Murder Book

by Weber, Frank F. ;

  It was all disconcerting, and I began to fear that Al could eventually be freed, at least until charges came forth in Mandy’s murder.

  Chapter

  Forty

  SERENA BELL

  5:30 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  BIRMINGHAM APARTMENTS, MINNEAPOLIS

  I HAD GONE INTO WORK early this morning so I wouldn’t have to take time off for my check-up with my obstetrician. Everything was good with the baby. Now that I was finally home, I was tired and was going to take a nap before I did anything else. I decided to leave the bedroom door open to make certain I would wake when Jon returned from Duluth.

  Chapter

  Forty-One

  JON FREDERICK

  6:25 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  INTERSTATE 35 SOUTH OF DULUTH,

  HEADED TOWARD MINNEAPOLIS

  I TRIED CALLING TONY a couple times to see how court went, but the calls went immediately into his voicemail. Serena had texted and said she was home and was going to lie down for a nap, so I thought I’d give her another half hour before I called. Her pregnancy had significantly increased her need for sleep.

  My cell phone buzzed, so I retrieved it from the console. “This is Jon Frederick.”

  “Jon, it’s Paula.” She was distraught, her voice vibrating with unchecked emotion. “Tony was shot and left for dead.” She managed to choke out, “He isn’t going to make it.”

  My brain immediately went into crisis mode. “I’m on my way back from Duluth, about an hour away from the Twin Cities. I promise to get there as fast as I can. Where is he, and what happened?”

  It was silent for a moment as Paula gathered her composure. “He was airlifted to Fairview. Tony was shot in his vehicle—a couple shots through the window and four more through the door. It all went down about two hours ago. Al Brennan’s on the run in his pick-up truck, so we’ve issued an APB on it. From what I’ve read in the report, you’d think they’d be able to hear it a mile away,” she sniffed.

  Shocked, I asked, “Wait, what? How did Al get out of prison?”

  “He was released at the hearing. After reviewing the evidence, the judge determined Jason likely committed perjury. He didn’t feel it was fair,” she said in a mock whine, “to make Al wait in prison for a retrial. After all, with the verdict thrown out, Al isn’t guilty of anything.”

  “I thought this was a preliminary hearing!” I was incredulous. My foot automatically pressed down on the accelerator.

  Resigned, Paula sighed raggedly. “No one thought he’d get released. You know how Tony can get. He and Al got into it in the parking lot after court,” she sobbed slightly. “And Al came back and found him. I’d love to go after Al, but Tony’s more important right now. I want to spend the last few moments I can with him. I probably won’t call again.” She was choking up.

  “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  First, I was going to call Serena to make sure she was behind the secure doors in my apartment, then I’d pick her up and we would go to the hospital together. My hands strangled the steering wheel in desperation as I sped toward my home.

  Chapter

  Forty-Two

  SERENA BELL

  6:28 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  BIRMINGHAM APARTMENTS, MINNEAPOLIS

  SOMETHING WOKE ME from a sound sleep. I think my phone was buzzing. When I reached for it, I knocked it off the night stand and onto the floor. The apartment door was closing, and the anticipation of Jon’s return brought warmth that flooded through me like a pleasant tea. I slipped out of bed. Not bothering to dress, I stepped toward the bedroom doorway in just a t-shirt and underwear. It sounded like Jon’s apartment manager was talking to him just before he entered.

  Jon usually called my name when he came in, to alert me that it was him. Tonight, he must have forgotten. A prickle of unease began to crawl up my spine. Something wasn’t right. I slid back behind the bedroom door, heart hammering, and peered around it.

  I stifled a gasp, stunned by what I saw. Even from behind, there was no mistaking that mass of crazy hair—Al Brennan was inside the apartment, hands on his hips, looking into the empty living room. Ice-cold terror shot through my limbs and froze me in place. Al wore the standard gray prison-release button-down work shirt and jeans. Once the lock on the apartment door clicked into place, he removed a gun from his waistband. Acid crawled from my stomach to my throat, choking me. This couldn’t be! He still hadn’t seen me, so I quietly backed into the bedroom. I only had a second to make a decision. I was in trouble. If I locked the bedroom door he would hear me, and he could get to the bathroom door before I could lock that, too. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the man who had assaulted me, and this time he had a gun. And this time, I was pregnant. I needed to hide.

  I glanced over at the large armoire against the wall, at the foot of the bed. It had a large door on the left side, and drawers on the right. I gently opened the door, and there was only one t-shirt inside. Only a guy would have a large empty space in his armoire. I slid inside, noiselessly closing the door behind me. It was a tight fit, with my knees pushed against my chest and forehead, with little room for movement. I fumbled with the t-shirt and began to wind it tightly around the latch from the door and the inside catch, willing my trembling hands to cooperate and hoping to make the door impossible to open. Kyrie eleison, I prayed. Lord, have mercy.

  It wasn’t long before I heard Al moving into the bedroom. I held my breath and kept my contorted body still. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I imagined, with revulsion, Al standing at the bed, feeling the mattress to see if it was warm. It was then I realized I didn’t have my phone. It had to be by the bed. Did he now have it? Then I remembered I had knocked it on the floor. Maybe he didn’t see it.

  I heard him opening and closing the closet doors, and imagined him looking under the bed. I finally breathed a sigh of relief when I heard him leave the bedroom. Contorting my body into that tight space had worked!

  Suddenly my phone rang, the sound jangling through me like a shockwave. It was my mom’s ringtone, which had never clamored so obnoxiously. I closed my eyes tightly, praying he hadn’t heard it from the other room.

  No such luck. Footsteps clomped into the bedroom, stopping around the vicinity of the nightstand. Al had picked up the phone, but said nothing. I imagined my mom asking, “Serena?” when there was no response. I heard a small thud and figured he tossed it back on the floor.

  Al was moving items about. His footsteps approached the armoire, until he was inches away from me. I knew the slightest twitch would give me away, and my legs were starting to cramp. After thirty torturous seconds, I heard his footsteps retreat into the bathroom. I considered making a run for it, but I knew by the time I could get out, he would be right in front of me.

  I heard the shower curtain slide aside. I continued twisting the t-shirt as tightly as I could around the inside latch. Al returned to the bedroom once again. While walking by the armoire, he pulled on the doorknob. It didn’t move. My breathing was becoming jagged, and I struggled to keep it silent. I ground my forehead into my knees, trying to think of any possible way out of this. He immediately stopped, and I could hear him walking over to the bed. Did he see my clothes on the floor? He returned, and again, pulled the knob on the armoire door. Thank God, it didn’t budge.

  I could feel my heart pounding against my thighs, somewhat surprised Al couldn’t hear it thundering. I caught my breath, and beads of sweat formed on my upper lip. He began opening and closing the drawers next to me, then walked away. I felt a split second of relief before he was suddenly back in the room, and couldn’t stop myself from gasping softly as I felt the armoire being dragged away from the wall.

  Chapter

  Forty-Three

  PANTHERA (ALBAN BRENNAN)

  6:45 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  BIRMINGHAM APARTMENTS, MINNEAPOLIS

  TONY SHILETO H
AD TO DIE. He wasn’t going to leave me alone. Jon Frederick has to go too, and then I could disappear. I’m not that important to the rest of the investigators, so they’ll eventually get bored and move on—just like they moved on after I killed Mandy. My plan is to sit in the apartment and wait for Jon, shoot him when he walked in the door and then disappear. It didn’t take much of a lie to get his landlord to let me in. I brought the tranquilizer needle just in case Serena showed up instead. I wouldn’t mind one more shot at her.

  As I walk through the apartment, I can feel Serena’s presence. It might be just a slight scent, but the hunter in me can smell fear. I swear Serena’s a damn ghost. I left her zip-tied, and when I returned I couldn’t find her again. And today, I feel her warmth on the bed, see her clothing on the floor. Her cell phone’s here. She’s here. Okay, focus. What structures are large enough to contain a person?

  I return to the bedroom once again. The door on the armoire doesn’t budge. It’s a big waste of space if it’s just for design. I lift as I open the drawers of the armoire and realize it’s unusually heavy. The little bitch is inside this thing! I glance over at the bed and briefly fantasize of finishing what I started with Serena. The problem is I can’t enjoy her right here, knowing Jon could walk in at any time. Still, the fantasy of Serena begging for her life, offering to pleasure me, is so gratifying, I abandon thoughts of Jon. So, how am I going to get her out of here?

  I go back into the kitchen closet and see what tools are available. I find some Gorilla tape. This is a lucky find—it’s stronger than duct tape. I’ll just package her up in her crate, like a dog, and take her with me. And here’s a hammer. I’ll need this, too.

  I return to the bedroom and hear her gasp as I bounce the armoire away from the wall. Her weak utterance of fear increases my arousal.

  I press my cheek against the armoire and speak to her. “I could have had you ten years ago, but Mandy told me, ‘If you touch that bitch, you’re going to jail.’ I wasn’t sure if you looked up at me when I was talking to Mandy. At the time, it didn’t matter, as I didn’t have any idea how that night was going to end. If Mandy would have just cooperated, she’d still be alive. Now you get to make that call, too.”

  I take a rough guess where her ass is sitting, pull the hammer back, and pound a hole through the flimsy back of the armoire. She starts screaming, but I quickly take out the needle and inject her with the sedative. There’s no way for her to dodge the shot in that tight space. Her compartment helps drown out the screaming, and it isn’t long before it stops. I wait a minute, then pinch her through the hole, but her only response is a sleepy groan. I take the Gorilla tape and wrap it around the dresser again and again, to make sure the door won’t open. I have to grin at my success. This is my first victim in a “to go” container.

  Serena’s an opportunity too good to waste. I’ll have another shot at Jon. He’ll come racing to me, angry and out of control, and I’ll be ready. Okay, I need a two-wheel cart to haul this out. I bet I can get one from that dipshit of a landlord. I’ll just Gorilla tape this whole dresser to the cart and push it all into the back of my truck.

  Chapter

  Forty-Four

  JON FREDERICK

  7:04 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  INTERSTATE 35

  I TRIED CALLING SERENA AGAIN, but she wasn’t answering. We had both installed the “find the phone” app, and I could see her phone was turned off. I called the Minneapolis police and explained the situation. They agreed to go to my apartment. I then called my chronically agitated landlord, Loren Ronbauer, and asked him to let the police in so they didn’t have to kick in the door.

  I was surprised when Loren spat, “I’ve been letting people in for you all day. I have things I need to get done!”

  I kept my voice steady and asked, “Loren, who did you let into my apartment?”

  “The gas guy. You called and told me you damaged a pipe, but you had already called a gas guy and I should just let him in, so I did. It sounded like I didn’t really have much of a choice.” “I never called you.”

  “I called right back to make sure it was you.”

  “You called the number you have for me on record, or the number that had just called you?” Dread settled into my stomach.

  It was silent on Loren’s end for a moment before he stated, “He answered with your name.”

  “Brilliant,” I said sarcastically. “Loren, what did this gas guy look like? What was he wearing?”

  “Am I a fashion critic?” He was still irritated, but had lost some steam.

  “No, but you might be an accomplice to a crime. What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know, average height, maybe five-ten. Gray shirt, jeans. Thick, shaggy hair. His face was weirdly white.”

  “I’d imagine. He’s been in prison all summer. You need to get to my apartment to let the police in. Call me as soon as you get there, and tell me what you see.” He started to protest, but I cut him off. “Look, my pregnant fiancée is at my apartment. You let a stranger in. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

  Loren stuttered, “I, I let him in a second time. He needed to borrow a two-wheeled cart to haul out a piece of furniture. And he never returned the cart!”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “All he took was an old dresser. He said there was gas on it. It didn’t look like it was worth anything. Why would he steal it?”

  Was this guy a complete idiot? Natural gas is a gas. It wouldn’t spill on a dresser. It was all I could do to not start beating my phone on the dash of my car. If my grip got any tighter, my phone would disintegrate in my hand.

  Loren whined, “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  “Okay,” I said. Trying to keep steady, I asked, “What did he load it into?”

  “A black truck.”

  “Did you get the plate number?”

  “No.”

  It was probably Al Brennan’s black truck. “How long ago was this?”

  “Fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”

  “Okay, get to my apartment and call me.” Al had Serena. I stood on the gas pedal, threatening to put it through the floor. I silently apologized to Tony. He would have to wait. I prayed he could.

  I called Maurice at the BCA headquarters and told him what had transpired. He said he’d make sure law enforcement was looking for the Brennans’ pick-up on the freeways surrounding Minneapolis. My sense was that Al was headed to Morrison County. It was his territory—he had never lived outside of Morrison County. I called the county sheriff, who agreed to have officers look for the truck, particularly on Highways 10 and 25, as they would be the most common routes to take from Minneapolis to Little Falls.

  I called Vicki and told her Al had been released. After I calmed her some, she agreed to have Jeff take her and Hannah to stay with a sober relative in northern Minnesota until Al was back in custody.

  Loren called me back and reported that Serena wasn’t in my apartment. There was no sign of a struggle and no blood, but Serena’s shoes were sitting by the apartment door. Her jeans, stockings, bra, and cell phone were all on the floor of my bedroom.

  I had to make a decision. Should I go to my apartment to see if I could glean any evidence from what was there, or should I try to guess Al’s destination? I turned off Interstate 35W and headed west to Morrison County. If Al brought Serena somewhere else, I’d lose her, because I couldn’t think of another possibility. I had to inform as many people as I could, take my best guess, and pray. Al had a head start on me, but I had a siren in my unmarked car and could make up the time. I just needed to figure out where he was headed.

  Chapter

  Forty-Five

  SERENA BELL

  9:15 P.M.

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 4

  MORRISON COUNTY

  I CAME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS still wedged tightly in the armoire, engulfed in complete darkness. My body was stiffening from the cramped quarters, which was rattling like a paint-shaker. My weig
ht was on my left side, so the armoire was lying flat on its back. From the engine and wind noises, I had to be in the back of a pickup truck, rumbling down a gravel road. As a teenager, I’d ridden in the back of a four-wheel-drive truck on unpaved roads with my cousins. Back then, it felt like my teeth were going to rattle out of my skull, and that was just how I felt now. The humid, stale air in my cramped space heightened my claustrophobia. I tried a couple of deep breaths to stem my panic, but it wasn’t working. I felt like I was going to be sick, but I had to find a way to survive this—not just for me, but for our baby. I was wedged in so tightly, I couldn’t get any leverage to push myself in any direction.

  The easiest way to break out of this armoire was through the backing, a sheet of wood less than a quarter inch thick. However, I was lying on that side, and besides, I could feel through the hammer-hole that it had been heavily wrapped with tape.