Spilled Blood

by Michael R. Davidson

  She tried to come up with an appropriate response, but all she could say was, “Holy shit!”

  “Yeah,” he said, “Looks like we were wrong to ignore the Russian angle.”

  She was thinking fast. What did this mean for their plans to entrap Yang? She was on the verge of telling everything to Wolf but bit her tongue.

  “I’ve got to let Strachey know about this. I’m still not sure I can believe it. The idea of a Russian assassin is just too damned far-fetched. You’re sure it was nine PM?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Why do you ask?” His eyes turned a darker shade of blue when his curiosity was piqued.

  “Nothing,” she said hastily. “I just want to be sure I had the facts straight. I really appreciate your telling me about this,” she said. “Frankly, I don’t know where we go from here. What about Padruig?”

  He shook his head. “The Feds don’t want Curry to cut him loose until they can sort things out. I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” she said. “Thanks again, Wolf, but I have to let Strachey know what happened.” She was already getting to her feet.

  Call me Archie,” he said.

  She shot him a nervous smile over her shoulder and left just as the tacos arrived at the table.

  She drove as fast as she could to PSI and burst into Strachey’s office out of breath. “You’re not gonna believe this,” she panted.

  When she was finished, he called Amy into the office and had her repeat the story.

  Strachey was non-plussed. “I can’t believe the Russians would pull a stunt like that on American soil.”

  “Tell that to the Brits,” said Amy.

  “The Russians don’t usually take potshots with rifles in these situations,” said Strachey. “Poison is their preferred method.”

  “Maybe,” replied Amy, “but they knew Natasha was being protected. Maybe they got desperate. Maybe it was success or Lefortovo. You know how they are.”

  Strachey scratched his chin. “My first thought was that Yang tried to take her out after those first phone calls, but the attack was at nine o’clock, the same time you had him on the phone.”

  “That kind of narrows down the possibilities, doesn’t it?” asked Krystal.

  Strachey’s expression was sour. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

  “So,” asked Amy, “what are we going to do now about Yang?”

  “We can’t let him get away with what he’s done,” said Krystal. Her cop instincts were kicking in.

  “We have gone to all this trouble,” said Amy.

  “So,” asked Strachey, all his enthusiasm gone, “what do you want to do.”

  “I have an idea,” said Krystal.

  CHAPTER 32

  Krystal wore jeans, a polo shirt, and sneakers and a black wig that tickled her scalp. Freedom Park is large with a lot of trees that offere good cover. There is a pond at the south end with a cement walk around its border. It’s a large pond, about three and a half football fields long and over 300 feet wide. She was at the north end on an arched stone bridge that led from the shore to a small island. She stood at the eastern end of the bridge where it joined the bank.

  There was no lighting in this area, and a waxing moon which shone through a skein of feathery clouds provided the only illumination, leaving deep shadows under the trees. A brook known as Sugar Creek ran parallel to the eastern bank of the pond, set back about thirty feet through a screen of trees. Strachey was out there somewhere providing overwatch.

  If Yang was desperate enough to try something violent, Krystal was not particularly concerned. She was packing her faithful Beretta Px4Storm, a formidable .45 caliber weapon, in a holster at the small of her back concealed by the loose tail of her shirt.

  Yang had been given precise instructions to park along Princeton Avenue at the south end of the pond and walk north around the pond to the bridge where “Natalie” would be waiting. This would bring him into the open some distance from Krystal so he could be observed as he approached along the cement walk. The rendezvous was set for eleven P.M. when the park should be empty. It was a deliberately provocative scenario which gave Yang ample opportunity to try a hostile move.

  She almost hoped he would try something. The adrenalin and other forces that had been building inside left her feeling like a balloon inflated beyond capacity. The cool night air felt good against her skin, and she was thankful for it, but action would provide a better release. She was glad to be here, oh so grateful, that Strachey still trusted her. He and Amy had seen the worst, vulnerabilities she’d hoped no one would ever see. But the experience had not driven them away.

  In the distance occasional cars passed along Princeton Avenue. She’d cased the area earlier in the day and knew there was space to park along the shoulder where Yang was to arrive. It was hard to see that far through the gloom, but she knew Strachey would be positioned to see his arrival.

  She saw movement, and there was just enough moonlight for her to make out a figure emerging onto the walk from the direction of the road. Her watch told her it was precisely eleven P.M. Yang was right on time like a good accountant. The figure moved to its right to follow the walkway along the eastern bank of the pond. She could not make out if he was carrying anything. A million dollars in cash made quite a bundle. She waited, her muscles tensing for action. She wondered if he had ever met Natasha Pushkin.

  She followed Yang’s progress as he moved from dim, silvery light to shadow. At this distance and in this light, she could not even be sure it was Yang. It took longer than she expected for him to traverse the distance to the path leading onto the bridge, suggesting he was in no hurry to consummate the meeting. He carried a paper shopping bag in his left hand.

  When he was within five feet of her, he raised his right hand, and something metallic glinted in the moonlight. She snaked her arm behind her back to draw the Beretta, but he was too fast. She was dazzled by an excruciatingly bright light. Yang was using a flashlight with a high lumen count to blind her.

  She took a quick step back, trying to shield her eyes, expecting him to attack, but instead he backed away, keeping the light trained on her. A second later she heard a sharp report from her left, and a piece of stone from the bridge chipped with a high-pitched twang as a bullet ricocheted off it. She dove for cover behind the waist-level parapet shaking her head to ward off the temporary blindness while she drew her Beretta. She rolled against the parapet struggling to see Yang through the shimmering white haze in front of her eyes. She knew she was helpless, a perfect target.

  He was still shining the light on her, but when she drew the pistol, he turned and ran full tilt back the way he’d come. She shook her head as sight returned, leaving bright spots dancing before her eyes.

  There was still a shooter somewhere north of the bridge with a high-powered rifle. What had happened was clear in an instant. Yang had a confederate waiting for him to light her up so he could get a clear shot. The question now was whether the shooter was still out there somewhere in the dark waiting for another opportunity. She didn’t dare expose herself to chase Yang who was running like a scalded dog.

  CHAPTER 33

  Robert Strachey kept to the trees beside the walkway and was close enough to recognize Raymond Yang as he walked slowly toward Krystal. He silently paralleled the banker as he approached the bridge. It was too dark to see much more than that the man was carrying a paper shopping bag presumably filled with money. He had a sinking feeling that he was going to pay the blackmail and walk away, leaving them no closer to identifying the real killer.

  As Yang approached the bridge Strachey was some twenty feet away, concealed in the trees. This was the moment Yang would either reveal himself as a murderer or walk away having convicted himself of bank fraud. When Yang was a few feet from Krystal he made a quick movement with something in his hand. There was a bright light, and simultaneously he recognized the report of a high-powered rifle and saw Krystal fall to the ground. Shit! She’s been hit. And every doubt he had had about
placing her in such a position flooded his brain.

  Yang began to run back the way he had come. Strachey was torn between going after Yang and checking on Krystal, but she yelled, “Get him. I’m OK.”

  Yang had gained a lead on him, but Strachey’s old talents on the football field came into play, and by the time they had covered about half the distance along the walkway, he tackled the fleeing banker to the ground and pinned his arms behind him. Strachey was breathing heavily, and Yang gasped for breath.

  In the distance there was another report from the rifle answered by several more shots.

  Still concerned for Krystal, Strachey hauled Yang to his feet and shoved him back toward the bridge. Krystal was still hunkered down next to the parapet and brought her pistol quickly to bear on them. “Whoa, Krystal, it’s me,” he said. “Are you OK?”

  “Yeah, they missed me. You better get down here.” With a glare at the exhausted Yang, she said, “You can leave him standing up.” She jerked her head in the direction of the gunshots. “What the hell’s going on out there? Sounds like a shooting gallery.”

  Strachey’s teeth flashed in the moonlight. “That must be our insurance policy.”

  They listened, but there was no more gunfire. “We’d better get up there,” said Strachey. “Do you have your cuffs?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled a pair of handcuffs from the pocket of her jeans and stood. She yanked Yang, who was still drawing ragged breaths, around and cuffed his hands behind his back. “Keep this bastard in front of us,” she gritted.

  Moving cautiously, they came to a clearing where several paved walkways intersected and saw a dark figure standing over a shapeless lump on the ground. The figure turned at their approach and waved.

  “It’s all clear,” said Archie Wolf.

  As they drew nearer, they could see a man dressed in dark clothing lying face down and motionless at Wolf’s feet. A rifle with a telescopic sight lay next to him.

  From the direction of Princeton Avenue sirens wailed, and soon they were joined by four uniformed cops with flashlights.

  When they rolled the dead man onto his back, Krystal gave an involuntary start. It was Kim Stevens, Grigory Pushkin’s boss at the bank.

  CHAPTER 33

  Captain Abel Curry vacillated between irritation and relief but managed an even mien in front of the people assembled in his office. He did scowl at Wolf, who sat expressionless beside him at the table. Everyone was there, including DeLorenzo and Salinger. Strachey was twiddling an unlit cigar between his fingers struggling not to grin. Beside him, Krystal fidgeted in her seat. The feebies made her uncomfortable.

  “The floor is yours, Mr. Strachey,” said Curry. “You seem to have had all the answers.”

  Ignoring Curry’s churlishness, Strachey smiled. “We did a little digging for our client and concluded that he was not a murderer. Had he wished to do harm to his brother, he would have done it long ago. And if Padruig Nessmith was not the murderer we could see no reason for the deaths of his brother and sister-in-law unless they were secondary victims, in the wrong place at the wrong time, leading us to believe that Grigory Pushkin was the primary victim.” He turned to look at DeLorenzo and Salinger, who remained expressionless. “And that’s what you thought, too, but you were willing to see an innocent man suffer to cover it up.”

  He turned back to Curry. “This suspicion led to everything else, and Raymond Yang’s irate phone call to Pushkin before he was murdered made Yang a person of interest, as you folks would say. The rest you know.”

  “Not entirely,” said Salinger in a mild voice, a voice that suggested he knew something that meant trouble for Strachey. “How, for example, did you confirm Yang’s guilt?”

  “Ah,” said Strachey, studying the cigar in his hand, “that’s a long story. That he was involved in the murders is a fact established by his own confession. As for his other crimes, I’m surprised the FBI did not come to the same conclusion. You had all the evidence, after all, but you ignored it.”

  “That is the point, Mr. Strachey,” continued Salinger, warming to the subject. “Would you address the question of ‘evidence,’ please?”

  “I think you already know,” said Strachey. “The thumb drive contained everything you needed to come to the same conclusion as we.”

  Salinger grew solemn, “And the thumb drive contained protected bank information which you obtained illegally. Yang might not be convicted because you trapped him with fruit of the poison tree. All the evidence will be thrown out of court.” For some reason, the idea seemed to please him.

  “Oh, maybe,” said Strachey with complete nonchalance. “We already discussed this. I’m sure the bank will now thoroughly check its books and confirm the fraud. Maybe they’ll succeed in keeping it quiet; maybe they’ll bring charges against Yang. I don’t really care. It wasn’t my money. On the other hand, Yang has already confessed to conspiracy to murder my partner here.” He waved his cigar at Krystal. “Even if he can’t be convicted of bank fraud, he’ll do time for that. And, of course, Yang was anxious to tell us that it was his partner in crime, Stevens, who murdered all those people and took a pot-shot at Natasha Pushkin. From the beginning, this case was about the murders. Finding the bank fraud was just icing on the cake.”

  According to what Wolf leaked to them after Yang was interrogated, the original plan was for Stevens to ambush Pushkin on the path around the pond. But Pushkin was a moving target on his bicycle, and Stevens managed only to squeeze off a non-lethal shot to the man’s back. Pushkin somehow managed to stay on his bike and disappeared around a sharp bend with Stevens close behind. He was surprised to run into the Nessmiths sitting around a picnic blanket on the verge of the pond. Pushkin had finally fallen from his bike a little further on, and Stevens made a snap decision to eliminate the witnesses. He dispatched the Nessmiths who were frozen by shock and ran to where Pushkin lay on the ground and finished him off. Fearful the noise would attract more people he ran the short distance to the parking lot and sped away in his car.”

  Strachey continued, “And I’m not so sure about your fruit of the poison tree stuff, either, Special Agent Salinger. Yes, we used bank information, but it we did nothing illegal to get it. In fact, Pushkin’s wife handed it over voluntarily. It’s no different than if a reporter got hold of it and made it public, like the Pentagon Papers. But, as I said, the fraud is small change compared to the murders, even if it is a hundred million dollars. They’re two entirely separate matters. That’s something for the courts to figure out. The important thing for us is that our client has been cleared of all charges. That’s what we were hired to do.”

  Curry grunted, and with a glint in his eye turned to his sergeant. “Wolf, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Well, sir,” said Wolf, “Ms. Murphy here called me the night of the Freedom Park incident to ask for help. As a former cop, she thought it was appropriate for a member of the force to be there in case an arrest was needed. When all the shooting started, I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

  Curry was obviously dubious of Wolf’s story. “And you didn’t think to call me?”

  Wolf managed to look sheepish. “Well, sir,” he said, “this was a bank case we hadn’t heard about before. I thought it best to check it out before disturbing you. I had no idea there was a connection to the other case.”

  Curry directed a long stare at his sergeant who steadily returned his gaze. Giving up, the Captain said, “OK, Wolf. We’ll have a chat about this later.” He turned to DeLorenzo and Salinger. “Do you gentlemen have anything to add?”

  The two Feds exchanged a glance before Salinger spoke. “We’ll take all this into consideration, Captain Curry. In the end, it’s up to the court to decide. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  The two rose from the table, DeLorenzo favoring Strachey with a sullen stare, and left.

  Strachey and Krystal stood, too. “Well,” he said, “I think that about covers it. I assume we’ll be call
ed to testify at Yang’s trial, and you can count on us.”

  Curry scowled them out the door.

  Under normal circumstances, Strachey would have invited Krystal out for a celebratory drink. Instead, they drove to his house where Amy would have lunch waiting.

  “Do you think everything will hold water?” asked Krystal. She had some doubts about Strachey’s legal acumen.

  “The court case? Hell, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. It’s out of our hands now. The important thing for us, and for PSI, is that Padruig Nessmith is free and clear. Like I said, that’s what we were hired to do.”

  CHAPTER 34

  As the crowd swirled around her, the events of the past few weeks rolled over in Krystal’s mind like a film on a never-ending loop. She was frightened by her own self-analysis. The only way she could exorcise her demons was to act. Whether she should seek professional help, as Amy Strachey had gently suggested, was a decision to be postponed. There was something she needed to do first.

  Not every moment since Padruig Nessmith had been cleared of all charges had been so difficult or fraught with tension. Strachey had been pleased when Padruig’s attorney, Matthew Holmes, had stopped by the office to present him with a check for their services. The amount was even more generous than Strachey had billed, and Holmes said his client wanted to express his gratitude for the physical danger they had undergone. In turn, Strachey gave Krystal an equally generous bonus which she realized was a way of salving his conscience but which he insisted was her just due for nearly being killed.

  Padruig Nessmith’s generosity was not limited to their fee. A week earlier she and Strachey received written invitations to Saturday lunch at the Nessmith residence. The invitation aroused a great deal of curiosity around the office. Though neither of them had a great desire to renew their acquaintance with the gloomy recluse, they felt obligated to accept.