Invasion of Privacy

pry into anyone else’s life. Why can’t people like you respect our privacy as well?” Stepanian reverted to the matter-of-fact tone. “Anyway, we sent ladyfriend into the bathroom first, then I hit Andrew from behind with the butt of my gun, and he stumbled against her. They both fell, Andrew unconscious. I was on the woman before she could scream.” His fingers flexed. “I choked her. She thrashed around some, but it didn’t take long. Then I did the same to Andrew. He never even woke up.”
    Lana said, “And there was very little mess.”
    I just looked at her. If Olga Evorova hadn’t retained me, if I hadn’t thought to use the “questionnaire” as cover, if Olga hadn’t confronted DiRienzi with what—
    Steven said, “Are you wondering why we didn’t kill you as well?”
    I turned to him. “No. You wanted to make it look like Dees left town, and you didn’t believe him about being in the witness program. So you had every reason to think it would look odd to have me turn up dead right after they took their ‘trip.’ But that still means you had to do something with the bodies.”
    “Correct. Can you guess?”
    “No.”
    “Think about it. We have to dispose of Andrew and ladyfriend, but we don’t want to go very far with them, either. We drove the Porsche to the airport, but why not use Andrew’s car for that?”
    Steven was giving me hints, so I’d play the game. “Because the Porsche stands out.”
    “Yes, but you’re looking at the right hand instead of the left.”
    “Because the Toyota hatchback can take the bodies more easily?”
    Steven grew impatient. “And?”
    The left hand, not the... “And because the Toyota doesn’t stand out.”
    The tiny-toothed smile.
    I said, “You used the Porsche for the airport because you needed a drab car like the brown Toyota for the bodies.”
    Still the smile.
    It came to me. “The bog.”
    The loving wife said, “And there’s plenty more room in it, too.”
    I looked at her. “Won’t wash, Lana. You try to sell me on going peacefully ‘to the bathroom,’ I’m not going to believe it, and the neighbors will hear any shooting.” Steven said, “I’ve been thinking about that, actually. It seems that your fingerprints are nicely on our sliding glass door. What if you slipped in because we accidentally left it unlocked, then found you here and shot you for a burglar?”
    “Sitting in your chair?”
    “You slumped there after I fired, but before I realized the intruder was you.”
    Given Kourmanos and Braverman finding me breaking in next door, Boyce Hendrix and Tángela Robinette might believe that. Because, like Dees’ “running away,” they’d “want” to believe it. And they might sell the Plymouth Mills police on it, too.
    I said, “One problem, Steven.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You’re holding the wrong gun.”
    “Wrong?”
    “The revolver belonged to Dees , may be traceable. Lana would have to be the shooter.”
    “Oh, that’s not a problem.” She came off the arm of the chair. “I don’t enjoy killing, Mr. Cuddy, but it is my turn.” Now backing toward the staircase, glancing toward her brother, “Would this be far enough, dear?”
    Raising my voice and speaking sharply, I said, “Primo.” The sliding glass door, which I’d unlocked, whistled open. Shots blazed from the muzzle of my Chiefs Special in Zuppone’s hand as I hurled a throw pillow at Steven. Lana being closer to the door, Primo took her first, the weapon flying from her grasp and somersaulting through the air. Rising, Steven got off two shots, but my pillow hitting his wrist sent them high and wild as Primo’s next bullets nailed him to the sofa like spikes driven by a sledgehammer.
    My ears were ringing from the gunfire. “You hear what they said?”
    “About the swamp and all? Yeah. Look, I gotta get out of here.” Zuppone tossed the Chief’s Special to me.
    “Primo, thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it.” He went back to the glass door. “And I fucking mean that.”
    Moving out onto the deck, he hopped over the low railing and was gone.

25

    I know where you can find Andrew Dees.”
    Tángela Robinette stared at me from the front stoop of the Stepanians’ unit. Empty-handed and arms raised, I was standing in the entrance foyer after having answered her pounding on the door. You could see the adrenaline surge in the whites of her eyes around the irises, and in the way she gripped her weapon, combat stance and chest