THE MAN WHO HUNTED HIMSELF

by Lex Lander

  ‘We don’t aim to interfere, Freeman,’ Heider said, and crafted a perfectly concentric smoke ring. ‘Finish what you started. We just don’t appreciate being kept in the dark, so if – ’

  The door crashed open, and I do mean crashed. It collided with a drinks cabinet that happened to be an inch too close. Bottles and glasses jostled musically.

  Framed in the doorway was Maura Beck. Severely dressed in black pants and a white sleeveless blouse with a high collar, hair coiled at the back of her head, but looking just as ravishing as she had in the short, tight blue dress. Her expression was not benign.

  ‘Why did nobody tell me he was here?’ she demanded, storming onto centre stage and facing the Heiders and me, hands on hips. By “he” she presumably meant me. ‘Have you all forgotten it’s my husband who was killed?’

  Only Richard had the grace to look uncomfortable. Heider and Nick just sat like a pair of waxworks.

  Four coffees on a tray followed Maura into the office. Nick’s secretary set the tray down on the coffee table and scuttled out of the war zone.

  ‘Well?’ Maura glared at each of us in turn. ‘Is someone going to explain?’

  It was left to the head of the clan. He stubbed out his quarter-smoked cigarette in a chunky cut-glass ashtray.

  ‘You’ve made it clear you’re against this whole business. I just thought you’d prefer to stay out of it. Leave us to do it without involving you.’

  It was a reasonable explanation. Trouble was, Maura Beck wasn’t feeling reasonable this morning.

  ‘If you’re going to do this thing, against my wishes, I do not intend to be shut out. It’s bad enough that you keep me from – ’

  ‘That’s enough!’ Heider snapped. ‘We don’t air our dirty linen in public, Maura. Do we?’

  The reprimand calmed her. She came to sit on the arm of the couch next to me. Now I could smell her perfume very faintly, just enough of a whiff to make me think unprofessional thoughts.

  ‘No, we don’t,’ she said, her tone controlled but still icy. ‘I just want to be kept informed and consulted. Is that too much to ask, Carl?’

  He agreed that it wasn’t, and even offered her his coffee as an olive branch. She turned it down with a noticeable lack of grace.

  ‘You know I only drink decaff.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry,’ he said. Then, to nobody in particular, ‘Now where were we?’

  ‘We don’t appreciate being kept in the dark,’ Nick prompted.

  ‘Right.’ He faced me. ‘Well?’

  ‘All I’m prepared to say is this. The person responsible is from out of town, but resident in the US. He’s part of an organization, and if the job isn’t handled right it could spark off open warfare. I have a few more enquiries to make, then I can start planning. At the stage when I’ve completed my enquiries, and I’m positive of my man, I’ll bring you up to speed.’

  ‘That sounds fair,’ Richard said, stroking the dimple in his chin. ‘I’m cool with that.’

  Considering that it was his father I had killed, he not Carl Heider ought to have the last say, I felt.

  Nick reluctantly agreed to play according to my rules.

  ‘So be it.’ With obvious reluctance, Heider fell into line with the younger generation. ‘Keep your secrets, Freeman. Just don’t keep them too long. Something happens to you, we’ll be up shit creek. Half a mill spent and only your corpse to show for it. So watch your ass.’ He eyeballed Maura. ‘You okay with that, honey?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m okay with knowing as much as you know – no more, no less. Especially no less. So next time you set up a cosy little get-together with our friend here, just make sure you put me on the guest list.’

  ‘I’m off to Houston this afternoon, with Richard,’ Heider informed me. ‘We’ll be away for a week. When we get back ...’

  He didn’t elaborate on what would happen when they got back.

  ‘Houston?’ I said, curious.

  ‘That’s where the business is located. This ...’ he flapped vaguely at the decor, ‘is a sideshow. Makes us respectable when we need to be respectable. Maura is the front for that respectability.’

  That meant she was “clean”, no criminal record, no black marks.

  ‘I’m sure she does a great job,’ I said, and meant it.

  Differences settled, we drank our coffees. Richard Heider saw me to the elevator and pushed the down button.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘Jeff was my dad, but I side with Maura on this. We should let it go. I’ve gotten a feeling no good is going to come of it.’

  I shook hands with him. ‘Anytime you guys want to call it off, give me the word.’

  The elevator doors swished open. I stepped inside and turned towards him.

  ‘I’ll even return your deposit,’ I said. ‘Less expenses, of course.’

  The door closed on his farewell grin.

  The lifestyle of a contract killer is not to be envied. It entails long absences away from what might loosely be termed “home”. It is both lonely and friendless. Lonely because it is of necessity a solitary profession. To be sure, he has his network of contacts, but they are no more than business acquaintances, not even necessarily allies. They provide a service for reward, and have no desire to be involved beyond that.

  Friendless because it requires dual or multiple identities. For obvious reasons the bogus personality cannot establish friendships except at the most superficial and transient level. The real personality can, but for the benefit of those friends, he has to construct a web of deceit to account for his past life and present activities. He cannot be at ease in their presence because he is forever on the alert, editing every utterance before it passes his lips in case of indiscretion.

  There was no one I could consult over this contract. No one I could use as a sounding board, for a second opinion, or to point out the pitfalls. The only arguable exception was Giorgy – and he served his masters’ wishes above all others. The method of disposal was no longer a major issue; that decision was made. I also had a possible solution to providing the credible proof required by Heider. All that was left outstanding was the self-justification. And in that respect I was far from home.

  Silvano Tosi was a proven lawbreaker. Cesare likewise. As far as that went, they deserved to be punished. But the punishment I proposed to mete out was a whole lot more than a rap over the knuckles. A lot of the people I came into contact with were lawbreakers, without necessarily meriting an early demise. You can be generous, kind-hearted, considerate, even religious, and be a stand-up guy (or girl), yet still commit crimes. It is an oxymoron of sorts, but no less true for that.

  The bottom line in this instance was that I intended to kill Silvano Tosi for a crime he hadn’t committed.

  The following morning, over breakfast in the hotel, my prepaid cell phone did a little song and dance. I didn’t immediately recognize the Dixie melody as anything to do with me. Plus, I was not expecting incoming calls. When people at neighbouring tables started aiming meaningful frowns at me, I finally got the message. I flipped the phone open and put it tentatively to my ear; I couldn’t even recollect telling anyone the number.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, and even to my own ears I sounded wary.

  ‘It’s Maura Beck.’

  ‘Oh ... hello.’ Then I remembered inviting her to call me if she came up with any leads. ‘Nice to hear from you.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you. It sounds as if you’re in a restaurant.’

  ‘Not a problem, Maura. It won’t spoil, it’s only muesli.’ I laid down my spoon. ‘What can I do for you, or you for me?’

  ‘Can we meet?’

  Business or pleasure, I was tempted to ask. I held my tongue. She didn’t sound in the mood for flippancy or, for that matter, for flirting.

  ‘Absolutely. Just say when.’

  ‘The sooner the better in the circumstances.’ She sounded deadly serious and not especially friendly. ‘I’m at my house. Could you come out here this morning? I can offer y
ou coffee for your trouble, or something stronger, if you prefer.’

  ‘A coffee will be fine. About eleven okay?’

  ‘See you then.’ Very brisk. Too brisk – she hadn’t given me an address. If she was still at the same place, I didn’t need it. But if I showed up without her having provided it, it might make her wonder how come. Such little oversights can have a fatal outcome.

  So I said, ‘Wait a minute, I need to know where I’m coming to.’

  A pause. I imagined I could hear her breathing.

  ‘Of course. Stupid of me.’ She reeled off the address, which was the same as two years ago. She hadn’t moved house then. That surprised me a bit. Having a husband murdered in your home would make most women desperate to dump their property. My impression of Maura Beck as a tough cookie climbed a notch.

  After she hung up, I spent a minute or two speculating on her motives. It didn’t get me very far, so I carried on tucking into my muesli.

  Today’s image was far removed from the businesslike casino boss. Skinny jeans and a top with a scooped neckline that hinted at cleavage. Hair in a loose pony tail. She was the kind of woman who could wear anything and make it flatter her. For her benefit, I had swapped jeans and sweat shirt for dark grey pants and light grey sport jacket, with black loafers.

  ‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’ she said, as she stood aside to let me enter.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  The inside of the house was pretty much as I remembered it. No ostentation, downbeat colour scheme, the soft furnishings all brocade, no trendy leather. The wall panels, the coffee tables, the fire surround, all oak as far as I could tell. The floor was still marble, and the Tibetan rugs still adorned it, though their positions might have changed. Ornaments and pictures a-plenty and a crystal chandelier with at least a hundred individual bulbs. Because of the greyness of the day, several wall lights were on.

  At her invitation, I sat in an armchair with wooden arms.

  ‘Coffee’s coming up,’ she said, with a kind of faux brightness that made me puzzle anew what lay behind this rendezvous.

  A mewing preceded the entrance into the living room of a black Persian cat. It bounded over to me and began fussing around my legs. I tickled it behind the ears and it purred like a small engine. It looked to be the same cat I had encountered on my last, uninvited, visit here.

  ‘That’s Oswald,’ Maura said, when she joined me with the refreshment. ‘Also known as Ozzie. His sister, Griswold, also known as Grizzly, is somewhere around, probably on my bed.’

  She settled herself in a facing armchair, crossed her legs, and linked her fingers around her knee. All very elegant. For a couple of beats she fixed me with a wintry stare, then said, ‘The reason I asked you to come here today is to tell you ... I know who you are.’

  My cue to look mystified. It could simply mean that she knew I was here to kill, and not merely to trace and report.

  ‘Who am I?’ I said, tasting the coffee. Behave normally was my rule when confronted with uncertainty. ‘Excellent coffee, by the way.’

  She flapped that compliment aside. ‘You’re the man who killed my husband, Jeff Heider.’

  There it was, cards on the table. Fortunately for her, I had rules about killing women. Had she been a man, it could have been her death warrant.

  ‘I see,’ I said, momentarily short of a riposte. Denial did occur to me, so did protest. Better though to let her make the running for now. She had to have a reason for telling me, and not telling the Heiders.

  ‘You don’t deny it.’ Her tone was flat. She wasn’t asking me to confess. She knew it for a fact.

  ‘You asked me here. I assumed you had something to say to me. Is that it?’

  A hint of uncertainty showed in her expression. As if she had just realized that accusing me of murdering her husband, alone in her house, neighbours barely within earshot, may be a tactical error. Unless she wasn’t alone.

  I stood up. ‘Excuse me a second.’

  Leaving her in the armchair, I did a rapid search of the house. Knowing my way around as I did, it didn’t take long. As she surmised, Grizzly was on her bed, snoozing the day away. When I returned to the living room, she hadn’t budged; Ozzie was in her lap.

  ‘Are you interested in buying the place?’ she said, with a hint of whimsy.

  ‘Just wanted to be sure you hadn’t summoned the troops.’

  ‘Why? Are you planning to kill me?’

  If she really saw that as a possibility, she was damn cool about it.

  ‘No, it’s so I can avoid being killed.’

  Ozzie mewed. Maura said, ‘I see.’

  ‘How did you find out?’ I said, seeing no gain in pretending she was mistaken.

  ‘I saw you. Come with me.’

  Ozzie was dumped and she led me through to the master bedroom. Grizzly snoozed on. The unfitted furniture there had all been changed, though the positioning was about the same. The coolie-hat chairs were now basket weave. Maura walked directly to the closet and opened the door.

  ‘You remember this was locked when you came here before?’

  I nodded. ‘And the key was on that side table.’ I pointed to the nearer of the two tables.

  ‘I was inside the closet.’

  Words rarely fail me. On this occasion though, they did.

  ‘I had been locked in there by Jeff,’ she explained.

  I digested this. Couldn’t make sense of it.

  ‘The closet was empty,’ I said heavily. ‘I went inside with a flashlight, god-dammit.’

  ‘Yes, I saw you.’ She beckoned me over. ‘Come and look.’

  She entered the closet and switched on the light. I followed her, and Ozzie attached himself to me. It was cosy in there, and if my mind had been on my libido her closeness might have caused stirrings in the undergrowth. Our shoulders bumped.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  She walked to the left, to the end, again signalling me to join her. On the left, beyond the end of the section of drawers, was a space measuring about eighteen inches square.

  ‘When the closet was designed, this space was provided so that you could stand in it and see yourself in the mirror.’

  On the right, set into the opposite wall and facing the space, was a full-length mirror.

  ‘I hid in this space,’ Maura said. ‘From the doorway, where you were standing, you can’t tell there is a space. It looks as if the drawer section abuts onto the wall.’

  She was right. It looked exactly like that. What with the locked door and all, I could be excused for thinking the closet was empty. Even so, it was a slip-up that could have led to exposure and arrest. Might yet.

  She edged past me, careful to avoid body contact, and exited the closet. After a last sweep round, so did I.

  ‘That doesn’t explain how you recognized me. You didn’t see my face in the closet.’

  ‘No, it was afterwards. When you made your second mistake and left the closet door unlocked.’

  Now I got it. ‘You came out while I was still here.’

  A half-smile advanced and retreated.

  ‘In one. God knows how I plucked up the courage when I should have stayed put. The door to the living room was ajar and I couldn’t resist peeping through the gap.’ Again the half-smile. ‘Curiosity almost killed the cat.’

  ‘But according to my information, you weren’t even here. I watched you onto a flight to San Diego myself. You were supposed to be away for a week.’

  ‘You got that from my ex-maid, I imagine. Anyhow, there was a change of plan. I came back early.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ The line of prose about best-laid plans of mice and men crossed my mind. ‘Backtracking a bit – why did Jeff lock you in the closet?’

  She closed the closet door and leaned against it, sighing.

  ‘We had a fight. He beat me up, which was becoming a habit at that time. I was going to meet some friends, so he locked me up as additional punishment. He was a mean bastard.’

&nbs
p; ‘Well, you sure made a nonsense of my checking procedure. I thought I was being over-zealous even bothering to look inside a locked closet.’

  She tittered, first sign of a loosening up.

  ‘You frightened me, I don’t mind admitting.’

  ‘That’s no consolation.’ I studied her. ‘If I frightened you then, why aren’t I frightening you now?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Seeing me here, knowing what I did, being in a position to ID me. Why aren’t you scared stiff?’

  ‘Instinct.’

  We walked back into the living room, resumed our respective seats.

  ‘My instincts about people are rarely wrong. Mine about you was that you were ... are basically on the side of the angels. And, because of something you said.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘You said you were on my side.’

  ‘So you decided to trust me on account of that? Despite my killing your husband.’

  ‘No, not despite. Because of.’

  ‘Sounds a bit extreme. He knocked you about a bit, so he deserved to get zapped. That your take on it?’

  ‘Nothing as simple as that,’ she retorted, clearly miffed. ‘He deserved to get, as you put it, zapped because of the things he had done and was continuing to do. Murder was the least of it, and on a scale of 1 to 10 his treatment of me didn’t move the needle.’

  She fell quiet, brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead.

  I said, ‘Going to tell me about it.’

  ‘Must I?’ She shuddered, stroked Ozzie who had climbed back aboard her lap. ‘Yes, I suppose I must. Not the details though. Let’s just say that he managed the prostitution side of the business in Houston. Under-age prostitution was his specialty, using illegal immigrant girls from Mexico as hookers, terrorising them into doing his bidding. It was horrible.’

  It wasn’t entirely news to me. My background check into Jeff Heider had thrown up a plethora of misdeeds that qualified him to stand in the dock of my personal courtroom and be found guilty.

  ‘Glad to have it confirmed that my own assessment was accurate. Discovering that he ill-treated you was a bonus for my moral scruples though.’