Public Secrets

overnight. You’ll have to be patient.” He turned the case toward her. “But I brought you something else, to tide you over. A sign of good faith.”
She saw the bag, plump with white powder on the neat stack of bills. Her heart began to race unsteadily, her mouth filled with saliva. “That’s a pretty sight.”
Before she could snatch it up, he moved the case out of reach. “Now who’s in a hurry?” He enjoyed taunting her. He could see the fine sweat popping out on her face, dribbling down her jowls. He’d dealt with junkies before, and knew just how to handle them. “It’s top-grade heroin, the best money can buy. One shot of this and you’ll go straight to heaven.” Or hell, he thought, if one believed in such things. “You can have it, Jane. All of it. But you’ve got to give me something back.”
Her heart was a trip-hammer in her breast, making her short of breath and giddy. “What do you want?”

“The letter. You give me the letter, and another few days to raise the rest of the money, and the smack is all yours.”
“The letter?” She had forgotten about it. All she could do was stare at the bag of white powder and imagine what it would be like to have it swimming in her veins. “There isn’t any letter. I didn’t write a letter.” Insurance, she remembered, and sent him a sly glance. “Yet. I didn’t write it yet. But I will. Let me have a hit, then we’ll talk.”
“Talk first.” Oh, it would be a pleasure to kill her, he thought as he studied the flecks of spittle on her mouth. The boy had been an accident, a tragic one, and one he sincerely regretted. He wasn’t a violent man, never had been. But it would have given him enormous satisfaction to have choked the life from Jane Palmer with his own hands.
“I started to write it.” Confused and anxious, Jane glanced toward the desk. “I started to, but I was waiting for you. I won’t finish it, if we have a deal.”
She wouldn’t lie, he thought as he studied her face. She wasn’t clever enough. “We have a deal.” He turned the case around again. “Go ahead. Take it.”
She grabbed the bag in both hands. For a moment he thought she might tear it apart with her teeth and gobble it like candy. Instead, she moved as fast as her bulk would carry her and began to search through drawers for her works.
He waited, both appalled and fascinated by the procedure she went through. She paid no attention to him now, but mumbled to herself. Her hands shook, so that she spilled a little. Her breath came loud and harsh as she cooked the first spoon. She didn’t want to skin-pop it; she didn’t want to smoke it. This she would mainline.
Squat on the floor, licking her lips as though she were about to dine, she filled the syringe. There were tears in her eyes as she searched for a vein. Then she closed them, leaning back against the dresser as she waited for the kick.
It did, swelling, speeding, bursting through her. Her eyes popped wide, her body convulsed. She screamed once, riding the enormous crest.

He watched her die, but found he didn’t enjoy it after all. It was an ugly process. Jane Palmer had no more dignity in death than she had in life. Turning his back on her, he took the surgical gloves out of his pocket and snapped them on. He picked up the half-written letter first and placed it in the briefcase. Fighting revulsion, he began to search, picking over her things to make certain she’d left nothing else in the house that might incriminate him.

B RIAN GROANED WHEN the phone woke him. He tried to sit up, but the hangover screamed through his head like a chain saw. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he groped for the phone.
“What?”
“Bri. I’m P.M.”
“Call me back when I’m not dying.”
“Bri—I guess you haven’t read the morning paper.”
“Right the first time. I’ll read tomorrow morning’s paper. That’s when I plan to wake up.”
“Jane’s dead, Brian.”
“Jane?” His mind stayed blank for ten full seconds. “Dead? She’s dead? How?”
“OD’d. Somebody found her last night, an ex-lover or a dealer or something. She’d been dead a couple of days.”
With the heels of his hands he tried to rid his eyes of grit. “Jesus.”
“I thought you should pull it together before the press starts on you. And I figured you’d want to be the one to tell Emma.”
“Emma.” Brian pushed himself up against the headboard. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll call her. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Sure. Bri