Full Circle by Collin Wilcox Read Free Book Online

sat on the edge, head bowed in thought, one bare foot swinging. In the darkened room, lit only by the nighttime glow from a streetlight, he let his eyes stray to his Rolodex. In the D’s, there was a phone number for RDB : Raymond DuBois’s private number. Tomorrow he would recopy the number. Then he would—
    “Alan?” Wearing only one of his shirts, Paula stood in the doorway to the office. Her short dark hair was tousled, her voice was sleepy. His shirt draped down from the swell of her breasts to her midthigh. He slid off the desk, went to her, held her at the waist, drew her close. As his hands dropped to her flanks, then to her buttocks, he felt her hands inside his robe, pulling it apart. Her mouth, open on his, was urgent.
    She knew, then.
    She knew that here, in this shadowy hallway, he must lose himself in her.
    Tomorrow, the unknown glowered.
    Now, there was only the urgency of lust—and, yes, love.

FIVE
    T ODAY THE TINY RED light at the base of the microphone glowed as Bernhardt told his story. When he finished, Haigh added the date and time to the tape, identified himself, identified Bernhardt, identified himself again, then switched off the microphone. The two men were in the same conference room they’d occupied yesterday. As he’d done yesterday, Haigh sat at the head of the table. Before him on the table was a yellow legal pad, almost completely covered with writing. Predictably, Bernhardt thought, the writing was small and precise, meticulously organized.
    Finally, as if he felt a reluctant regret for his victim, Haigh shook his head.
    “What you’re doing, Bernhardt, is telling me only part of the story. I guess, in your position, I’d do the same. I’d tell the truth, but I wouldn’t tell the whole truth.”
    Bernhardt decided not to reply. He’d decided to wear his only three-piece suit for today’s interrogation. And he’d had his hair trimmed. It had been the right decision. Facing off against Haigh, playing the part of the conscientious professional earnestly determined to protect his client while he cooperated with law enforcement, he felt sure he’d held his own.
    “You tell me, for instance, that you know where Betty Giles is living—what town, in Spain—but you don’t have an address or a phone. I find that very strange.”
    “Less than a week after Willis Dodge tried to kill her, I put Betty on a plane for Madrid. She was badly shaken. She didn’t want anyone to know where she was going. Nobody .”
    “But she got in touch with you later.”
    Bernhardt shrugged. “As far as I know, I’m the only one who knows where she is. I’m her go-between.”
    “Who’d you contact on her behalf?”
    “Her mother, for one.”
    “Who else?”
    Bernhardt made no reply.
    “Raymond DuBois?”
    “I told you yesterday that I don’t feel I can—”
    Emphatically Haigh tapped the yellow legal pad. Suddenly his voice rose, roughened. “I’ve been reviewing the notes I took after we talked yesterday. And one thing stands out.”
    “Oh?” Bernhardt tried for an urbane, aloof projection. “What’s that?”
    “When I said that Nick Ames was killed because he was blackmailing Raymond DuBois, you seemed to agree.”
    Bernhardt frowned. “I did?”
    “You certainly didn’t disagree.”
    Bernhardt considered, then decided to say, “It doesn’t follow that if I didn’t disagree then it means I agree. It could just mean that I—”
    “Come on, Bernhardt. I don’t have time for word games.”
    Keeping the frown in place but dropping his voice to a note of earnest appeal, Bernhardt said, “Betty Giles was almost killed a few months ago. She was terrified, and she ran. She knew she had to have someone here to act for her, and also to guard her privacy, for security reasons. She retained me, engaged me professionally. Meaning that I have the same rights of privacy conducting her affairs that she would have.” He was satisfied with his voice: firm and decisive, not strident, not