Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,163
assets,” John told her. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of bad days living in a one-room condo on Buford Highway.”
“You can’t threaten me.”
“What about the press?” he asked. “Joyce found you. I’m sure the reporters can, too. Especially if she gives them a little help.”
“I am calling the police,” Lydia warned him, walking stiffly to the phone.
“All I’m asking for is a sworn statement. Just tell them Michael framed me, that he killed Mary Alice, and you’ll never see me again.”
“I’m calling the police right now to remove you from my house.”
“How would you like a bunch of reporters camped out on your doorstep? How would you like to explain to them how you knew your son was a killer and you didn’t do anything to stop him?”
She took off one of her chunky gold earrings and put the receiver to her ear. “I knew nothing of the sort.”
“Michael told me a funny thing in that cellar, Aunt Lydia.” Her fingers hovered over the keypad but she did not dial. “He knew he was going to die. He was absolutely certain that he was going to die and he wanted to tell me something.”
The cord slapped against the metal table as Lydia let the receiver slide to her shoulder.
“Michael told me that he killed Mary Alice and that you knew all about it. He said it was your idea to frame me. He said that you planned the whole thing from the very beginning.” He gave her a wink. “Deathbed confessions aren’t considered hearsay, right? Not if the person knows for sure he’s going to die.”
She clutched the receiver in her bony hand. “No one will believe you.”
“You know that cop he took—the one he kidnapped, nearly beat to death and was about to rape and kill?” He lowered his voice as if he was telling her in confidence. “I think she heard him say it, too.”
The table banged against the wall as she sagged against it. Her eyes blazed with outrage.
John asked, “Who do you think the prosecutor is going to listen to when he’s trying to make the decision about whether or not to file charges against you for obstruction of justice, false imprisonment and conspiracy after the fact?”
A noise came from the receiver, a recorded voice advising her that if she would like to make a call, to please hang up and dial again.
“The prosecutor will come to us,” John continued. “He’ll ask me and he’ll ask Joyce whether we want to pursue criminal charges against you or just drop it.” The phone started to make a loud busy signal that echoed in the cavernous room. “Let me tell you one thing I’ve figured out, Lydia: Michael was a predator, but you were his gatekeeper. You were the one who knew what he was and still let him out in the world.”
“No…”
“Go ahead,” he dared her. “Dial the number. Make the call.”
Lydia stared at him, nostrils flared, eyes wet with angry tears. He could almost see her thinking it out, that fine legal mind of hers working all the angles, considering all of the options. Somewhere in this pristine white prison of a house, a clock was ticking. John silently counted the ticks in his head, biding his time.
“All right,” she finally agreed. “All right.”
John knew what she meant, but he wanted to hear her say it, wanted to be the one who made her say it. “All right what?”
Her hand trembled so badly that she could barely replace the phone in the cradle. She could not look at him. Her voice was choked with humiliation. “Tell me what I have to do.”
CHAPTER FORTY
FEBRUARY 18, 2006
Will was listening to Bruce Springsteen’s Devils & Dust as he brushed the dog. He wasn’t certain why his neighbor had insisted on the brushing. Betty’s fur was short. She didn’t shed much. Will had to assume the origin of the task was somehow connected to the little dog’s pure pleasure in the sensation; however, the neighbor had never struck him as particularly interested in the animal’s comfort.
Not that he was assigning a personality to the thing, but there was no denying she liked a good brush.
The doorbell rang and Will stopped mid-stroke. It rang again, and then there was a staccato of knocking.
Will sighed. He put down the brush and rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. He scooped up Betty in his hand and walked to the door.