Page 153 of The Body in the Backyard

“But you wereready to runand took advantage of anopen door,” he continued pointedly as if he were addressing a class. “So you faked your own death and ran off to South America, where you eventually got bored drinking banana daiquiris on the beach and decided to get back in business under the assumed identity. Thanks to the stolen mob start-up fund, Dr. Dil quickly became one of Colombia’s top private cosmetic surgeons.”

The slide on the TV dissolved. Dr. Dil’s website homepage spiraled onto the screen, showcasing beautiful smiling people with thin thighs and large breasts.

Brian inched his wheelchair closer to the patio doors. The other still-conscious former suspects exchanged nervous glances.

“It was a good gig,” Nick continued. “You were making more money than ever, enough to buy yourself a private plane. You had a mansion on the beach and two Ferraris. You’d even devised a way to ensure that every single one of your clients paid.”

“Yes, well, you’d be amazed to know just how often the hedge fund manager from Boca is going to try to fly home and stick you with the bill for his liposuction,” Byron explained to the audience.

Nick turned back to face his quarry. “You took out life insurance policies on each of your clients with you as the beneficiary. That way, if you thought one of your newly pretty patients wasgetting ready to runout on the bill, you made sure they didn’t live long enough to enjoy their fancy new body parts.”

“Who can blame me? The audacity of these people. I’m an artist. And they think they can take up my time and talent and then not pay me what I’m worth?” Byron was gesturing the gun at himself now. “People like Griffin Gentry are entitled little pricks.”

“Ah, but he wasn’t such a ‘little’ prick when you were done with his calf extensions.”

The crowd gasped.

“Ohhh. That explainsa lot,” Riley said.

“You had hit men on your payroll who took care of problems like Griffin Gentry for you,” Nick said, gauging the distance between them.

“Hit menandwomen. I’m an equal opportunity employer of international professional killers. I would have sent my number one, Svetlana, but she was on her honeymoon.”

“So you accompanied the B team to the U.S. to babysit them and then had to stand by while they killed the wrong guy and got themselves caught,” Nick filled in.

Byron shrugged affably. “You know the old saying. If your best assassin is on her honeymoon and you want the job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself. Now, let’s see about getting on with it.”

“But I’m not finished yet. For future reference, in case you do get lucky and manage to escape this room, you should rent a less conspicuous getaway vehicle next time. Everyone’s going to remember a shiny black Escalade leaving the scene of a crime,” Nick said, pointing to the screen where a grainy traffic cam photo of the SUV cruising down Front Street appeared. Next to it was another shot, this one from a doorbell cam. It was of the same Escalade parked on Griffin’s cul-de-sac.

“I’ll take that into consideration next time,” Byron snapped irritably. “Now tell me where Gentry is. I’ve got a hip bone reduction tomorrow at four and parkour club at seven.”

“But I’m just getting started. You tried to take Griffin out by making it look like an accident,” Nick said, stalling for time.

Byron rolled his eyes. “Life insurance tends to pay out faster with an accident than with a suspicious death.”

“You disguised yourself as a crew member from the studio and sliced through the support cable on the studio light that just missed crushing Gentry.” He pointed at the TV where footage showed a goateed Byron climbing the ladder on set before the interview with wire cutters in hand.

“I told you it wasn’t me!” Henry said, pumping his fist into the air in a short-lived victory. Byron swung the gun at him, and the assistant hit the floor. “Sorry. I got excited for a second. Forget I’m here.”

The doctor turned his attention back to Nick, and Brian used the opportunity to unlock the sliding door to the patio.

“The real criminal here is you, Mr. Santiago, and that interfering girlfriend of yours. I would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you two imbeciles bumbling into my path.”

Josie leaned in and murmured, “Can someone say Scooby-Doo villain?”

“This is all your fault. My men would have solved my problem with that shove down the stairs at the gala if you hadn’t gotten everyone’s attention. They tried to rectify the situation by staging a road rage incident, but once again, you were there to foil my plans. The light wouldn’t have missed Griffin if it not for you and your girlfriend playing tackle football on live television,” Byron snarled. He pointed to the ridiculous oil painting of Griffin hanging on the wall. “You’re the reason this man is still walking around and enjoying the extra inch of height I gave him.”

“Hey, there’s no need to rub it in,” Nick said, rolling to the balls of his feet and imperceptibly beginning to lower his hands. The doctor was cracking. It was now or never. Nick just needed a small distraction…

The powder room door flew open behind Byron, and a newly moussed Griffin appeared in the doorway. “I need someone to make me a snack,” Gentry announced.

Byron’s eyes lit with a vengeful fire as he turned toward his quarry.

It was as good a distraction as Nick was going to get. He sprang into action, grabbing Griffin’s portrait off the wall and swinging as hard as he could just as Byron raised his gun.

“Now!” Nick yelled as the portrait smashed down over Byron’s head at the exact second the gun went off. A knife whistled past his head. Four more gunshots rang out, raining down chunks of drywall from the ceiling.

People screamed and bolted through the open patio door.