He continued. "Witness relocation doesn't do that thorough a job, faking old family pictures. So I figured we'd fucked up. We had to make it right."
Mak
e it right? Rune thought.
"When you came to the store," Rune said, "when you pretended to be that U.S. marshal, Dixon, you said you were part of the homicide team at Mr. Kelly's apartment."
"Fuck, of course I wasn't there." Haarte laughed. "That's the trick to lying. Make the person you're lying to your partner in the lie. I suggested I was there and you just assumed I was."
Rune remembered Mr. Kelly's apartment, looking through his books, finding the clipping, the heat and the stuffiness of the apartment. The horrible bloodstained chair. The torn photo.
Rune closed her eyes. She left overwhelmed with hopelessness. Her big adventure--it was all because of a mistake. There was no stolen bank loot. Robert Kelly was just a bystander--a weird old man who happened to like a bad movie.
"So, honey, we need to know," Emily said impatiently, "who'd you tell about me?"
"Nobody."
"Boyfriends? Girlfriends? You've had plenty of time to talk to people after you ran out of our little party at Spinello's house in Brooklyn."
"You knew where Spinello was all along?" Rune asked. "And you were just using me?"
"Of course," Emily said, "I just had to lead you there, through the bank and the lawyer, so there'd be a trail the police could find. The cops'd see that you were tracking him down, then they'd find him and your body--we were going to make it look like he shot you after you shot him. They'd have their perp. End of investigation. The police're like everybody else. They prefer the least work possible. Once they've found a killer they stop looking for anybody else. On to other cases. You know. So, come on: Who'd you tell?"
"Why would I say anything to anybody?"
"Oh, come on," Haarte said. "You see somebody killed right in front of you and you don't tell the police?"
"How could I? My fingerprints were all over Spinello's apartment. I knew I was a suspect. I figured out what you were doing."
"No, you didn't," Haarte said. "You're not that smart."
Rune remained silent. At least one thing was good, Rune thought. They don't know about Stephanie.
Suddenly Haarte leapt up from the chair, grabbed Rune's hair, and jerked her head back so far she couldn't breathe. She was choking. His face was close to hers. "See, you think it's better to live. No matter what I do to you. But it isn't. The only way we could let you live--and we aren't really inclined to kill you--but the only way we'd let you live is if we make it so that you can't tell anybody about us. Pick us out of a lineup, say."
He moved a finger slowly down toward her eye. She closed the lid and a moment later felt increasing pain as he pressed hard on her eyeball.
"No!"
His fingers lifted off her face. "There's a lot we could do to you." His hand massaged the back of her neck. "We could make you a vegetable." He touched her breasts. "Or a boy." Between her legs. "Or ..."
He released her hair so quickly that she screamed. Emily looked on without emotion.
Rune caught her breath. "Please let me go. I won't say anything."
"It's demeaning to beg," Emily said.
"I'll give you the million dollars," she said.
"What million?" Haarte asked. "From that old movie? That's bullshit."
"Oh," Emily said, laughing, "your secret treasure?"
"I will. I found it!"
Haarte asked cynically, "You did?"
"Sure. Where do you think I've been for the past twenty-four hours? After what happened in Brooklyn, you think I'm going to hang around town? Why didn't I just leave yesterday as soon as you killed Spinello? I didn't leave because I had a lead to the money."