“What do you mean?”
Flint took a long breath. “She invited Benson over. She offered him a little demo of what she does for a living. Told him, ‘What the hey, you know what I do, you might as well get the tour.’ Gets him strapped down to that cross thing. Then she kills him.” He ran his index finger quickly across his throat. I shook my head, but Flint continued. “She leaves. She drives around for a while. Calls you. Tells you she’s been out of town, whatever. Arranges to meet you at her place. Makes sure she arrives after you do so you get the idea she’s been away, hasn’t been home for a while. She does this thing at the door, like maybe there’s something wrong with the lock, plants the idea with you that maybe someone broke in. You go inside, everything seems fine, she finds a reason to send you downstairs to get something, the coffee you said. You go down, you find the body. She comes down, acts all surprised. I’ll bet she screamed just right, huh? Made it seem like she was seeing Benson’s dead body for the first time.”
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t an act.”
“Oh, it was an act,” Flint said. “A command performance, just for you.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“And the beauty of it is, not only does she have you convinced that she didn’t know anything about it, she’s set it up perfectly, making you her alibi. You’re here before she arrives. So how can it be her? She wasn’t even here. And you’re the one who can testify to that fact. And how shocked she was at finding some guy who’s bled to death in her torture chamber.”
Flint adjusted his hat. “She used you to try to get Benson to back off. And now she’s using you to cover up the fact that she murdered him.”
I was going to tell him no one more time, that he had it all wrong. But I wasn’t sure I could say it with complete confidence.
14
When he was done with me, Flint let us both go. Sarah got in her Camry and drove off without saying a word. She either didn’t care whether I got back to the city, or assumed that I would be taking Trixie’s car, since I had the keys to it.
I didn’t know whether Flint was going to want Trixie’s car for his investigation. I couldn’t see why, since the murder hadn’t taken place in it. If it were peppered with incriminating evidence, she’d hardly have left it behind and taken mine.
When I was in the back of the police car, Flint had asked me for a full description of my Virtue, including plate number, which I happened to know, since I’m good with licenses, phone numbers, and the like. He was on his cell right away, passing on the description.
The thing was, I needed wheels. It would probably be easier to take the car and say sorry later, if I had to, than ask Flint for permission to drive off in it now.
I got into the front seat of the GF300, settling into the leather upholstery. One glance at the dash told me this was a more complicated vehicle than my Virtue. A multitude of buttons and switches, including about a dozen on the steering wheel itself, and a tiny screen in the middle of the dash that had to be some sort of navigation system. Turn on the car, and a map showing the car’s exact location would probably pop up.
There were some bits of paper in a recessed tray between the seats, what looked like gas receipts, a car wash ticket. Impulsively, I grabbed them and slid them into my jacket pocket, then started looking for the ignition so I could slip the key in and get on my way.
There was a sharp rapping on the driver’s window and I jerked my head around to see a very annoyed Flint looking at me through the glass.
I fumbled around, looking for the power window button. Flint, tired of waiting, opened the door and said, “What the hell you think you’re doing?”
“Heading back into the city,” I said.
“Not in this car you’re not,” he said. “Get out.”
I did as I was told, handed the keys to Flint. “But Trixie took my car. She said I could use hers.”
“Oh, gee,” said Flint, putting the keys in his pocket, shrugging elaborately. “If it’s okay with her, then I guess it’s fine.” He shook his head in disgust. “Do you really work at a newspaper? Have you ever even seen a crime show on TV?”
“I guess your forensic people have to go over the car,” I said.
Flint smiled. “You can catch a train back downtown. There’s a station only half a mile from here. I’ll have one of my people give you a lift.”