Marked for Murder
Page 33
A gun was out. He knew security at any function would detect a weapon immediately. Deaths by firearm would also instantly trigger a homicide manhunt.
He decided to use poison, the age-old favorite of assassins. He had used various poisons during his lifetime. So many he’d lost count. He briefly wondered how many people he had killed. He truly did not know.
He decided to use monkshood, also known as wolfsbane. Monkshood. It seemed appropriate for the lying, stealing, fornicating priests. He contacted the herbal alchemist he had used for many years. Although the shop had been passed down from generation to generation, he was certain he had been dealing with the same person for the past two hundred years. He ordered a tincture of monkshood that could be poured into a soup or broth. “I want it to be as potent and tasteless as possible,” he told the alchemist. He picked up the deadly potion and mailed it to his mailbox in Santa Fe.
He knew several drops in the clergies’ bisque tomato soup would result in almost instant death.
As he walked Jax, Watcher wondered who he would be instructed to kill in Peru. He didn’t like Peru. It was a dirty, squalid country, where poverty and disease ran rampant. Looking at his list, he was sure who his targets would be. He finally reached the pay phone that was two miles from his apartment. He lifted the receiver and dialed the number he knew by heart. “Ciao, my friend,” the voice on the other end answered.
“Sergio, Braun, Reid,” Watcher said softly.
“Sí.” The line went dead.
Watcher knew Peru was the world’s largest producer of cocaine. Most officials in the country were corrupt. Many were involved in the drug trade. Watcher wondered if the Catholic Church in Peru was involved in the cocaine trade. He had heard rumors for several years that Cardinal Victor Sergio, Archbishop Fredrick Braun, and Bishop Norman Reid were prospering from the cocaine trade in Peru.
“Come, Jax.” Taking Jax back to their apartment, he started his research. He opened his computer. Using a password created specifically for him, he accessed the personnel records of the Vatican. A thorough check of the three clergies revealed that all three had been arrested in other countries for drug possession. Their ties with the Vatican had gotten them released with only small fines. Perhaps I can use this knowledge to my advantage, he thought. He called his alchemist and ordered a quarter pound of dried monkshood to be crushed into a very fine powder. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get it through airport security.
Using mail was out of the question. The mail system in Peru was worse than the country’s sanitation system. Sending something overnight was just asking to have one’s package rifled through and anything of value stolen long before the package reached its intended recipient. He’d find a way. He always did.
##
“You’re a terrible tease.” Carlie laughed as she slid into her patrol car and buckled the seatbelt. “How did you know Madam Barracuda fancied you? I thought she was after your wife.” She took the Styrofoam cup of coffee Leah was holding for her.
Leah chuckled softly. “Remember the Masked Ball auction?”
Carlie nodded.
“She was the woman who bid twelve million for me.” Leah furrowed her brow as if in deep thought. “At the time, I didn’t know who she was.”
“Wow!” Carlie whistled. She glanced at the gorgeous actress. She would give everything she owned for six hours alone with Leah Redman. Of course, everything she owned wasn’t worth twelve million dollars.
“Anything new on the murders?” Leah sipped her coffee.
“Nada,” Carlie grunted. “I’ve almost reached the point that I feel I have won when a week goes by without a priest being murdered.”
“What about the two that were assassinated in Iran?” The actress looked out the window as they passed the Catholic church. I wish I could go in and hold my wife, she thought.
“The Iranians are anything but cooperative.” The detective shrugged. “It doesn’t look like the work of our guy, though. To my knowledge, he isn’t a sniper. I think it’s a Muslim-on-Christian crime.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Watcher emptied the bottle of Desenex Foot Powder into his commode. He refilled the container with the white, powdery monkshood. That should be enough to take care of the three men in Peru, he thought.
He placed the powder bottle inside a Ziploc baggie along with some Band-Aids and packed the baggie in an oversized box. He would FedEx it to his hotel in Houston. He didn’t want to take any more chances than necessary with airport security.
Watcher double-checked his identification to make certain it matched his airline ticket and driver’s license. Jax seemed to open doors for him when it came to security. Few people even looked at him. They were more interested in his guide dog. Jax was perfectly behaved and won the hearts of all who encountered him. They had flown from New York to Florida, stayed in Florida a few days, and then flown to Las Vegas.
In Las Vegas, he removed the guide dog vest from Jax and rented a car using a different driver’s license and insurance card. He and Jax arrived in Santa Fe late in the evening. He ordered room service and got a good night’s sleep. His entire plan hinged on getting a job with the caterer handling the reception for the Vatican visitors. He had arrived in Santa Fe two weeks ahead of the reception dinner planned for the clergymen.
Dressed in fitted dark jeans and a white dress shirt, with the sleeves cuffed, he entered the caterer’s office and asked to fill out an employment application. He had gained the weight he had lost to play Martin Tate. After working out daily, he had to admit he was in tremendous shape. The admiring glances from the women in the caterer’s office told him he was back in dating form.
He listed two restaurants and a caterer in San Francisco as former employers. He showed he worked at both waiter jobs for two years each and that he had worked for the caterer for four years. The number he put down for the caterer was a burner phone he had left in his room.
“San Francisco is a very expensive town to live in.” He smiled at the girl accepting his application. “I had to work two jobs at all times to make ends meet. I hope Santa Fe is better.”
She shamelessly raked her eyes down his body then scrutinized his application. “Wait here,” she said with a smile.
She disappeared into another office and returned in a few minutes. “Mrs. Arnold will see you now.” She grinned as she led him to the owner’s office.
“Mr. Powers, please have a seat.” Mrs. Arnold was smiling pleasantly. “It says here that you have worked for the same caterer for four years. That’s good. We like stable workers. Do you enjoy the catering business?”
“I do.” He smiled slightly. “I like people.”
“If I call your former employer…ah,” she said, glancing at the application, “a Mr. Shubert, what will he say about you?”
“He will say that I’m a hard worker, always on time, and extremely dependable.” Watcher smiled. “He will also tell you that I will do anything you ask of me.”
“Really?” Mrs. Arnold’s eyebrows shot up questioningly.
“Really.” He nodded, smiling suggestively.
Mrs. Arnold punched the multi-buttoned phone on her desk, bringing a dial tone on the speakerphone. “Let’s just see.”
The phone rang three times then went into a recorded message by a man with a strong German accent. “I am sorry, I am avay from phone. Please state your name, number, and business. I vill call you back.”
“Mr. Shubert, I’m Irene Arnold, owner of Santa Fe Catering. I am considering hiring Brad Powers and would like to get your recommendation. Please call me at…”
Watcher stopped listening to the woman when he noticed the note on her desk referencing the Vatican.
“I believe you are the man we are looking for.” Mrs. Arnold hung up the phone. “Report to work at eight in the morning. We have several events coming up and we need to get you trained in our methods as soon as possible. Unless, of course, I get a bad report from Mr. Shubert.”
She smiled as she watched his jeans hug his perfectly shaped butt and travel down his muscular thighs. I’m sure I won’t, she thought.
##
Back in his room, he waited two hours then called Mrs. Arnold. “Mizz Arnold, this is Mr. Shubert. You called about Brad Powers.”
“Mr. Shubert, thank you for calling me back. I’m considering hiring Mr. Powers and wondered what kind of worker he is.” Irene doodled on her notepad. She had already made up her mind to hire Powers.
Using his best German accent, Watcher launched into what a wonderful, dependable fellow Brad Powers was.
Irene hung up her phone, delighted to learn that she had hired a good waiter and a very nice piece of eye candy.
##
Watcher was stretched out on his bed. He was exhausted. For the past week, he had worked night and day to learn exactly how the company handled catering for the archdiocese. He knew most of the traditions surrounding the pomp and circumstance of serving the priests. That part had been easy, but Santa Fe Catering went way beyond anything necessary for exemplary service.
“After all, we don’t want to leave the door open for our competitors to slip in,” Irene informed him.
“Yes, boss lady.” He smiled, folding the napkins exactly as she liked them.
“Oh, please, Brad, call me Irene.” She grinned. “We will be working together a long time.”
He nodded, pleased that he was gaining her confidence. She had already made him captain of a team with eight servers reporting to him at the functions they handled. They had catered a function a day, sometimes two, over the past six days, and he was tired.
The hot shower had felt good. He lay flat on his back, letting his body rejuvenate. He closed his eyes and floated into a peaceful sleep.
He had no idea how long he had been asleep when the phone rang. “Hello,” he said. His voice was hoarse with sleep.
“Brad, this is Irene. What are you doing?” Her tone was light and friendly. “Don’t tell me! You were sleeping, weren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He intentionally let his voice stay low and sexy. The silence on the other end of the line told him it had achieved the desired effect.
She cleared her throat. “You have done such a wonderful job since you joined us, I thought I might take you out for a celebration dinner.”
“That sounds wonderful,” he said exuberantly. “Where should I meet you?”
She gave him the name and address of the restaurant. “Can you be there in an hour?” she asked.
“Yes,” he assured her.
He wasn’t looking forward to an evening with the woman, but he badly needed information about the upcoming reception for the Vatican visitors. Everyone seemed to know it was happening, they just didn’t know the place or the time.
He arrived at the restaurant before her and walked to meet her as the valet took her car. He held out his arm for her to loop her hand through his elbow. She gladly complied.
After an enjoyable dinner, they moved to the cantina part of the restaurant and continued to talk with one another. Irene Arnold was an attractive woman in her early forties. Her husband, a prominent Santa Fe rancher, was in Mexico purchasing a large herd of cattle for their newest ranch.
“Your husband must be very successful,” Watcher noted. “Two ranches are quite a large operation.”
“Not really.” Irene snorted. “The cattle business is just a write-off for the catering business. I work my butt off and he gallivants around like Mr. Gotsrocks. At least it gets him out of my hair. That’s what I get for marrying one of my employees.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” Watcher hated being mixed up with women who were dissatisfied with their husbands. “I’m a Christian.” He bowed his head slightly. “I won’t commit adultery.”
She stared at him for a long time. “You’re a very unusual man.” She sighed. “I admire you.”
“You can talk to me.” He smiled, placing his warm hand over hers. “I’m a very good listener.”
They talked until their waiter informed them the restaurant would be closing in fifteen minutes. Irene gave the waiter her credit card and excused herself to freshen up.
The image of Janet Cantrell flashed through Watcher’s mind. He had discovered that other women held little attraction for him since Janet. Had he fallen in love with her? No, he had never fallen in love with anyone. He wasn’t allowed to love.
He stood as Irene returned and followed her outside. The valet had her car out front. They were the last ones to leave the restaurant. He had spent the entire evening with the woman. He still knew very little about the particulars of the Vatican reception.
##
Monday morning there was an air of excitement in the large hall that served as the catering company’s storage facility. Red tablecloths encased in plastic were loaded into the van. Round tables and ornate dining chairs were carefully loaded in the moving truck. Watcher looked around for Irene. He knew nothing about the activities going on.
“Good morning, boss lady.” He smiled. “What can I do to help?”
“Brad, thank God you came in early,” Irene gasped. “I need your crew to handle the catering job on Wednesday. Everyone else will be tied up with the big reception on Friday.”
Watcher knew he had been regaled to the function of lesser importance. His mind darted in several directions as he sought an excuse for her to use him on the Friday job. He quickly organized his crew and went to work preparing for the Wednesday luncheon for some celebrity.
##
Watcher surveyed the setup for the celebrity luncheon. He had no idea who the celebrity was, nor did he care. He wanted everything to go smoothly so he could wrap up all his cleanup and paperwork quickly. He wanted to be available, in case Irene needed him Friday.
Checking the tables to make certain everything was perfect, he approached the group standing at the front of the room. The mayor, the Santa Fe Archbishop, and the chief of police were fawning over a woman who was standing quietly between the archbishop and a priest. The priest touched her arm with a familiarity born from years of intimacy. Watcher stopped breathing. The woman was Leah Redman, and of course, the priest was Mika Cross.
Watcher panicked. He wondered how long they would be here. When they were leaving. God, don’t let them be here for the Vatican reception, he prayed. From the moment the priest appeared in New York, Watcher’s number one directive had always been to protect Mika Cross and her family. He didn’t know why, except that Mika was truly a woman of God. The couple being in town the same day the four Vatican visitors were poisoned would only further confirm Detective Carlyle’s suspicion that Mika was tied to the Catholic murders.
The couple couldn’t head off a problem they were unaware of. Four high-ranking officials of the Catholic Church dying while Mika was in town would be too much of a coincidence. He knew if he had to choose between the possibilities of implicating Mika or passing up the perfect opportunity to poison the clergy, he would have to choose whatever was best for Mika.
Leah’s soft, silvery laughter floated on the air. She was gracious and kind. She was genuinely good. Watcher understood why the priest had fought to marry her. She was her perfect mate, and she loved Mika as deeply and passionately as the priest loved her.
Silently, Watcher moved away from the group and went to the back of the ballroom. He looked at the catering sheet to glean any information on why the Crosses would be in Santa Fe.
“God, she’s gorgeous.” One of his waiters sighed. “I would give anything to spend a day on her set. I bought two hundred dollars in raffle tickets but didn’t win.”
“What?” Watcher hissed, trying to make sense of the man’s ramblings.
“Leah Redman!” the man exclaimed. “She’s here today to meet the winner of the drawing to spend a day on the set of Marked for Murder. The Sisters of L
oretta wrote her a letter asking her to help them raise enough money to purchase the Chapel of Loretta from a private owner.”
Of course Leah would help, Watcher thought. Ever since she had single-handedly raised twenty million dollars for the sisters in New York, he had heard she’d been swamped with other such requests. He thought she had turned them all down.
“The sisters have sold enough tickets to cover the cost of buying the chapel and to put money in the bank for future repairs and upkeep,” another one of the waiters said, joining their conversation.
“Are they staying for the Vatican reception?” Watcher asked nonchalantly.
“No, flying back tonight,” the newcomer volunteered. “I heard the Vatican priests didn’t want to give Priest Mika any credibility, so they refused to invite her to their reception. Not very Christian,” he huffed.
Good, they will be home two days before the desecrators die, Watcher thought. He gave one of his employees his credit card and instructed him to go to the beverage store and purchase a certain bottle of wine. He wrote the long name on a piece of paper. “It has to be this wine and this year,” he emphasized.
The luncheon went off without a hitch. Watcher served the head table himself to make certain the Crosses were treated with the respect he knew they deserved. He particularly enjoyed the look on Leah’s face when she sipped her wine. The look of pure joy that graced her lovely face made his efforts more than worthwhile. She looked around the room to see who would have been so knowledgeable and thoughtful of her. A frown furrowed her beautiful brow when she could find no one. She leaned into her wife and whispered into her ear. Mika shook her head. “No.”
Later, as Watcher refilled her glass, she locked his eyes with her gaze. “Thank you,” she said softly, “for this wine.”
He merely nodded as any servant would nod to his queen.
##
“I hate flying. It’s dangerous.” Leah gripped her wife’s hand. “Why can’t we transport ourselves to our bedroom?” She had signed autographs and smiled until her face was aching. She had been acutely aware of the soft, loving way Mika had touched her all day, steering her through the crowds, protecting her from the pushing and shoving going on around her. From her first touch, she had ached for Mika.