And, yes, to the sound track of Jeopardy! he’d run back to the kitchen, where he pocketed the dead man’s wallet and his wife’s diamond cocktail ring.

Then outside, to his car. And only a mile later he was pulled over by the police.

Rebecca…

Thinking back to meeting her for the first time—the “coincidental” meeting that she’d apparently engineered near the boardwalk in Santa Cruz.

Pell remembered how much he loved the boardwalk, all the rides. Amusement parks fascinated him, people giving up complete control to somebody else—either risking harm on the roller coasters and parachute drops or becoming mindless laboratory rats on rides like the boardwalk’s famous hundred-year-old Looff carousel, round and round….

Remembered too Rebecca eight years ago, near that very same merry-go-round, gesturing him over.

“Hey, how’d you like me to do your portrait?”

“I guess. How much?”

“You’ll be able to afford it. Take a seat.”

And then after five minutes, with only the basic features of his face sketched in, she’d lowered the charcoal stick, looked him over and asked, challenging, if there was someplace private to go. They’d walked to the van, Linda Whitfield watching them with a solemn, jealous face. Pell hardly noticed her.

And a few minutes later, after kissing frantically, his hands all over her, she’d eased back.

“Wait…”

What? he’d wondered. Clap, AIDS?

Breathless, she’d said, “I…have to say something.” She’d paused, looking down.

“Go on.”

“You might not like this, and if not, okay, we’ll just call it quits and you get a picture for free. But I feel this connection with you, even after just a little while, and I’ve got to say…”

“Tell me.”

“When it comes to sex, I don’t really enjoy it…unless you hurt me. I mean, really hurt me. A lot of men don’t like that. And it’s okay…”

His response was to roll her over on her taut little belly.

And pull off his belt.

He gave a grim laugh now. It was all bullshit, he realized. Somehow in that ten minutes on the beach and five minutes in the van she’d tipped to his fantasy and played it for all it was worth.

Svengali and Trilby…

He now continued driving until his right arm began to throb with pain from Rebecca’s knife slash at Nagle’s house. He pulled over, opened his shirt and looked at it. Not terrible—the bleeding was slowing. But, damn, it hurt.

Nothing like the slash of her betrayal, though.

He was at the edge of the quiet portion of town and would have to continue through populated areas, where the police would be looking for him everywhere.

He made a U-turn and drove through the streets until he found an Infiniti, pausing at a stoplight ahead of him. Only one person inside. No other cars were around. Pell slowed but didn’t hit the brakes until he was right on top of the luxury car. The bumpers tapped with a resonant thud. The Infiniti rolled forward a few feet. The driver glared in his rearview mirror and got out.