Hollis Grant Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Joan Boswell
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in front of the TV or sewing, I prepare it. On Saturday evening I added seconal the doctor prescribed for me in January when I had back spasms.” Pride resonated in his voice. “I was home by nine forty-five and by then I’d killed Paul, disposed of my runner’s bib and changed into street clothes. The stupid cops were interviewing the dropouts. I told them I hadn’t been in the race, I’d only run along with my son to encourage him. I said I was going out to the turnaround point to cheer him on, and they bought it. Hell, they didn’t even ask my name.”
He stopped as if he expected her to commend him, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“When I woke Linda at ten fifteen, I said I’d just come in from a jog and couldn’t believe she was still in bed. What with being late and seeing me beardless, she didn’t ask any questions.”
“I suppose you didn’t register for the race?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I did. At the beginning, not having a bib number would have made me conspicuous. I gave a phony name, and the address is this apartment—very simple. I dropped out at the first go-hut, where I stuffed the bib and my gloves into the tank. I did my research ahead of time and read running magazines. I’d thought of one problem—I needed to wear gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. I was afraid they would make me noticeable, but in the magazines’ photos, many runners wore gloves. I also read how tightly runners pack at the beginning—how it took many minutes for those at the rear to actually begin. It was a gamble, but I knew if I stabbed Paul in exactly the right spot, he wouldn’t cry out, and the press of the crowd would hold him upright until I moved away.”
Her horror increased. Knox felt no remorse, only pride. “Knox, forget this. I’m an honourable person. Can’t I trade my life for my silence?”
“I’m sorry, it’s not possible. It’ll be harder to kill you—I don’t hate you. Actually, I don’t even dislike you, but my life would be over if I was charged with murder or the information Paul uncovered became public.” Knox sounded sincerely sorry. “You do realize it’s really nothing personal. You’re too much of a threat. Now that I’ve gone this far, there’s no stopping.”
How could she talk to a man who wanted her complicity in accepting the necessity of her own death?
“Time to go. Get up. I’m keeping you tied, but you can walk downstairs.”
Once she reached the ground floor, her life would be measured in tiny increments. But if she balked, he’d probably knock her out and drag her down step by step. She needed a plan, needed to buy time to devise a new strategy to save her life.
Delay—delay was her only hope. In as reasonable a tone as a throat filled with fear allowed, she said, “Knox, please don’t go through with this. I had nothing to do with what Paul did to you. Please give me a chance.” She willed Knox to agree to a reprieve.
“No way, Hollis. One more death won’t send me deeper into hell. If it would prevent me from serving time in prison, I’d kill ten more people. You chose the wrong guy, Hollis.” He sniggered, “Too bad you had such lousy taste in men. You’re not a lucky woman.” Knox pulled the cords tighter. “Get up.”
She had to stop him.
“If you won’t release me, I should hear the whole story. Be fair—I deserve that much. I want to know what happened—why Paul blackmailed you.” She ventured the shakiest of laughs. “Prisoners are given one last request and, since I don’t smoke, I can’t plead for a cigarette. Instead, I want to hear your story. If I’m going to die, I deserve that.”
“You’re stalling. I think you’re lying. In front of everyone, you looked directly at me and said you’d read Paul’s notes and knew all about everything. That’s why I shot at you and why I sent the letter; I wanted you to tell me you’d stop. Paul told me a hundred times he’d recorded every detail and tucked the file away in a safe place. I broke in to find those files, but now I’m pretty sure he hid them somewhere where no one will find them—they aren’t in the house.” He cocked his head to one side and gave a mirthless chuckle. “And Sally Staynor running around saying she knew everything. I didn’t think she did, but I certainly fixed her.”
Hollis knew he was totally mad, but she had to keep trying.” I did tell you the truth. I knew nothing about you, because I didn’t find the file cards—I read the manuscript, and in it Paul gave the men and women he wrote about false names.” Hollis tried to instill doubt in Knox’s mind. “Your name and information is probably in the papers the police took to the station.”
Knox strode back and forth.
“Damn detective, damn police. Meddlers, do-gooders, the world is full of interfering people. I doubt if he used actual names, and unless he did, Simpson will never connect me with Paul.” He straightened and a complacent smile curled the corners of his mouth. “I’ll have to take the risk. Paul bluffed to obtain money, to keep me uneasy and ready to pay. You’re a mistake. Once you’re dead, no one will connect me to Paul’s death.”
“Please tell me what Paul found?”
“Why should I? It’s been a secret for years. I owe you nothing. Don’t give me that last request crap.” He paced for another minute and then moved closer to Hollis. Her body felt exposed, vulnerable to a knife sliding in and splitting her open like a stuffed toy eviscerated and leaking its guts. Hardly daring to breathe, she waited.
“Since you’ll die anyway—I’ll tell you part of the story—the part I can bear talking about. When I was a kid, I did things it sickens me to remember. If it came out, my life would be over. The church never again would allow me to do anything with young people. Where would I be without my place in the community, without my family or the church? I’d be a pariah.” A long pause. “You must see I have to protect the secret at any cost?” Again the pleading note. “I’ve hidden my story for more than thirty years, and I’ll continue to hide. I’ve remade my life. I’m not the same person. Paul should have been smart enough to see I’d go to any length to stop him from destroying me.”
“Was Paul threatening to tell?”
“Tell.” Knox considered. “Eventually, I suppose I realized he would. When tormenting me no longer amused him, he would have marshalled the information and presented it on some occasion when he could have maximized the positive impact for himself. He’d have said something like, ‘I greatly regret having to do this, but I can’t live with myself and the thought of the young and innocent children with whom this man comes in contact.’ Yes, he would have told, but that wasn’t why I killed him—I did it because he demanded more money.”
Her arms cramped. She twisted to relieve the weight of her body cutting off her circulation. Moving released dust. Breathing shallowly, she tried not to inhale as it settled.
“Why did Paul demand money?”
“Not for himself. He didn’t take a cent for himself. Not a cent.”
“But . . .”
“He extorted money from me, but it wasn’t for him.” Knox’s jaw locked, and he spoke in a harsh tone. “All right, I’ll tell you this much. My trouble involved homosexuality. I was . . .” He hesitated before he said firmly, “A victim. As a result, I hate gays. I know what they do to innocent boys.” He paced again before he moved closer to her and emphasized his next words with a kick that caught her in the stomach and made her gag. “He forced me to donate two hundred dollars a month to Gay Pride. He insisted I give the cash to him each month.”
He kicked Hollis again, this time connecting painfully with the flesh wound on her upper thigh. She knew she was substituting for Paul.
“Of course, I didn’t write a cheque, because I couldn’t risk Linda finding out. Paul labelled it a ‘business transaction’. Each month he provided me with the previous month’s receipt made out to ‘Anonymous donor’.” Knox snarled, “He told me to hang on to the receipts to file with my income tax and claim as a charitable donation.