Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller)

by William Neubauer

  “Hey John,” Drake said, as he opened his top desk drawer to retrieve the old paper bag, which held some strange value to Decker. “Got it right here.” As Drake handed Decker the valueless artifact, it occurred to him that Decker’s input on Jane Mannix’s call might be helpful.

  “Let me ask you something, John.”

  “Shoot.”

  “On the Jill Paulson case, what was your take on Michael Murdoch? I know he had an alibi, but Jane—”

  Decker couldn’t wait for Drake to finish. “Oh, I liked that guy . . . so much,” he said, employing the jargon commonly used when he was last an active cop. “If only he hadn’t had such an airtight explanation of where he’d been—some wine expo in Vegas.”

  “What was it about him that you liked?”

  “What wasn’t it. Everything about the guy seemed wrong—staged. He has ice in his veins, if you ask me. I’d seen them a few times before, psychopaths who can come off like the boy next door when they need to. What makes you ask about that weirdo?”

  Drake played-back Jane Mannix’s voice message.

  Decker was concerned and slightly stunned after hearing it. “They need to be careful. I hate to think of them being alone with that guy if they really are onto something,”

  “Wanna take a ride to Murdoch Vineyards with me?”

  “You bet your ass, I do. It’s a little hard to find, so I’d be good to have along anyway. If we push it, we can make it in a little over an hour.”

  * * *

  When Drake and Decker were about halfway to their destination, Drake’s cell phone began to vibrate. Glancing the caller-id, Drake let out a breathy, “Oh boy,” upon seeing it was Milton Fox calling.

  He hit the call answer button. “Special Agent-in-Charge Fox, I was just about to return your call.”

  “I’m sure you were,” Fox said wryly. “But we have a new development.”

  “Okay, please clue me in?”

  “Not on the phone. But if you should find Swan, please contact me for instructions. And if you apprehend him, I’ll need you to bring him to a designated location.”

  “What location?”

  “I don’t have that information yet.”

  Drake was becoming increasingly confused. “What?”

  “Sorry for the last minute drama, but I can’t really explain until I see you in person. Just let me know if you get any leads on where Swan is.”

  “Okay. I don’t have anything definite at the moment and may ultimately have nothing at all. I’ll contact you when I know for sure.”

  “Please do,” Fox said, and hung up.

  Chapter 72

  Chad’s attack on Michael Murdoch was executed with great speed and skill. By the time Michael started to react, Chad was already on him with a flying-roundhouse kick, not exactly his forte but still something he could execute well. The kick was effective, but not effective enough to prevent Michael from getting a shot off.

  The sound of the .44 discharging indoors was deafening. The shot was off target, but didn’t miss completely, grazing Chad on his right arm. With his hands still bound behind his back, Chad came out of his roundhouse off balance and, as a result, his follow-up kick, although fast, was less effective than it should have been.

  When the flurry was over, both Chad and Michael were on the floor. Michel’s .44 had slid under one of the barrel racks, out of reach. Morgan had run over to check on Chad.

  Michael saw Jane fumbling for something in her purse. His still-sharp brain registered immediately—a weapon—and sent his body into action.

  Michael got to Jane just as she was pulling the Beretta clear of her purse. He approached her from the side and was able to get a hold on her gun arm before she could get a clear line on him. The two entered into a fierce struggle for the device of life or death.

  Morgan was on her feet, moving to assist Jane, but ducked instinctively as a shot rang out, associated lead bouncing aimlessly around the building.

  Suddenly, the struggle was over. The monster had the gun again.

  He motioned to Morgan to back away, then walked over to Chad, who was still lying on the floor. He aimed the gun squarely at Chad’s head. “It’s tempting to kill you right now. It really is. But I need to have a little patience. What I’m going to make you endure will be so much better.”

  He backed off a few feet and glanced around, looking for the rope he had used to bind Chad’s feet. He saw it near the corner where Jane was standing. “Jane, bring that rope over here and tie his feet.”

  Jane didn’t move.

  “Now, Jane. I’m running out of patience with all of you.”

  Jane looked down at the rope, but then turned and glared back at him defiantly. “No. I won’t do it.”

  He pointed the gun directly at her, but the resolve in her eyes told him of a strength he was surprised to find. He knew he couldn’t intimidate her into doing his bidding that way.

  And then, a fatal mistake was made. Morgan took a step toward Michael. Her approach stopped as he leveled the gun at her. “Jane, what do you say now?” he pressed, tauntingly.

  Jane, determined, petrified, did not respond.

  Michael stepped toward Morgan, the Beretta pointing at her head the whole time. He pressed the barrel against her forehead, right between her eyes, hard enough to hurt. Morgan was terrified, heart pounding, thoughts racing. But Michael had made the mistake of getting too close to her—and her father had taught her well.

  She knew that both Jane and Chad were safely out of the trajectory a stray bullet was likely to take. She also knew that the pressure Michael was exerting on her forehead would put him ever so slightly off balance when she made her move.

  Her play decided, she acted without hesitation. With blink-and-you’ll-miss-it speed, she moved her head to the side and grabbed his arm to pull in the direction he had been pushing. Predictably, a shot rang out from the Beretta. She locked his arm, something she wouldn’t do in competition because of the risk of injuring the opponent. Bending at the knees, she pivoted, drove her hip into his groin, and pulled him over, twisting him and, as his body rolled over hers, extending slightly to increase the force with which she would drive him to the concrete floor. At the finish she pulled up sharply on his captured arm, whipping him around and ultimately slamming him mercilessly to the unyielding surface.

  The Beretta escaped his grip and Jane scurried over and picked it up. Michael Murdoch lay on the cold floor in searing pain, his right shoulder dislocated, and facial bones fractured on his left side.

  Satisfied that Jane and her Beretta could keep Michael at bay, Morgan ran over to her father to make sure he was okay. There was blood involved but it was hard to tell how much on a quick glance.

  “I’m fine,” Chad said. “Lead kissed my shoulder. No serious damage, just a cut really. Nice move, by the way.”

  She smiled at him uncomfortably as she untied his hands, then examined his injury to make sure his self-diagnosis was indeed correct. Jane looked on, anxiously.

  Meanwhile, the monster was coming back to awareness. Oh, what the hell. This is what the doomsday feature is for, isn’t it?

  Michael reached his working arm into his left pocket and felt for his special remote. There was a safety to deactivate and that slowed him, but just for a moment. He felt the apocalypse button, closed his eyes, and with a strange sense of euphoria, pressed it.

  Nothing. Nothing? What the fuck? He looked over to the control panel and quickly realized that Chad had disabled both the primary hardwired detonator and the remote detonator. How could I have missed this before?

  But had Chad disabled the other hardwired detonator in the loft? He was up there when Michael found him, but had been examining Michael’s trophies. It was Michael’s last and probably only chance to end this on his terms. He resolved to follow it through.

  As quickly as he could, Michael painfully worked his way to his feet, finally capturing the attention of the normal humans in the building.

  �
�Stop!” Jane commanded. But Michael was moving away, not toward her.

  She realized he was making his way to the loft, and much more quickly than one would think he could, given his injuries. Morgan would have been able to stop him, but by the time she became aware of what was going on, Michael was halfway up the stairs.

  Chad realized where Michael was going and what he was going to do. “Jane, you’re going to have to shoot him.”

  “What?”

  “Jane, the place is rigged. You have to stop him.”

  Jane felt every muscle in her body tighten. She found it impossible to shoot even this monster when it wasn’t clearly in self defense. She managed a shot that hit the wall a few feet behind Michael as he turned at the top of the stairs. But he did not stop.

  Chad had to get the message across. “Jane, if you don’t shoot him right now, we’re all gonna die.”

  Jane took one short breath, held it, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. Michael’s left knee exploded with pain, buckling his leg and sending him sharply to his left and off the edge of the narrow loft. He caught the edge with his left arm, but only momentarily. His swinging momentum and lack of a usable second arm made it impossible for him to hold on.

  “Get back!” Chad shouted to Morgan and Jane, anticipating a potentially dangerous splash.

  Michael lost his tenuous grip and slipped off the edge of the loft, frantically maneuvering to somehow avoid the tank below—and he almost succeeded. His lower legs hit the outside edge of the tank, but his center of gravity took him the other way. His body slid to his right and, unable to reach out and grab the adjacent side of the tank because of his injured shoulder, his head hit the edge with a profound and sickening thud as he flopped limply and gracelessly into his own death pool.

  Chapter 73

  Upon seeing Michael’s fall, Chad, who had all he could do to raise his head off the floor and prop himself up on his forearm, wilted back to the concrete with a heavy sigh of exhaustion. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” he whispered as he gazed vacantly up to the ceiling.

  But Chad’s rest period would be brief. Jane was freaking out.

  “Oh my God!” she screamed out as she ran to the edge of the tank. “What have I done?” She stared over the edge into the dread, desperately hoping for some sign of life.

  Chad offered an answer as he dragged himself to his feet, with some help from Morgan. “You just saved us all. That’s what you’ve done.” He worked his way to Jane as quickly as he could manage. Gently grasping her arm, he eased her away from the tank so he could look directly into her eyes. “Thank you for saving my daughter’s life.”

  Jane looked back at Chad with wide, terrified, eyes, on the verge of tears. “What can we do to help him?”

  Chad knew that once the stuff in that tank got into Michael’s lungs, it would be all over—that is, if the stunningly violent hit his head had taken against the edge of the tank hadn’t killed him instantly anyway. “There’s nothing we can do to help him now.”

  Jane was starting to cry. “He killed Jill, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did. He did.” Chad held her as she buried her head in his shoulder.

  He reached an arm out for Morgan and she joined the embrace, as the horrific stress began its slow dissolve like a vindictive ghost whose bluff had been called.

  Morgan was the first one to speak, about two minutes later. “Dad. You gotta get out of here.”

  “She’s right,” Jane said, straightening herself up. “I left a message for Detective Drake. He’s probably on his way now.”

  A few strands of Jane’s hair had gotten caught up in the moistness left behind by her tears. Chad reached up to her face and gently pushed the strays back as the two looked into each other’s eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to consider until this moment how very much she reminded him of Jill. This realization made him sad and happy at the same time.

  “Dad?” Morgan said, a gentle wake-up call.

  “Yeah. I know. Time to go.” Chad walked over to the table near the control panel. “Listen. He poisoned Angel.”

  “What?”

  Chad picked up the vial of what Michael Murdoch had indicated was antidote. “If Angel is still alive, he’s almost certainly in a hospital somewhere near Conesus Lake and there’s a good chance he needs this. Michael told me it was antidote. I need you to get it to Angel’s doctors—as soon as you can, okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Make sure they know there’s no way to be sure about it. But my guess is they may be looking for any help they can get.”

  Morgan nodded.

  “And there’s a suitcase up in the loft that the cops need to see.”

  Morgan shot him a confused look. “What’s in it?”

  He rubbed the back of his head and let out a deep breath. “It’s jewelry. From his victims.”

  “Victims, as in more than one? How many . . . victims?”

  “I don’t know. A dozen. Maybe more.”

  Both Morgan and Jane were stunned. No one spoke for several seconds.

  Chad glanced at one then the other. “Will you two be okay?”

  “Wait a minute. Wasn’t it us who saved you, Rambo?” Morgan’s sharp tongue accomplished its objective, quickly putting her father’s mind at ease.

  “Good point.” He reached out and the two hugged briefly. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”

  She nodded, concealing a wave of sudden sadness.

  “Jane,” Chad began as he turned away from Morgan. “I’d like to talk with you for a while and maybe meet your son if I can figure out how to make it work.”

  “I’d like that, Chad. Very much.”

  He responded with a distant nod, part of him having already left.

  * * *

  Three minutes later, Chad was back to his car. But as he reached for the door handle, he heard a voice from behind—one he hadn’t heard in many years.

  “Time to stop running, son.”

  Chad froze in imperfect recognition. It took him a few seconds to place the voice. The voice of someone who had tried to help him long ago at a very difficult time. One that understood what he had gone through.

  “Lieutenant Decker,” Chad said, as he slowly turned to face the man he knew had been almost as haunted by Jill’s disappearance as he was. “I’m actually glad you’re here. There’s a lot I have to tell you.”

  Chapter 74

  The events of the last twenty-four hours had Chad feeling very uneasy. Lieutenant Decker and the other detective from Syracuse—the active one, Drake—had gotten Chad medical attention and treated him very well, but for some reason, they had taken him to some kind of FBI safe house rather than to an actual detention center.

  The decorating was atrocious but the accommodations, while far from posh, were comfortable enough—good-sized room with a couch, full bath, small kitchen, cable TV. Chad’s main concern was that he had been completely cut off from everything, and everyone. He had not yet been in contact with Morgan or even his trustworthy twin attorneys.

  The suit in charge at the safe house, a Bureau guy by the name of Jarboe, had simply asked Chad to be patient, saying that all would be explained in a meeting at 2:00 PM today—which, in checking his watch, Chad realized was essentially right now.

  Jarboe had told Chad one very important thing: the antidote Drake and Decker brought to Angel’s doctors was indeed the real deal. Angel’s condition was still guarded, but the latest reports from the doctors were optimistic.

  Chad sat at the kitchen table playing solitaire and half watching an ancient rerun of Hogan’s Heroes. The plight of the players on-screen caused him to half-seriously ponder the possibilities of his own escape. He regarded the door to the hallway, deciding it wasn’t even worth trying. The door was almost certainly locked, definitely guarded, probably both.

  No sooner had he abandoned his thoughts of a simple exit, than he heard a loud knock on the door. He took in a breath in preparation to grant permission to enter but
the door began to swing open before he had a chance to speak.

  Chad felt an instant dose of relief upon seeing John Quincy come through the doorway with another man who Chad guessed was one of A & A’s attorneys.

  As he stood and walked over to the two men, Chad offered his hand and a light informal greeting, “So, did you guys bring the beer?”

  John Quincy smiled lightly as he shook hands with his old friend and big brother. “Chad, this is Byron Meeks. Byron has been watching your back for us through all of this and will be acting as point on your sister-in-law, Paula’s, case.”

  “Well thank you, Byron,” Chad said enthusiastically as the two shook hands. “I know I don’t always make things easy for you guys.”

  Neither of the two attorneys disagreed with Chad’s assessment.

  As Chad offered the two men seats at the table, John Quincy started getting down to business. “Chad, we wanted to talk with you for a few minutes before—”

  “What exactly is going on, JQ?” Chad interrupted, employing the nickname for John Quincy traditionally reserved only for use by Morgan Swan.

  “In short, they know you are innocent of the charges involving releasing the encryption technology to the Chinese.”

  “Okay, so just the original charge about Paula’s exposé to worry about then. We can fight that one, right?”

  John Quincy glanced at Meeks, clearly deferring to him on this question.

  “We can, and I think we would eventually prevail,” Meeks said.

  “That’s what we wanted to let you know,” John Quincy said. “We’ve been told they are going to offer you a deal. But if you don’t want to take it, we can fight the remaining charge.”

  “A deal? What kind of—”

  “A very good deal, one you will want to take, I think,” said a voice by the door. “I’m Special Agent-in-Charge Milton Fox.” Fox motioned toward Jarboe, who was standing behind him. “I believe you already know Special Agent Jarboe.”