Hit List

32

Stone dozed on his bench, and sometime later, Carol put a hand on his cheek. “Frances is awake,” she said. “And by the way, the steak was delicious, after a minute in the microwave to wake it up.”

“You’re welcome,” Stone said, waking fully and stretching. He drank from the fountain in the hall and flushed the sleep out of his mouth.

“Hello,” Frances said, in a voice a little stronger than before. Trixie yapped a welcome, and as soon as Stone sat down next to the bed, the dog jumped into his lap.

“That’s amazing,” Frances said. “She doesn’t usually like men.”

“That’s because you’ve been choosing the wrong men. I’m irresistible,” Stone said, “as long as you’re a dog. Where were you born, Frances?”

“In Ames, Iowa,” she said. “My parents both taught at the university there.”

“What did they teach?”

“Dad taught the sciences; mother taught English grammar to freshmen who had not mastered it in high school.”

“Did you grow up there?”

“I did. Stayed until I graduated college, with a degree in the care and feeding of children. I wanted to open my own day-care center.”

“What stopped you?”

“Marriage. To a classmate. He turned out to like making love to men, instead of me.”

“Oh, well.”

“My attitude exactly. I moved to New York as soon as I had a divorce decree and taught others to do what I had wanted to do.”

“Then you met Sig?”

“Right. He was an FBI agent at the time, then he worked for a security company.”

“Strategic Services.”

“How’d you know?”

“All the people on the hit list worked there at one time or another, except me. I just serve on their board. I have no memory of Sig.”

“Well, he remembers you, or you wouldn’t be on his list.”

“If you should ever hear from him again, ask him: Why me? I’d like to know.”

“You snaked a girl away from him, one who worked there. Sig isn’t the forgiving kind.”

“When you see Sig, tell him she wasn’t worth it.”

“You’ve already told me I’ll never see him again.”

“You’ll see him on one of two occasions,” Stone said.

“What are they?”

“In court, or when he comes into this hospital to kill you. Possibly, both.”

“Nonsense. Sig would never kill me. He loves me.”

“People like Sig don’t love anybody, except themselves,” Stone said. “That’s a hard lesson to learn, but learn it you will.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Thank God for that. Tell me something lovable about him.”

She had to think for a while before she spoke. “He remembers birthdays, and that sort of thing.”

“So, he has a good memory, especially when it comes to revenge — probably over imagined slights.”

“He can be very thoughtful.”

“But he used you,” Stone pointed out.

“When? How?”

“He sent you to kill me, because he thought he might get caught if he came himself. He thought you were expendable.”

“You may have a point there,” she said.

“What did he say to you to convince you to do his work?”

She shrugged. “He said no one would suspect a woman.”

“What were you supposed to do after you had dispatched me?”

“Take the elevator to the ground floor and walk out, as if nothing had happened.”

“Did he tell you to kill Felix, too?”

“Who’s Felix?”

“The man who was showing me shirt fabrics.”

“Oh, I didn’t think about that.”

“Sig would have known Felix would call the police. Didn’t he mention that to you?”

“It never came up.”

“Would you have shot Felix?”

“Certainly not! I didn’t have anything against him.”

“What did you have against me?”

She thought about that. “You want to kill Sig.”

“And how did he convince you of that?”

“He just told me, and I believed him.”

“Think about that situation for a moment,” Stone said. “Sig, for reasons real or imagined, wants me dead. He was afraid to kill me himself, fearing that he would be killed or, at least, caught, so — unwilling to take that risk for himself — he asked you to risk your life to save his. That was not a selfless act.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said softly.

She was thinking now, Stone thought. “Do you know what a sociopath is?” he asked her.

“I don’t think I have a clear idea about that.”

“A sociopath is someone who has no empathy for others. He is the center of his own existence and cares nothing for anyone but himself. He’s a person without a conscience.”

“You mean he’s crazy?”

“No, he has a personality disorder, which prevents him from relating normally to others.”

“So, it’s not his fault?”

“You’d have to ask a psychiatrist about that,” Stone replied. “Sig probably knows what he is, though, and he doesn’t care. That’s why he would kill you in a nanosecond, in order to protect himself from arrest.”

“That’s very troubling,” she said.

“As well it should be. Do you doubt that Sig could get into this hospital?”

“No, he’s very clever, and he still has his FBI credentials. He reported them lost or stolen when he left the Bureau.”

“I don’t think he would come in here to rescue you,” Stone said. “After all, you’re wounded; you couldn’t make it to the street. Do you think Sig knows that?”

“I suppose he does,” Frances said.

“If you’re unwilling to take my advice, what do you think will happen to you when you’re released from the hospital?”

“Oh, Sig would help me.”

“By that time, Sig will either be in jail or dead,” Stone said. “I can tell you what he will do if he comes to trial.”

“What would he do?”

“He’ll blame you. He’ll cook up a story in which you are the villain and he is the victim. Sociopaths always see themselves as victims when things go wrong.”

“Trixie, come,” she said, and the little dog jumped from Stone’s lap onto the bed.

“That is love,” Stone said, nodding at Trixie. “That’s not what you’re getting from Sig Larkin.”

“I’m beginning to think that,” Frances replied.