Gideon

by Grant Rosenberg

  He shook his head. “I was happy about your father’s death because he murdered my uncle, but I wasn’t driving that car. I swear!”

  Kelly shook her head in disbelief as she picked up the syringe.

  “No, no, no! Listen, you wanted to know how I found out about your father. Gimme a chance to explain.”

  She stared at him in silence, the syringe poised.

  Moretti continued, “After six or seven people mysteriously died, there were whispers that they were victims of some kind of phantom assassin. They called him Gideon.”

  “Who was doing the whispering?”

  “People who share similar interests.”

  “You mean criminals.”

  “Fine. Criminals, dealers, mobsters, whatever you want to call them. Anyway, as the body count continued to grow, members from surviving families formed a group called ‘The Committee’ and offered a bounty. Five million dollars to anyone who could uncover Gideon’s real identity.”

  “And then kill him,” Kelly said, completing the thought.

  “No! Just ID him. The people who put up the money wanted the satisfaction of dealing with Gideon on their own terms.”

  Kelly felt a flush of anger and her hand gripped the syringe tighter.

  Moretti noticed this and spoke faster. “There are people on the message boards who compile all the information they can find on Gideon, and then provide it to subscribers for a few thou a month. Of course, no one’s certain which deaths are attributable to Gideon, since a lot of people on the fringe die of accidents or natural causes, so the data’s filled with holes, but these guys came up with a list of, like, twenty-five or thirty potential candidates. Your father was one of them.”

  Moretti stopped, sweat dripping down his face. “Can I get some more water?”

  “Finish your story.”

  “When I saw the name David Harper, it rang a bell, so I did some research and found out everything I could about the murder of your mother and what happened to your sister. Then I dug around and read some rumors that Musselwhite didn’t die in that police van, but was in witness protection and died of an overdose, like, a year later. Since your dad was a doctor, the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. So I kept close tabs on him.”

  “You were spying on my father? On both of us?”

  He nodded. “I figured I might be close to finding out Gideon’s identity, so yeah. I paid a guy to tail your father for a month, including a trip he took to Seattle. He was gone for two days, and during that time a woman who lived out on Mercer Island died from poison. Turned out the poison came from a plant she’d brought back from a trip to Hawaii and her death was ruled accidental.”

  “What’s that have to do with my father?”

  “It was classic Gideon. A hit that doesn’t look like a hit. Plus, the victim fit the profile. She was suspected of poisoning her last three husbands… all of them had shit-loads of money. She was also suspected of killing two of her stepchildren. Word was, one of the families hired Gideon to even the score.”

  “So you assumed my father was this mysterious killer,” Kelly said, doing her best to keep her voice calm. “Who did you tell?”

  “No one! I needed to be absolutely positive before I went to ‘The Committee’. Other people had gone to them with “proof” of Gideon’s identity, but each time they were wrong, and each time they were made to regret it.”

  “You’re saying no one else knows about this?”

  He nodded, and tried to sound upbeat. “Your father’s name was low on the list of possibles, so I doubt he’s on anyone else’s radar.”

  Moretti thought he actually had a chance of getting out of this alive. He’d told the truth, or at least as much as he could, given his current situation. If Kelly knew he’d shared this information with someone else, he’d be finished.

  “If you were the only person who knew, then it stands to reason that you were the one who killed him,” Kelly said in a voice just above a whisper.

  “No! I mean, someone else could’ve figured it out on their own, like I did. When I said no one else knew, I meant that I didn’t tell anyone. Why would I? I wanted the bounty for myself.”

  “The bounty,” she said with unbridled disdain. “Setting my father up to be murdered.”

  Moretti had no response to that. He didn’t realize it at first, but by telling the truth, he’d backed himself into a corner. “Okay, yes. I was hoping to cash in, but don’t forget, he killed my uncle. Your father was an assassin. Who knows how many he killed.”

  “Eighteen,” she said calmly. “Eighteen loathsome creatures who all deserved what they got. Especially your uncle.”

  Despite his attempt to remain calm and temper his anger, Moretti’s rage was growing. “I loved my uncle,” he spat out. “He took me in, raised me like his own son.”

  “That explains a lot. Your uncle dealt in human trafficking, which is abhorrent.” She didn’t realize it, but she was quoting her father’s journal almost word for word. “The world is a better place without him.”

  “Fuck you!” Moretti shouted. “Fuck your holier than thou bullshit! Your father was a fucking murderer!”

  “My father was a hero!” Kelly was surprised as the words tripped out. “He was a brilliant doctor, a loving father and a great man. He was revered as a saint by the people he treated. And in his spare time he risked his life to exterminate vermin.”

  Moretti erupted in a frenzy, wildly thrashing from side to side, trying to break free of his bonds. As he opened his mouth to scream more profanity, Kelly shoved the sock down into his throat.

  In the abrupt silence that followed, she heard the faint sound of musical chimes. It was the text alert on her phone. Moretti’s eyes darted to the left, and there it was again.

  Kelly followed the sound to her cell phone, which Moretti had tucked under the throw pillows on the couch. Having the phone in her hand immediately gave her a sense of security.

  She tapped the screen and the message came on. She read it straight-faced without a scintilla of emotion. She read it a second time, then set the phone down next to her. She turned back to Moretti. “Now that I know the whole story, the question is, what to do with you? If I let you go, you’ll come for me, and maybe even my sister.”

  Moretti vigorously shook his head from side-to-side.

  “You expect me to believe you? You peddle narcotics, you strong-arm local businesses to pay for protection and you sell women into slavery. You’re not a man to be trusted, Tommy.”

  Moretti’s eyes grew large, beseeching Kelly to spare him.

  “And let’s not forget, you’re a rapist. The lowest form of human trash. Most women, and probably most men, would find that to be an offense worthy of extreme punishment. At the very least, castration.” The blood rushed from Moretti’s face. “I saw a large, extremely sharp knife in the kitchen.”

  Moretti lost it and started shaking uncontrollably.

  She let him stew in the juices of terror for a moment, before adding, “No, too messy.”

  She raised up the hypodermic needle, “I’ll stick with this.”

  Kelly looked at the syringe with admiration, mesmerized by the sheer power it held.

  Moretti made muffled feral sounds, trying to spit out the sock. He needed to reason with Kelly, to assure her that if she let him live he’d move far away. She’d never hear from him or see him again. Plus, he had money. Lots of money that she could use to keep her clinic going. Whatever she wanted. Goddamn it! Why did he drug her? Why did he rape her?

  Everyone has a defining moment in his or her life.

  Kelly believed that hers came when her mother was murdered and her sister was attacked. Later on, she believed that her true defining moment was when she traveled to Sumatra with her father, saw the sickness and poverty, and made the decision to become a doctor.

  When her father was killed, Kelly’s life took a sharp turn. That had to be her defining moment.

  But now, with her thumb on the
plunger of a syringe loaded with liquid death, ready to thrust into the vein of the man who was responsible for the murder of her father… it was this moment that would define her life going forward. Would she embrace her humanity and do the right thing, regardless of the complicated consequences that would follow, or would she embrace her fear, anger and twisted sense of vengeance?

  It all came back to her father.

  Should she follow his teaching or follow his example?

  Kelly turned to Moretti, a look of serenity on her face. “I’m going to ask you one question. If you tell the truth, I’ll let you go.” Moretti fervently nodded. Kelly leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. “Did you kill my father?”

  Moretti shook his head from side to side. “Are you sure?” she asked. Moretti solemnly nodded. Kelly stared him in the eye. “Final answer?” Moretti nodded again, this time with total conviction.

  Kelly raised her phone so Moretti could see the text message. It was from Pete and it read, “Kel – I know you’re asleep, but wanted to let you know we got a DNA hit on hairs found in the car. A man named Tommy Moretti. He lives here in the city, he’s got a long record and there’s a strong possibility he’s the killer. We’re going to take him down.”

  Moretti’s eyes bulged out in disbelief. No! How could they…?

  … And then he felt the rush of drugs coursing through his system. He looked down to see the needle sticking into his arm. As he looked back up, he was staring into the face of Kelly. She looked surprised, as if shooting him with the lethal dose of heroin wasn’t a conscious act.

  He tried to recall the events that led to this moment, but his mind ceased to function coherently. This was Moretti’s defining moment; it was also his last.

  Kelly stared in disbelief and horror. She was witnessing a human being go into death throes. A death that she’d caused! Her immediate instinct was to help him. To save his life. But instead, she stood by, watching, letting the guilt flow over her.

  She deserved to share in his ordeal.

  She pulled the sock from his mouth and Moretti gasped for air as his organs started shutting down. With his life dwindling away, his lids opened and he looked at Kelly one last time. His eyes reflected a man resigned to his fate. Hers reflected a woman who was tinged with doubt and a tiny, involuntary degree of sympathy.

  A few moments later, Moretti’s head slumped forward. Kelly checked the vein in his neck for a pulse, which was non-existent.

  It was over.

  Kelly was overwhelmed with the reality of what she’d done. She stared at the dead body in front of her and was hit with the cold, harsh realization that she had crossed over.

  She was a murderer.

  A murderer who needed to act now! The police knew about Moretti. She had to get out of there… but first she had to erase any evidence that she’d been there. How? She had no idea what she’d touched. What about loose hair strands? And her saliva on the water bottle. What else? What else??

  She looked over at Moretti. She couldn’t leave him tied up. He’d clearly been murdered, unless…

  She’d have to move fast. The police could be there any moment.

  Her heart was racing and her breath grew jagged as her eyes frenetically darted around the room. Where to begin?

  Just then, she felt her stomach lurch. Kelly bolted for the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before she violently heaved.

  As she wiped her mouth, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. The pallid face. The hollow eyes.

  Kelly thought that the death of Moretti meant this nightmare was over, but she was wrong.

  It was just beginning.

  56

  Pete was parked down the block from Moretti’s house, waiting. A car pulled up behind him and flashed his lights. Pete checked his watch. 6:15am. A moment later, Ron Yee tapped on the window, holding two cups from Starbucks. Nothing like a caffeine jolt for an early-morning takedown.

  They approached the house cautiously. They’d done their homework on Moretti and assumed he’d have weapons in the house. They weren’t anticipating a shoot-out, but both were wearing vests and held their firearms at their side, just in case he decided to do something desperate or stupid.

  When there was no response to their persistent knocking, Pete pulled out his phone. “We’ll throw out the net. I want to pick him up before he finds out we’re onto him.”

  Ron had moved to the window and was peering in through a thin partition between heavy curtains. “Don’t bother with the APB. Looks like our boy decided to call in sick this morning.”

  Ron went to work on the front door locks. Five minutes later, they walked into the living room to find Moretti lying face up on the floor, shards of pottery near his head, and a syringe sticking out of his arm.

  As Pete slipped on a pair of thin latex gloves, Ron conducted a sweep of the house. Pete gently pressed Moretti’s neck and found no pulse. There was a fine line between preserving evidence and making a definitive determination of the status of a victim, so Pete carefully raised Moretti’s eyelids and shone a light into the pupils. They were fixed and dilated.

  The eyes of a corpse.

  Ron walked back into the room. “All clear. Checked his bathroom and closet and it appears he lives alone. His bed hadn’t been slept in, which leads me to believe this piece of shit partied solo last night.” Ron looked down at Moretti and gave him a half-hearted salute. “You saved the city a lot of time and money, asshole. On behalf of the entire legal system, we appreciate you embracing your civic duty.” He turned to Pete. “Seems obvious to me what happened. What’s your read?”

  “The needle sticking out of his arm kinda tells the story. Either he took the wrong dose or he got a hot load. Lost his balance, fell backwards into the bookcase and crashed into one of those clay pots. The crime-scene guys can fill in the blanks, but on first impression, I’m with you. Self-inflicted overdose.”

  Pete looked down at the body and was filled with a sense of satisfaction. More so than any other case he’d worked in a long, long time. This one was personal, and now the file on David Harper’s death was finally closed. He couldn’t wait to tell Kelly.

  She’d be ecstatic when she heard the news.

  57

  Less than five miles away, Kelly sat at her kitchen table, staring into space. She’d arrived home some time after 5:30am and had no illusions that she’d be able to fall asleep without meds. The problem was, if she took enough Ambien to quell her intense anxiety, she’d be laid out for an entire day, and she needed to be at the clinic by 8:30. So she’d opted for the alternate path and popped a couple Dexedrine. Kelly hated the harsh buzz of speed, but knew it was the only way she was going to make it through the next eighteen hours.

  She’d showered and dressed, covering the bruises on her neck with a seldom-worn turtleneck sweater. The only things holding her back from walking out the door were a throbbing headache and an overwhelming sense of guilt. She reached for her “World’s Greatest Daughter” mug and tears formed in her eyes. Flashes of her father brought a lump to her throat, making it difficult to swallow. Would her memories of him grow fonder over the years, or would she become increasingly resentful of the path he’d forged?

  Kelly wiped her eyes and took a sip of cold, bitter coffee. She wished the day was already over and she was crawling back into bed, seeking refuge from reality.

  The events of last night would haunt her for the rest of her life. The question was, how would they impact her immediate future?

  She was about to find out.

  The knock at the door rattled her. She looked at the kitchen clock and saw it was a few minutes before eight. Who’d be knocking at this hour? And then she realized she was late for work. She should’ve already been on the road.

  A second knock was followed by a familiar voice, “Kelly?”

  It was Pete. Oh, shit. Pete! Why was he there? Did he know that she’d been at Moretti’s? That she was the
one who killed him? Was he coming to arrest her?

  “Kelly? You home?”

  What was she going to do? Run? Where? She had nowhere to go. If she was going to be arrested, she may as well face the consequences. It was self-defense, wasn’t it? She held out hope, however slim, that she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life behind bars.

  She finally opened the door to find Pete, his face a stoic mask. “It’s over,” he said. “We found Moretti this morning. Dead.”

  Kelly was filled with dread as she waited for the other shoe to drop. “Dead?” she croaked. “How?”

  “He overdosed. Still had the needle in his arm.”

  “What happens now?”

  “The crime-scene investigators are there. They’ll send whatever they find to the lab for the standard tests and we’ll see what comes back. It was pretty clear that Moretti’s death was self-inflicted.” Pete showed the slightest glimmer of a smile. “Sometimes, karma’s a real bitch.” His smile grew larger. “Not only was Moretti a major dealer, but we’re convinced he was driving the car that killed your father. A piece of shit’s been taken off the street, your father’s been avenged and you won’t have to look over your shoulder any more.”

  Pete slowly opened his arms and Kelly broke into tears and fell into his embrace. She flinched when he hugged her. The reaction was as much psychological as physical. Pete released her, and gently stroked her hair.