afternoon he was talking about taking his son to Orlando.”
“I can’t believe it.” Ken shook his head. It was only yesterday that he last saw Sabini. One final pep talk. With the training complete, they wouldn’t have had any reason to see each other again. Ken was surprised when Sabini actually hugged him before leaving the office. The last day of school.
And now the man was dead.
“Ken, I’m afraid you’re not getting the rest of your money.”
He was silent for a long while. “I pretty much figured.”
“And I’m afraid we’ll have to stop seeing each other. At least for a while. This is a
murder
investigation. Every tiny piece of Sabini’s life is going under the microscope. And that includes me. If they link me to you, then they might figure out the rest of our arrangement.”
He nodded. “How was Sabini—?”
“Stabbed.”
“That’s how Carlos Valez was murdered.”
“Coincidence.”
Ken suddenly felt suffocated by the whole situation. He cracked open his car window. He was still dazed when Myth pulled alongside his parked car.
“I’m sorry about your money,” she said. “And I’m sorry about us, Ken.”
He still hadn’t absorbed any of it. It did not seem real to him; it was almost like waking up from a great dream, only to discover none of it really happened.
She kissed him. “I’ll get in touch when I think it’s safe.”
He nodded and climbed out of her car. Though he was aware she was watching him, he didn’t look back as he slid into his MG, started it up, and drove away.
—
He went home and immediately collapsed. He tossed and turned as the harsh sunlight attacked him through the window blinds of his bedroom. He slept only intermittently, between haunting fever-dream flashes he could never quite remember upon waking.
Late in the afternoon he pulled himself up and stared at the dust-streaked window for a long while. He knew what he had to do.
He had to find that money.
CHAPTER 7
G ant’s wife squeezed his hand as the recital began. Diane’s students were performing their spring concert, and it was now entirely beyond her control. Gant didn’t mind these functions as much as some of the other teachers’ spouses. It was rare he was able to see his wife in her element, and he enjoyed the respect she commanded from the students, parents, and even fellow instructors.
Since Sprayberry was a performing arts high school, the recitals delivered more than the typical choir-on-risers snooze-fest. This was a multimedia extravaganza, with elaborate costumes, computer graphics on video monitors, and even smoke and lasers. The kids were in the midst of a rendition of the B-52’s “Love Shack,” when Gant felt the vibration in his hip pocket. His pager. He tapped his pocket and shrugged apologetically at his wife. She knew what it meant.
He tried to be inconspicuous as he squirmed down the aisle and made his way to the back of the theater. He found a pay phone in the lobby.
“Gant here.”
“Hi, Gant. It’s Hoover. Sorry to bug you.”
Hoover was a detective who worked the evening watch at the station. Gant didn’t have much history with him, though their paths did cross on a murder investigation a few years before. The case, which resulted in the discoveryof an international counterfeit credit card ring, made the national papers and news weeklies. Unfortunately, the FBI took the lion’s share of the credit, and Gant and Hoover, who actually broke the case, barely rated a mention.
“What’s up?” Gant asked.
“I’m on a homicide, this Burton Sabini thing.”
“The embezzler?”
“Right. There may be a connection between this and your Valez case. The captain tipped me off to it. Can you come down here?”
“Now?”
“It might be a good idea. I’m sorry, Gant, but if you—”
“No, no, it’s all right.”
Gant didn’t like to work nights. He thought of the TV cops who seemed to do nothing but work on their cases morning, noon, and night until
“I can’t believe it.” Ken shook his head. It was only yesterday that he last saw Sabini. One final pep talk. With the training complete, they wouldn’t have had any reason to see each other again. Ken was surprised when Sabini actually hugged him before leaving the office. The last day of school.
And now the man was dead.
“Ken, I’m afraid you’re not getting the rest of your money.”
He was silent for a long while. “I pretty much figured.”
“And I’m afraid we’ll have to stop seeing each other. At least for a while. This is a
murder
investigation. Every tiny piece of Sabini’s life is going under the microscope. And that includes me. If they link me to you, then they might figure out the rest of our arrangement.”
He nodded. “How was Sabini—?”
“Stabbed.”
“That’s how Carlos Valez was murdered.”
“Coincidence.”
Ken suddenly felt suffocated by the whole situation. He cracked open his car window. He was still dazed when Myth pulled alongside his parked car.
“I’m sorry about your money,” she said. “And I’m sorry about us, Ken.”
He still hadn’t absorbed any of it. It did not seem real to him; it was almost like waking up from a great dream, only to discover none of it really happened.
She kissed him. “I’ll get in touch when I think it’s safe.”
He nodded and climbed out of her car. Though he was aware she was watching him, he didn’t look back as he slid into his MG, started it up, and drove away.
—
He went home and immediately collapsed. He tossed and turned as the harsh sunlight attacked him through the window blinds of his bedroom. He slept only intermittently, between haunting fever-dream flashes he could never quite remember upon waking.
Late in the afternoon he pulled himself up and stared at the dust-streaked window for a long while. He knew what he had to do.
He had to find that money.
CHAPTER 7
G ant’s wife squeezed his hand as the recital began. Diane’s students were performing their spring concert, and it was now entirely beyond her control. Gant didn’t mind these functions as much as some of the other teachers’ spouses. It was rare he was able to see his wife in her element, and he enjoyed the respect she commanded from the students, parents, and even fellow instructors.
Since Sprayberry was a performing arts high school, the recitals delivered more than the typical choir-on-risers snooze-fest. This was a multimedia extravaganza, with elaborate costumes, computer graphics on video monitors, and even smoke and lasers. The kids were in the midst of a rendition of the B-52’s “Love Shack,” when Gant felt the vibration in his hip pocket. His pager. He tapped his pocket and shrugged apologetically at his wife. She knew what it meant.
He tried to be inconspicuous as he squirmed down the aisle and made his way to the back of the theater. He found a pay phone in the lobby.
“Gant here.”
“Hi, Gant. It’s Hoover. Sorry to bug you.”
Hoover was a detective who worked the evening watch at the station. Gant didn’t have much history with him, though their paths did cross on a murder investigation a few years before. The case, which resulted in the discoveryof an international counterfeit credit card ring, made the national papers and news weeklies. Unfortunately, the FBI took the lion’s share of the credit, and Gant and Hoover, who actually broke the case, barely rated a mention.
“What’s up?” Gant asked.
“I’m on a homicide, this Burton Sabini thing.”
“The embezzler?”
“Right. There may be a connection between this and your Valez case. The captain tipped me off to it. Can you come down here?”
“Now?”
“It might be a good idea. I’m sorry, Gant, but if you—”
“No, no, it’s all right.”
Gant didn’t like to work nights. He thought of the TV cops who seemed to do nothing but work on their cases morning, noon, and night until
Similar Books
