"Because you, being you, skimmed on them. You were supposed to pay off the other charities too, to make it look right. But you didn't. From Galapalooza you gave them what you agreed to, but you kept the rest, and stiffed the other charities."
"You were supposed to be helping me with that harassment case," Brad said. "How come you been snooping around in my other business?"
"It fell in my lap," I said. "And I admit I stirred it up a bit, and maybe because I did, Gavin found out that you were cheating on the other charities. But it would have happened sooner or later. The charity groups talk to each other. Anyway, Gavin looked into it himself and was very unhappy to find that you'd cheated everyone else, because it meant sooner or later someone would complain and the AG's office would look into it, and everybody's fat would be in the fire."
"Suze, do you believe all this?" Brad said.
"Yes."
"Well, I suppose you would, wouldn't you," he said.
"So Gavin sent over a guy he'd once represented, guy named Cony Brown, to persuade you to cough up the money you'd skimmed. And of course you couldn't because you didn't have it, because you spent it as soon as you got it. And Cony got aggressive and you shot him, and took the disk-I assume you figured it would protect you if they didn't know where it was-and you scooted."
"I should have sent you packing," Brad said, "the minute she sent you to me."
"I probably hurried things along," I said. "But you'd have gotten yourself into this rat's alley anyway."
"What I don't understand," Susan said, "the sexual harassment suit really started the unraveling of this whole thing. Why didn't you just show the pictures of Jeanette to her husband. It would have stopped him in his tracks."
"I don't kiss and tell," Brad said.
"Chivalry?" Susan said.
"Whatever you think of me," Brad said, "there are things I believe in."
Susan looked at me. I shrugged.
"Hitler liked dogs," I said.
"What the hell's that supposed to mean," Brad said.
"People are inconsistent," I said.
"Then why in heaven's name did you let him in?" Susan said.
I knew the "him" was me. Neither one of them seemed able to use my name. I wasn't sure why, but I didn't mind.
"To humor you."
"You think?" Susan said to me.
"Maybe there was a little more," I said. "Maybe he hoped that I would find him in such serious need of cash that you would relent and open your heart and your coffers."
Susan nodded.
"And he was probably scared. Gavin and Wechsler would have leaned on him pretty hard before they set him up in the fund-raiser scam. He might have thought a, ah, bully boy would be useful."
"And he would have thought he could manipulate you," Susan said. "And he would have assumed that you would
protect him because of me."
"Which I will," I said.
"No," Susan said. "You won't."
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft white sound of air conditioning. I let my gun rest against my right thigh. Cony Brown was a pro and Brad had cranked him.
"So," Sterling said, "you are prepared to throw me to the wolves? Both of you?"
He looked hard at Susan. She had one last sip of her strong coffee and put the cup down and folded her hands behind it on the counter top. She looked back at Sterling.
Then she said to me, her eyes still on Sterling, "Do you think he killed Carla Quagliozzi?"
"Yes."
"And cut out her tongue?"
"Yes."
Something happened to Sterling's face. Something stirred behind his eyes that changed the way he looked. Something repellent peeked out through the bland Ivy League disguise. It was nameless, and base, and it wasn't human. We both saw it. Perhaps Susan had seen it as often in her work. She didn't flinch.
She said, "You did that, didn't you, Brad."
The thing darted in and out of sight behind his eyes. He didn't speak. Susan got up from the counter and walked around it and stood in front of Sterling.
"You killed that woman and cut her tongue out," she said. "Didn't you."
The kitchen was cool and still. I could feel the trapezius muscles on top of my shoulders begin to bunch. I took in some air and made them relax. When Sterling finally spoke it was shocking. His voice came out in an eerily adolescent whine.
"What was I supposed to do?" he said. "They send some gangster to hurt me and I have to shoot him and the cops are after me. And I'm desperate. And down on my luck, for cripes sake, and go to her for help and she won't help. She says she's going to tell."
"Tell the police?" Susan said gently.
"Yes. Because of him."
I knew he meant me. So did Susan.
"He kept coming around, and then the cops, and she was going to go there and tell on me."
"To the police?" Susan said. "She was going to the police?"
"Yes."
Tears had formed in Sterling's eyes.
"She was my wife, for cripes sake. She was supposed to help me."
"So you had to kill her?" Susan said.
"I was supposed to let her tell?"
"And the tongue," Susan said.
"So they'd know."
The sound of his voice had lost all hint of the man from whom it came. It sounded like a drill bit binding in metal.