Public Secrets

don’t have time for this.”
“Better make time.” Her voice changed, roughened. “I’ve been thinking that I should drop that detective in the U.S. a note. You remember him, don’t you, dearie? Kesselring was his name. Imagine me remembering his name all these years.” She smiled to herself. Everyone thought she was stupid. They wouldn’t think it for long.
He hesitated too long, and cursed himself. “There’s nothing you can tell him.”
“No? Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we? I thought I might write him a letter. They might reopen the case if they had a couple of names to go by. Your name, for instance, and—”
“You stir this up, it’s going to come back on you.” His voice was still calm, but he was sweating. “You were every bit as involved as I.”

“Oh no. I wasn’t there, was I? I never laid a finger on that boy.” What the hell had the boy been named? Donald or Dennis, she thought. It hardly mattered. “No, I didn’t lay a hand on him. But you did. It’s murder. Even after all these years, it’s murder.”
“They’ve never proven anything. They never will.”
“With a little help they might. Want to chance it, dear?”
No, he didn’t. She would know that he couldn’t chance it. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and intended to stay there. Whatever it took. “How much?”
She smiled. “I think a million pounds would do it.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“It was my plan,” she screeched into the phone. “It was my idea and I never got a frigging penny. It’s time to settle accounts, dearie. You’re a rich man. You can spare it.”
“There was never any ransom to collect,” he reminded her.
“Because you screwed up. I haven’t got a penny out of Brian in two years. Now that Emma’s grown up, he’s cut me out cold. We can just think of your payment to me as a retirement account. That much money will keep me for a long time, and I won’t have to bother you again. You bring it here tomorrow night, and I won’t have to mail my little note.”
Hours later she couldn’t remember if she made the call or dreamed it. And the letter. Where had she hidden the letter? She went back to the pipe, hoping it would help her think. It seemed the best thing to do was write the letter again. And if he didn’t come soon, if he didn’t come very soon, she would make another call.
Jane sat down to write, and soon fell asleep.
It was the doorbell that woke her. Ringing and ringing and ringing. She wondered why that damn, stupid girl didn’t answer it. It seemed to Jane that nothing got done if she didn’t do it herself. Huffing and puffing, she groped her way down the stairs.
She remembered when she saw him. He was standing at the door, his eyes grim, a briefcase in his hand. And she remembered. Yes indeed, you had to do things yourself. “Come on in, ducks. It’s been a while.”
“I didn’t come to visit.” He could only think she looked like a pig, fat, dirty, all of her chins quivering as she laughed.
“Come on, old friends like us. We’ll have a drink. The liquor’s up in my room. I conduct all my business in my boudoir.”

In a coy invitation, she put a hand on his lapel. He tolerated it, knowing he would burn the suit. “We’ll conduct business anywhere you like. But let’s get it done.”
“You always were in a hurry.” She started up, mammoth hips swaying. He watched her, seeing the way her hand gripped tight to the banister, hearing her breath puffing. One push, he considered, and she’d go tumbling down. No one would question it as anything but an accident. He nearly reached out, nearly touched her. Then he steadied himself. He had a better way. A surer way.
“Here we are, dear.” Red-faced and wheezing, she dropped on the bed. “Name your poison.”
The stench almost gagged him. The room was lit by a single lamp, and in the shadows he could see tangles of dirty clothes and dishes, empty cartons and cans and bottles. A fetid odor hung in the room, like the cobwebs in the corners. He could almost see it as he breathed slowly, between his teeth.
“I’ll pass on the drink.” He was careful not to touch anything. Not just because, of fingerprints now, but from fear of soiling himself.
“Suit yourself. What have you brought me?”
He set the briefcase beside her. He would burn that as well. He spun the combination, then flipped the lid. “It’s part of the money.”
“I told you—”
“It’s impossible to raise a million in cash