Extreme Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense

Chapter 13

Damn it all to hell!

That wasn’t the way it was supposed to work! He slammed the van door shut, cursing under his breath. He had planned it all so carefully. He had worked everything out, every little detail. Only to have the whole thing fall apart at the last moment.

He opened the back of the van and pulled out the rug. Not a disaster, true. But not what he had planned. Circumstances had conspired against him. And he had almost been spotted twice. That was something he couldn’t allow. If anyone had seen him who could identify him—well, that would change the whole fabric of reality as he knew it.

He scrutinized the rug carefully. Despite the fact that Lily had been dead before she hit the rug, there were bloodstains on it, and he was certain there would be other bits of trace evidence as well. The rug would have to be burned. Fortunately, there was an incinerator in the basement that would be just perfect for that chore.

He lugged the heavy wool object inside and down the hall toward the basement. He would have to keep his brain busy, try to keep his mind off all the earlier events of the night. If he continued obsessing over it, he would only become angry.

How the hell was he supposed to know Earl would come back so soon? He was supposed to be outside for half an hour at least. And that idiot piano player had of course sent Earl right backstage.

He had been forced to act fast. He had intended to plant the corpse in Earl’s office, but there was no time. He had to hide it somewhere quick, and that light fixture was the first half-decent hiding place he saw. He had expected it to be days before anyone made the discovery. How was he to know that that selfsame idiot piano player would knock the damn thing down before the band had played a note?

After that, the whole scheme began falling down around him. All he could do now was stay out of the way and hope for the best. He didn’t know what would happen, what the police would do. Given how stupid they usually were, they might end up trying to pin it on the piano player!

Still, there was the matter of the smile. He smiled himself, remembering that one delicious detail. He had at least had the sense to take care of that. As soon as the police ran that through their computers … well, that would change the whole face of the investigation. That would swing things back where he wanted them.

Yes. It might work out after all. He dragged the rug down the rickety wooden steps to the basement. The rug seemed much heavier now, even heavier than it had been with a body wrapped inside. He supposed he was just tired. It had been a hard day’s night, all right. And there was still work to be done.

And one more loose end to be attended to. He felt certain the piano player hadn’t looked at him closely enough to even identify his disguise, much less his actual appearance. But that kid in the men’s room was another matter. He had gotten a good look at him—a good look after he had removed the wig and beard. Worse, he’d misplaced a little something that belonged to him, something he had to retrieve, because someone out there just might be smart enough to trace it back to him. And if that happened, all his plans would come tumbling down like a sorry house of cards.

He opened the heavy metal door, stoked the flames for a few moments, then shoved the rug into the incinerator. The kid might’ve talked to the cops already. But for some reason he didn’t think so. He didn’t look like a kid who’d spent his life on the right side of the law, and people living on the wrong side tended not to be too chatty when the cops came calling.

If the kid hadn’t talked yet, he had to make sure he never did. And if the kid had talked, he had to make sure he didn’t have a chance to testify.

No question about it. The kid had to go the way of Lily Campbell. There was simply too much at stake to leave him breathing.

He grinned. Maybe he should’ve kept the rug after all.

He stared into the incinerator, watching the bright orange flames lick at the now charred rug. Well, he probably wouldn’t need it—not this time around. No frame-up necessary here. Just a quick simple kill. The kind he did best.

He continued to stare, mesmerized by the flames. No rug necessary, he thought again. But the smile … that would be a nice touch. Yes … the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. There would definitely be a smile.

He gently touched the knife still strapped to his waist. After all, the world needed more smiles. Smiles make the world go ’round. Right?