W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“I don’t have an agenda,” I said.

“Yes, you do. You talk to people about me. You write things down. You think about things that are none of your concern.”

“I haven’t done anything to you. I asked a few questions, but only to determine Dace’s state of mind when he changed the will.”

Dr. Reed was exasperated. “You’re lying again. You’ve undercut whatever credibility you had. I was offering you a chance to explain yourself and you’re throwing off all this smoke.”

I had a quick little chat with myself, saying: Here’s a tip, Self. Do not argue with a lunatic. Arguing with a lunatic simply ensures that you’ll climb into his craziness with him when what you want to do is take a big step back.

He held up his right hand. “Do you see this?”

His fingertips were black.

“The police insisted on taking my prints. Can you imagine my humiliation? My wife was there and they took hers as well. The detective was polite, but I hated the way he looked at me. He was taking my measure. He weighed every word I said. I’ve never been treated like that in my life, but I had to maintain control of myself because I knew he’d be writing things down.”

I was getting cold standing out on the patio in the half-light. A thought popped to mind, one of those insights that comes too late to be of any use. This felt like that game show where the contestants are given an answer and asked to frame the relevant question. I said, “Who is Sanford Wray?”

“He’s my father-in-law.”

I nodded, my mouth suddenly too dry to form a response.

I caught motion on the drive. I looked over and spotted Anna just as she spotted me. She turned on her heel. Linton glanced in that direction. “Who are you looking at?”

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Neighborhood dog. He’s always wandering into the yard.”

He closed his eyes, testing the truth value of the statement. For once I was lying outright and Linton missed it, so maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought. Maybe I wasn’t that smart either because Anna might have helped me if I hadn’t read her the riot act.

I said, “You know what? Why don’t we forget all this and start from scratch? Somehow I gave you the wrong impression and I apologize.”

“Impression? We’re not talking about impressions. We’re talking about the truth of what’s going on.”

“Which is what? I’m not getting this.”

“You’re ruining my life. You’re tearing down everything I worked so hard to achieve.”

I shook my head, saying, “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.”

He smiled slightly. “Well. Perhaps you’re right. I suppose there’s no point in arguing since it won’t change anything.”

For a moment, I was quiet. Linton Reed was about to declare himself. Then again, so was I. “You know what your problem is?”

He fixed his attention on me. He’d been in that strange little twisted world of his where he was the king. “What’s that?”

“You don’t know a Ruger from a Glock.”

His smile faded and his eyes went dead. He removed a flat silver case from his coat pocket and triggered the lid.

I couldn’t bring myself to look. I kept my eyes locked on his. Was there anyone alive in there? My heart had started to bang as though I’d just climbed a flight of stairs.

“Look what I brought for you,” he said.

I looked down. The interior was lined with black velvet. In the center was a scalpel. A jolt of ice moved down my spine, chilling every nerve it touched. The effect was odd, like that spritzy jangle you feel when you contact a hot wire.

“This was my specialty. My first love,” he said.

He plucked the scalpel from its velvet bed, snapped the case shut, and returned it to his coat pocket. He held the surgical instrument so it caught the light. “I call him ‘the Biter.’ He’s quick and sharp. This blade is my favorite. A number twelve. You see how this portion curves. That’s his music. A sweet high note you’ll hear when he whistles through your flesh.”

His eyes met mine. “No need to be apprehensive. You won’t suffer. He’ll see to that. A burning sensation, but so brief. Think of it as lightning, illuminating your soul. A starburst followed by quiet.”

I felt tears well. “I bet you introduced him to Terrence Dace when he was admitted to the CCU.”

“He was very sick. He was doomed. I offered him a better death. The aide came in so I said good night. I said we’d come back for him.”