by RJ Blain
“Explain,” I ordered.
“It was the day Tom Heatherow’s father announced he was pulling out of his campaign for the Presidency. Miss Gray wasn’t mentioned, but that’s a coincidence no one is willing to overlook at this point.”
Shit. “That’s one hell of a coincidence. Does the birthday of her twins and that announcement match?”
“No. Her twins were premature. But the killers aren’t using the children’s actual birthdays. They’re using the suspected conception date. And we’re finding more articles that match both the conception date and the forty-week mark. It’s a really clever method. They’re taking the guesswork out.”
Grover’s story of the mercenaries who’d riddled the coordinates of a terrorist camp into their victims matched far more than I liked thinking about. “They want us to know the story.”
“Ethical murderers. Professionals stuck in a shit job but honor-bound to complete the job.”
“They’re being really flash about it. Why? Is it a setup?”
“It’s either that, or there’s a lot more to this story than we’re guessing. There are a lot of references to Tom Heatherow’s biological father in the articles we’re finding along with mentions of him.”
“His father seeking revenge for his failed Presidential bid?”
Maxwell shook his head, started his car, and headed down the long, twisting roads that would take us to Dallas. “I don’t think so. I think Tom Heatherow’s father is a puppet master pulling strings and Tom Heatherow is the puppet. And I think the puppet is backed into a corner and is killing off his children so the cycle ends. None of his potential children could be of use to him, either—and they could ruin his potential campaign. Tom Heatherow’s father was—no, is—an ambitious man. That’s clear from his run. His son ruined his Presidential bid. But I have no doubt it didn’t slake his thirst for power. How better to get a taste than coerce or blackmail his son into making a bid so he can rule from the shadows?”
“That’s a bit far-fetched, Maxwell.”
“It happens in politics all the time, Aaron. Behind every politician is someone pulling the strings. The question is always, always who is pulling the strings and how much money is being paid out. I’ve been there. I’ve lived it. I’m as guilty as the next man on that front. I just chose to try to make up for everything I’ve done. Most don’t. In the game of politics, you need to look behind the politician to see the mastermind. Tom Heatherow is likely guilty of some crimes. But which ones? That’s something I can’t tell you, and those who know are dead along with their children.”
“Except for Sharon Gray.”
“Exactly. We just have to hope we reach her first and find out the truth before she’s silenced forever.”
“And that getting to her first makes sure she isn’t silenced forever.”
Maxwell sighed. “Don’t get your hopes up, Aaron. These guys don’t make mistakes.”
“I’d say they most certainly have.”
“How so?”
I clenched my teeth. “I’m still alive, and they’re going to regret that by the time we’re finished.”
“Are they going to be alive to regret?”
“That’s a very good question, Maxwell.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sharon Gray lived in a tiny apartment in one of the worst neighborhoods in Dallas, and it amazed me the building hadn’t toppled in a stiff wind. “All right. This is not what I was expecting, Maxwell.”
“From my understanding of the situation, she prefers to limit how much she wastes on rent so she can indulge in luxuries.”
The state of her windows worried me despite living on the second story. It’d only take one determined sniper on the neighboring building to get a shot at her. “That’s not secure. At all. Sassy could break into that in five minutes flat, and those windows are optimal for a shooter.”
“That thought had crossed my mind.”
“And the apartment’s probably small enough she won’t be able to avoid the windows.”
“Heavy curtains could block the view. That might be enough. If she wants them, we can get them on her behalf. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something like that.”
I didn’t ask. Some things were best left unspoken. “Take the lead?”
“You know what to do almost as well as I do. You’ve been questioning people for years. You’ve met her before. Don’t stress yourself over it. It’s no different from how you’d approach someone when you’re working for the defense.”
“This time, I have a cop breathing down my neck.”
“Aaron, you’re going to be a cop within a year. Now’s a good time to get used to it. You’re no spring chicken, so don’t act like one now.”
“Should I flap my arms now and run in circles? I can.”
“Get your ass out of the car, Aaron.”
I sighed but obeyed. Closing the car door, I stared at the rickety staircase leading to her front door. “Maybe they don’t think they have to do anything. That looks like it could come down any moment.”
“That had occurred to me.”
As Maxwell wouldn’t leave me alone until I did what he wanted, I climbed the staircase, flinching at the groan of strained metal beneath me. “This can’t be legal, Maxwell.”
“I’m thinking I should call in for an inspector. I think you’re right. I’ll do it after we’re done here.”
Worried the whole thing would come down under our combined weight, I knocked on Sharon Gray’s door. She didn’t leave me waiting long, and her brows rose while she looked me over. “You’re looking good for someone who was in critical last week. What can I do for you?”
“Can we come in?”
“Sure. Mark warned me I’d likely see you. I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon, though. Way he told me, you about died in that crash.”
“Early onset lycanthropy helped a lot.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. What strain, sugar?”
“He’s a cheetah, and he’s newly mated.”
“That didn’t take long. Who’s the lucky lady? Come on in and make yourself comfortable.” Sharon got out of the way, and I slid inside with Maxwell on my heels. “You’re a cop?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This isn’t a pleasure call, then. Have a seat.”
Maxwell and I looked at the windows, which were obscured with light drapes that partially obscured the view of the neighboring building. I smiled and shook my head. “I’ll stand if you don’t mind. I’ve been sitting a lot lately, and it feels nice to be on my feet for a while.”
“Why are you here?”
Maxwell glanced at me and nodded.
Damn it. “You’ve heard about the murders of women with their children, I presume?”
“Yes. Who hasn’t?”
“We have reason to believe that you might be a target, and we wanted to speak with you about certain circumstances.”
The color fled from the woman’s face. “Mark already warned me about this. That’s why we’ve been doing what we have been. But why are you here and not him? What’s going on?”
“Mark’s trying to help another woman avoid being the next target,” I admitted.
While her face remained pale, she relaxed. “He seems like the type.”
“To what?”
“Help people.”
I laughed. “Ma’am, my brother’s in the military. He kills people for a living, and he’s good at his job. He wouldn’t know how to be loyal to a woman without the help of the lycanthropy virus from an ultra-conservative wolf. But he tries to do the right thing when he can.”
Maxwell cleared his throat. “It doesn’t hurt that someone tried to kill his little brother. Mark doesn’t take things like that lightly.”
“I could help him out on the lycanthropy virus front.”
I’d have to warn Mark he’d gotten into Sharon Gray’s sights. “That’s between you and him, ma’am, but I wish you the best of luck should you try. He’s a play
er.”
“He’s honest about it. I’m a player, too, Mr. Clinton.”
Yep. She’d gotten information out of my brother about me. “What can you tell us about Tom Heatherow and Abraham Sarmassen?”
Her eyes widened. “That old political campaign? What could you possibly want to know about that?”
“A picture of you with Tom Heatherow in the background at a campaign fundraiser was published in a newspaper. We wanted to find out what relationship you had with both gentlemen.”
“Relationship is a stretch.”
“Is it a stretch you can talk to us about?”
“Can I? Yes. Will I? That depends on why you want to know.”
I’d either blow the questioning session or open the waterworks, but I couldn’t afford to dance around the subject all day. “What if I told you that every woman murdered with her children had also been photographed with Tom Heatherow and had the pictures published in newspapers around the time your twins were born?”
Sharon’s explosion of cursing startled me enough I hopped back a step, and Maxwell clapped his hand to my shoulder. “Miss Gray, if we could avoid startling Mr. Clinton into his first shift, that’d be ideal.”
“That worthless sack of shit!” the woman snarled, and she grabbed a vase from off her coffee table and flung it across the room. It shattered on the wall. She searched for another fragile object to take her wrath out on. “He just refuses to give up and die like a decent man.”
Well, I couldn’t deny something had happened between the two. “I take it Mr. Heatherow is a dishonest player?”
“He’s the type of dishonest player who spikes drinks and gets what he wants. Yeah. He’s a player. He’s a player you don’t trust near your glass, but no one could ever prove a damned thing because he’d partner his cocktails of choice with pixie dust.”
If I ever got Tom Heatherow alone in a dark alley, I worried I’d become the next murderer to infest Dallas. “Is that something you’d be willing to testify about in court, Miss Gray?”
“It’s been tried. We’re gaslit because of the pixie dust. We’re called whores and worse because we slept with him. It doesn’t matter that he spiked our drinks, not to the juries. We’ve been there and done that. Not with him, but others like him. It won’t get anywhere fast. All an angel is going to do is confirm that my drinks were spiked, and he used enough pixie dust to make consent easy for him to get despite us not really wanting to give it.”
“You know the other victims?”
The anger left Sharon’s body on a pained sigh. “Some of them. It’s a thing, you know? We’ve all walked in those same shoes, and we can’t do anything about it. Nobody will believe us. He walks. And now he’s getting rid of us because we’re inconvenient. He’s going to be making a bid.”
“For the senate,” I confirmed. “He was after Senator Sterling.”
Sharon Gray snorted. “I wish him the best of luck with that. Sterling’s a player, but he’s an honest one. They’re the best kind. I know exactly what I’m getting out of that relationship, and it doesn’t require the help of a battery-operated toy.”
Maxwell coughed and fought to keep from smiling. “There’s nothing wrong with that, ma’am. And for what it’s worth, I do believe you. That won’t help you in front of a jury of your peers, but I don’t doubt your word.”
I’d been a private investigator too long to doubt men and women alike found ways to circumvent consent to get what they wanted.
“That’s new. Mark said you’re a private investigator. What’s a private investigator doing with a cop?”
“Trying to make sure no one else is killed.”
Sharon’s sad smile hurt, and the pain centered in my chest. “He’s not the type to stop, Mr. Clinton. I trust you understand that. It’s not about our children. It’s about us. We’re the ones who, like his mother, ruined his life.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped. “You ruined no one’s life.”
While still sad, her smile brightened. “The world’s black and white for you, isn’t it? If we hadn’t been there, if it hadn’t been so easy, he wouldn’t have been able to do it, right? That’s all on us. We were available. That’s how men like him think. That cat you sent to the mixer? That’s the one who sank her teeth into you?”
“Sassy.”
“Such a strange name, but it suits her. I got the feeling you were the one. A man doesn’t buy shoes like that for a girl like her unless he’s serious.”
“You should see the ones with the red soles,” I muttered.
Sharon laughed, a sound without life or warmth. “A man definitely doesn’t buy shoes like that unless he means business. She’s lucky.”
“Tell me why, please.” I wanted to understand.
In understanding, I might find the next piece of the puzzle.
“The first time I heard of Tom Heatherow, we’d found out he was Mr. Sarmassen’s son. That was right before the start of the campaign. Mr. Sarmassen warned us then it would likely end his bid but he’d try anyway. He acknowledged the truth of it to those involved with his campaign from the very beginning. We were told to keep it quiet, which we did. Someone talked.”
“Someone always does,” Maxwell said, and his tone was the match of hers, lost.
I wondered how so much anguish could fit in so small of an apartment. “What can you tell me?”
“If I tell you everything, he’ll want you dead, too. That’s what he does. He kills people. Sometimes, he kills them but leaves them still breathing. Sometimes, he leaves their bodies cooling on the steps of a shopping center as a warning. No, as a promise. You’re next, those bodies said. You’re next. But I wasn’t next. He went after Rachel and Emery. He went after Patrice and Carol. He went after Gemmy and Daniel. They’re the ones who’d found new lives after he’d killed them but left them breathing, Mr. Clinton. He enjoys destroying lives, and he hates when his victims move on from what he’s done to them.”
“And you?”
“Do you think your brother was the first one to come up with the idea of claiming that my babies had died, Mr. Clinton?”
I sighed. “Did it do any good?”
“It won’t, not if he’s making a bid. He thinks he left me breathing but dead inside, unable or unwilling to speak out against him. I hadn’t interested him. Until now.” Sharon glanced towards the window. “They’re probably watching even now. Waiting for me to tell you the important parts so I can be silenced. But not before I give you what you need.”
“You sound confident.” Her confidence terrified me.
She expected to die, and I had no idea what I could do to stop it.
“I can feel them watching me. You’re a lot like your brother. You want to stop the inevitable.”
“Magic?”
“It crawls over my skin when they watch. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there.”
Illusions. Illusions Joe could see through if I allowed him to poke through my memories. I’d become living evidence if I could only find where they watched. “Can you show me where?”
“I expect I won’t live beyond pointing if I did that, Mr. Clinton. It’s one of those things, you know?”
“Can you tell me why you’re so confident, Miss Gray?”
“I hear and see things I shouldn’t sometimes. That’s what I’m best at. I show up, and I listen. The fundraisers. The political mixers. The speeches. There’s a lot of money to be had tipping off the newspapers, you know? That’s what I do. I tip people off on what the politicians are up to. It’s good money.”
My eyes widened. “You were watching Senator Sterling?”
“Of course. I was watching Heatherow, too. Make no mistake. Should I live through this, it would be my honor and privilege to sink him. I would leave him dead but breathing, too. If I have to accomplish that through death, it would be worth it. Filth like him needs to pay. That’s what I do. I make sure they pay. All of them.”
Maxwell stared at the window, glancing at Sharon, his e
yes narrowing as he examined the curtains and the angle to neighboring buildings. “Then help us, Sharon. We’ll do everything we can to make sure you’re safe.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sir.”
“Maxwell.”
“I know who you are. You’re the first politician I’ve ever met who actually meant it when he claimed he was sorry for what he’s done. You? To become a cop? I never would’ve believed it if you hadn’t done it. To go from the top of the hill to working the streets? No. You’re idealistic. It won’t help. Not against the sort of money they’re throwing around to get rid of us. They’ll succeed. It’s just a matter of when.”
“Or we cut the head off the snake and the money flow ends.”
“How many people are you willing to kill to make the money vanish?” Sharon smiled. “This is bigger than you could ever guess.”
“That’s frighteningly cryptic.”
“I’m good at cryptic. I’m almost at good at cryptic as you are at false sincerity.”
I allowed myself a grim smile. “When did you think I wasn’t sincere?”
“The shoe store.”
I snorted. “I was very sincere in that store. You looked like you were going to eat that poor store clerk for breakfast. I went in to rescue her from you.”
“You’re serious.”
“Had I gotten my way, I wouldn’t have even stepped foot into that store, Miss Gray. But, that’s how we got here. I need a motive, and I need names of who would want to make you and those other women disappear. What did you see that could make a difference now?”
“It’s not that simple.”
Nothing ever was. “I’d like to understand.”
“Would you swear an oath to me, Mr. Clinton? If I tell you all I know, that you will stand on my behalf when I’m gone, witnessed by an angel, to tell them what I told you? Would you? Even if you knew my blood would stain your hands forever?”
How could I change the fate she viewed as inevitable? That she believed herself dead already disturbed me. “I’d do more than allow an angel to hear the truth of my words, Sharon.”