Joel Goldman - The Dead Man

"Delaney was murdered. Blair almost certainly was too. Probably by the same person who also killed Walter Enoch and Anne Kendall."

He smiled. "Great! Then I'm off the hook and Jason Bolt can pound sand."

Harper had a singularly egocentric outlook, more concerned about Jason Bolt's lawsuit than the likelihood that a serial killer was working his way through the institute.

"Why did you access Delaney's, Blair's, and Enoch's files in the dream project?"

"I told you. That's how I keep track of the research projects."

"There were two hundred and fifty volunteers in that project. You picked the three that were murdered and you looked at their files before and after they were killed. How does that happen?"

He rose, coming around to my side of the desk, getting in my face. "How do you think it happens?"

"You tell me. Was it an accident like Peggy Murray's bicycle running off the road after she designed your Web site or a coincidence like Kate Scranton's practice going under after she turned you down?"

"So that's what this is about? Kate Scranton?"

"It's about a lot of things. She's one of them."

"I hope you're sleeping with her. Otherwise, you're blowing the job of a lifetime for nothing."

"And you're blowing the chance to convince me I should take you off my list of suspects. I'd say that gives you more to worry about than me."

"Me? A murderer? First Peggy Murray and now four more people. I'd have to be one of the all-time great serial killers."

"More like one of the ordinary ones. You have to at least get into double figures to be one of the great ones. Serial killers sometimes go years between binges. It will be easy enough to find out if there were any other unsolved murders around Palo Alto around the same time Peggy died."

He took a step back, squinting at me. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"You're about to find out how serious."

He put his hands up and then wiped his mouth with one, holding me at bay with the other.

"Okay, okay. Peggy first. We worked on the Web site together. It's hard to say who came up with what. We were kids. We didn't know the first thing about intellectual property rights or anything else. Later, when the company took off, I made a deal with her parents, giving them stock for Peggy's contribution to the Web site. They had lawyers and I had lawyers. It was an arm's length deal."

"And what about Peggy's bike accident?"

He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and circled the room, stopping at the windows overlooking Brush Creek, turning back to me, his voice soft, his throat full.

"We'd been out riding all day. Peggy was as competitive as I was, maybe more, always trying to beat me. Didn't matter if it was about getting the better grade or getting to the bottom of the hill first. She took off down this long steep hill, really kicking it. There was a blind curve at the bottom, no guardrail, and a long drop. It was the first time we'd been on that stretch, so we didn't know. I was drafting behind her. We hit some loose gravel and spun out and both of us lost control. I laid my bike down but she flew off the road. She broke her neck and I got a bad case of road rash."

His narrative matched the police report Jamie Del Muro had posted on her blog. I studied him, looking for the practiced recitation of someone expecting to be accused only to be betrayed by a liar's tics and twitches, seeing instead a face grimacing with pain, gone pale from a memory relived.

"I think about her everyday," he said, his voice a whisper, his eyes wet. "And I have nightmares about the accident two or three times a week. That's why I funded the dream project."

"Maggie Brennan says you threatened to cut off the funding if she and Corliss couldn't prove that people could learn to control their nightmares with lucid dreaming."

"The institute is a not-for-profit but that doesn't mean I'm in business to lose money. I'm rich but not rich enough to fund projects that don't produce results."

"How's the dream project doing?"

"Not great. I tried the lucid dreaming techniques and they didn't help. I met with Corliss at the end of November. I told him he had three months to produce results or I was going to pull the plug. That's why I looked at those videos. I wanted to see whether he was making progress."

"Why Delaney's, Blair's, and Enoch's videos? Why not any of the others?"

"I didn't pick them. I told Corliss I wanted to see some representative videos. Those were the ones he suggested. He said they were a good cross-section of different types of nightmares. After they died, I went back and looked at their videos again."

"Why?"

"For the same reason I built this place-to try to make sense of things. Look at what happened to Delaney, Blair, and Enoch and then what happened to Anne Kendall and Leonard Nagel. None of that makes sense. I don't suppose it ever will no matter how much money I spend."

I gripped the back of a chair to steady myself as a burst of shakes ripped through me, hinging me at the waist, dropping my chin to my chest. I managed my symptoms by staying in a comfort zone of modest and moderated activity. I'd been out of that zone for six days, taking a pounding that would grind me into the ground if I didn't back off soon. I took a long breath as the tremors passed, righting myself as Harper watched.

"And look what's happening to you," Harper said. "I don't know how you do it."

I wouldn't let Harper lump me together with murder victims. I wasn't dead and my movement disorder wouldn't kill me. And I wouldn't let his attempt at sympathy throw me off track.

"What about Kate Scranton's business?" I asked, one arm wrapped around my middle, one hand still gripping the chair, the words stacking up in my throat before stuttering out. "Is that just another one of those things that doesn't make sense?"

He went back to his chair, slumping then sitting up. "I'm a lot of things, Jack. Some I'm proud of and some I'm not. I'm smart, I'm lucky, and I'm a lousy loser. To be honest about it, I wanted Kate for more than her mind. She said no. I'm not used to rejection and I don't take it well. I admit it was a petty thing to do but I made a few phone calls, figured she might have second thoughts if she had fewer options. It was easy. I could fix it just as easily. You tell her that."

I took another deep breath, straightening and steadying myself, letting go the chair. "I'll let you tell Jason Bolt. I think he just got a new client."

He waved a hand, dismissing the prospect. "It's only money. Besides, by the time her case goes to trial, I'll be too far gone to know or care."

"For a lucky guy like you, that may be the best piece of luck you ever have. One last thing."

"What's that?"

"I quit."

He shook his head. "I doubt that. You're not the type even if you go off my payroll. You won't quit until it's over. That's why I hired you in the first place."

Sherry Fritzshall was waiting outside Harper's office, leaning against the wall. Her eyes were puffy, her mascara reduced to black smudges. She walked away and motioned me to follow her, waiting until we'd rounded a corner before she stopped and handed me her business card.

"Give this to Kate Scranton. Tell her to call me next week and we'll work something out and we won't need lawyers to do it. I only met her once but I liked her. Tell her I'm sorry about what happened."

"You can make that happen?"

"Milo agreed to give me power of attorney. By the end of the week, I'll be able to make anything happen."

"What happened to doing whatever it takes?"

She folded her arms across her chest, shuddering. "Sometimes it takes too much. After all this, after poor Anne and the others, after finding out what my brother did to Kate Scranton and how he kept his condition from me, sometimes it just takes too much."