Page 31 of Kill For Me Kill For You
‘It’s the set-up that is so fascinating,’ said Wendy. ‘Two strangers meet on a train, by accident. They get to talking and we find out one of them wants to kill his father, and the other has secret fantasies about killing his wife. The point is both of them have a good reason to kill somebody. But if the husband kills the ex-wife, he’s automatically a suspect. Same with the son if he tried to kill his father. Then one of them has the idea . . .’
‘They swap murders,’ said Amanda, smiling and nodding.
‘Right. That way each of them can set up the perfect alibi, and they can’t be tied to the crime. There’s no connection between the two men.’
Hearing that out loud sent a shiver of excitement over Amanda’s skin.
‘Jesus, that’s a great idea,’ said Amanda.
Never before had Amanda wished real harm to anyone – not until evil had taken her life apart. That’s what Amanda felt – that Crone had an evil inside of him. How else could you kill a child? It had to be evil. And that kind of sickness must be stopped. For the sake of the child he’d killed, and the children who were now in danger. She wanted to kill him so badly it had taken over her life. That had isolated her even further. She never spoke to friends, ex-colleagues – anyone, really, apart from Farrow. And here was someone fired with the same kind of hate that was keeping her alive.
Both women stubbed out their cigarettes.
Amanda didn’t want to be the first to say it aloud. To state it plainly. That would be like shifting tectonic plates beneath the earth – it would inevitably result in a volcanic eruption. Once she spoke, there would be no going back.
‘We could do that for real. We could swap murders,’ said Amanda. ‘What are the chances of the two of us meeting? The group is supposed to be anonymous, so there’s no connection between us.’
‘We’re strangers in therapy,’ said Wendy with a smile. ‘But let’s be clear about this. We’re talking about wiping out the scum that killed our children. If Quinn gets hit by a truck on Fifth Avenue, the cops will be up my ass for a week. They’ll think I had something to do with it. Same with you if something happened to Crone. The only way to do this is to make sure we have a solid alibi. I’ll kill Crone for you, while you’re somewhere far away, with dozens of alibi witnesses . . .’
Amanda cut her off, ‘And I’ll kill Quinn while you’re somewhere else, with your alibi witnesses. No one knows we’re friends. I want justice for my poor girl, and my husband. And I’ll get it or die trying.’
Wendy slumped in her chair, as if she had been struck. She blew out her cheeks then downed the rest of her Negroni. Sitting there for a moment, her eyes wandered. Amanda could see her working through the idea. Thinking of all the angles. All the possible ways this might go wrong. Eventually, Wendy sat up, leaned forward.
‘It will work,’ said Wendy.
‘I know it will,’ said Amanda.
Wendy held out her hand, said, ‘Let’s keep talking. Fuck the Wendy shit. You know my name is Naomi, so let’s go with that. We could do this, but we’ll need to do it right. Tell me everything you know about Wallace Crone.’
‘Are we still just talking?’ asked Amanda.
Wendy pulled her seat closer, lowered her voice. ‘What do you think?’ she said.
14
Scott
Scott hadn’t set foot in the district attorney’s offices since the day he’d left. Before Scott went to law school, he’d bummed around in various jobs, gone traveling, then got work in the court office. It was there that he saw lawyers in thousand-dollar suits and decided he wanted a piece of the action. He worked hard, graduated law school and hit the bar exam out of the park. He clerked for a judge for a while before securing a position in the DA’s office. That’s when the initial attraction of money fell away. Within a week of being in the DA’s office, Scott knew he wasn’t like the other assistant district attorneys who were putting in their time in the saddle so they could make enough connections to leap into a mid six-figure salary in a big firm. For Scott, this was a calling. He was putting things right – for society.
And for his younger self, the part of him that still knew fear even when just thinking about a locker room or a quiet school hallway. If it wasn’t for wanting to have a better life with Ruth, Scott would still be in this office putting bad guys away.
He occasionally played racquetball with one of the assistant DAs from his time there, but even that guy had now left his post. There were some career prosecutors who he’d recognize if he saw them again, but they were never overly friendly. He knew them enough to pass the time of day – that was it.
The place hadn’t changed much, even if the personnel had. Still the same tiled floor, still the same old leather furniture in the small reception office, still the same smell of damp in the air. This was an old building, and the pipes groaned late at night with the effort of heating it.
‘Mr. Rush will see you now,’ said the receptionist.
Scott followed the receptionist down an oak-paneled hallway to the last office. She knocked, opened the door and said, ‘I have Scott Gelman for you,’ then left.
The man in the green leather chair, behind a wide mahogany desk piled with files, was David O. Rush, the assistant district attorney in charge of Ruth’s case. His office was plain, painted an industrial beige, with a few watercolors of cattle and castles scattered around.
‘Mr. Gelman, good to meet you,’ said Rush, coming forward with a smile and an open palm, ready for a manly shake.
‘Please, Scott is fine.’
‘David. Likewise,’ he said, pumping Scott’s arm in a media-trained handshake. Rush looked about the same age as Scott. He was a small man with an air of unearned authority and an ill-fitting suit that came straight off the rack.
‘Nice to meet you too,’ said Scott, letting go of the man’s hand.
