The Taxman Killeth (4 page)

“What about the fact that
Todd... Coleman worked for the accounting firm?”

“Not mentioned in there.”

“Think I should show it to Mr.
Pickens?”

“Yeah.”

As Amy headed for the conference
room, Trudy shouted out, “Let me know what his reaction is.”

Amy’s fingers were sticking to
the paper; newsprint ink covered her fingertips. It has to be a mistake, she
kept repeating to herself until she entered the room and found Pickens cursing
the ledgers soundly.

“Mr. Pickens, may I speak to
you?”

“Mr. Lester’s secretary brought
me the wrong books.”

“Perhaps you should take a look
at this afternoon’s newspaper.”

“What for? I don’t have that
kind of time to waste even if you people do, which you don’t.”

Amy slid the paper on top of the
sheets Pickens was currently working on. The man turned the color of an
overripe tomato. The tip of his nose bounced spastically, and he threw the
paper onto the other end of the long table.

“I don’t know the man.”

“What? But he was here
yesterday, taking your place in the exact chair you’re sitting in. How could
you not know him? He had a lot of information about the firm, including who
worked here and the names of several clients.”

“I said I don’t know him.”

“Why weren’t you here yesterday?”

“Sick.”

“But neither you nor your firm
called.”

“Get Lester’s book. See to it,
Ms. Simpson.”

“No! I need to know who I spent
the entire day and evening with.”

“Evening?”

Amy’s jaw went slack. Not good.
Amy, you’ve got to learn to be more circumspect, she silently chastised.

“Please, Mr. Pickens, I’m the office
manager here, and I opened up all our financial records to some—”

“Stranger.”

“Are you telling me he wasn’t
from your accounting firm?”

Pickens was quiet for several
seconds. He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and pondered the
distant wall.

“Ms. Simpson, forget anyone was
here yesterday; there’ll be no charge for that day.”

“But everyone knows he was here.
What if I’m asked about him? What if he uses the information he obtained
through my assistance?”

“What time is it?” Pickens
pulled out his pocket watch. “I’m late.”

Why did she know he would say
that?

“I promised I would call the
office by three o’clock. Can I have some privacy while I make my call?”

The two stared at each other as
Amy gradually backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind her.

“How are you getting along with
Pickens?”

Stu was walking down the hall,
several metered letters grasped in his hand.

Amy shook her head and asked
whether she could mail the envelopes for him.

“No. I need the air. Been cooped
up all day, even skipped lunch. Getting any slimmer?” he asked, pulling in his
gut and spreading his suit jacket open.

Amy smiled.

“You were never fat, Stu; a
little plump, but never fat.”

Stu tapped her on the head with
his mail and continued into the reception area. As she stood in the hall, she
heard the lock on the conference room door click shut.

An hour later Amy tapped gently
on the door. There was no answer, but she knew Pickens was still in there,
because she had surreptitiously tried to turn the knob and the door wouldn’t
budge.

Back in her own office, Amy was
joined by Trudy.

“Aren’t you going home?”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

“Ah, come on, Amy, why would he
want to come back and kill you?”

“Pickens won’t admit to knowing
Todd Coleman; perhaps he’ll want to wipe out anyone aware of his being here.”

“That would include me!”

“And most of the office. You
didn’t miss telling a soul about him.”

“Well, he was cute and...”

“And now everyone thinks I had
the hots for him.”

“You did.”

“The police. They’ll want to
question me.”

“I think you’re getting carried
away, Amy. Besides, so what if they did? You don’t know anything except that he
was here for the tax season.”

“Pickens says he was sick. I get
the feeling he would deny anyone was sent in his place.”

“Pickens left for the day.”

“What! I wanted to speak to him.”

“But you always try to avoid the
man.”

“Not now. Not when I don’t know
what’s going on.”

“Go home, Amy, take a hot bubble
bath, turn on some mellow music. Want the romance I finished today?”

“I’ve had enough of romance.”

“Don’t be silly. In a couple of
days all this will be history, and in a couple of weeks Pickens will be gone,
leaving nothing to remember Mr. Coleman by. Oh, by the way, did you read about
how Joey Landis was killed?” Amy shook her head, knowing she couldn’t stop
Trudy. “From thirty-five to forty knife wounds, although it looks like Coleman
beat him up pretty bad first.”

“Trudy! We don’t know Todd did
it.”

“Todd? Well, the police are sure
who did it, that’s what counts. Come on, walk with me to the cable car.”

“Aren’t you catching the BART
train?”

“No, I’ve got a blind date
tonight.”

“Be careful, Trudy.”

“His name is Nathan Schwartz,
not Todd Coleman, ninny. Although if Coleman showed up instead, I might choose
to live dangerously.”

Amy decided to walk home. She
left Trudy at the cable car and waved good-bye as the car climbed the hill.
During her walk she passed a pet store that had several Doberman puppies in the
window. She went in to pet and admire the dogs. The owners of the store were
used to her visits and never complained about the fact that she never bought
anything.

As Amy held the sleek small body
of one of the puppies, she regretted not having bought one a long time ago. The
puppy was too young now to be of any use against knife-wielding accountants.
Besides, the idea of walking the animal three times a day didn’t appeal to her
slothful nature. Gently, she placed the puppy back in his pen and hollered her ‘so-long’
to the owners, who were with a customer in the back of the shop.

When she was able to see her
apartment building up ahead, she began looking around for strangers or
ex-dates. The street was empty. Most people were probably eating dinner or
washing up afterwards, she assumed. Amy made sure she had her keys in her hand
before ascending the steps, and she looked over her shoulder as she turned the
key in the front door lock. Once inside the vestibule, she took several
breaths. Her apartment was on the third floor, the top floor, meaning that she
would have to make sure all the windows were locked, so that no rappelling
accountant could lower himself from the roof. Imagine, an accountant, she
thought. Who’d believe it would be dangerous dating someone in that line of
work? Her mother had warned her against rock singers (anyone in entertainment,
for that matter), gamblers, and bartenders, but an accountant would have been a
perfect find in her mother’s eyes. Amy wasn’t going to tell Mom about this one.

Amy hurried into her apartment,
closing every lock she could find before she snapped on the television and once
again saw the murderous blue eyes of Todd Coleman. Funny, she thought, he doesn’t
look like a psychopath. Firm, maybe. Strong, definitely. But a vicious killer,
no.

Chapter 4

Guess Who?

The collar of Todd’s leather
bombardier jacket was pulled up against the back of his neck. The zipper was
undone, allowing the night breeze to pass through the weave of his linen shirt
as he walked through the alleys of San Francisco. He wondered how the hell he
had gotten into this mess. Frequently the Feds had used him and Joey for this
kind of job. Find the guy helping illegals enter the country, then get out, was
all they had said. And the accounting firm would work along with them, up to a
point. In other words, they’d never acknowledge that he had worked for them.
Todd swore.
What moral support.

He tried to remember details of
what his apartment had looked like when he got in the night before. No forced
entry. Joey had a key. But Todd had planned on telephoning Joey when he got
home. He didn’t expect Joey to be in the apartment, but he was, lying in a
congealing pool of blood on the bathroom tiles. Blood smeared the walls. There
had obviously been a struggle. Todd’s throat tightened. Joey and he had been in
college together, went through officer training together in the Marines, and
then accepted mercenary undercover employment whenever the U.S. government
needed them. It paid well, and both felt they owed their well-honed talents to
their country. Now he was on his own, and someone had managed to pin Joey’s
murder on him.

As he exited the alley he ran
into a call girl, who flirtatiously rubbed her knee inside his leg.

“Not tonight, honey.”

“A man like you can name the
place and time.”

He did need a place to stay. She
probably didn’t work alone, though, and her old man would certainly take
advantage of the reward offered for information on his whereabouts. Pity, he
thought, as he patted her high derriere and moved on.

The night before, he had managed
only to change his clothes and stuff a few personal items into a canvas satchel
before departing from the murder scene. He knew either way he was a loser. He’d
look guilty if he ran, but he’d also look guilty if he stayed, since there was
no doubt that Joey had been killed while Todd was meditating alone on the
beach. No one had disturbed him. Todd was sure that no one had even seen him in
the heavy fog of the autumn evening. His employer would deny any knowledge of
him. Besides, if he talked he would expose the kinds of covert activities in
which the government was engaged, and he might even endanger another agent.

If he had just returned directly
to his house after leaving Amy... Amy! He couldn’t stay with any relative or
known friend, but who would guess that he was with the office manager of the
law firm? Todd remembered her address and felt she was open-minded enough to
listen to his story. He’d have to be careful. Todd didn’t think she was
involved in the illegal activity but couldn’t be certain. Hell, what did he
have to lose? By dawn he’d be picked up by the police if he didn’t find a place
to stay.

She lived a distance from where
he stood, and since he dared not use a cab he began a brisk walk. It took him
an hour and a half to arrive at his destination.

Her neighborhood was quiet. An
elderly man was walking a scruffy-looking bulldog, who kept looking back at
Todd as if he recognized him from someplace. The elderly man kept his head
down, gray strands of hair dangling in front of his eyes.

Damn picture plastered all over
town, Todd complained to himself as he pulled his jacket collar higher.

He had no problem jimmying the
lock to enter the building. Quickly he checked the directory and found Amy
Simpson’s apartment number. Todd rang her doorbell but got no answer. He prayed
she didn’t have a security alarm. She didn’t, and he slipped into her living
room soundlessly.

A halogen torchère was dimmed to
a low glow, and there was a lit fluorescent over the stove, where the contents
of a pot were simmering over a low flame. Todd walked over to the stove and
lifted the lid on the pot. The tomato sauce smelled good, and there seemed to
be enough for two. He replaced the lid. The kitchen was spread along one long
wall; the Formica-topped partition probably served as her table, he thought,
peering across at two light oak stools.

From where he stood in the
kitchen the living room looked pretty plain. A two-seater couch faced a
nineteen-inch television screen; a glass-topped coffee table separated them.
Two minispeakers were anchored halfway up the wall. A CD player was wedged on a
shelf under the T.V. and above a stereo receiver. No rug marred the almost
perfect wood floor. However, two large throw pillows were strewn with careless
care toward the far corner of the room.

Simple, but it’s probably not
where she sleeps, he speculated. How many rooms were there, and where was Amy
Simpson? Can’t be too many rooms; the building was too narrow. Todd moved to
the short hallway and heard some splashing and a voice singing The Impossible
Dream. More like a recitation. Amy couldn’t sing.

A crack of light appeared in the
doorway nearest him. He backed away into the kitchen area. How was he going to
approach this woman so that she wouldn’t be frightened of him, Todd Coleman,
murder suspect and now guilty of breaking and entering?

There she was in front of him.
Todd placed a hand over her mouth and grabbed her from behind. He heard her
snort and felt her wet hair brush against his chin. He pulled her in close to
his body, his hand spread across the nubbiness of the towel. His thumb traveled
up to gauge the fullness of her breasts underneath. Nope, they weren’t fakes,
he concluded.

“Easy, Amy, I’m not going to
hurt you,” despite what you’ve read in the afternoon press, he silently added.

As far as he could tell, she was
talking a mile a minute in muffled tones under his palm. Would she bother to
listen to him at all?

“If you stay real quiet I’ll
explain why I’m here.”

Todd’s body moved to the side to
avoid a jab from Amy’s elbow. Next she was trying to beat on his shin with the
heel of her foot.

“Good grief, Amy, I’m way bigger
than you are. If I had wanted to hurt you I would have done so already. I just
want to explain my predicament to you.”

She quieted. He certainly couldn’t
trust her not to yell, but how could he gain her confidence if he held her like
this?

“Listen, can we have a truce? I’ll
take my hand from your mouth if you promise not to scream and if you’ll give me
a chance to tell my story.”