Inherit the Dead

evidence. Before they had time to plan. Before they had time to disappear.
    But they wouldn’t disappear. Not yet. Not until Angel’s birthday, which was still a few days away. No one runs away before she inherits a fortune.
    Traffic had ended, night had descended, and the LIE was moving. Perry’s foot was heavy on the gas pedal, and he was weaving in and out of traffic. He checked the rearview mirror. No tail this time, at least none he was aware of.
    But why stop tailing him now?
    Because whoever had followed him was after Angel and she had been found. But was she still in danger? Or was she the biggest danger of all?
    He pictured the black car racing down Washington Avenue directly at Angel. Then he pictured Angel in a car, sitting beside her father.
    Her father. If there was anyone Perry did not trust, it was Norman Loki.
    Loki, the one who had written the terms of the inheritance and had lied about it.
    He checked his mirrors again. Still no tail he could see. But maybe he’d been wrong, maybe the tail was just a diversion, and Julia Drusilla had been the target all along. But Julia’s whereabouts were no secret, never had been.
    And leaping to her death?
    Not a chance. Not the steely woman who told him she never went out on her terrace.
    I’m not a fan of heights.
    People with a fear of water did not drown themselves. People with a fear of heights did not jump from penthouse terraces.
    Then someone had pushed her. But who?
    They were all in his mind now, everyone he’d met in connection to Angel.
    Lilith Bates, who had lied about knowing Randy Hyde then followed him to make sure her dirty little secret stayed buried. But was it more than that? Could she possibly have been in cahoots with the mechanic to get rid of Angel? But what would she get out of Angel’s demise? Randy. Maybe. But did she really want him that bad, a sex machine who she was ashamed to be seen with?
    And what about Randy? With sex and money to offer, Angel could probably get that oversexed grease monkey to do anything, even kill her mother for her. But the guy didn’t seem smart enough to pull it off, to sneak in and out of Julia’s penthouse unseen. Though Angel was smart enough to do anything. What had her nanny said about her?
    She’s never been just a kid. But she’s smart—smartest child I ever took care of—because she had to be.
    Yeah, Angel was smart all right. But even the smart ones messed up; Perry knew that. And there it was again, lurking at the fringe ofhis subconscious, something Angel had said, something simple and innocuous, which had made him know she was a liar. But what was it?
    Perry rolled down his window for a blast of cold air, something to clear his head.
    And what about that shady politician, Tweed? Now there was a man with plenty to lose. Had Angel been pressuring him to leave his wife? Or was he worried she’d expose their affair and he wanted her out of the picture? He could have been the one to send a killer after Angel, thought Perry. But why would he send someone to kill her mother? Nothing to be gained in that.
    And it was about gain, wasn’t it?
    Didn’t it always come down to that, to money?
    And Angel had the most to gain. And maybe her father.
    The two of them conspiring to get the money. All of the money. It was the only thing that made sense.
    Unless Perry was wrong. Unless his instinct had failed him.
    The lights of Forest Hills high-rise apartments slid by like a million tiny comets. Then the Unisphere, that odd 1960s remnant of the World’s Fair. It looked to him like a prop from some low-budget sci-fi movie. He drove past Kissena Boulevard and Utopia Parkway until Queens was an afterthought and he was driving through Nassau County, where the lights grew dimmer and traffic thinned.
    Perry pictured Angel the last time he’d seen her, hair pulled back, pearls around her neck, already looking like the wealthy matron she was about to become. He saw the dark glasses and then the tears in her eyes, and he wanted to believe her but he didn’t.
    He stared through the windshield, the voice of his old friend in his head: So if you want to lose the only friend you’ve got around here, go right ahead and continue doing what you’re doing. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
    He thought: I have to prove to Henry Watson that I’m still a good detective.
    Then he thought: This isn’t about proving anything to Henry. It’s about proving it to myself.
    No way he could fuck up again. No way he