Play To Kill

Chapter Forty-four

John was standing in the doorway of the Big Boy's Room, thinking of what a comedown his own bedroom and tiny bathroom in D.C. were going to be tonight.

He could hear the soft murmur of voices and went downstairs after a final, longing look at the bedroom.

When he exited the elevator, Annie, Grace, and Roadrunner were standing in the foyer next to Harley.

Annie batted her eyelashes at him - he was certain of it this time around - and in her sweet sugary drawl bid him good morning. She was wearing a sunny yellow suit with an elaborate, veiled hat, like the kind women wore to the Kentucky Derby. In her hand she had a beautifully wrapped gift dressed up with a green satin ribbon.

'Good morning, everybody. What a wonderful surprise to see you all again.'

Roadrunner was grinning. 'We wouldn't let you go without a send-off, John.' He nudged Annie like an excited kid. 'Give it to him.'

Annie extended the gift. 'This is from all of us. And please don't say something stupid like "You shouldn't have" or I'll have to slap you silly.'

Smith cocked a brow at her. 'You shouldn't have.'

Harley laughed. You're getting a funny bone, Smith. Good for you.' 'Open it up, John,' Grace said with a smile.

He took his time unwrapping it, as if that would somehow delay his plane and his imminent departure.

'Jesus, John, you must be a nightmare on Christmas morning,' Harley gave him a good-natured needle. 'You're going to miss your flight if you don't kick it into gear.'

He chuckled and pulled the lid off the box. Inside was a stack of printed pages and a tiny cassette.

'Those are from Magozzi and Gino,' Grace told him. 'That's a copy of the judge's tape from the golf course, and all the entries from his computer journal.'

John smiled. 'Sharing information,' he murmured.

'That was the deal.'

'And what's this?' He pulled a single sheet of paper from the bottom of the box. John read a short list of names he didn't recognize.

'Oh, nothing much, really,' Annie said. 'Just the names of your other murderers, is all.'

John slid his eyes to look at Harley, who was rocking back on his heels, hands shoved deep in his pockets, like a little boy hiding frogs. 'Where did you get this, Harley?' he asked quietly.

The hands came out of the pockets and opened, frogless. 'It was the damnedest thing. We got an anonymous tip this morning, took a few minutes to check out the names, and it looks like it might be the real thing. Thought you might like to take them back to D.C. and follow up.'

'An anonymous tip.'

'That's right. An e-mail right out of the blue.'

'I suppose it was untraceable.' 'It was.'

Roadrunner said, 'Kind of a cool thing to hand over to your bosses if it turns out legit, huh?'

John looked from one face to another. No one was smiling. 'Very cool,' he said finally. 'Very cool indeed.'