Kill Fee by Barbara Paul Read Free Book Online Page B

thought of Sussman. Confession must still be good for the soul.
    Leila had been a rock, an absolute rock. (If only she'd been that caring while they were still married!) When he'd thought he was losing
Summit,
she'd talked him out of his near-suicidal depression and arranged for both of them to get out of the city for a few days. They hadn't turned on the TV or looked at a newspaper the whole time they were in Connecticut, and it was only through an accidental encounter at the inn with someone Walsh knew that he learned his traitorous partner had been deliberately killed by person or persons unknown.
    Their rush back to New York had been colored by both anxiety and cautious hope; Leila had had to drive, he'd been in too much of a daze. When he found out the deal with UltraMedia had not been "finalized"—one of Sussman's favorite junk words—Walsh had almost fainted from the relief.
Summit
was still his! In fact, it was more his now than it had been ever since the day he'd struck his Faustian bargain with Sussman.
    The contract Walsh had signed had one little clause in it that now put him in complete control of his magazine. That clause said that when one partner died, the other had first option on the deceased's shares. Walsh wouldn't even have to buy all of Sussman's shares—just enough to give himself majority ownership. He could raise that much money easily. Then
Summit
would be his, answerable to no one except Leon Walsh.
    No more toadying to advertisers, no more slop articles catering to a constantly changing readership that wanted everything made easy. And best of all, Hartley Dunlop and the trendy freakishness of UltraMedia could never touch him now. Walsh picked up a manuscript from his desk, one that had been commissioned on the basis of a Sussman "suggestion"—and dropped it into the out-basket. All those times he'd given in to pressure from Sussman—they didn't matter now. Now he had a chance to redeem himself. How many people ever got a true second chance? Now
Summit
could go back to being what it was always meant to be: a
literary
magazine, by God.
    He put in a long and full day, happily doing what he did best. Walsh couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good. One act of violence and all his problems were solved—and he hadn't even had to commit the act himself. And since he didn't know who
did
commit it, he didn't even have to worry about his conscience bothering him.
    When he got home that night, his body hurt with the kind of tiredness that felt good after a good day's work. And the apartment looked good to him; it was the same apartment where he and Leila had lived when they were married. Even
that
was looking good again.
    Seven pieces of mail were waiting in the box. One was clearly a bill, in a window envelope, but it was such an odd slate-blue that it caught Walsh's eye. Something else odd: no return address. He opened the envelope.
    FEE FOR SERVICES RENDERED
    One murder, arranged to coincide with establishment of Connecticut alibi
    Amt. due . . . . $100,000.00

CHAPTER

    4
    Ellie Murtaugh was worried about her husband. Both of them had long since given up trying not to bring their work home with them; one's work was one's life, not some separate category to be filed away for sixteen hours out of every twenty-four. But now Ellie was beginning to feel a third presence in their marriage. Captain Ansbacher had never set foot in their home—but he was there just the same.
    "I don't mind living with one cop," she said one night when her husband couldn't stop talking about Ansbacher, ''but two are beginning to get me down."
    James Timothy Murtaugh didn't answer right away. They were in bed, but turning out the light hadn't stopped what had become a nightly tirade. Then, stiffly: "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was imposing."
    Ellie laughed. "Relax. Just put the man out of your mind for a while, Jim."
    "Easier said than done."
    " Then find a course of action. Confront