Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery #1)

Chapter 31

"We did the right thing," Rhonda said, her voice rising.

She looked at me. The tears made her face look like it was melting.

"I never meant to kill Greg. It wasn't supposed to happen," she said.

"But it did. And you set my client up."

"No. I did it for her."

I gaped at her. "What?"

"I did it for her and all the other women that man screwed over." She paused, sniffling. "Bruce was out of town. I took care of the club that weekend. Greg called me." She smiled bitterly. "I love this. He wanted to see me, 'cause he thought Bruce was ripping him off. Isn't that good? He thought I could help him prove Bruce used the business accounts to steal the money.

"He wouldn't leave his apartment, so I went to his place. He was acting all weird about something—said some crazy guy was after him. Anyway, I figured I'd play along, pretend I didn't know anything about the money. I was thinking maybe I could set Bruce up with Greg, and Greg with Bruce. Play one against the other."

She took a deep breath, exhaling a shuddering sigh. "Greg said he'd be up, so we went by after closing. He looked like hell. A regular Howard-fucking-Hughes. He looked like he hadn't slept in a while, and he smelled. No wonder he and Bruce weren't getting along. Anyway, before I could say anything, I noticed the papers. He'd left them on a table in the living room. Your name was on them."

"Papers?"

"The one's that said he'd beaten on your client."

"The petition for the protective order?"

She shook her head. "I guess so. Whatever they were, I just snapped when I saw them. After everything he'd done, now he was beating up on women. I just snapped. I took the gun from my purse and I shot him."

"You carry a gun?"

"I took it with me that night," Rhonda said. "It's a gun I keep at the club."

"I gave it to her for protection," Skip said. His voice sounded far off.

"And you were with her, at this meeting with Greg?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Did you try to stop her from shooting him?"

He shook his head, looking at me as if he couldn't imagine why I'd ask such a thing.

"It was strange," Rhonda said. "I did it without thinking twice. And afterward, I didn't care. Why would I care about exterminating a bug?"

Skip looked at her, a trace of sadness in his eyes. "He wasn't a bug."

"He was evil," she hissed. "He deserved what he got and you know it."

"And Bruce?" I said.

"Bruce figured out I took the money. When you told him about the bank statements, he put it together. He had thought Greg was ripping him off, that Barbara was putting more pressure on him, making him pay more. It never occurred to him I'd be involved. The guy was so sloppy. You'd think he'd go the extra mile to throw out the evidence somewhere far away, but he just threw it in the club's Dumpster. I took it out and kept it.

"When he realized what was going on, he came to the club, all pissed off. He stormed into the office, grabbed me outta the chair, and threw me on the floor. Then he said if I didn't give back the money, he'd personally beat the crap out of me. He didn't hear Skip."

I looked at Skip who wouldn't look back.

"I knocked him out," he said. "Hit him over the head, with a fire extinguisher. We picked him up and moved him to the chair. I was still trying to figure out what we should do, when she ..." His voice faded out.

"Why kill him?" I said to Rhonda.

"He deserved it."

"Why not go to the police? Did you want the money?"

"Hell, I didn't care about the money. Besides, what would happen if I told the cops? They'd give him probation, maybe order him to pay back what he took. A slap on the wrist, that's all he'd get. Just like when they blew up the lab. They could never be punished enough for what they did to me."

"What they did to you," I said. "That's what it comes down to. You wanted revenge."

Rhonda froze me with her stare. In the dark, her pupils were huge, her eyes glassy. "You make it sound so fucking simple. The legal system's a joke. The school paid my family off years ago, but I get to live with this." She placed a hand against her scarred cheek. "Well, it wasn't enough. So I created my own form of justice."

"If everyone did that, we'd have anarchy."

"I knew you wouldn't understand." She scowled in disapproval. "What do you know? You little fucking Girl Scout. You'll take money to be a mouthpiece, but what do you really do that solves problems? I took steps." Spit flew from her mouth. "I solved the problem."

She turned away. "We'll have to kill her," she said to Skip.

"No," he replied.

Rhonda started to say something, but stopped short, her eyes wide. Skip was pointing the gun at her.

"I've been trying to protect you, but I was wrong." He looked calm, his voice even.

"Don't," I said.

Rhonda's face was wild with fear or madness—it was hard to tell which. "We rid the world of evil. They were evil."

"You're sick," Skip said. "I realize that now. I should never have told you about them. I should have let it drop. What's done is done, but I can't let this go any farther. You need to be stopped." He cocked the gun.

Rhonda cowered, her eyes gleaming, saliva dribbling from her open mouth.

"Wait!" I yelled. I didn't trust myself to grab the gun. The slightest movement and it could go off, and Rhonda would probably catch the bullet. "Don't do it. Maybe you had your reasons for protecting Rhonda. But don't do this. You're not a killer."

Skip stood there a moment, then lowered the gun. "You're right," he said. "I can't. I—"

A brief blast of siren broke the night's stillness. Police cars, which must have approached silently, were suddenly upon us, blue and red lights flashing.

As the door on one car flew open, Skip abruptly brought the gun up, pointed it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. I averted my eyes just before the blast, feeling sick to my stomach.

Rhonda wailed, a guttural cry like a wounded animal, and threw herself at the body. A burnt gunpowder smell infused the air. I kept my face turned away, listening to Rhonda sobbing and babbling. I felt wet, a little chilly even. I thought I was breaking out in a sweat, until I realized it was raining.

Someone touched my arm. I jumped.

"Hey, hey." It was Duvall. He kept his hand on my arm. "Take it easy."

I released a sigh. "Oh, God."

"When I got your message, I decided to call in reinforcements," he said. "I got in touch with my friend in the department, asked him to have everyone come in silently. I didn't know what we'd find, but I wondered if he might be here." He inclined his head toward Skip's body. "He was Rhonda's half-brother."