She shook her head, then arched her back, a sexy move on account of the way it thrust her breasts against the fabric of the dress. He thought:
She thinks seducing me is going to be her way out of this, "You took something off of him." "Did I?" She smiled scornfully.
"Don't play games," he snapped. "I'm not in the mood."
She tried to outstare him, snickered again, then gestured toward the table. "Lots of loot over there, Detective. Check it out. Take your pick."
He made up his mind then that if they were going to play, the game would be hardball and he would win.
"You never tried to sell any of the stuff you took?"
She shrugged.
"What about the money?"
She casually gestured toward an old wooden desk. "Bottom right-hand drawer. It's all there, every cent."
"Do you think that makes it all right? Just give it back and everyone forgives?"
She shrugged again.
"You're a pretty strange girl."
"Think so?"
"That's how you style yourself." He stared at her. "Isn't it?"
She touched one breast, then wriggled slightly in her chair. He found the gesture pathetic. Cornered, desperate, she was trying to extricate herself the only way she knew by seduction. Still, feeble as it was, the attempt told him he had engaged her. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the Omega mock-up, tossed it into the air, caught it in his fist.
"What did you do with it?"
"If I tell you, you won't believe me."
"Try me."
"I smashed it into pieces, then worked the crumbs into a painting, the one at Erica's."
He believed her. After seeing what she had downstairs, he knew nothing she could say would surprise him.
"The guy who killed Dietz killed him for that. How does that make you feel?" She looked at him, stunned; she didn't answer. "What's the matter?" "On TV you acted like you thought I killed Dietz,"
"You got me mixed up with the reporter. Thing is, the guy who killed Dietz will kill you, too, if he finds you. He could have been the one who showed up this morning."
She pouted. "Right, I should be ' grateful' it was you instead."
"Tell me something, Gelsey?"
"What?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you drug guys and rob them? If you aren't interested in their money, what are you interested in?" She shrugged again. "Trophies."
"Trophies of what?"
"My adventures, you know.. "No, I don't. Tell me about it?" She smiled scornfully. "Why should I? What's it to you?
Are you some kind of cop-shrink or something?"
"I want to understand it. Why did you put all those guys to sleep?
Explain it to me… if you can."
"Oh, I can explain it!" "So explain," he demanded. She didn't answer.
She's ashamed. "You wanted to humiliate them, right?" She smiled. "Maybe something like that."
She looked uncomfortable. Another probing question and he felt she might clam up. He didn't want that, but he was getting tired of her nonsense.
He decided to give her a little smack.
"You're a clever little actress," he said, contemptuously.
She snickered. "I don't see myself that way."
"How do you see yourself?"
"I'm an artist."
"Right"-he stood-"a pretty good one, too-not that I know all that much about it. So, tell me-why's the Great Artist going around drugging guys and robbing them? What'd you do-show them some leg, a little tit, get them going that way then play them for fools? You've been trying to do that to me ever since I showed up here, squeezing yourself into that slinky little dress, then playing peekaboo with me down in the maze."
"Don't flatter yourself, Janek!" Their eyes locked. He thought: She's ready to fall. I can take her down anytime. "One,,'ve made a study of your technique," he said. thing struck me."
"Oh? What's that?"
"The men you go after-you always give them the option. You never ask to go up to their rooms. Always wait till they ask you. That's when your act gets real good. ', I really shouldn't, you being married and all…
And then, of course, they ask you again. So, when you get up there and squeeze a few KO drops into their drinks, it's all their fault. Isn't it? Their fault. Never yours." During his attack, he observed her growing progressively more angry.
Now, suddenly, she turned away. But he continued, relentless.
"Oh, you're so much purer than Diana's other girls." He spoke with studied scorn. "You don't care about money. Uh-uh. It's the head trip that turns you on. Prey on guys' weaknesses. Put them to sleep.
Then shame them with your mirror-writing messages. Know what I think, Gelsey? I think Diana and the others are the purer ones. I detest what they do, but I understand it. Money drives people to do a lot of things, legal and illegal. But to mind-fuck someone just because it gives you a buzz-I've got no respect for that at at all."