"But why? She knew her grandfather had been brutally murdered—"
Vic's expression softened. "That was Haley, MacCrae. If she knew the killer, understood his motives, she'd think she could reason with him, get him to turn himself in. That's the way she operated. She never did believe people did bad things for bad reasons."
That was true, Garvin thought, remembering the woman who had been his wife. She would have had the courage—and the blindness—to arrange to meet someone she knew was a killer. She would have believed enough in her own goodness, her own invulnerability, to confront a killer with the truth. If the killer was a friend, she would put a positive spin on his motives. You weren't in your right mind. You were provoked. It was self-defense. That was Haley Linwood MacCrae, a woman whose optimism was untempered by the harsh realities of life.
Garvin reached inside the car and grabbed Otto's collar. "I'll hold him while you slip out. If you try and steal my car, Denardo, I'll let Otto have you."
Denardo didn't need to be told twice. In a half second he was out of the station wagon and on his feet. Otto twisted out of Garvin's grip and loped after Denardo, not letting him out of his sight. "It's okay, poochie. I ain't going anywhere."
Leaving Annie's station wagon rammed up against the telephone pole and the crowd looking on, mystified, they all got into Garvin's car. Otto in back, Garvin and Vic Denardo up front.
"Christ," Vic said, "I smell like dog slobber."
Garvin didn't reply.
When they got back to Sarah's house, the police and an ambulance had arrived. Two paramedics were wheeling Sarah out on a stretcher.
"She's not here," Vic said.
He meant Annie. Garvin gave a curt nod. If Annie were there, she'd be at Sarah's side.
"She must have seen the keys too," Vic said.
"How the hell would she recognize the key to the Linwood house?"
"How should I know? Maybe Sarah showed it to her. Like I said, it's unusual." He shuddered. "This thing's creepy."
Garvin had already swung the car around and was heading down the hill before the police could recognize them and ask questions. Annie didn't have a car. She would have had to take a cab or rely on public transportation. Either way, she wouldn't have that much of a head start.
"What're you thinking?" Vic asked worriedly beside him.
Garvin kept his eyes on the road. "I'm thinking we're playing right into this bastard's hands. If he touches Annie—"
"He won't. We'll get there in time, MacCrae. She can't be that far ahead of us." Vic settled back in the leather seat but didn't look comfortable. "It could be a woman, you know."
Gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, Garvin shook his head. He hadn't dug deep enough. Five years ago, when he'd checked into Sarah's finances just as Haley had and had found nothing, he'd assumed there'd been nothing.
He hadn't guessed that somebody knowledgeable and clever— somebody with everything at stake—had been there first, covering up his tracks.
"No. It's a man."
Annie stood at the front gate of the Linwood house on Pacific Heights. She'd fled Sarah's house just as the police were screaming up the hill, leaving Sarah with instructions to have them send someone over to the Linwood house.
Convinced that Vic Denardo would already be there with her car and Otto, Annie had headed to Pacific Heights herself. She could understand Denardo's reasoning. He would think he had no choice. If he didn't get to the Linwood house in time, the real killer would have a chance to plant evidence against Vic and get out before anyone was the wiser.
But if he did get there in time, he ran the risk of playing into the real killer's hands.
The killer wanted Vic Denardo there, Annie thought. That was why he'd deliberately left Sarah's keys on the table. He wanted Vic Denardo to come to him at the Linwood house. He wanted to kill him and finally close the Linwood murder case.
Linwood murderer killed in self-defense after he returns to the scene of the crime.
But the real murderer hadn't counted on Annie recognizing the distinctive key too, remembering it from that afternoon when Sarah had come back from her visit to the house where she'd lived most of her life.
Even as she'd raced down the steps and found a cab, Annie had known she was taking a huge chance. But she couldn't not act. Denardo had a head start on her. By the time she explained everything to the police, convinced them that a simple missing key might mean murder, an innocent man could be killed.
When she arrived at the Linwood house, however, there was no sign of Vic Denardo, Otto, or her car.
"This is nuts," she muttered under her breath.
What if, in the rush of adrenaline, she'd gotten it all wrong? The missing key meant nothing, the missing painting had nothing to do with the murders of Thomas Linwood and Haley Linwood MacCrae.