Gault was unhealthily pale, every vertebra and rib clearly defined. Apparently, he had lost a lot of weight and muscle tone, and I thought about the cocaine in his hair, which now was white, and as he shifted his position I saw his full breasts.
My eyes shot across the table as Lucy stiffened.
I felt Marino look at me as Carrie Grethen worked to give her client ecstasy. It seemed drugs had interfered, and no matter what she did, Sheriff Brown could not rise to receive what would prove to be the most he ever paid for pleasure. Lucy bravely kept her eyes on the television screen. She stared, shocked, as her former lover performed one lewd act after another on this big-bellied, intoxicated man.
The ending seemed predictable. Carrie would produce a gun and blow him away. But not so. Eighteen minutes into the video, footsteps sounded in Brown’s bedroom, and her accomplice walked in. Temple Gault was dressed in a black suit and also wearing gloves. He seemed to have no clue that his every blink and sniffle were on camera. He stopped at the foot of the bed and watched. Brown had his eyes shut. I wasn’t sure if he was conscious.
‘Time’s up,’ Gault said impatiently.
His intense blue eyes seemed to penetrate the screen. They looked right into our conference room. He had not dyed his hair. It was still carrot red, long and slicked back from his forehead and behind his ears. He unbuttoned his jacket and withdrew a Clock nine-millimeter pistol. Nonchalantly, he walked toward the head of the bed.
Carrie looked on as Gault placed the barrel of the pistol between the sheriff’s eyes. She placed her hands over her ears. My stomach tightened and I clenched my fists as Gault depressed the trigger, and the gun recoiled as if horrified by what it had just done. We sat in shock as the sheriff’s agonal jerks and twitches stopped. Carrie dismounted.
‘Oh damn,’ Gault said, looking down at his chest. ‘I got splashed.’
She snatched the handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and dabbed his neck and lapels.
‘It won’t show. It’s a good thing you wore black.’
‘Go put something on,’ he said as if her nudity disgusted him. His voice was adolescent and uneven, and he was not loud.
He went to the foot of the bed and picked up the dark clothing.
‘What about his watch?’ She looked down at the bed. ‘It’s a Rolex. It’s real, baby, and it’s gold. The bracelet’s real, too.’
Gault snapped, ‘Get dressed now.’
‘I don’t want to get dirty,’ she said.
She dropped the bloody handkerchief on the floor where the police would later find it.
‘Then bring the bags in,’ he ordered.
He seemed to be fooling with the clothing as he placed it on the dresser, but the angle of the camera made it impossible for us to see him well. She came back with the bags.
Together they disposed of Brown’s body in a way that seemed careful and well planned. First, they dressed him in pajamas, for reasons we did not understand. Blood spilled on the pajama top as Gault pulled the garbage bag over the sheriff’s head and tied it with a shoelace that came from a running shoe in the closet.
They lowered the body from the bed into the black pouch on the floor, Gault holding Brown under the arms while Carrie got his ankles. They tucked him in and zipped it up. We saw them carry Lament Brown out and heard them on the stairs. Minutes later, Carrie ducked back in, got the clothing and left. Then the bedroom was empty.
Tucker tensely said, ‘Certainly we can’t ask for better evidence. Did the gloves come from the morgue?’
‘Most likely from the van they stole,’ I answered. ‘We keep a box of gloves in each van.’
‘It’s not quite over,’ Marino said.
He began advancing the film, speeding past scene after scene of the empty bedroom, until suddenly a figure was there. Marino rewound and the figure quickly walked backward out of the room.
Marino said, ‘Look what happens exactly an hour and eleven minutes later.’ He hit the play button again.