the hospital and left them on Mike’s body. I have you to thank for that idea,” she says with a wry smile. “All that talk about trace evidence the other day at lunch.”
“I was there,” I say, horror dawning in my mind. “I was there in the front of the store when you killed Mike.”
“That was you?” Gina laughs. “If I’d known that, I could have killed you then and saved myself a whole lot of trouble. I thought it was just some customer. I told Mike to get rid of whoever it was or I’d kill everyone in the store. He didn’t know that I intended to kill him anyway and just wanted to be sure there weren’t any witnesses.”
“I suppose you would have killed Sid, too, if he hadn’t gone ahead and done it for you.”
“Kill Sid? Are you crazy?”
Somehow I don’t think the irony of that question will register with her.
“Keeping Sid alive has been my whole purpose, you stupid bitch. Sid is…was my meal ticket. That’s why I had to kill Mike. Sid was in too deep. He was getting ready to throw it all away over some misguided notion that he was in love with that diseased little freak.”
“Did you know that Sid was likely HIV positive, also?”
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve never slept together. Our marriage was purely for show. Sid needed someone to make him look legit and I wanted the money and the prestige. His parents were the ones who arranged it all. They basically delivered an ultimatum to Sid: either keep your dirty little secret in the closet or lose the family millions. Though to be honest, I don’t think the money mattered all that much to Sid, the fool. It was the thought of losing his job that convinced him to go along. He loved being a surgeon; it meant everything to him.”
“He loved Mike Halverson, too.”
“That wasn’t love,” Gina spat out angrily. “It was just some stupid middle-aged crisis. He would have gotten over it eventually. If that Owenby bitch hadn’t messed things up, everything would have been fine. Then you had to go poking your nose around.”
“You can’t seriously believe you’ll get away with this, Gina. As it stands now, the cops think Sid killed both Karen and Mike. If you kill me, the cops will know Sid was innocent.”
“It doesn’t matter if the cops know it was me,” she says, making my blood run cold. “I won’t be around anyway. There’s no point in staying. Everything I had, everything I worked for, it’s gone. All of it.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say, thinking fast. “Surely you’ll inherit some money with Sid’s death. I mean, legally you were his wife, right?”
“Is that what you think this is all about? Money?”
“It’s not?” My head feels like it’s about to explode, and the room keeps spinning. I feel myself growing more impatient and irritable with each passing minute.
“Of course not!” Gina fairly yells, making me wince. “The money was nothing more than a means to an end. Don’t you understand? People here looked up to me. They respected me. They admired me. I was Gina fucking Carrigan. I was a someone. My face was on TV and in the papers; my voice was on the radio. I was invited to all the major social events and rubbed elbows with some of the richest, most famous people in this country. Did you know I was being considered for a part in a Spielberg movie?”
“Really? Spielberg is putting insane, coldhearted killers in his movies now?”
She flashes me a sardonic grin. “Very funny,” she says. “You’re a real smart-assed little bitch, aren’t you?”
At least she called me a little bitch instead of a big one.
“Go ahead and act smug,” she taunts. “They can carve that into your headstone. ‘Here lies Mattie, smug and catty.’”
She cackles at that and I sense that what little self-control she has left is fading fast. My legs feel a little stronger but my head keeps swimming dangerously and I have serious doubts about my ability to stand. Yet I know that if I don’t do something soon, she’ll simply shoot me where I sit.
“You just don’t understand what it was like for me before I met Sid,” she explains. “My father died when I was a baby and my mother was a drug addict. I was living on the streets by the time I was sixteen, surviving as best I could on my wits and my looks.”
She starts pacing and I take advantage of her inattention to shift my position and get my legs beneath me. I lean forward, putting my weight on my arms. She pauses then and stares at me, a frown on her face. “What are you doing?” she asks, her voice shrill.
“I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up.” I make a couple of retching sounds and act like I am about to heave.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”
I retch again, shifting forward just enough to rise onto the balls of my feet. I am positioned for launch and hope that, with one good push, I can reach her. Maybe I can knock her down. And maybe, if luck and God are with me, I can avoid getting shot in the process.
“I’ve wasted far too much time on you already,” she says.
The tone of finality in her voice tells me it is now or never. I retch once more, transforming it into a primal scream. Summoning up all the strength I can, I push off and lunge at her. As soon as Gina sees me coming at her, she raises the gun and pulls the trigger, but my foot snags in the edge of the folded rug and I fall flat on my face inches from her feet, probably saving my life. Had I continued my headlong run toward her, the bullet most likely would have slammed into my head. Instead, it sails by harmlessly above me and hits Sid’s desk instead.
In desperation, I reach forward and wrap my arms around Gina’s feet, pulling as hard as I can. She falls backward with a loud whoomph and I hear the gun clatter as it skitters across the floor and hits the wall. I quickly climb up her body and put all my weight on her legs, pinning her to the floor.
Shrieking like some crazed harridan, she reaches down and grabs handfuls of my hair, yanking as hard as she can. I yelp and try to pry her hands loose as her feet squirm beneath me, trying to wriggle free. Unable to loosen her grip on my hair, I reach up and grope around until I feel some skin. Then I pinch it up and twist as hard as I can.
Gina screeches and lets go of my hair. I roll to one side, closer to the gun, but that gives Gina enough leverage to squirm loose. The gun is mere inches away when she grabs my shirt and yanks as hard as she can, trying to pull me back. I feel my collar tighten around my neck, her pull so strong it bends me backward off the floor. Then the pressure eases suddenly with a loud ripping sound. A second later, I realize I am bare-chested.