The line from the old movie said, "When you commit a murder you make twenty-five mistakes. If you can think of fifteen of them, you're a genius." Perhaps Patrick, in all his meticulous scheming, had simply forgotten about Pepper's things. In the rush of the moment, he had hurried a bit too much.
"I don't know," he said, almost grunting it, still looking at the wall.
Karl had got what he wanted, and he pressed on. "Where did you go?"
"The bike ride from hell," Patrick said, perking up and anxious to move on. "It was forty degrees, which on a motorcycle going down a highway at night feels like twenty below. I stayed on the back roads, away from traffic, moving slowly because the wind cut through me like a knife. I crossed into Alabama, and again kept off the main roads. A dirt bike on a highway at three in the morning might give a bored cop something to do, so I avoided towns. I finally made it to the outskirts of Mobile around four in the morning. A month earlier I had found a small motel where they took cash and asked no questions. I sneaked into the parking lot, hid the bike behind the motel, and walked in the front door as if I had just gotten out of a cab. Thirty bucks for a room, cash, no paperwork. It took an hour to thaw out. I slept for two hours and woke up with the sun. When did you hear about it, Karl?"
"I guess about the time you were dirt-hiking through the countryside. Doug Vitrano called me at a few minutes after three. Woke me up, which really ticks me off now. Losing sleep and grieving while you were playing Easy Rider and rambling off to the good life."
"I wasn't home free."
"No, but you certainly weren't worried about your friends."
"I feel bad about that, Karl."
"No you don't."
"You're right, I don't." Patrick was relaxed, animated, into his story, grinning now.
"You woke up with the sun. A new man in a new world. All your worries and problems left behind."
"Most of them. It was terribly exciting, and also frightening. Sleep was difficult. I watched television until eight-thirty, saw nothing about my death, then showered, changed into fresh clothes-"
"Wait. Where was the hair dye box and tubes?"
"I threw them in a Dumpster somewhere in Washington County, Alabama. I called a cab, which in Mobile is not the easiest thing to do. The driver parked outside my room, and I left. No checkout. I left the dirt bike behind the motel and went to a mall which I knew opened at nine. I went to a department store and bought a navy jacket, some slacks, and a pair of loafers."
"How did you pay for them?"
"Cash."
"You didn't have a credit card?"
"Yes, I had a phony Visa I'd procured from a source in Miami. It was good for only a handful of charges, then it had to be discarded. I saved it for the rental car."
"How much cash did you have?"
"About twenty thousand."
"Where did it come from?"
"I'd been saving it for a while. I was making good money, though Trudy was doing her best to spend it faster than I could make it. I told the bookkeeper in the firm that I needed to reroute some money to keep it away from my wife. She said she did this all the time for the lawyers. It went to another account. I cashed it periodically, and stuffed it in a drawer. Satisfied?"
"Yes. You had just bought a pair of loafers."
"I went to another store and bought a white shirt and a tie. I changed in a mall rest room, and presto, I looked like any one of a million traveling salesmen. I bought some more clothes and accessories, put them in a new canvas bag, and called another cab. This one took me to the Mobile airport, where I ate breakfast and waited on a Northwest Airlink flight from Atlanta. It arrived. I fell in with the other commuters, all very busy and anxious to attack Mobile, and I stopped with two other guys at the Avis desk. They had reserved cars. Mine was a bit more complicated. I had a perfect driver's license from Georgia, along with my passport, just in case. I used the Visa, and I was very scared. The card number was a valid one-some poor guy in Decatur, Georgia, and I was terrified a computer would catch it and alarms would go off. But nothing happened. I filled out the paperwork and left in a hurry."
"What was your name?"
"Randy Austin."
"Big question, Randy," Karl said as he took a bite of pizza and chewed it slowly. "You were in the airport. Why didn't you simply get on a plane and leave?"
"Oh, I thought about it. As I was eating breakfast, I watched two planes take off, and I wanted so badly to hop on and leave. But there was unfinished business. It was a very tough decision."
"What was the unfinished business?"
"I think you know. I drove to Gulf Shores, then along the Coast east to Orange Beach, where I rented a small condo."
"One you had already checked out."
"Of course. I knew they would take cash. It was February, and cold; business was slow. I took a mild sedative and slept for six hours. I watched the evening news and saw where I'd died a fiery death. My friends were just devastated."
"You ass."
"I drove to the grocery and bought a bag of apples and some diet pills. After dark, I walked the beach for three hours, something I did every night while I was hiding around Mobile. Next morning, I sneaked into Pascagoula and got a newspaper, saw my fat smiling face on the front page, read about the tragedy, saw the touching little blurb you offered, and also saw that the funeral would be that afternoon at three. I went to
Orange Beach and rented a sailboat. Then drove to Biloxi in time for my service."
"The papers have said you watched your own burial."
"True. I hid in a tree in the woods beyond the cemetery, and watched through binoculars."
"That seems like an incredibly dumb thing to do."
"It was. Absolutely idiotic. But I was drawn to the place. I had to make certain, to see for myself that my trick had worked. And I guess by then, I was convinced I could get by with anything."
"I guess you had picked out the tree, the perfect spot."
"No. In fact, I wasn't sure I would do it. I left Mobile and drove west on the interstate, and I kept telling myself not to do it. Not to get near Biloxi."
"Your big ass climbed a tree?"
"I was motivated. It was an oak with thick branches."
"Thank God for that. I wish a limb had cracked and you'd fallen on your head."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do. We're huddled around the grave fighting back tears and consoling the widow, and you're perched on a limb like a fat frog laughing at us."
"You're just trying to be angry, Karl."
And he was right. Four and a half years had eliminated any anger Karl had felt. The truth was, he was delighted to be sitting there on the end of the hospital bed, eating pizza with Patrick and soaking up the coveted details.
However, the funeral was as far as they would get. Patrick had talked enough, and they were now back in his room, a place he didn't completely trust. "Tell me, how are Bogan and Vitrano and the boys?" he said, and relaxed on his pillows, already relishing what he was about to hear.
Chapter 25
PAULO MIRANDA'S last phone call from his daughter had been two days earlier. She was in a hotel in New Orleans, still traveling on her legal work for her mysterious new client, still warning him of people who might be looking for her and watching him because her client had enemies in Brazil. As with the previous calls, she was brief and vague and scared, though trying desperately not to show it. He had become angry and pressed for details. She had been more concerned with his safety. He wanted her to come home. He exploded and revealed for the first time that he had met with her former partners and knew that she had been terminated. She had calmly explained that she was on her own now, a solo practitioner with a rich client in international trading, and that extended travel like this would become routine.