And Then You Die

by Iris Johansen

  “Maybe. Can you tell me where to find him?”

  He shook his head.

  Kaldak couldn't be sure if the kid was telling the truth. Time to shake him up a little. “Morrisey's dead. Murdered. He's been dead for days.”

  Sloburn's eyes widened in shock. “Cody did it?”

  “No, I don't think so, but Jeffers may know something.” He added, “Or he may be in danger himself if he saw something he shouldn't have. We have to find him.”

  “Drugs? Mafia?”

  “Possibly. Where's Cody Jeffers?”

  “I don't know. I haven't seen him in a couple of days. I thought maybe he went down to see his mother in Kansas.”

  “He hasn't been in the show or down at the bar?”

  He shook his head.

  “Do you know where his mother lives?”

  “I don't remember.” He frowned. “Some suburb that sounds like–– Northern Lights, maybe.”

  “Northern Lights?”

  He shrugged. “I don't remember.”

  “Does he have a girl?”

  “Not here. He always said a performer had to devote himself to his work if he wanted to be a headliner.”

  “Do you have a photograph of him?”

  “No.” He thought about it. “Dunston might have one. They take a lot of publicity pictures.”

  “Dunston?”

  “Irwin Dunston. He runs the demolition derby.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “The derby was over at eleven. He's probably down at Shea's bar with everyone else.”

  “Thanks.” He leaned closer. “Now, I want you to listen very carefully. No one's to go into Morrisey's room. This has to be handled discreetly. A group of technicians will be here shortly to take the body and clean up the room.”

  “Technicians?”

  “We're not sure what killed him. There are all kinds of gases and powders the mob uses these days. I'm sure the hotel manager wouldn't appreciate having anyone know the room might be contaminated.”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then you'll cooperate and keep this from the media.”

  Sloburn was frowning uncertainly. “I watched the O.J. trial. This isn't how things are done. You're disturbing evidence.”

  Christ, everyone in the world had watched that trial and thought they were experts. “Oh, am I?”

  “Yes, and how do I know that ID isn't forged or something? You might not be CIA. You could be anyone.”

  “Yes, I could be anyone.” He gazed directly into Sloburn's eyes and said softly, “There's a dead man upstairs who was killed by the mob. Now, if I'm not one of the good guys, who could I be?”

  Sloburn swallowed hard. “No one. You're legit. Of course, you're legit.”

  “And you'll cooperate with the men who want to save your manager a major headache?”

  He nodded.

  “And you don't know anything more about Cody Jeffers?”

  “I told you everything.”

  Which wasn't much. “The lock's broken on the door. Go on up and stand guard until the technicians get there.”

  “I shouldn't leave the desk.”

  Kaldak looked at him.

  Sloburn nodded quickly and started around the desk. “I guess this is a more urgent matter.”

  “Very urgent.”

  So urgent it was scaring the pants off him, Kaldak thought as he headed for the exit. Morrisey's death could have been another experiment.

  Or Esteban could be throwing down the gauntlet.

  Sixteen

  Day Two

  12:35 A.M.

  Kaldak was on his way to Shea's bar when he got the call from Yael.

  “Bess is leaving New Orleans. I thought you should know.”

  “What?”

  “She's in the bedroom, packing. She's going to Johns Hopkins. The kid is being operated on tomorrow morning.”

  Murphy's Law. He should have known the one event that would draw Bess into the open would happen when he was hundreds of miles away. “You're going with her?”

  “I seem to be. Since I was rash enough to make you a promise. But protecting her is escalating in difficulty. One good thing is that we may have zeroed in on De Salmo.”

  “How?”

  Yael explained. “Ramsey's ordered him picked up for questioning.”

  “Does he know you're leaving town?”

  “Not yet. Should I tell him?”

  “After the fact. So he won't be able to do anything about it except make sure she's protected at the hospital.”

  “That's my reading too.”

  “Take her down the courtyard staircase and out the back way. Do you have a car?”

  “It's parked on Canal Street. And how am I supposed to get past Ramsey's guard in the courtyard?”

  “How the hell do I know? Improvise. You usually don't have any trouble.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Buy a ticket to Milwaukee by way of Chicago. When you get to Chicago, make sure you're not followed and then take a flight to Baltimore.”

  “Any other orders?”

  “Sorry.” Yael had a perfect right to be sarcastic. Kaldak was trying to control the situation long-distance. He just felt so damn helpless. He wanted to be there. And he was so scared, he was sick to his stomach.

  “No problem.” Yael paused. “Did you find Morrisey?”

  “Dead.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yes, but I may have a lead. I'll fill you in later. Call me when you get to the hospital.”

  “When I can do it discreetly. Bess won't like seeing me report to you. She may toss me out on my ear and you wouldn't like that.”

  “As soon as you can, then.” He hung up the phone. Just try to locate Cody Jeffers, he told himself. Don't think about Bess. There was nothing else he could do. Yael was smart and careful. He would take care of her.

  Just don't think about Bess.

  Yael was talking on the phone. Bess couldn't hear what he was saying, but she'd bet she knew who was on the other end of the line. She didn't give a damn that Kaldak knew where she was going, but she didn't like the fact that Yael had waited until she was in her bedroom to call him.

  She put on her jacket, looped the strap of her camera around her neck, and strode back into the living room. “I'm ready to go. I hope Kaldak gave you a good suggestion as to how we should get out of here.”

  “Oops.” Yael stood up and grabbed her suitcase and his own. “I was only trying to be discreet.”

  “I'd rather you be honest than discreet. Which way are we leaving?”

  “The courtyard.” He moved down the hallway and unlocked the door. “You stay here at the head of the stairs and I'll go down and talk to Ramsey's man, see what I can do about getting him out of there.”

  “What if you can't?”

  “I guess I knock him very gently and carefully on the head.”

  “I don't think you can knock anyone gently on the head. Ramsey will be very upset with you.”

  “Why should I be different?” Yael started down the stone steps. “Stay here.”

  The courtyard had no lights and Yael seemed to disappear into a black hole. Bess strained to see, but she couldn't make out either Yael or the guard.

  She was suddenly uneasy. She should be hearing footsteps. Yael's voice. Something . . .

  Silence.

  “Bess,” Yael called out.

  She jumped.

  “Come on. Hurry.”

  She ran down the stairs and Yael led her across the courtyard.

  “How did you get rid of him?”

  “I didn't,” he muttered. “He wasn't there.”

  “What?”

  “He wasn't there.” She could sense his tension. “And I don't like it, dammit. Ramsey wouldn't have called him off the job.”

  “The other guard, Peterson . . .” Peterson had died. Peterson had been murdered.

  Yael didn't answer, but his grasp tightened on her arm.

  The walkw
ay leading to the street loomed dark and ominous.

  “Stay a few paces behind. I'm going on ahead.” Yael disappeared into the darkness.

  Alone. Fear iced through her. Someone was watching. She could feel it.

  Not on the walk where Yael had gone. Behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw only gargoyles. Shadows on shadows. Then movement.

  Oh, God.

  She raced down the long walkway after Yael. She could see the lights of the street and Yael's silhouette. “Yael!”

  “Bess, what's––”

  A hand closed on her hair, jerking her to a stop.

  She looked over her shoulder. A white-painted face gleaming in the darkness. A skull. It looked like a skull. Something else was gleaming, the blade in his hand.

  “Run, Bess.” Yael tore her from De Salmo with a force that threw her against the brick wall.

  She couldn't run away. She couldn't leave Yael. Where was he? She could barely see the two figures struggling in the darkness. It lasted only a moment, and then one of the men was getting to his feet, coming toward her.

  Yael?

  De Salmo?

  She turned and ran.

  He was right behind her.

  He grabbed her arm. “Bess!”

  She went limp with relief. “Yael. I thought––I wasn't sure––”

  “I wasn't either for a minute.” He was breathing hard. “He was very good.”

  “De Salmo?”

  “I assume. I don't know anyone else with green hair, do you?”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “He won't bother you again.”

  “He's dead?”

  “Exceptionally. I'm very good too.”

  They were out of the walkway, on the street. Lights. Beautiful lights. Thank God.

  “What are you going to do about him?” Bess asked.

  “Unless you've changed your mind about going to Baltimore, we'll leave him for Ramsey. I doubt if he'd be entertaining company on our trip.”

  “I haven't changed my mind.”

  “I didn't think you would.” He urged her down the street. “Then let's see if we can get out of the Quarter without running into Ramsey or one of his men.”

  Cheyenne

  1:40 A.M.

  The lighting in the demolition derby stadium office was soft and diffused, and Kaldak had to step closer to study the group photo on the desk.

  “This is Jeffers. Second row, third from the left.” Dunston pointed at a man in a cowboy hat. “I told him not to wear that hat, but he put it on anyway. He's a real hot dog.”

  Jeffers was in his early twenties with a wide face and deep-set, light eyes. “Is he good?”

  “Not bad but not as good as he thinks he is.”

  The cowboy hat almost entirely hid Jeffers's hair. “What color is his hair?”

  “Light brown, sort of sandy.”

  “Short?”

  Dunston nodded. “And curly. He was always combing it down.”

  “I can't tell what color his eyes are.”

  “Blue.”

  “Do you have a personnel record on Jeffers?”

  “Sure. Do you think the IRS would let me run a business without records out the wazoo?” Dunston went to the file cabinet and riffled through the folders. “Jeffers.” He handed the file to Kaldak. “You know, this doesn't surprise me. I always knew Cody would end up in trouble.”

  He opened the folder. “Why?”

  Dunston shrugged. “Nothing I can point a finger at. Bad things happen when he's around. Most of the time to people Cody doesn't like.”

  Jeffers's mother was divorced and lived in Aurora, Kansas, a suburb of Kansas City. No other relatives listed. Northern Lights, the clerk at the hotel had said. Aurora Borealis? “Do you know anything about Jeffers's mother?”

  “I know he visited her pretty frequently. She came here last month and I gave her a complimentary ticket to the show. He was preening and showing off for her like a peacock.” He made a face. “She was a real pushy bitch. She had the nerve to ask me why I wasn't starring sonny boy. I almost felt sorry for him. It was pretty clear Cody couldn't measure up in her eyes unless he was top of the heap.”

  “Did he ask for a leave of absence when he took off?”

  Dunston shook his head. “One night he was here, the next he no-showed.”

  “May I have this folder and the picture?”

  “As long as I get the folder back. I don't want the IRS saying I claimed an employee who doesn't exist.”

  He took a marker and drew a circle around Jeffers's face on the photo. “You'll get it back.”

  “Can I lock up and go back to the bar now?” Dunston asked. “This isn't how I planned to spend my evening, you know.”

  Kaldak nodded. “Thanks for your time. Call me at that number I gave you if you hear from Jeffers.”

  “It's not likely, is it? You wouldn't be here if he hadn't done something pretty bad.”

  “You never can tell.” Kaldak left the office and headed for the exit. He doubted that Dunston would hear from Jeffers ever again. Esteban had plucked the young man from this world for his own purpose, and he would make sure Jeffers remained cut off.

  But Kaldak might have gotten a break. It was hard to cut off a man from his mother, particularly a dominant woman like the one Dunston had described. He would fax the picture and file to Ramsey and then catch the next flight to Kansas City.

  Kaldak was becoming more uneasy the more he learned. Jeffers sounded reckless, volatile, and vain. He would be a piece of cake for Esteban to manipulate.

  Bad things happen when he's around.

  He hoped to hell Dunston's words weren't prophetic.

  Des Moines, Iowa

  6:50 A.M.

  Cody checked his wristwatch. Time to make the run to Waterloo. Esteban liked everything to go like clockwork and precisely to his orders. Well, he was forking out the money.

  Cody would give him what he wanted.

  8:30 A.M.

  De Salmo was dead.

  Esteban hung up the phone. Inconvenient.

  Or maybe not. He would have had to dispose of De Salmo eventually anyway, and De Salmo hadn't proved efficient where the woman was concerned. Not that Esteban could worry about the woman just then.

  He was coming so close. Cody Jeffers should be in Waterloo already.

  After all this time, after all his planning, the countdown was about to start.

  Waterloo, Iowa

  10:05 A.M

  Cody yawned as he leaned against the truck's front fender.

  This waiting around was boring. But it looked like they were almost done.

  He climbed back into the driver's seat. It was all too easy. No excitement. Even the extra little job Esteban had given him had gone off without a hitch. Those Arabs hadn't even gone with him when he'd said he'd had to take a leak.

  He watched them swarming over the truck. If this was his truck, he wouldn't be letting those foreigners touch it. You couldn't trust anybody but good, white Americans. Everybody knew that.

  They were through now, waving him imperiously out of the barn. Arrogant sons of bitches. Just like those smirking Japs in that old John Wayne movie.

  But John Wayne had shown them.

  Just as Cody Jeffers would show them.

  Johns Hopkins

  11:20 A.M.

  “Why is she still in the operating room?” Bess said worriedly. “It shouldn't be taking this long.”

  “Oh?” Yael said. “I didn't know you were a surgeon. Maybe you should go in and take over for Dr. Kenwood.”

  “Shut up, Yael. I'm scared to death. She's so little. . . .”

  “I know,” Yael said gently. “That's probably why it takes so long. It must be a very delicate operation.”

  He was right, she realized with relief. Maybe nothing had gone wrong. It was good that Yael was there with her and not Kaldak. “I suppose you called Kaldak when we got here.”

  He nodded.
“While you were talking to Dr. Kenwood before the operation.” He let a couple of seconds go by, then said, “I also called Ramsey.”

  She stiffened.

  “I had to do it. You couldn't stay here without a lot more protection.”

  “Just so he doesn't try to make me leave Josie.”

  “He probably will, but we'll stave him off for a while.”

  “Did you find out what happened to the guard in the courtyard?”

  Yael grimaced.

  “Dead?”

  “They found him underneath the courtyard staircase. De Salmo was evidently trying to get into the apartment.”

  She smiled with effort. “A mamba in the drain?”

  “I doubt if De Salmo was clever enough to appreciate James Bond. Don't worry about it now. You're here and safe.”

  “You shouldn't have told Ramsey I was here. I'd bet it was Kaldak's idea.”

  “Well, I agreed with him. I knew he had Josie's and your welfare at heart.”

  “Bullshit. He doesn't care about us.”

  “You know better than that. He cares. He just couldn't let it get in the way. He waited a long time to get this close.”

  “He was wrong. I can imagine how upset he was about his colleagues dying on Nakoa, but that doesn't excuse––”

  “His colleagues?” Yael asked. “Is that what he told you?”

  “Yes.” His reaction puzzled her.

  “His mother and father were scientists and they were both on Nakoa. His mother headed up the project. They were the ones who brought Kaldak into the project. His wife, Lea, was a lab assistant. They had a four-year-old son.”

  Shock jolted through her. “And they all died on Nakoa?”

  Yael nodded. “I'd say that's enough to make someone a little obsessive.”

  “He didn't tell me.”

  “He didn't tell me either. I had to find out for myself.”

  “Why?” she murmured. “Why did he keep it a secret from me?”

  “I couldn't tell you. I'm not Kaldak.”

  Who was Kaldak? He had recounted the story of Nakoa with all the emotion of a robot. He had said he was no longer the man who had lived through that horror. But his pain was evidently still so intense, he couldn't talk about his loss even after all these years.

  “It doesn't make what he did any more forgivable.”

  “I'm not defending, merely explaining.” He smiled. “And perhaps I wanted to distract you a little. I don't like to see you this––”