Twisted

day of the murder, while his wife and her lover were sipping wine in a room at the Mountain View Lodge, Roy had lunch with a business associate. The man, who wished to remain anonymous, reported that Roy was in unusually good spirits. It seemed his depression had lifted and he was happy once more.
    Fine, fine, fine . . .
    Mo kissed him and then hugged him hard. He didn’t kiss her back, though he did give her a hug, reminding himself that he had to be a good actor.
    “You’re looking forward to going, aren’t you?” she asked.
    “I sure am,” he answered. This was true.
    “I love you,” she said.
    “I love you too,” he responded. This was not true. He hated her. He hoped the plane left on time. He didn’t want to wait here with her any longer than he had to.
    The flight attendant, a pretty blonde woman, kept stopping at his seat. This wasn’t unusual for Pete. Women liked him. He’d heard a million times that he was cute, he was handsome, he was charming. Women were always leaning close and telling him that. Touching his arm, squeezing his shoulder. But today he answered her questions with a simple yes or no. And kept reading Triangle. Reading the passages he’d underlined. Memorizing them.
    Learning about fingerprints, about interviewing witnesses, about footprints and trace evidence. There was a lot he didn’t understand but he did figure out how smart the cops were and that he’d have to be very careful if he was going to kill Doug and get away with it.
    “We’re about to land,” the flight attendant said.“Could you put your seat belt on, please?” She smiled at him.
    He clicked the belt on and went back to his book.
    Hank Gibson’s body had fallen one hundred and twelve feet. He’d landed on his right side and of the more than two hundred bones in the human body, he’d broken seventy-seven of them. His ribs had pierced all his major internal organs and his skull was flattened on one side.
    “Welcome to Baltimore, where the local time is twelve twenty-five,” the flight attendant said. “Please remain in your seat with the seat belt fastened until the plane has come to a complete stop and the pilot has turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. Thank you.”
    The medical examiner estimated that Hank was traveling 80 mph when he struck the ground and that death was virtually instantaneous.
    Welcome to Baltimore . . .

    Doug met him at the airport. Shook his hand.
    “How you doing?” Doug asked.
    “Okay.”
    This was so weird. Spending the weekend with a man that Mo knew so well and that Pete hardly knew at all.
    Going hiking with somebody he hardly knew at all.
    Going to kill somebody he hardly knew at all . . .
    He walked along beside Doug.
    “I need a beer and some crabs,” Doug said as they got into his car. “You hungry?”
    “Sure am.”
    They stopped at the waterfront and went into an old dive. The place stunk. It smelled like the cleanser Mo used on the floor when Randolf, their Labrador retriever puppy, made a mess on the carpet.
    Doug whistled at the waitress before they’d even sat down. “Hey, honey, think you can handle two real men?” He gave her the sort of grin he’d seen Doug give Mo a couple of times. Pete looked away, a little embarrassed but plenty disgusted.
    When they started to eat, Doug calmed down, though that was probably the beers more than the food. Like Mo got after her third glass of Gallo in the evenings.
    Pete wasn’t saying much. Doug tried to be cheerful. He talked and talked but it was just garbage. Pete didn’t pay any attention.
    “Maybe I’ll give my girlfriend a call,” Doug said suddenly. “See if she wants to join us.”
    “You have a girlfriend? What’s her name?”
    “Uhm. Cathy,” he said.
    The waitress’s name tag said, Hi, I’m Cathleen.
    “That’d be fun,” Pete said.
    “She might be going out of town this weekend.” He avoided Pete’s eyes. “But I’ll call her later.”
    Pete’s only smart when it comes to computers and sports. He’s stupid about everything else. . . .
    Finally Doug looked at his watch and said, “So what do you feel like doing now?”
    Pete pretended to think for a minute and asked, “Anyplace we can go hiking around here?”
    “Hiking?”
    “Like any mountain trails?”
    Doug finished his beer, shook his head. “Naw, nothing like that I know of.”
    Pete felt rage again—his hands were shaking, the blood roaring in his ears—but he covered it up pretty well and tried to