The Viper

The first call Lerman received—on October 23—was followed by an October 24 diary entry: Ran into Jingo at the Monster yesterday. Can’t get what he told me out of my head. Question one—is it true? I’m thinking sure why not? Z and Sally Bones. I can see how that would happen. Question two. What’s it worth? A hundred K? An even Mil?

On the morning of November 2, Lerman received his second call. That night he made the diary entry describing the dinner he had with Adrienne and Sonny: Took A and S to the Lakeshore. Said hello to Pauly Bats at the bar. Big Pauly! Nobody fucks with Pauly Bats!! Explained the plan to A and S. Adie worries like always. What if? What if? What if? Like her mother. Sonny doesn’t talk. But Sonny likes money. Now we’ll have money. Serious money!

He received a third call the evening of November 4, and on November 5 he made this diary entry: Got Z’s number and made the call. The asshole picked up. I asked him how much it was worth for me to forget everything I knew about Sally Bones. I told him to think about it. I made the scumbag worry.

On November 6 Lerman quit his job at the Beer Monster and recorded the event in the diary.

On the evening of November 12, he received a fourth call, and on November 13 he made this diary entry: Called Z again. Told him I figured an even Mil was the right number to save his evil fucking ass. In used twenties. Whining son of a bitch said that was like two suitcases. I told him so what, you worthless prick. What the fuck do I care about suitcases? You got ten days I told him.

Early on the morning of November 23, Lerman received the fifth call. That same evening, the evening of his fatal trip to Ziko Slade’s lodge, he made his final diary entry: Called Z, told him his time was up, he better have the fucking Mil. He said he did. I told him to have it ready tonight, make sure he’s alone. I walk with the Mil, or the whole fucking world hears about Sally Bones.

Lerman’s diary contained no mention of the six calls he received from the owner of the prepaid phone. Why had Lerman kept that element out of a written record that was in its other respects such a detailed admission of criminal intent?

Gurney wondered if the omission might be as important to the case as the decapitation.

29

GURNEY SECURED MADELEINE’S CELLO IN THE REAR SEAT of the Outback and set out at twelve thirty for his two o’clock appointment. Harbane was less than fifty miles away, but the route was hilly, snow was falling, and there was a chance of getting caught behind one of the road plows.

The broad valley that stretched in a westerly direction from Walnut Crossing was bereft of human activity. There was no traffic. The sporadic herds of cows he’d noted on his trips to Attica were out of sight, sheltering in their ramshackle barns. The snow-covered landscape seemed as lifeless as whitewashed stone. Near the end of the valley, he turned onto the road that led up over Blackmore Mountain into the next county.

He spent most of the drive wrestling with the implications of a second person being involved in the blackmail plot and with the perplexing fact that Lerman’s phone contacts with that person began the day before “Jingo” provided the information that made the plot possible. It was hard to see how that sequence made sense.

Unless . . . the scheme to blackmail Slade had been devised by someone other than Lerman. Say, by the owner of the anonymous phone. Perhaps that person and Jingo were using Lerman as a front man to minimize their own exposure.

He wondered if Kyra Barstow had given any thought to these issues. He pulled onto the shoulder and made the call.

“Hi, David. Are you calling about your rabbit?”

“Something a bit more complicated.”

“I love complication.”