The Final Deception

by Heather Graham

  “A bit, why?”

  “Well, they allow their children to go off into the world and then come back to the church if they choose. I think Raoul saw it that way. Amy was the strict one. They were bound in their marriage...and, the way he saw it, women had their place. Amy was happy with that place. I don’t know more than that. Honestly.” He grimaced. “I am a man of God, sir, and I would not lie to you.”

  But you did withhold information, Craig thought. “Sir, may I have your phone?”

  They could try to pin Nicholson if they could coordinate his location by the cell towers his call had been routed through, though Craig was sure he’d be constantly changing phones and moving about the city, too.

  Cunningham smiled. “He called on my landline. You’re welcome to my records.”

  “Thank you,” Craig said, rising.

  “I hope you’re able to bring him in. He caused tremendous pain, but...in a way, he’s an oddly good man. The world isn’t all just good and evil. There are areas in between.”

  “Yes, I know. And I told you—I am trying desperately to bring him in alive, and have him help us find the killer who is using him.”

  Craig headed out, thinking that it was time to find Cliff Watkins.

  Watkins, who knew prison and jail systems. Who knew Raoul Nicholson.

  And, still, why had Charles Mayhew been targeted? There was no motive.

  His phone rang; Marty Kim was returning his call.

  He answered it, listening intently.

  “The building, Craig, that Mayhew lived in—he owned it. Well, he didn’t own it on his own. The first two holding companies on the contract were owned by him, but there were others in on the purchase. I started to dig into a holding company that holds a good share of the building. Someone had something to gain if he died—someone wanting to get control of the building. I’m not sure who it is yet, I’m still digging, but I wanted to let you know.”

  “Thank you! Keep going!”

  Craig thought he just might know who the other owner could be.

  He moved quickly.

  Marty had just given him a very big puzzle piece.

  One that might very well make all the others fall into place.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ANNIE WAS DOING WELL. The sedation seemed to be entirely out of her system. She was happy to shake off what had happened, and happy to talk to Milo about movies, plays, sports—anything that kept her mind off what had happened, and being afraid.

  Kieran managed to get Mike out in the hallway alone and tell him about the call.

  “We have to let Craig know, and Egan. And see what we know about the furniture shop.”

  “We know that his shop was sold, that Watkins helped Amy get rid of it fairly quickly, and that he made some money for her. I believe, however, that there was a bunch of construction going on. He had a two-story warehouse just north of Canal and the buyers were ripping it all out. Nicholson was a furniture maker—he did a lot of special designs and one-of-a-kind pieces. The new owners are going for a much larger employee roster and mass-market work. I think, because of some of their machinery, they were ripping it down to the foundations.”

  Mike had his phone out as he spoke.

  “I’m calling Craig. And then—”

  “Egan. I guess we need some kind of plan if we’re going to figure out a way for me to safely connect with Nicholson. I know he doesn’t want to hurt me, though, Mike. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Craig first,” Mike said.

  He must have answered right away; Mike immediately gave the details about the call Kieran received. He frowned, and he listened, and he seemed to listen a very long time, just throwing in a word here and there.

  Mike hung up, smiling at her. “We’re set,” he said.

  “We’re set—to do what?” she asked.

  “Go to the furniture shop at 7:00.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “What about—”

  He smiled. “Craig is going to head straight there, survey the situation. He’s going in alone to make sure that he isn’t seen or followed, or that anything gives away the fact that you’re not going alone. He is, however, informing Egan, but even then, this whole thing will be on the down low. We can’t spook Nicholson. We have to get him in. This might be our only chance.”

  “Okay,” Kieran said slowly. “What do we do about...well, Simon Wrigley is still in the hospital, and—”

  “Simon Wrigley was discharged. But don’t worry. Agents are watching over him,” Mike said.

  “And now Annie—”

  “And Annie has Milo, and...”

  “And what?”

  “They’re going to add on a man from the NYPD. Just to be safe.”

  “Mike, what’s going on? Are we suspicious of the FBI?”

  He shook his head. “No, but Craig did just get some very interesting information.”

  “Which is?”

  “I guess it took some digging, but Marty Kim was able to discover that a holding company owned another holding company.”

  Kieran shook her head. “Mike, I’m lost. What are you talking about?”

  “Charles Mayhew didn’t just live in that building, he owned it.”

  “Well, we knew he was a billionaire. How does that help us find his killer?”

  “Marty and Craig are working on it. Craig believes that he was doing something with the building that might have infuriated someone. Apparently he bought it a while back, and was just starting to make changes. The changes he was making might have caused someone to want him dead before those changes could be made.”

  “What kind of changes?” Kieran asked.

  “Well, we don’t know about that yet,” Mike said. “Craig is trying to make a connection between the attorney, Cliff Watkins, and the building. But if we can bring Nicholson in, or even if he talks to you, we may get the answers.” He paused for a minute. “Craig is showing some real faith in you, you know. A little while ago, I suggested that we use you to draw Nicholson out. Well, you know, normally, we do everything we can not to involve civilians, and, of course, Craig is rabidly protective when it comes to you. But he’s showing tremendous faith in your intuition and training...”

  “And he intends to be there himself,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Mike admitted.

  “So, when do we go?”

  Mike looked at his watch. “We just go. We head to the area. Oh—by the way, we’ll be giving the entire place a major sweep. That’s where he was calling you from, and Craig believes he called his old pastor from there, too. So Egan is placing a few special agents nearby, and I need to get you dropped off by the closest subway station and appear to disappear. I imagine that Nicholson will know that you’re not really intending to come alone, so he’ll have an escape route planned. Craig is getting all the blueprints, so he’ll know what that escape route might be.”

  Kieran nodded.

  “Now we go in and I tell Milo that we’re leaving him on to watch Annie through the night, and that I’ll be taking you home and staying with you there.”

  “You don’t trust Milo?” she said.

  “We’re not trusting anyone right now.”

  “Okay,” Kieran agreed. She turned and walked into Annie’s hospital room.

  Milo was on duty; he turned immediately, and she knew that he was ready to pull his weapon if danger threatened.

  Annie looked at Kieran, smiling hesitantly. “I guess I’m not in that big a hurry to go home. I’m safe here, with Milo and you and Special Agent Dalton.”

  “You’re safe as can be,” Mike assured her. “The hospital is on the alert. There are cops everywhere.”

  “I am good at what I do,” Milo said.

  “You are,” Annie said, giving him a brilliant smile.

  “I’m going to take Kie
ran home. She’s had some busy days, and after today, well, her bosses are going to be expecting her bright and early tomorrow. You’re going to be safe, I promise,” Mike said.

  “Of course, you have to go home,” Annie said. “I have complete faith in Milo. Please, go get some rest. You’ve been so wonderful to me. I’m so grateful!”

  “Annie, we’re just happy that you’re going to be okay,” Kieran said. She smiled at Milo. “But this is the guy who was worried first, so...”

  “Absolutely—my hero!” Annie said.

  “All right, then. We’ll see you tomorrow,” Mike told her. He and Kieran left the hospital room. “We’ve got an hour,” he said. “Have to get you in view of the agents on the street, and out of view of me...by the subway. Don’t see how he can be in the old shop and see you on the street, but since he’s afraid... Well, we’ll be on you the whole time.”

  “I don’t need to be wired or anything?”

  “Craig will be in the building with you,” Mike assured her. But she could tell Mike was anxious.

  As they drove, Craig called her. “You sure? You sure you want to go in there?” he asked.

  “Craig, I know that Nicholson won’t hurt me. I’d stake—”

  “You’d stake your life on it. That’s just about what you’re doing.”

  “But you’ll be there.”

  “You bet I’ll be there.”

  “I love you,” she said, glancing at Mike, a little embarrassed to be personal at the moment, but then again, when if not at this moment?

  Mike, driving, kept his gaze ahead but smiled.

  “I love you, too. Oh, Kieran, you had better be right,” he said.

  “Hey, Ruff can’t lose two owners, you know,” she said lightly.

  “And I can’t lose one fiancée,” Craig said. “I’m in. I’m here. I came in by the construction entry, covered over. Nicholson didn’t come this way. I’ll be making my way to the front, so make sure you come that way. I don’t intend to lose sight of you from the minute you come in.”

  She smiled; they ended the call.

  In another five minutes, Mike dropped her off. She headed straight to a newsstand and bought a pack of gum, then turned and headed down Canal, ready to enter the old warehouse.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. Craig wasn’t sure what it was, but something was going on here that didn’t feel right.

  He had the plans on his phone, including intended changes and those that had already been made.

  It would have been easy enough for Nicholson to hang out here. Construction had been put on hold for a few days while the builder was getting a permit.

  The place was large, but Craig had no trouble easing around from the hard-hat entrance to the center. He was hidden by pillars, but he had a solid visual on the front door.

  But Nicholson should have been here by now. Kieran would be arriving any minute.

  He leaned against the pillar, wondering what it was that wasn’t right. It was the place. Dark, but there were construction work lights here and there. The new owners were being careful of any lawsuits should the unwary or the homeless stumble in.

  The place smelled to high heaven, though. Rats? Dust? The concrete that had been dredged up in the pursuit of a new design?

  He wasn’t sure. There was something else about the smell, but he couldn’t place it yet.

  For a moment he tensed, remembering a knockout gas had been used at Annie Sullivan’s place. But he knew that kind of scent, and this wasn’t it.

  He should be able to place the smell. And then he did.

  Death.

  Something had come into the old warehouse and died. Maybe the construction crew had set out poison and traps for rats and other vermin.

  No. This was really the scent of death.

  He pulled out his cell phone, not wanting to give away his position, but anxious that Kieran not come in.

  Too late.

  He saw her as she tried the doors to the street—doors that should have been securely locked, but were not.

  Nicholson had unlocked them.

  But Nicholson wasn’t going to be there to greet her now.

  Craig saw the doors open, and Kieran stepped inside. He watched the killer come out to greet her. Craig drew his Glock, and then he knew his weapon wouldn’t save her. And if he gave himself away...

  They would all die.

  * * *

  Kieran thought that the door gave surprisingly easily, but of course, Raoul Nicholson had been making use of the place. He must have known that the construction was on hold, but then again, that would have been public record.

  He had known to be careful, but he had known, too, that New York was massive, with millions of residents, millions more commuting in during the workday. It was easy to get lost in a crowd, especially when a man knew the city, and Raoul Nicholson was a lifelong New Yorker.

  He’d escaped from jail and an island—easy enough for him to leave open a door that should have been locked and secured.

  She walked in, letting the door close behind her. There was dim lighting from temporary work lights around the vast space, despite the fact that the building was closed up for construction with boards on many windows. Odd bits of equipment left about lurked in the gloom.

  When Kieran entered, she saw the figure coming toward her. She frowned. When she’d seen Nicholson before, he’d been wearing his trench coat and a hat.

  Now he was wearing a black sweatsuit with an oversize hoodie, the shadow of the hood covering his face.

  He carried something in his hands that looked like a gun but wasn’t—it was a flamethrower.

  And he smelled of gasoline.

  Then she realized that she might have been right about Raoul Nicholson and that he never meant to hurt her in any way.

  The problem was that this wasn’t Raoul Nicholson.

  “Welcome, dear Miss Finnegan. You know, you could have just minded your own business, let those illustrious doctors you work for manage the state of his sanity. Let this manhunt play out. But you wanted to see Raoul? Come, I’ll bring you right to him. Far be it from me to break up a meeting. I’ll let you be with him. Right with him! Come—come with me now, or...well, I’ll have to start singeing that beautiful auburn hair of yours right here.”

  Kieran refused to be afraid.

  Except, of course, that she was. She felt the trembling that began, and the thunder that took over the beat of her heart.

  Craig was here, she reminded herself. Craig was here, somewhere.

  Unless the killer had already gotten to him.

  * * *

  Craig watched as the dark-clad figure indicated that Kieran should walk in front of him, displaying the direction by waving the flamethrower about.

  Craig’s phone trembled in his jacket; he cursed himself, but he had turned off the ringer. He kept his eye on Kieran and managed to slip his hand into his pocket and look at the phone.

  Marty Kim was calling, but he didn’t dare answer.

  The vibrating stopped. A second later he received a text. He grimaced. Too late, just a few hours too late.

  They had been able to take a thumbprint off the bruises on Simon Wrigley’s neck.

  And they’d matched it.

  Craig glanced from his phone screen to the figure leading Kieran.

  As he did, all the strange pieces began to fall together before him.

  The killer had nothing to do with the court system. Or the prison system. Though it was true he would have connections there.

  “You’re foolish, you know.” Kieran’s voice echoed in the big space. She sounded bizarrely calm for a woman being forced to what was surely intended to be her death by a man with a flamethrower, a man who seemed to be carrying gasoline on him.

  He could rush him, Craig thought. Rush him h
ard and fast, bring him down...

  But not before he could pull the trigger and send Kieran bursting into flame.

  Shoot him, just shoot him, shoot him in the back here and now...

  And still risk Kieran’s life by causing the man’s finger to trigger the flamethrower.

  Craig realized that the killer was forcing Kieran toward stairs between two of the back walls that were heavy with plaster dust. Craig waited until they reached the head of the stairs, then moved closer, aware that he had to stay on them—right on them. But he couldn’t be noticed.

  “I’m assuming you know that I’m going to say this, but you will be caught. I could tell you that you will go to a federal court and get the death sentence, but then again, I think you’d rather be dead than in prison, and they would put you in prison,” Kieran went on. She was speaking a little louder than strictly necessary, and Craig was proud of her—she was both distracting her captor and making sure Craig knew where she was. “Maybe you think you’d get out, but I don’t think so. You see, they’d know that you know just about everything when it comes to security, but by the way, I am a little surprised. You just got out of the hospital. How did you get here? They had agents guarding you, Mr. Wrigley. How did you strangle yourself? Wait, why am I asking you that? I believe I know the answer. You’ve been into that kind of sex play during your life, I imagine. Autoerotic-asphyxiation. Naturally, a man like yourself would have been interested in how far a person might go. But what surprises me is that you did such a good job!”

  Simon Wrigley laughed softly. “You’re so young, Miss Finnegan. Yes, I have a lifetime of experience. When I was a child, it was all locks and keys. As I grew older, computers and more came into it—ways to get anywhere, do anything. Oh, of course, you’re thinking that I had a master key, that there was no reason to kill Olav Blom. That’s not my fault. The nosy bastard started to get into my business with the building. I was trying to get the majority share, of course. Blom, well, he had no problem with Charles Mayhew intending not only to fire me—the idiot thought that if he fired me, no more worries! As if I wouldn’t still be involved in decisions about the apartments. Then to say that my company was worthless! I showed them both just how worthless my abilities were.”