M Is for Malice

typed."
    "Did you read the letter?"
    "Of course not, but I know it bothered Guy. He didn't say what it was, but I gather it was something unpleasant."
    "Did he ever mention a Max Outhwaite? Does the name mean anything to you?"
    "Not that I remember." She turned to Tasha. "Does it ring a bell with you?"
    Tasha shook her head. "What's the connection?"
    "That's how the reporter first heard Guy was back. Someone named Max Outhwaite dropped off a letter at the Dispatch, but when Katzenbach checked it out, there was no one by that name and no such address. I double-checked as well and came up blank."
    "Never heard of him," Christie said. "Is there any chance he's connected to one of Guy's old sprees? Maybe Outhwaite was somebody Guy mistreated back then."
    "Possible," I said. "Do you mind if I check Bader's file upstairs?"
    "What file?" Tasha asked.
    Christie answered before I did. "Bader kept a folder of newspaper clippings about Guy's various arrests and his scrapes with the law. It goes back quite a way."
    "I'll tell you something else crossed my mind," I said. "This Outhwaite, whoever he is, certainly put Jeff Katzenbach on the trail of Guy's criminal history. I'm not sure Jeff would have known about it otherwise. The minute I saw the letter, I remember wondering if it was really Bennet or Jack who tipped him off somehow."
    "Using Outhwaite's name?"
    "It seems possible," I said.
    "But why would either of them do that? What's the point?"
    "That's the problem. I don't know. Anyway, I could be off base on this one," I said. "I do like the idea that Outhwaite's someone Guy sinned against in the old days."
    "Take the file if you want. It was still on the desk in Bader's office last I saw."
    "Let me pop upstairs and grab it. I'll be right back."
    I moved out of the library and crossed the foyer. Maybe when I talked to Jonah, he'd level with me about the letter. I went up the steps two at a time, studiously avoiding a look down the hall. I had no idea which room Guy had been in, but I didn't want to go near it. I took a hard left at the head of the stairs and went straight to Bader's room, where I opened the door and flipped on the overhead light. Everything seemed to be in order. The room was cold and smelled slightly musty from disuse. The overhead illumination was dim and the pale colors in the room looked flat. I passed through to the office beyond, hitting switches as I went. Bader's life force was being systematically erased. Closets had been emptied, all the personal items removed from his desktop.
    I surveyed the surrounding area. I spotted the folder with all the newspaper articles about Guy's past behavior, relieved that the cops hadn't swept through and taken it. On the other hand, the search warrant probably wasn't that broad. The list of property to be seized might have been directed only toward the murder weapon itself. I leafed through the clippings, speedreading for content, looking for the name Outhwaite or anything close. There was nothing. I checked through some of the stray folders on the desk, but found nothing else that seemed relevant. One more dead end, though the idea was sound – someone with a grudge making Guy's life difficult. I pressed the file under my arm and left the room, turning off the lights as I went.
    I pulled the door shut behind me, pausing in the hallway outside the master suite. Something felt wrong. My first urge was to scurry down the stairs toward the lighted rooms below, but I found myself slowing. I could hear a crackling sound and I peered to my left. The far end of the corridor was enveloped in shadow, except for an X of crime scene tape across three doorways. As I watched, the tape seemed to become nearly luminous, vibrating audibly as if rattled by wind. I thought for a moment the tape would break free, clicking and snapping as though a current were moving through it. The air on the landing was chilly and there was the faint scent of something animal – wet dog or old fur. For the first time, I allowed myself to experience the horror of Guy's death.
    I began to descend, one hand on the railing, the other clutching the file. I pivoted, reluctant to turn my back on the darkness behind me. For a moment, I scrutinized the stretch of corridor I could see. Something hovered in my peripheral vision. I turned my head slowly, nearly moaning with fear. I could see sparkles of light, almost like dust motes materializing in the stillness. I felt a sudden flush of heat and I could hear