still and silent.
"The women have gone out," Sean said. "Probably gone shopping."
"Anyone ever tell you you were a male chauvinist pig?" Richard inquired, not bothering to turn his head.
"Any number of femi-nazis," he replied. "I view it as a badge of honor. Name me one woman who doesn't like to shop. Your wife, for instance? Didn't she have staggering credit card bills?"
"You read the trial transcripts, Sean. You know that as well as I do. You never forget anything."
"True enough." He wandered into the room, closing the door behind him, closing in the murky darkness. He sat down in the chair beside the bed. "So what do you think of her?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You already asked me that."
"What happened this morning? I left the two of you alone, and I expected…"
"What did you expect, Sean?" He let the savagery emerge in his voice. "You think I'd have her spread out on the desk, her skirt pushed up to her waist?"
"I'm the girl's father," Sean said coolly. "Watch your mouth."
"You're the girl's father, and you don't have any qualms about handing her over to me."
"Oh, I have qualms aplenty. I'm willing to take the chance."
"It's not you who's taking the chance, is it, Sean? What if I turn out to be a crazed murderer? Another Ted Bundy?" He sat up, turning on the light beside the bed, and Sean blinked like a blinded owl. "You know what they say. That I murdered my wife and children, that I probably killed countless other women. They haven't found Sally Norton's body, but that's the only thing that's kept them from charging me with that murder as well. What if I can't resist? If I have to stab every woman I fuck?"
"Trying to shock me, Richard? I'm a little hard to horrify at this stage in my life. I can understand why you might want to kill your wife. Why on earth would you want to kill Cassidy?"
He sank back on the bed, suddenly weary of the man's obtuse egotism. "Maybe for the simple reason that it would hurt you, and you're beginning to piss me off."
"I've always pissed you off, Tiernan. Let's not pussyfoot around. We've made a Faustian bargain, you and I. My daughter for your story. You want someone to screw, and for some reason you've hit on my daughter. So be it. I need someone to help me with the book, and she's a talented girl. I'm not about to renege. Are you?"
He curved his mouth in a unpleasant smile. "No," he said. "Though I have one question."
"Just one?" Sean said boisterously. "Fire away."
"If we have a Faustian pact, just which one of us is the devil?"
There was a momentary silence. "That, my boy, is what's going to make this book a classic."
She was being watched. It had taken her several blocks of city streets to recognize the feeling, but when she turned and looked around her, no one seemed particularly interested in a tall, well-rounded redhead dressed far too casually for the Upper East Side.
She'd been right about the sunshine and smiling faces. The bright morning had turned dark and glowering, the people around her were striding down the wide sidewalks, their heads down, their perfectly painted faces blank. The air smelled like thunder and exhaust.
She headed toward the park. Not the place to go in search of peace and safety, but she needed trees, even ones that were half-dead from pollution. She needed to watch children playing, to see life, to forget about Richard Tiernan and his twisted destiny.
She was being followed. She entered the park at Seventy-second Street in a small group of people, and she knew one of them was there with her. But whether it was the silk-suited yuppie, the mumbling homeless woman, the cop, or the jogger, she had no idea. It could just as easily have been the pretzel salesman or the elegant gentleman with the military bearing.
And then she knew.
She walked slowly, aimlessly, making it easy for him to keep up with her. She stopped and bought a bag of popcorn, then sat on one of the relatively clean benches. She tossed a piece of popcorn
"The women have gone out," Sean said. "Probably gone shopping."
"Anyone ever tell you you were a male chauvinist pig?" Richard inquired, not bothering to turn his head.
"Any number of femi-nazis," he replied. "I view it as a badge of honor. Name me one woman who doesn't like to shop. Your wife, for instance? Didn't she have staggering credit card bills?"
"You read the trial transcripts, Sean. You know that as well as I do. You never forget anything."
"True enough." He wandered into the room, closing the door behind him, closing in the murky darkness. He sat down in the chair beside the bed. "So what do you think of her?"
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You already asked me that."
"What happened this morning? I left the two of you alone, and I expected…"
"What did you expect, Sean?" He let the savagery emerge in his voice. "You think I'd have her spread out on the desk, her skirt pushed up to her waist?"
"I'm the girl's father," Sean said coolly. "Watch your mouth."
"You're the girl's father, and you don't have any qualms about handing her over to me."
"Oh, I have qualms aplenty. I'm willing to take the chance."
"It's not you who's taking the chance, is it, Sean? What if I turn out to be a crazed murderer? Another Ted Bundy?" He sat up, turning on the light beside the bed, and Sean blinked like a blinded owl. "You know what they say. That I murdered my wife and children, that I probably killed countless other women. They haven't found Sally Norton's body, but that's the only thing that's kept them from charging me with that murder as well. What if I can't resist? If I have to stab every woman I fuck?"
"Trying to shock me, Richard? I'm a little hard to horrify at this stage in my life. I can understand why you might want to kill your wife. Why on earth would you want to kill Cassidy?"
He sank back on the bed, suddenly weary of the man's obtuse egotism. "Maybe for the simple reason that it would hurt you, and you're beginning to piss me off."
"I've always pissed you off, Tiernan. Let's not pussyfoot around. We've made a Faustian bargain, you and I. My daughter for your story. You want someone to screw, and for some reason you've hit on my daughter. So be it. I need someone to help me with the book, and she's a talented girl. I'm not about to renege. Are you?"
He curved his mouth in a unpleasant smile. "No," he said. "Though I have one question."
"Just one?" Sean said boisterously. "Fire away."
"If we have a Faustian pact, just which one of us is the devil?"
There was a momentary silence. "That, my boy, is what's going to make this book a classic."
She was being watched. It had taken her several blocks of city streets to recognize the feeling, but when she turned and looked around her, no one seemed particularly interested in a tall, well-rounded redhead dressed far too casually for the Upper East Side.
She'd been right about the sunshine and smiling faces. The bright morning had turned dark and glowering, the people around her were striding down the wide sidewalks, their heads down, their perfectly painted faces blank. The air smelled like thunder and exhaust.
She headed toward the park. Not the place to go in search of peace and safety, but she needed trees, even ones that were half-dead from pollution. She needed to watch children playing, to see life, to forget about Richard Tiernan and his twisted destiny.
She was being followed. She entered the park at Seventy-second Street in a small group of people, and she knew one of them was there with her. But whether it was the silk-suited yuppie, the mumbling homeless woman, the cop, or the jogger, she had no idea. It could just as easily have been the pretzel salesman or the elegant gentleman with the military bearing.
And then she knew.
She walked slowly, aimlessly, making it easy for him to keep up with her. She stopped and bought a bag of popcorn, then sat on one of the relatively clean benches. She tossed a piece of popcorn
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