A Share in Death

And what argument could he use to sway this man who had nothing left to lose? Lyle would never see Miles Sterrett’s money now, and he’d face life imprisonment whether he killed Hannah and Kincaid or not. “Satisfy my curiosity, Eddie. I know Penny must have seen you the night you killed Sebastian. Did she agree to meet you on the tennis court?” Kincaid’s tone suggested they might be chatting over a pint. He weighed the possibility of reaching Lyle before he could fire the gun, then decided it was physically impossible. He’d have to rely on his tongue.

“A passing suggestion on my part.” The smile came again. “It was as good a place as any.”

“And Sebastian? What did Sebastian find out?”

“The bloody snoop.” Lyle sounded peevish. “He saw me coming out of her room.” His arm tightened on Hannah’s neck, leaving no doubt whom he meant. “I’d been… checking on things. I couldn’t have any connection made afterwards, could I?”

“No. No, I’m sure you couldn’t,” Kincaid answered as if it were the most reasonable question in the world. He thought he heard a faint scuffling from the path above, and he spoke quickly to stop Lyle hearing it as well. “Listen, Eddie—”

“I’m getting tired of this, Superintendent. Step over there.” Lyle motioned with his head toward the riverbank. The sun caught the lenses of his glasses, giving him for an instant two round, opaque eyes, gleaming and metallic.

Kincaid heard a slither from behind him, then a thud. Patrick’s voice came, rising on a note of panic. “Han—” It stopped abruptly, muffled, no doubt, by Gemma’s hand. The sound of their rough breathing came clearly to Kincaid

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over the murmur of the river and the hammering of his own heart.

Lyle’s head whipped back toward them and Kincaid saw the tension run through his body. “Get back. All of you.” His grip on Hannah tightened.

“Give it up, Eddie. More police are on their way. Don’t make it any worse for yourself.”

“Worse?” Lyle’s laughter edged toward hysteria. “Why shouldn’t I have the satisfaction of taking you all with me? Especially her.” He twisted the gun against Hannah’s temple. “You make me sick, all of you.”

“What about your wife?” Kincaid threw it out in lastditch desperation. “And your daughter—what’s it going to be like for her when you’re plastered all over the papers? Oh, they’ll have a field day with you, Eddie, you’d better believe it. And your Chloe’ll never be free of it.”

For the first time Lyle seemed to waver, his head twisting blindly. Suddenly Hannah crumpled at Lyle’s feet.

Kincaid launched himself toward them. The still sunlight seemed to coalesce around him until he hung suspended in it, powerless.

Knocking his gold-rimmed glasses askew, Eddie Lyle pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple and fired.

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