Six doors away, Todd Ames, looking as if he were preparing for a GQ photo shoot-white button-down shirt, apricot colored ascot, white linen pants, steel gray hair in perfect shape-leaned to the side of Susan Richards's door. He appeared to be in clinical shock.
As Tobin reached him, he saw that. 45 dangled from Ames's left hand. Tobin recognized the weapon as Ames's own. Ames did not seem aware that he held the gun.
Tobin glanced at him, then pushed inside.
The curtains were still drawn. The room stank of bourbon. The bed was a mess. There was the scent of sleep and sweat and vomit. With the door closed, Tobin felt as if he had stepped down into a deep hole that had sealed itself behind him.
She sat curled in a chair. She was naked. There was for the moment nothing erotic about her. Indeed her nakedness was terrifying because it was obviously symbolic of her mental state.
She turned her beautiful aging face to look up at Tobin. She said, "You know the funny thing?"
"No," he said, "no, I don't know the funny thing."
"Prison isn't what scares me."
"What scares you, Susan?"
"The photographers."
"Why do they scare you?"
He wished it were light in here. He wished it did not smell so womb-warm. He wished her eyes did not look so unfocused.
"The way they used to follow Marilyn Monroe around. You remember?"
"Yes."
"They'd get right up to her and she'd start to cry and you could see the panic in her eyes. That's what scares me."
"You killed them, then?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She laughed. "Tobin, it was the only career I had. Once it came out that I'd had to pay to be on it-"
"God," he said, and sank down onto the ottoman. He leaned back a bit toward the bureau where he could smell the sweet perfume and even sweeter sachet. He liked the female smells and for the first time he became aware of the sexuality of her naked body. He felt ashamed that lust had as always triumphed over compassion.
"What was the gunshot? You trying to kill yourself?"
She laughed and for a moment sounded genuinely delighted. "What, and ruin my makeup? No, I was just trying to get attention, Tobin." She pointed with an elegant hand to a hole in the wall. "I just fired the gun because I thought it would sound good. I had to do something." Then her face grew sad again, like a small girl hearing terrible news, and she said, "You didn't want me to be the killer, did you?"
"No."
"That's very nice of you."
He raised his head again and stared at her. "When the captain comes, don't say anything."
"What?"
"Don't say anything until you've got a lawyer."
"It doesn't matter, Tobin. It really doesn't."
"It matters to me."
"I appreciate that."
Tobin said, "Why kill Sanderson too? Iris Graves had discovered what was going on-Ken Norris demanding a part of your salary-but why Sanderson?"
"Because he was helping the reporter and even if he hadn't wanted to, he would have exposed me."
"They worked together?"
"Yes."
He was about to ask her more but the door creaked open and Captain Hackett put his head inside.
"I just had a conversation with Todd Ames, Miss Richards," Captain Hackett said. "He told me what you tried to do and what you confessed to. Are those things true?"
"Remember what I said about a lawyer," Tobin said. "Yes, Captain," Susan Richards said. "They are true."
"God," Tobin said. "God."
She'd been right, Susan had. He would not have been unhappy to learn that the killer was Jere Farris or Todd Ames or Cassie McDowell or even Alicia Farris. But he genuinely liked Susan Richards. Genuinely.
Captain Hackett said, "I'll be outside, Tobin. You help her get dressed and then bring her out. All right?"
Tobin did the only thing he could do. He nodded.