Maybe

37

Donovan Creed.

SAM’S DEAD.

Callie accepts my money with not a hint of joy or satisfaction. One thing about Callie, there will be no “I told you so’s.”

She understands my disappointment.

I look at what’s become of Sam Case and know I started this.

I stole Sam’s wife and ruined his business.

In order to exact revenge, he befriended my daughter, turned her into a killer, and manipulated her into a sexual relationship. I have no idea what occurred between them that would have led her to do this. It would’ve been fitting and so much more satisfying for Sam and me to end our bitter rivalry in a more personal manner.

Seeing Sam like this, it’s hard to picture him as the somber genius and worthy adversary I’ve learned to grudgingly respect.

He’s in the bathtub, naked, tied into a fetal position, looking like some sort of freak show. His arms are tied behind his back, and his wrists and ankles are handcuffed. The scratches on his knees indicate they’d been tied together at some point. She’s put eyeliner and eye shadow on his eyes and lipstick on his lips. A red ball has been stuffed in his mouth, held in place with two elastic straps that encircle his head. A red, rubber tube is hanging out of his ass.

“The tail’s a nice touch,” Callie says, “but she made a mess of his throat. What’s that about?”

“She cut his vocal chords so his screams wouldn’t be heard.”

“She must have knocked him unconscious first, or I would have heard him scream when she started cutting his neck.”

“That sounds right,” I say. “She probably intended to torture him, but didn’t realize he’d choke to death from the blood.”

Callie says, “No offense, but she needs more training.”

I look at her and say, “No one better for that job than you.”

She starts to respond, then changes her mind.

I say, “You’ve got to admire the fact she did all this and walked out the door calmly.”

“No blood on her clothes means she thought ahead,” Callie says. “She must have untied his knees, made him hop to the bathtub, then hit him over the head to make him fall in. Then she removed her clothes, cut his neck, and took a shower to scrub his blood off her body.”

“I agree. But now we’ve got a problem.”

“How to dispose of his body?”

“That, and the fact this room is in my name.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

“Any ideas?” I say.

“We could call Joe Penny and have him bring us a bomb.”

“A bomb.”

“That’s right. Nothing destroys a crime scene better than a bomb!”

“You’d kill all the innocent people in the rooms around us?”

“Of course not, though I doubt they’re all innocent. Joe sets the bomb, and we set off the fire alarm. When the building’s completely empty, Joe blows the room to hell, and no one’s the wiser about Sam.”

“Or we could just remove his body and clean up the blood.”

“But the room’s in your name,” Callie says.

“Right, and I checked into a second room a few minutes ago. Miranda can stay in that one tonight, I’ll stay here, clean this one, and keep the housekeepers out.

“But the actual body?”

“Darwin’s retired, but he still has a contact list.”

“You’re a hundred percent positive Dr. P. is Darwin?”

“I am. Believe it.”

She chuckles.

“What?”

“Yesterday you were going to kill him. Now you’re going into business with him?”

“I know. Funny, right?”

“You’re keeping him alive for the boob jobs.”

“What?”

“You hope to meet show girls.”

“Are you serious?”

“Don’t protest too loudly. You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

“Okay.”

We stand there a while, looking at what’s become of Sam Case.

“He was the most brilliant man I ever met,” I say.

Callie says, “Can I order room service now?”