The Maze

didn't trap you, Marlin. I just gave you a woman you could relate to. Nothing more, nothing less."

    "I never should have believed you. You just fell into my lap. You're still wearing the sling. I like that."

    "Yeah, but I'm not lying flat on my back with my gut burning through my back."

    He tried to lurch up. The cop beside the bed was up in an instant, his hand on his gun. Lacey just smiled at him and shook her head. "Marlin doesn't have a knife now, Officer Rambling. He's like an old man without his teeth."

    1 sure would like to kill you," Marlin said and tell back against the pillow, breathing hard.

    "Not in this lifetime, Marlin. Now, you're so good at talking, you like to do it so much, why don't you tell me about the women you killed in San Francisco? I know each of them was married. Did you hear them all bad-mouthing their husbands?"

    "Why should I tell you anything? You don't like me. You shot me in the belly. It still hurts real bad. I just might want a lawyer now."

    "Fine. Do you have any money or shall I call the public defender?"

    "I can get the best and you know it. Those guys don't care if I have a dime or not, they just want their faces in the news. Yeah, get me a phone book and let me pick out the highest-priced one of the lot."

    "I could connect you to the ocean bottom, if you like."

    "That was funny, Marty. Lawyers and bottom feeders, yeah, that was pretty funny."

    "Thanks. It's Agent Sherlock. I'm with the FBI. You want to call a lawyer now, Marlin? Or would you like to answer just a few more of my questions?"

    "I'll call a lawyer later. Sure, I can answer anything you ask. I can always take it back. I read all about the Toaster. He'll get off because he's crazy, and it won't cost him a dime. I'll get off too, you'll see, and then I'll come after you, Marty."

    She felt a shock of rage, but no fear. She should have killed him right there in the warehouse to ensure there'd be justice. She was a fool to want all her questions answered. Besides, he could lie to her as easily as he could tell her the truth. Her face was flushed red with her fury. She'd been a fool. At that moment, she heard Dillon singing quietly from beside the door, "/ always played it cool when I was young, always swam when I wanted to sink, always laughed when I wanted to cry, always held my cards tight when I wanted to fold..."

    He hadn't said a single word until now. She jerked, then turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable. He was just singing those words. They weren't great lyrics, but it worked. He winked at her. She grinned; she couldn't help herself. Talk about finding words to ht the situation. She thought briefly of her classical music training. Mozart would have cast her out of the classical club if he knew she was smiling over some god-awful country-and-western music. Her rage fell away.

    "We'll see about that," she said, turning back to Marlin, calm as anything now. "Hey, you look as if you're getting tired, Marlin. You'll want to take a nap really soon now. Why don't you just tell me why you killed seven women in San Francisco-not more, not less? Exactly seven, and then you stopped."

    "Seven?" He fell silent. She watched him tick off his fingers. The psycho was counting on his fingers the number of women he'd butchered. She'd bet anything he remembered every name, every face. She wanted to kill him right that instant.

    "No," Marlin said. "I didn't kill no seven women in San Francisco."

    So the number seven had no relevance whatsoever. Thank God for Savich's brain. Dear God, how many more women had he butchered?

    "How many then?"

    "Six. I killed just six ladies. They all deserved it big-time. Then I was tired. I remember I slept for three days and then I was told to go to Las Vegas."

    "Told? Who told you to go to Las Vegas?"

    "Why the voices, of course. The Devil, sometimes his buddies. Sometimes a black cat if I see one."

    "You're making that up. You're just practicing on me so the judge will find you nuts and you won't have to stand trial."

    "Yeah. I'm good, don't you think? But I am crazy, Marty, real crazy."

    "Just six women? You're certain? Not seven?"

    "You think I'm stupid as well as crazy?" Then he proceeded to count them off again on his fingers, this time with their names. Lauren O'Shay, Patricia Mullens, Danielle Potts, Ann Patrini, Donna Gabrielle, and Constance Black.

    When he finished, he looked over at her and smiled.

    She felt like Lot's wife: nothing more than a