Free Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) by Phillip Margolin Page A

for air.
    Benedict’s mind was swirling. If he took Carrie to the hospital there would be an investigation. What would she say? The sex tape would come out. She would accuse him of blackmail, and he’d shot her with his gun.
    Did Carrie tell anyone she was coming here? Fear flooded him. By now, everyone at the courthouse would have heard about the disappearing coke and how angry Carrie was at him. He’d told her to tell no one she was visiting him, but did she tell anyone? Twenty million dollars was at stake, so she had probably kept her mouth shut, but Carrie was unpredictable. Her attack was proof of that.
    And there was the Porsche in his garage. What if a neighbor saw her drive in? He had to get rid of the Porsche.
    Benedict forced himself to calm down. Carrie moaned pitifully. It took all of his willpower to tune her out and focus on his problem. Suddenly an idea occurred to Benedict and a bizarre plan formed in his mind. It might not work. He didn’t have time to think it through now. He would figure out if it made sense after he’d given the idea an objective, unemotional analysis, but there were some things he would have to do now if it was going to work.
    “Please, Charlie, I’m dying,” Carrie managed. “Take me to the hospital. I won’t tell what happened.”
    “I’m so sorry. I’m going to help you.”
    “Thank you.”
    Benedict looked around until he spotted Carrie’s purse. It was lying on the couch. He opened it and found the key to her Porsche and a ring that held many more keys. Benedict dangled the key ring in front of Carrie’s eyes.
    “Which key opens your front door?”
    “What?” Carrie asked dully. She was having trouble focusing.
    “We’re going to the hospital, but you have to tell me what key opens your front door so I can help you.”
    Carrie stared at Benedict. He wasn’t making sense, but she was also finding it hard to think clearly. She pointed to her house key.
    “Are any of these other keys for a car Horace drives?”
    “Jesus, it hurts.”
    “Focus, Carrie. Are any of these keys for a car Horace drives?”
    Carrie started to gag but she forced herself to point to a key.
    “What car is this key for?” Benedict asked.
    “Bentley,” she gasped.
    “Good girl. Now let’s take care of you.”
    Benedict picked up the wounded prosecutor. She was heavy, and it was a struggle to get her down the steps to the garage. He opened the Porsche’s trunk and dropped her in it.
    “Oh, God!” Carrie shouted.
    Benedict grabbed the towel, rolled it in a ball so that Carrie’s blood was on the inside, slammed the lid of the trunk, and raced upstairs. As he climbed the stairs he could hear Carrie pounding on the inside of the trunk. It was unnerving, but Benedict forced himself to ignore the sound. The farther he got from the garage, the more distant the thump-thump-thump became until the sound disappeared completely by the time he entered his kitchen.
    Benedict found a Tupperware container and put the rolled-up towel in it. He sealed the lid, opened the freezer, and stashed the container in the back of the compartment. Then he grabbed some ice cubes and closed the freezer. His heart was racing. He dropped the ice cubes into a glass and fixed a stiff drink. He pressed the cold glass to his forehead and took deep breaths until he was calm. As he relaxed, Benedict remembered how Carrie’s naked body had looked when he maneuvered her so the sex would look real in the DVD.
    “What a waste,” he thought as he surveyed his living room. He’d have to clean up the pieces of the broken vase. He didn’t see any blood, but there might be hair or fibers on the couch where Blair had sat when she viewed the DVD. He’d have to do something about that. His Dustbuster came to mind.
    The alcohol he was drinking started to have the desired effect. When Benedict was calmer he began to fine-tune his plan. It was no secret that the Blairs’ marriage was on the rocks. He wondered how many people