Dead Aim Read online

  “I guess that’s reasonable,” said Mallon. “But what I meant was that people who just want to give information to the police don’t usually do it through a lawyer, do they?”

  She sighed. “You just never learned to behave the way people with your kind of money do. I guess that’s why I like you. But people in your situation don’t usually deal with authorities in person, and they never do it alone.”

  “Did you tell them everything?”

  “Sure,” said Diane. “I think I already said that.”

  “Aren’t they going to call me?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I think it will depend on what direction their investigation takes. You have to remember that even though Lydia might have been working on your case at the moment when she died, her death might not have been connected with it. Over her career, she must have worked on hundreds of cases, and a lot of them left somebody angry. She was the one in the bail bond business who traced the clients who skipped out on their bail, wasn’t she? If the police think we can help them, they won’t be shy. But I don’t know what the evidence they have in hand tells them. They may already have found out that it’s not related to your case, and they would not have told me at this stage.” She paused. “They may be tying up the last loose end right now.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Parish had quietly appeared in the gym so that he could look in on Ron Dolan’s early martial arts class. Today was this group’s last at the camp, and he liked to leave them with the impression that they’d had more of his personal attention than he had actually given them. He had left the gym and was on his way to the firing range when it occurred to him that he had not seen Debbie or Emily this morning. He walked into the cabin at the end of the long path, and saw Debbie barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, perched on a chair hugging her bent legs so her knees came up to serve as a chin rest.

  He said, “What’s up?”

  She turned her head farther than it seemed she should be able to and looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes moved to see Emily lying on her back on the single bed in the corner, with her hands clasped behind her head. She said, “We came together to bitch, Michael. You should get out while you can.”

  “It sounds like something I should hear.” He stepped up to Debbie, took one of her hands, and gently tugged as he walked toward Emily’s side of the room. Debbie let the arm straighten, then yielded to the steady pressure and brought her feet to the floor to walk with him.When he reached the bed where Emily was lying on her back, staring up at the rafters, he sat on the very edge, then moved his hip against hers and pushed. “We’re joining you.” She slithered closer to the wall, and he and Debbie sat.

  Emily rolled to face them, lying on her side. “She could kill you with her hands,” she said thoughtfully.

  Parish looked at Debbie, put his arm around her waist, and said, “So? You could kill me in some other way.”

  Emily persisted. “Even lion tamers sometimes go into the cage at the wrong time and get torn apart.”

  “And while it’s happening, maybe what they feel is … ecstasy. That’s what their lives were all about, isn’t it—that the danger was real all along? And just being near those beautiful creatures, tempting them and teasing them.” His eyes glittered as he smiled, reached out a hand, and softly touched Emily’s cheek. He let his hand linger there for a second, but when she brought her hand up to brush it away, it was already gone. Her laugh seemed to escape in spite of her.

  He said, “You both have legitimate complaints. Which one are we talking about?”

  Debbie said, “Last night, Michael. The idea was to have those two do their own hunt, wasn’t it?”

  Parish nodded. “Yes. It was.”

  “Well, what I was doing wasn’t what a tracker usually does. I had to take a big risk to lure that target into the restaurant in the first place. She wasn’t some man I could get to follow me by batting my eyelashes. When I got her there, I had to find a way to signal Emily without her sensing that I was doing it, then sit there for fifteen minutes talking about the camp and about Catherine before anybody else even arrived.”

  “You did it brilliantly,” he said. “I heard every word over the radio. That little bit of an implication that you were a bad girl but you regretted it, and that you needed her protection, I think that was what kept her there.”

  Debbie gave an embarrassed smile, but she knew she was being seduced, so she gave his shoulder a push. “I did what was necessary. But at that point, my part should have been over. I signaled Emily, I gave her fifteen minutes to bring the two all-stars up and point them in the right direction. I waited, and talked. When they got there, I was supposed to get up and go to the bathroom, wasn’t I?”

  Parish nodded. “That was certainly the plan. I know it didn’t go smoothly—I was there—and I’m very sorry.” He turned to Emily, waiting.

  Emily said, “I did everything the scout is supposed to do. I found the restaurant, I got the two of them into safe places where they could wait, then brought them forward when it was time. So what do they do? They fuck it all up. They burst in there while Debbie is still at the table. Coleman was already reaching for his gun when he stepped in the door. If Debbie hadn’t been the fucking martial arts nightmare girl, she never would have been fast enough to keep the target from turning the hunt into a slaughter.”

  Parish looked apologetically at Debbie. “She’s absolutely right,” he said. “You kept the target’s gun out of her hand and disabled her with that pepper spray. I’m still amazed at how quickly it happened.”

  Emily went on. “And then they open fire. Debbie’s lucky they didn’t shoot her too. And what do they do next? With the bartender and the waitress gaping at all of us, they turn around and start to leave!”

  Parish nodded. “I saw you drop the witnesses before you left. I admired your presence of mind. I was as disappointed as you are that Coleman and Markham didn’t do it themselves.”

  The two women looked at each other and rolled their eyes, then stared at Parish.

  He said, “They asked me for a challenge. I knew that bagging a private detective in public was sure to be exciting, but I didn’t anticipate that Miss Marks would be that challenging. I took into account the possibility that she might be armed in some way, but I didn’t know she’d be alert enough to her surroundings to cause a serious risk. She was very good.”

  Debbie’s eyes narrowed. “But did you know how bad they would be? She saw them pulling out guns as soon as they were in the door, but it took an eternity for them to fire. I practically had to kill her myself—hold her there, disarm her, and disable her before they could even pull a trigger. Did you know they were that bad?”

  “No, never,” said Parish. “But I knew if it turned wrong, then you would be up to it.” He tightened his arm to give her an affectionate squeeze. “I also knew that, from looking at you, she would never imagine that you would be capable of doing much harm. So if she had managed to get off a shot, you were not going to be the one she aimed it at. She would shoot Mr. Coleman or Mr. Markham.”

  Emily eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not putting up much of a defense.”

  Parish half-turned to see her better, leaned down, took her hand in his and kissed it. “I’m sorry. I apologize again for my mistake. I don’t think excuses are what you want, really. I have none.”

  “You could at least offer a little resistance.”

  He shrugged. “You’re both describing this situation accurately, just as you read the situation correctly last night. The tracker and the scout were in position and prepared. They saw that the clients weren’t going to be able to handle things, so they stepped in. The tracker took responsibility for the target, and made it an easy kill. The scout took charge of the environment and kept it safe: no interference, no witnesses left alive. You forgot nothing, and we all got home. It’s the way the hunting party is supposed to work. I’m very pleased with that part of the experience. It confirmed my faith in the professio
nals I chose to run this hunt. But I can’t defend my decision to let those two clients go after big game.”

  Debbie put her arms around Parish and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Michael. You’re such a weasel.” She stood up and stretched, then stepped into her sandals and said over her shoulder, “I have a class to teach.” She slipped out the door silently.

  Parish turned to Emily. “I have to go speak to the two clients. They’re probably already waiting for me. Do you want to come along?”

  She lay on her side and squinted up at him as though judging his sincerity. Suddenly she sat up. “All right.”

  They left the cabin and walked across the field and down the paved road toward the main lodge. “We have to keep in mind,” Parish said, “that these men are our customers. They pay us for all of this.”

  “The customer is always right?” She watched him closely.

  “We run a service for spoiled, childish people who have lots of money. Most of them have never done anything useful to get it. When they’re tired of their houses, they hire an architect and a decorator, then go off to Europe. When the house is done, they come back and tell people they did it all themselves. And this is the part that you need to know: they mean it. They believe what they’re saying. If you understand that, then you own them. Right now those two are probably very pleased with themselves, unaware that you and Debbie did everything for them. They should be aware that you and Debbie performed valuable services, but they’re feeling very potent and brave right now. That’s the way we want them to feel when they leave.”

  “Whenever you talk about clients, you sound as though you don’t even like them.”

  He glanced at her in surprise, then laughed. “Let’s just say the customer is limited in experience, but perfectible. You can’t judge him by the standards we use for ourselves.”

  She muttered, “I’m not likely to get that mixed up.”

  “I want you to remember that signs of contempt from a beautiful young woman might be particularly unproductive when I’m trying to teach these two clients.”

  “Debbie’s right. You are manipulative.”

  “I’m trying to be perfectly transparent right now. And I’m sincere about teaching these two. They’re strong, athletic, and eager. They’re both developing a taste for killing—a need for it that we can fulfill—and they’ll get better and better at it if we keep training them. People like Markham and Coleman are everything to us. They pay us. They share secrets with us. So let’s be careful what we say.”

  They had nearly reached the lodge. Emily could see that the two men’s cars were parked in the small lot across the gravel road in front of the building, a new two-seat Mercedes and a new BMW. The two men were flawlessly true to type. She stepped up onto the porch, but Parish held her arm. “Give me a couple of minutes alone with them first,” he whispered, and stepped inside.

  Emily walked to the water fountain, took a drink, then moved past it and sat down on the edge of the wooden porch, watching a hawk circling in a warm updraft high above the arroyo.

  Inside the building, Parish pulled three chairs into a triangle, sat down in one, and looked at Markham, then at Coleman. He lifted his right hand in a gesture to the two men to sit down facing him. He said, “Before we get started on the critique of the hunt, I want to say something about a side issue that I never brought up with either of you before. I almost hesitate to say anything about it, because I should already have taught you the etiquette of the hunt.”

  “What is it?” asked Coleman. “We’re here to learn everything we can.”

  “Let me say it as a story. Two amateurs go on a big-game hunt in Africa. They hire a professional hunter, who provides an expert tracker and an experienced scout. The hunt is set up competently. The tracker finds the game—say, a lion—and keeps close to it—maybe dangerously close—so it won’t disappear into the tall grass. The scout brings up the hunters, covers their backs, makes sure they’re safe. But the lion spots them too soon, and prepares to charge. The tracker jumps up and distracts him. The hunters shoot, and get their lion. Everything seems to be over. But suddenly, out of the grass nearby, come two more lions. The hunters aren’t prepared for that, so the scout takes dead aim, and drops the two lions with two shots.” He paused, scrutinizing them. “Everybody gets to go home.” He waited.

  “What?” asked Markham after a few seconds. “I don’t think I understand. That’s us, but what am I missing? That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”

  “The two hunters. What do you think they should do, as a matter of etiquette?”

  “A tip?” gasped Coleman. Markham winced, but Coleman did not stop. “We paid you fifty thousand for this hunt. Are we supposed to tip you, too?”

  Parish stared at him coldly and in silence until Coleman’s eyes found their way to his feet. “I wasn’t referring to myself. You don’t tip the owner of a hotel or the captain of a ship.”

  “It’s for the girls,” Markham announced, as though he had discovered something nobody else had seen. “They took a risk, too. At least until we got there and killed the target.” He turned to Parish. “You’re right. We should give them something. What would be appropriate?” He grinned. “We don’t want to spoil them for you.”

  If there was anything in Parish’s eyes that could be called amusement, neither of them saw it. He appeared to be considering. “Twenty percent should do it.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?” Coleman said. His eyes looked thoughtful. “Do we split it so they each get five?”

  “No,” said Parish. “So they each get ten.”

  Coleman and Markham exchanged a quick glance. Markham said, “Well, thanks, Michael. Last night we were wondering if there was something we ought to do for them, weren’t we?” It was obviously a lie. “And then it kind of slipped.”

  “Then I’m glad I brought it up,” said Parish. “Now, I’m going to bring Emily in to help with the critique. The scout sometimes sees things the professional hunter misses, because she’s in closer. This is for your benefit, so don’t be shy about asking questions.” He stood and carried a chair from the wall to a spot beside his own. “Emily!” he called at the open doorway. He turned to the two men and said conspiratorially, “You might want to say something about your gift.”

  Emily stepped into the doorway, and the sun glowed through her dark hair for a second.

  Coleman said, “Hi, Emily. You know, Markham and I were talking, and there’s something we’d like you to have, to show you we appreciate the good job you did on our hunt. We didn’t know we’d be seeing you today, so you’ll have to give me a minute to write out the check.”

  Markham said quietly, “If you’re doing that, I may as well write the one for Debbie. Maybe we can give it to her after we’re through here.”

  Markham noticed that when Emily saw the number Coleman was putting on her check, she looked quickly at Parish, and her blue eyes were different. They were bright and intense, and her lips were turned up at the corners, but only a little, and they were tightly closed. Markham supposed that she was feeling gratitude, mixed with a bit of awkwardness, as people sometimes did in situations like this, but it didn’t exactly look like gratitude. It looked as though she thought something was funny and was having a difficult time keeping from laughing out loud.

  She took the check. “Thank you,” she said, and she seemed more attractive to Markham than before. He could see that Coleman could barely keep his hands off her. It was typical that Coleman would jump in early to be sure he was the one who gave Emily her check, leaving Markham to track down Debbie and face the barely veiled hostility he and Coleman both remembered from their first meeting, before the hunt.

  He decided it would serve Coleman right if he got Emily interested enough to have a relationship. He could end up married to a woman who was accustomed to killing people for money, who was comfortable with it. Coleman had more than enough money to make her consider dropping something heavy on his head as soon as the marriage c
ertificate was filed in the county courthouse.

  The thought pulled Markham into new territory. He found himself considering what sort of target Coleman would make. It would be amazing, incredible, to hire Parish to set up a hunt with Coleman as the target. This time, Emily could be the bait, and take him to a quiet, private spot. Markham, the old friend, would arrive unexpectedly. For a moment, Coleman would wonder if it was a practical joke, a surprise party. Markham pushed the idea out of his mind. He signed the check to Debbie, tore it out of the book, and set it on the table where it could be seen. Then he went back to his chair.

  “Let’s start with your reactions,” said Parish. “Did you feel that your hunt was worth the time, the money, and the risk?”

  “It was the best,” said Coleman. “It’s the most intense activity that human beings do. It has anticipation, bravery, cunning, camaraderie …” He looked at Emily. “Even temptation.”

  Markham detested Coleman for his eagerness always to jump in too quickly, leaving him nothing to say. “I agree.”

  Parish did not seem to notice. “Fine. We wanted you to have a good experience. The rest of what we offer is training. We want you to improve each time out. That’s the spirit in which we make these critiques.”

  “Fire away,” said Coleman.

  “First, when you stepped in the door of the restaurant, you took the wrong approach to the target. What happens in this situation is, two men walk in the door. In a restaurant, bar, or small store, the target will always feel a blast of air from the door opening or hear it and look, or see it in his peripheral vision. He will make an evaluation. It’s primal stuff: Do I know these two men? No. Are these two going about business that has nothing to do with me, or are they a threat of some kind? Once you pass this examination and the target determines that you’re not interested in him, he won’t stare at you for a time, because it’s rude.”