Killer Listing

by Vicki Doudera

  “But you weren’t making money …”

  “Not enough. She was raking it in, and I was struggling. And then when the economy soured, it got even worse.”

  He shook his head as if regretful. “I’m not saying she wasn’t a good agent. That woman was unbelievable. What a force for the company! But was she happy with the income she was generating? Was she satisfied? Could she leave just a few scraps for the rest of us? No, because it wasn’t about the money for Kyle. It was about winning. Everything was a fucking competition. Getting St. Andrew’s Isle was just another notch in her belt, another trophy property.” He turned to his prisoner, hollow-eyed. “For me, it was survival.”

  “What do you mean?” Darby touched something hard with her toe. It felt like a rock, about the size of her fist.

  “I mean, I needed that sale. I worked to keep him as a client. Tag Gunnerson was mine.” His voice was hard and bitter. “And she meets him at a party and works her magic, and the next thing I know he’s decided to list with her.” His eyes glittered in the gathering dusk. “I was counting on that sale.”

  “Is that why you started doing foreclosures?” Darby was trying to make a plan of action while seeming to be interested in her conversation with a killer.

  “Of course it is. Do you think I want to be driving a neon green bus?”

  He gave an exasperated sigh and backed up, keeping the gun trained on her. She watched him bend and pick up a long tool.

  “This is a gardening spade,” he said. “I ought to know—I’m the so-called gardener around here.”

  He held it in his free hand and came slowly back to Darby, stopping about three feet from her. He tossed the tool at her feet and commanded, “Dig.”

  A coldness washed over her. “Where?”

  He waved the gun. “Right here, next to Genevieve.” His face contorted with rage. “I said, DIG!”

  Darby bent over and picked it up. In a flash she had coiled and then spun as if throwing a discus, flinging the spade as hard as she could at Peter. The gun fired but she was already off, sprinting across the parched ground and toward the pines.

  _____

  Kelly McGee listened as Dave DiNunzio recited the names of his poker pals in a flat monotone. She recognized one man, and he had a link to Kyle.

  “You were on the force in Stuart,” she said. “The Kondo Killer case …”

  Dave nodded. He was fingering a small porcelain flamingo that Kelly kept on her desk, rolling it between his index finger and thumb in a jerky motion.

  She took a deep breath. “Did you talk about that case on poker nights?”

  The look on his face told her everything. Her mind reeled and she forced herself to focus. Peter Janssen played in the poker game; Peter had worked with Kyle. Perhaps this was a break; perhaps he knew something.

  “Call Barnaby’s,” she snapped. “Let’s go talk to Peter Janssen.”

  Already they were leaving the station and jumping into Kelly’s car. Dave shut the passenger side door and shook his head. “He’s not there.”

  “Try his house.” Dave obtained the number, but again, he came up empty. “Let’s go to his office,” he suggested. “See what we find.”

  _____

  A startled Jolene Sebastian hurried behind Dave DiNunzio and Kelly McGee as they made their way through the offices of Barnaby’s International Realty. “It’s right here,” she stammered. “Peter’s desk.” She wrung her thin hands, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I wish Marty would get here.”

  Kelly opened drawers and rifled through pens, notepads, a stapler, and paperclips. Dave was doing the same thing to Peter’s file cabinets, hunting for anything that might shed light on Kelly’s nascent theory. Peter had participated in Dave’s weekly poker games, and Peter had worked with Kyle Cameron. Was there more to it than that? Were they simply wasting time and taxpayer money on an innocent man’s office space?

  The door burst open and Marty Glickman stormed in. “What the hell?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find some tape,” Dave muttered. Now that they had left the station, his adrenalin was pumping and he looked fierce. He fixed the angry broker with a penetrating stare. “Tell me about Janssen and Kyle Cameron.”

  “What is there to tell? They worked together.” Glickman shot a look at Jolene Sebastian. The poor woman was paralyzed with fear.

  “What is this all about?” Glickman demanded.

  “We need you to tell us more,” Dave growled. “What did Peter Janssen think of Kyle Cameron?”

  Marty Glickman rolled his eyes. “He resented her success. I’m sure a lot of the old timers did. That’s not a crime the last time I checked.”

  Dave was about to retort when Kelly nudged his arm. “Take a look.”

  It was an e-mail, addressed to Darby Farr, asking her to meet at Alligator Key, and signed from the office of Alexandra Cameron. “Get Cameron on the phone,” he spat.

  Kelly called and listened for a few minutes. When she hung up, her eyes were flashing. “Alexandra didn’t send any e-mail. She thought Darby arranged the meeting. Fifteen minutes ago she spoke to her. She was about to leave the Key.” Kelly whipped around to face DiNunzio. “Janssen followed her down there. Think, Dave, think. Where the heck would he take Darby?”

  Just then Jolene Sebastian let out a scream. She was holding a plastic container, the kind for storing leftover food, and inside was a human finger.

  _____

  Darby raced left and toward the grove of longleaf pines, dodging gravestones in the murky light. Crack! She heard the sound of another shot and felt the whoosh of a bullet as it sped by her ear. Peter Janssen was a good shot, a very good shot. Was there any way she could escape?

  She banked to the right, hoping to reach some cover before her attacker fired again. But she was too late. A bullet whistled through the air and found its mark in her right shoulder. She felt a searing stab that radiated throughout her body. She sank to the ground in pain.

  Seconds later Janssen was beside her, panting heavily. “Nice try,” he breathed. “You get a goddamn A for effort.”

  He kicked her in the stomach with his boat shoe. “Get up,” he snarled.

  The pain of his kick barely registered. “I can’t.”

  “Get up right now or I shoot you in the head like an old coon dog.”

  Darby struggled to her feet, the pain a blinding white blade slicing through her body. She swayed, feeling blood gushing from her wound. He’s hit my brachial artery, she thought. I’ll bleed out before long.

  “Let’s go,” Janssen urged, pointing the gun at Darby. “Walk.”

  She lifted one leg and then another, shuffling as if she wore shackles. Stumbling over a log she nearly fell, and the jarring motion made her cry out in pain.

  “Shut up!” Janssen spat. “It’s your fucking fault! I didn’t even want to use the gun until the very end.”

  Darby winced. The smell of blood was overwhelming. It gushed from her shoulder and over her elbow, making her forearm slick and wet. She tried to staunch the flow with her left hand and nearly keeled over from the effort.

  “How did you know about the East Coast killings?” she panted.

  “Let’s just say I have a friend on the force.”

  Darby swooned. Jonas Briggs? He couldn’t be involved in this …

  Peter Janssen chuckled. “It’s not your precious Briggs,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  “Dave DiNunzio.”

  “That’s right. I play poker with good old Lucky and he loves to be the one with a thrilling story. Of course he ‘disguises’ the details, but I know exactly which cases he’s talking about.”

  Realization sunk in. “He worked on the Stuart police force. He knew all about the Kondo Killer.”

  “You bet. Even that sicko’s little trophies.”

  His triumphant smile penetrated Darby’s fog of pain. “You screwed up, you know,” she panted.

  “What are you talking about
?”

  “You did the wrong finger.”

  She tried again to put her hand over the spigot of blood that was the gunshot wound. “Why did you kill Candy?”

  “Lucky told us he was about to question a witness who would shed some light on the murder. A famous call girl, he said. Of course I knew Candy Sutton was Kyle’s client, so his little attempt at confidentiality didn’t work with me.” He shifted his weight to his right foot. “I don’t know what she was going to tell DiNunzio, but I couldn’t take a chance.”

  Creepy phone calls, Darby thought. Sam Wilson said Kyle was receiving phone calls from someone at her office. That someone had been Peter Janssen, not Marty Glickman. Perhaps Kyle had said the same thing—or more—to Candy.

  Peter gave Darby a look that was regretful. “I’m not some crazy man, you know. I never wanted to kill you.”

  Darby knew he was one of the most unbalanced people she’d ever met, and yet her survival depended on winning his trust.

  “You don’t have to kill me! Cooperate with the police, let me go—that will work in your favor.”

  “Darby,” he gave a pitying look. “I’ve carried out two premeditated killings, and pretty successfully too. No one is going to look favorably on me.” He shrugged. “No, I’m afraid I have to kill you and add one more piece to this confusing riddle.”

  He pointed with the gun into the dusk. She looked down and nearly fainted. They were back at Genevieve’s grave.

  _____

  Kelly pointed her car toward Alligator Key and drove as fast as she dared. They’d called Darby’s phone and gotten no answer. Now, swerving to avoid a piece of tire in the road, she barked at Dave to try Helen Near. Dave complied, but again they were out of luck.

  A moment later Kelly’s phone rang. “Put it on speaker and say hello.” She and Dave waited as the inquisitive sound of a female voice broke the tension.

  “Hello, I just had a call from this number.”

  Kelly introduced herself and prayed for an affirmative answer to her next question. “I’m looking for Darby,” she said. “May I speak to her?”

  Helen’s response was not at all what Kelly wanted to hear.

  “I’m not sure where she is,” Helen said. “She’s not answering her phone, and she’s late for a dinner party. She was meeting Alexandra Cameron on Alligator Key …” Suddenly the seriousness of Kelly’s call registered with the older woman. “Darby’s not in danger, is she?”

  Kelly gripped the steering wheel more tightly and tried to make her voice calm. “We hope not. If you hear anything from her, please call me immediately.”

  _____

  Peter Janssen held the gun pointed at Darby, but his eyes seemed far away and unfocused. “You know the only person who ever listened to me? Who ever really, truly, cared about me?”

  “Genevieve.” Darby was gasping with pain now, but determined not to give into it.

  “That’s right.” He looked for a moment like he might break down. “She was a saint, that woman. Cookies every day after school. Hugs when I fell or when the other kids teased me. Wonderful stories every night about forest animals and talking trees …” His mood quickly changed. “Lie down,” he snapped. “Lie down on top of her.”

  Darby hesitated. She was dead if she got on the ground, as dead as a fish in a barrel. “Peter, I beg of you,” she whispered. “Let’s work something out. You’re not a killer, not really.” She swooned and her legs buckled.

  Instinctively he reached out and caught her. “Oh, yes I am,” he said, chuckling under his breath. “I’m—”

  Darby used every ounce of strength she possessed to coil up her left leg and deliver a resounding kick to Janssen’s groin. It was a move she had practiced many a time at the Akido Academy back in San Diego.

  “Ugh,” he breathed, crumbling to his knees in agony. “You—little—” he winced as he lifted the gun.

  Whack! Darby delivered another blow, this one a snap kick, to his chin. His head jerked backward and he sagged to the ground, moaning. For a split second she thought of grabbing the gun, but Peter was on top if it and she dared not stay a moment more. Desperately trying to ignore the stabs of pain slicing through her whole right side, she moved as fast as she could around the graves and toward the woods.

  Limping through the cemetery, her shoulder screaming in agony, Darby felt the safety of the pines embrace her wounded body. She forced herself to keep moving, to get as far as she could from Janssen and his deadly weapon. A rustle in the underbrush made her freeze. It was a small animal—a snake, or a possum—and Darby resumed her painful movements. The road dipped sharply downward and she stumbled, her shoulder wrenching with a force that made her gag. She paused, felt blackness around her vision, and sunk to her knees.

  I can’t go on, she realized. I can’t go any further.

  She heard shouts and then a shot. Someone else is here, she thought. They’ve wounded Janssen. Footsteps in the fallen leaves caused her heart to leap with hope. Was she about to be rescued?

  A moment later, Janssen was before her, his face a purple mask of rage.

  “I tried to treat you with decency, and this is what I get,” he spat. “You’re no different than Kyle. You really don’t care.”

  Darby was too weak to argue. She was about to die, she knew that, and part of her welcomed the release from her shoulder’s blaring symphony of pain.

  He raised the gun to her head. “You can rot in the woods for all I care. You and your little police friend.” He took a breath. “Good bye, Darby Farr.”

  The smell of pine was stronger than ever and Darby knew it would be the last scent she remembered. Here it comes, she thought, closing her eyes against her assassin’s sneering face. Maybe I’ll see my parents and find out what happened to them. Maybe I’ll get to meet Kyle Cameron after all.

  A gunshot rang out and Darby was slammed to the ground. She gasped and tried to breathe, but her lungs were collapsed like a pair of deflated party balloons. A huge heaviness was squeezing the life from her body. For just a second, her eyes flickered open.

  In that instant, she stared into the vacant eyes of Peter Janssen. She opened her mouth in a long, silent scream.

  Jonas Briggs knocked softly on Darby’s hospital door. “Good morning. Are you up for a visit?” he asked.

  She nodded weakly and tilted her head toward a chair. “Be my guest.”

  He sank into it gratefully. “The doctor says you had a pretty good night and that your shoulder is looking better. How are you feeling?”

  “Stronger and stronger.” It was true. Since arriving at Sarasota Hospital and getting some much needed Type O pumped back into her veins, Darby Farr was once again feeling like herself.

  “What about your lungs? I heard one was collapsed.”

  “It’s healing. The broken ribs are sore, but they’ll be okay.” She looked into his deeply lined face. “How about you?”

  He sighed. “We lost Dave. I don’t know if you knew that.”

  Darby shook her head. She remembered few details from her rescue the day before: Kelly McGee bounding up and somehow rolling Peter Janssen off her chest; the ambulance arriving and hustling her inside; the noise of the siren as she was raced toward Sarasota Hospital. “What happened?”

  “When Kelly and Dave got to the cemetery they saw you running into the woods with Janssen in pursuit. Dave fired off a shot. Janssen returned fire and hit Dave in the head.”

  Darby closed her eyes.

  “Poor Dave.”

  Briggs nodded. “Got a wife and kids. I’m hoping they’ll remember him as a hero.”

  Darby was getting drowsy but she needed to know another detail. “It was Kelly who shot Janssen?”

  “Yeah. Right on the money and just in time.” He paused. “She’s outside. She’d like to say hello if you’re up to it.”

  Darby nodded and Briggs went to the door. A moment later the redheaded officer followed him to Darby’s side.

  “You’re quite the survivor, D
arby,” Kelly said quietly. “The doctors are impressed with your stamina.”

  Darby gave a weak smile. “Thank you, Kelly. You saved my life.”

  The young officer blushed. “Only because you managed to stay alive as long as you did.” She looked down at her hands. “It was Dave who remembered Pine Grove Cemetery. I guess Janssen mentioned it once at poker.” She wiped her eyes and glanced around the hospital room. “Can I do anything for you while you’re in here?”

  Darby nodded. “Yes. I want you and Jonas to have dinner tonight—my treat.”

  Kelly blushed a deeper shade. “I’m sure Detective Briggs is busy …”

  “No, I’m free, but—” Briggs looked flustered. “We can wait until you’re out of here, then the three of us can go.”

  “No. It’s all arranged. You’ve got a table at Luna for seven o’clock.”

  The police professionals looked at each other in surprise.

  “Well—” Briggs began.

  Darby closed her eyes. “I’m going to take a very long and restful nap now. You two take off, okay?” She waited until they had tiptoed out of the room and closed her door before she allowed herself to smile.

  _____

  Jack Cameron consulted the guest list his sister had drawn up for the following day’s luncheon in honor of Darby Farr. “What about Tag Gunnerson and the buyer for St. Andrew’s Isle?”

  “Good idea. Why don’t I call Helen and see who else should be included?”

  They were perched on a plump couch in Mitzi’s study at Casa Cameron. Two glasses of lemonade and a plate of snickerdoodles—courtesy of Carlotta—waited on a nearby table.

  Jack reached for a cookie and bit into it. “Marco is figuring out the food. Between what he brings and what Carlotta makes, we should be in good shape.” He gave Alexandra a concerned look. “You’re sure she’ll be out of the hospital, right?”

  “That’s what her doctor said.” The realtor’s speedy recovery was truly amazing. With everything Darby Farr had sustained at the hands of Peter Janssen—bullet wound, broken ribs, a broken cheek bone, and a collapsed lung—she was due to come home from the hospital the following day. “It’s because she’s young, and in such good shape,” Alexandra surmised. “Unlike some people I know who are starting to get a little paunch because they don’t exercise and eat too many snickerdoodles.”