Liars and Tyrants and People Who Turn Blue (19 page)

Tee let out a big breath she'd been holding. “I was pretending I was sure I wouldn't be charged, but I wasn't sure at all. I was scared.”

“You're the bravest scared lady I know,” Max said, hugging her.

“Ow!” Tee ow-ed. “Careful of that arm.”

Shelby turned to Kevin. “Kevin, how can I ever thank you? For taking charge yesterday, for helping today—”

“Oh Shelby, don't,” he said uncomfortably. “Don't thank me. I'm the one who almost got you killed in the first place.”

“
You
are?” Shelby and Tee said together.

Max: “You want to explain that?”

“I should have anticipated what Schlimmermann would do,” Kevin said. “I should have sent someone over to protect you the minute I heard he'd disappeared. Because I didn't think, you were almost killed.”

“I see,” said Shelby. “Well now, how does it go? Tee has bumps and bruises, I have a bloody head, and Kevin has opted for guilt feelings. What about you, Max? What are you suffering from?”

“Got a nasty hangnail here,” Max said, staring somberly at a forefinger.

“Perfect. Now we've all got something to complain about. But there's a problem. Tee and I have doctors, and I know how to take care of a hangnail. But what do you do for guilt feelings?”

“Chicken soup?” Tee suggested.

Kevin was looking so amazed that the other three burst out laughing.

“I almost got you killed and you make a joke of it?” Kevin couldn't believe it.

“We're making a joke of it because we're still a little scared,” Max explained. “It helps. Nobody expected you to second-guess a madman, Kevin.
Tee
guessed, but musicians are all slightly mad themselves.”

“Hey,” said Tee.

“So don't go blaming yourself because you couldn't read Schlimmermann's mind. Personally, I'd have thought he'd go after P. J. Martel if he went after anybody.”

Kevin looked at Shelby.

“Nobody blames you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “Now I think it's time we got you home. You're supposed to get lots of rest for the next few days.”

“Do you have your car here?” Max asked Kevin. “Mine's in the garage again.”

They all piled into Kevin's car. Shelby watched the stiff way her sister climbed into the back seat and asked, “Are you feeling all right, Tee?”

Tee eased back into the seat and held out her hands, palms down. “Steady as a rock,” she said. “All I need now is a long soak in a hot tub.”

Kevin looked back at her hands, and wanted to touch them. A musician's hands, hands that had been forced to kill. He wanted to tell her that the men in charge were secretly grateful to her, that Sir John and Martel both had been worried Schlimmermann would plead insanity and get away with it.
Had
the man been insane? They would never know. Kevin said nothing and started the car.

“The walrus has been notified, I suppose,” Shelby said.

Kevin knew whom she meant. “Last night. He was horrified—stuttering and swearing and yelling. He's holding a round-the-clock session of the commission right now. They're making out their report to the Security Council and requesting that the inquiry be temporarily suspended but the commission itself be kept active. What with Aguirrez in the booby hatch and Schlimmermann dead and Li Xijuan missing, there's no reason to go on with the hearings. Li Xijuan has been formally indicted, you know.”

“Then that's it, isn't it? Why not disband the commission?”

“Aguirrez. If he ever recovers, the commission will have to vote on his indictment.”

“Why did they run?” Max asked from the back seat. “Schlimmermann and Li Xijuan.”

“We think they all three meant to run right from the start. That's why they were so cool about getting caught—none of them was planning on hanging around for the verdict. But only one of them managed to get away—and Li Xijuan's disappearance is only temporary, I promise you.”

“She's headed back to China, isn't she?” Max said.

“That's probably what she planned,” Kevin agreed. “But the leadership of Li Xijuan's political party isn't too happy with her at the moment. She must have thought she'd go back as Hero of the Republic, or whatever they're calling themselves these days.”

“Why would she think that?” Tee asked. “What's heroic about shipping useless weapons all over the world? Or am I allowed to ask?”

“Sure you are,” said Kevin. “It'll all be published in the commission's report. Well, briefly, Li Xijuan stirred up all this trouble just to warn her political party that certain plans for war they were entertaining wouldn't work at this time. She forced them to understand the UN would stop them. But instead of being grateful to her for keeping them from making a bad mistake, the party leaders—not too surprisingly—resent being made to look foolish. Ex-Ambassador Li will not be welcomed back with open arms.”

Shelby: “Does she know that?”

“We're not certain. I suspect she does.”

“So she could be headed anywhere in the world.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“What is her political party, anyway?” Tee wanted to know. “I thought China was supposed to be a one-party country.”

“Ostensibly, it is. But the Communists are divided in China. Li Xijuan's group is that one faction of the Communist Party currently in power. They're fighting not only other Communist factions but also all the other political organizations that have sprung up since Mao's death.”

Shelby's mouth twitched. “So the whole thing was a Commie plot?”

Kevin looked at her sadly.

“I didn't say that,” Shelby corrected quickly.

They pulled up in front of the Bradley apartment building; Shelby and Kevin watched as Max and a limping Tee disappeared inside. “I can't get over how calmly she's taking everything,” Kevin said.

“Tee will be all right,” Shelby said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?”

“No blue aura.”

Kevin found a parking place not too far from Shelby's building. On the way up in the elevator he said, “I posted a man outside your apartment. That shattered doorway is an open invitation to thieves.”

A man leaning casually against the wall in the hallway straightened up when he saw them coming. Kevin said, “All right, Brostoff, you can go now …” And stopped in surprise.

Instead of the gaping hole they both expected, they saw a new steel door, fitted and locked. Even the splintered wooden frame had been replaced by a metal one.

The man named Brostoff handed a set of keys to Shelby. “Compliments of Sir John Dudley,” he said.

CHAPTER 41

ROGUE BUTTERFLY

Kevin Gilbert caught a glimpse of his reflection in a store window and was surprised at how haggard he looked. Pinched, gray face with dark circles under the eyes. The beginnings of a stoop: he straightened up and walked more briskly than he really wanted to.

He was tired to the point where it would be difficult to relax. Sir John had put him in charge of the search for Li Xijuan—the first time the old man had entrusted him with such a large-scale operation. Kevin had spent two days and one night setting up the machinery, and he'd been tired when he started. The trip to China had taken a lot out of him.

He wasn't sure how he felt about moving from the field to a desk job. He wanted to make the change, and he didn't want to make the change.
Think about it later, when the fatigue is gone
. Kevin was too tired to trust himself behind the wheel of a car, so he stopped a cab and gave the driver the address of the Bradley apartment. Shelby had said she'd be there for a few hours this evening.

Kevin leaned back in the cab and closed his eyes, thinking about Shelby. Thinking about Tee and Max. He was trying not to feel too grateful to these three likable people, with their wildly divergent talents, who seemed willing to take a glorified policeman into their lives.
Don't count on much and you won't be disappointed
.

They had every reason not to accept him. One of the three, the most important one, had almost died because Kevin Gilbert had drawn her into a dangerous situation and then failed to provide her with protection. What if Shelby had been alone when Schlimmermann broke in? Or what if she'd had a sister who was just like other women, who didn't have hands like steel traps? Timid little Tee—what a paradox she was! Afraid of her own shadow, but still able to find reserves of strength that let her kill when killing was the only way to save her sister's life. Tee was put on this earth to create moments of beauty, but she hadn't hesitated to destroy when Shelby was threatened. Tee Bradley was a woman who had her priorities right.

Kevin paid off the driver and buzzed his way into the building. Shelby opened the apartment door, took one look at the shadows under his eyes, and said, “Your circles have circles.”

Kevin found himself the object of concern, mildly fussed over by the three people who could so easily have blamed him for what happened. He collapsed gratefully onto the sofa and accepted a life-enhancing, vigor-restoring, confidence-boosting scotch.

“I'll try to be subtle about this,” Max said. “You look like hell.”

Kevin laughed. “Thanks. All I need is about eight days' sleep and I'll be my usual charming self again. I haven't been to bed since Monday.”

“Monday!” said Tee, wide-eyed. “What have you been doing?”

“Top secret stuff,” Shelby cautioned.

“No, nothing like that,” said Kevin. “I've been organizing the search for Li Xijuan.”

That set them all off, speculating about where Li Xijuan might go, what she might do. The guesses ranged from Chinatown in San Francisco to a “lady monastery” in Tibet (Tee's idea). Max thought Li Xijuan would try to make a comeback, like Napoleon. Shelby was sure she'd go straight to a plastic surgeon and change her appearance completely.

“So maybe we should look for a blonde Li Xijuan?” Kevin grinned, going along.

“You scoff, o tracer of lost persons,” Shelby said. “But I'll bet anything that's what she does—just blends into the crowd looking like everybody else.”

“Do you really think you can catch her?” Tee asked dubiously.

“I'll catch her,” Kevin said. “The world gets a little smaller every day. UN Intelligence has an instant-communications setup that sometimes even I don't believe. Wherever she's spotted, I can have an agent on her trail within two minutes.”

“Aren't you afraid you'll end up like whatsisname in
Les Misérables?
” asked Shelby. “Chasing poor old Jean Valjean through the sewers of Paris?”

“Javert,” Max offered.

“I'll catch her,” Kevin said quietly. “And I won't let her go when I do.”

“It doesn't fit, Shel,” Max objected. “I can't see anybody thinking ‘poor old' Li Xijuan. And in the sewers of Paris? Never. The gardens of Versailles, maybe. Or a castle on top of a mountain in South America. But no sewers, nowhere, nohow.”

Kevin looked at him curiously. “Do you
admire
the woman, Max?”

Max looked startled, and then said dryly, “I admire her style. But I'm not one of those who confuse style with substance. I understand what she did.”

Kevin grinned. “Sorry.”

“A strange woman,” said Tee. “I'll never understand people like that.”

“I want some coffee,” Shelby said abruptly. “Do you have any made, Tee?”

“Yes,” said Tee, surprised, “but
my
coffee—”

“Happens to be very good,” Shelby said firmly. “Sit still—I'll get it. Anybody else?”

“I'd like some,” Kevin said as the Bradleys shook their heads. Shelby went into the kitchen.

“Max.” Tee had a peculiar look on her face.

“Mm?”

“Did you notice …?”

“Did I notice what?”

“It's only … did you happen to notice a faint pink ring around Shelby just now?”

CHAPTER 42

THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE

About the Author

Barbara Paul is the author of numerous short stories and novels in both the detective and science fiction genres. Born in Maysville, Kentucky, she went on to attend Bowling Green State University and the University of Pittsburgh, earning a PhD in theater history and criticism. She has been nominated for the Shamus Award for Best PI Short Story, and two of her novels,
In-Laws and Outlaws
and
Kill Fee
, have been adapted into television movies. After teaching at the University of Pittsburgh for a number of years, she retired to write full-time. Paul currently resides in Sacramento.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1980 by Barbara Paul

Selection from
The Bald Soprano
reprinted from
Four Plays
by Eugène Ionesco, translated by Donald M. Allen, copyright © 1960, 1964 by the University of Nebraska Press. Excerpt from
Major Barbara
reprinted by permission of The Society of Authors on behalf of the Bernard Shaw Estate, Lines from “The Unknown Citizen” from W. H. Auden's
Another Time
, © 1940, 1968, Rand House, Inc.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3238-4

This edition published in 2016 by
MysteriousPress.com
/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.