The Coffin Dancer

was under investigation. You thought you’d use that fact. So you waited until one night when Percey and Ed and Brit Hale were working late. You stole Hansen’s plane for the flight, you dumped the fake duffel bags. You hired the Dancer.I assume you’d heard about him on your jobs in Africa or the Far East. I made a few calls. You worked for the Botswana air force and the Burmese government advising them in buying used military airplanes. The Dancer told me he was paid a million for the hit.” Rhyme shook his head. “That should have tipped me right there. Hansen could have had all three witnesses killed for a couple hundred thousand. Professional killing’s definitely a buyer’s market nowadays. A million told me that the man ordering the hit was an amateur. And that he had a lot of money at his disposal.”
    The scream rose from Percey Clay’s mouth and she leapt for him. Talbot stood, backed up. “How could you?” she screamed. “Why?”
    Dellray said, “My boys from financial crimes’re looking over your books now. What we think we’re gonna be finding is lots and lots of money that ain’t where it oughta be.”
    Rhyme continued. “Hudson Air’s a lot more successful than you were thinking, Percey. Only most of it was going into Talbot’s pocket. He knew he was going to get caught someday and he needed to get you and Ed out of the way and buy the Company himself.”
    “The stock purchase option,” she said. “As a partner he had a right to buy our interest from our estates at a discount if we die.”
    “This’s bullshit. That guy was shooting at me too, remember.”
    “But you didn’t hire Kall,” Rhyme reminded. “You hired Jodie—the Coffin Dancer—and he sub-contractedthe work with Kall. Who didn’t know you from beans.”
    “How could you?” Percey repeated in a hollow voice. “Why? Why?”
    Talbot raged, “Because I loved you!”
    “What?” Percey gasped.
    Talbot continued. “You laughed when I said I wanted to marry you.”
    “Ron, no. I—”
    “And you went back to him.” He sneered. “Ed Carney, the handsome fighter pilot. Top gun . . . He treated you like shit and you still wanted him. Then . . . ” His face was purple with fury. “Then . . . then I lost the last thing I had—I was grounded. I couldn’t fly anymore. I watched the two of you logging hundreds of hours a month while all I could do was sit at a desk and push papers. You had each other, you had flying . . . You don’t have a clue what it’s like to lose everything you love. You just don’t have a clue!”
    Sachs and Sellitto saw him tense. They anticipated his trying something, but they hadn’t guessed Talbot’s strength. As Sachs stepped forward, unholstering her weapon, Talbot scooped the tall woman completely off her feet and flung her into the evidence table, scattering microscopes and equipment, knocking Mel Cooper back into the wall. Talbot pulled the Glock from her hand.
    He swung it toward Bell, Sellitto, and Dellray. “All right, throw your guns on the floor. Do it now. Now!”
    “Come on, man,” Dellray said, rolling his eyes. “What’re you gonna do? Climb out the window? You ain’t going nowhere.”
    He shoved the gun toward Dellray’s face. “I’m not going to say it again.”
    His eyes were desperate. He reminded Rhyme of a cornered bear. The agent and the cops tossed their guns onto the floor. Bell dropped both of his.
    “Where does that door lead?” He nodded to the wall. He’d have seen Eliopolos’s guards outside and knew there was no escape that way.
    “That’s a closet,” Rhyme said quickly.
    He opened it, eyed the tiny elevator.
    “Fuck you,” Talbot whispered, pointing the gun at Rhyme.
    “No,” Sachs shouted.
    Talbot swung the weapon her way.
    “Ron,” Percey cried, “think about it. Please . . . ”
    Sachs, embarrassed but unhurt, was on her feet, looking at the pistols that lay on the floor ten feet away.
    No, Sachs, Rhyme thought. Don’t!
    She’d survived the coolest professional killer in the country and now was about to get shot by a panicked amateur.
    Talbot’s eyes were flicking back and forth from Dellray and Sellitto to the elevator, trying to figure out the switch pad.
    No, Sachs, don’t do it.
    Rhyme was trying to catch her attention, but her eyes were judging distances and angles. She’d never make it in time.
    Sellitto said, “Let’s just talk, Talbot. Come on, put the gun down.”
    Please, Sachs, don’t do