William Rabkin - A Fatal Frame of Mind

He’d had his chance to act. There was that one second when Kitteredge pulled the bloody knife out of his pocket and flicked open the blade. Lassiter hadn’t been wearing his gun in the interview room, of course-that would have been an unforgivable breach of protocol. But he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and he had no doubt that if he’d acted swiftly enough he could have disarmed the professor. Especially since Kitteredge had spent the first couple of seconds staring down at the blade in feigned surprise, as if he’d originally hoped to convince the police that he had no idea how it had ended up in his pocket.

But before Lassiter could leap into action, the professor did. He grabbed the detective and jammed the knife’s blade against his throat.

“You did this to me!” Kitteredge whispered savagely into his ear.

“Drop the knife!” Lassiter commanded, but the professor didn’t seem to hear him.

“I know who’s behind this,” Kitteredge said. “You’re just a pawn. It’s Polidori. It’s the Cabal!”

Before Lassiter could come up with an answer, the door to the interrogation room flew open. For one brief second Lassiter’s heart leaped at the thought that SWAT was coming to take Kitteredge out. Then those idiots, Spencer and Guster, burst in.

“Professor Kitteredge, what are you doing?” Gus said.

“He’s part of it!” Kitteredge shouted.

“If you mean part of the reason American policemen have such a bad reputation, I can’t argue with you,” Shawn said. “Beyond that, I don’t think he’s part of anything.”

“He’s part of the conspiracy,” Kitteredge said. “They killed Clay Filkins and now they’re framing me for it. And he knows who’s behind it.”

“Lassie?” Shawn said. “He doesn’t know who’s behind anything. The music. The green door. The Valley of the Dolls.”

“I think that last one is beyond,” Gus said.

“He doesn’t know any beyonds, either,” Shawn said. “In fact, he really doesn’t know much of anything. Which he’ll be happy to demonstrate if you’ll let him go.”

“I can’t!” Kitteredge said. “I’ve gotten too close to them, and they’ll do anything to stop me. But I won’t let them.” Kitteredge’s blade dug deeper into Lassiter’s throat. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I will if I have to.”

“Get out of here, Spencer,” Lassiter said, feeling the air pressing back against the knife as it struggled up through his constricted throat. “I can handle this.”

“Yes, I can see you’re right on top of things,” Shawn said. “Sorry we interrupted.”

Shawn turned back toward the door. Gus grabbed his arm. “We can’t just leave them here.”

“You heard what Lassie said,” Shawn said. “He’s got it under control.”

“But this is all a terrible mistake,” Gus said. “Professor K thinks Lassie framed him, Lassie thinks the professor is a murderer, and unless we can convince them they’re both wrong, somebody is going to get hurt. Or killed.”

“That’s why I said we should have gone to the C. Thomas Howell Film Festival instead of the museum,” Shawn said. While he was talking he started to move around the edges of the room. “Very few people have ever died watching CyberMaster, and those who have all worked on the film and realized only while they were watching the credits that they forgot to request to be listed by their pseudonyms. Whereas everyone knows that nine-tenths of the murders in the free world happen in art museums.”

It took Gus a moment to figure out what Shawn was doing, but then he realized. He was trying to get behind Kitteredge.

“What are you talking about?” Gus said. If there was any chance for Shawn’s plan to work, Gus had to keep the professor’s eyes on him. “This isn’t about museum crime. This is about a global conspiracy-one that’s already claimed one victory tonight and is about to take two more. We can’t let that happen.”

Kitteredge turned to Gus with gratitude in his eyes. For a moment, the hand holding the knife seemed to relax.

“Now!” Gus shouted. Which might have been exactly the right thing to say if Shawn had been the only one in the room planning to make a move. Because at Gus’ command, Shawn leaped across the room to tackle Kitteredge.

Unfortunately, Shawn wasn’t the only one in the room planning to make a move. Lassiter was, too. And as he felt the knife slacken away from his throat, he drove an elbow straight back into Kitteredge’s stomach. The professor doubled at the point of impact-and Shawn flew right over him, crashing onto the table, then sliding off and landing hard on the floor.

Lassiter struggled to free himself, but even as he gasped for breath the professor wouldn’t let go. He jammed the knife back against the detective’s throat as he pulled himself upright again.

Kitteredge dragged Lassiter to the interrogation room door. “We’re getting out of here,” he said. Then he turned a baleful eye on Gus. “You don’t understand the forces you’re dealing with.”

Kitteredge shoved Lassiter to the door, pulled it open, and dragged him through, making sure it closed behind them. From inside, Lassiter could hear Gus, and then Shawn and Gus, pounding to be let out.

The squad room was still only about half full as the night shift filtered out and the day watch began to check in. But there were at least twenty police officers and detectives between Kitteredge and the front door. And there was no way Lassiter was going to allow him to get away. Not even if it cost him his life. “He’s got a knife!” Lassiter shouted.

From across the squad room, guns flew out of holsters, of drawers, of lockers. They were all pointed directly at Kitteredge-and at him.

“Put down your weapons,” Kitteredge said. “No one needs to get hurt.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Lassiter commanded, bracing himself for the sweet sting of lead. “Shoot!”

“Hold your fire,” O’Hara said.

She stepped into Lassiter’s line of sight. She wouldn’t look at his face, though. No doubt she was as ashamed of what he’d allowed to happen as he was. She stared directly over Lassiter’s shoulder into Kitteredge’s eyes.

“Professor Kitteredge,” she said as calmly as if she were going to offer him a stick of gum, “I need you to drop the weapon.”

“I can’t do that,” Kitteredge said. “They’re coming for me.”

“And we can protect you,” O’Hara said.

“Like you protected Filkins?” Kitteredge said. “He was killed right under your noses.”

“We didn’t know about the conspiracy before,” O’Hara said. “Now we do, thanks to you. And with your help, we can shut it down for good.”

“Stop talking to him,” Lassiter barked. “Move away and shoot him.”

“You’re not helping, Carlton,” O’Hara said. “Besides, Professor Kitteredge needs you alive, because you have special knowledge about the conspiracy. If you die, it dies with you.”

“There is no conspiracy,” Lassiter nearly shrieked with frustration. “There’s just a lunatic with a knife at my throat-and you can’t let him get away!”

O’Hara shot him a brief, chiding look, then turned her attention back to Kitteredge. “We can help you, Professor,” she said. “We can work together to figure out who killed Filkins, and who put that bloody knife in your pocket.”

For a moment, Lassiter felt the blade’s pressure ease on his throat. Then it was jammed back into place.

“I can’t trust anybody,” Kitteredge said. “You might have planted the knife.”

“But I didn’t,” O’Hara said. “What can I do to convince you of that?”

“Don’t convince him,” Lassiter said. “Shoot him.”

“Quiet, Carlton,” O’Hara said. “Professor Kitteredge, I swear to you that I am no part of any conspiracy, and neither is my partner. I will do whatever it takes to make you see that as long as you don’t hurt him. So tell me now, before things get ugly-what is it you want?”