Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set)

by Blake Banner

  I shouted, “Stand down! He’s armed!”

  He glared at me and hissed like a fat snake. “Mozart! You were recording the whole thing! I should shoot you dead right here and now. Tell them to withdraw, or the first to die will be your precious billionaire. Next will be Tammy, and after that, you. Do it!”

  “Pull back, Dehan. You know what to do.”

  He put the box in the hip pocket of his jacket and waved the gun at Duffy. “Up, you. Come on! Up!” Duffy got uncertainly to his feet. “Open the door and step out. Remember, I have you covered at every step.”

  He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him toward the door. Duffy opened it and dos Santos hustled up close to him, with the Sig shoved into his lower back. They stepped outside and moved slowly down the steps. I stood in the doorway.

  “Dehan, I want a unit following dos Santos. As soon as he is clear, you need to get in here and take Tammy into custody.”

  As I said it, I heard a scream like a banshee with a hornet in her ass, and a freight train slammed into me from behind and sent me crashing down the stairs. I sprawled on my face and saw Tammy’s feet pounding the path toward my gate. I had a piercing pain in my head, but I scrambled to my feet and staggered after her. That was when I saw she had my kitchen knife in her hand and was racing like a thing possessed toward dos Santos, who was standing by a silver Aston Martin Vanquish. I shouted without thinking.

  “Tammy! No!”

  Dos Santos turned, grabbed Duffy, and hurled him at Tammy. Duffy stumbled, reached for Tammy’s shoulders, and gripped her, searching her face, “Tammy, sweetheart, listen to me. Leave it—this is not for you. Let him keep it. We can fix this. I have connections…”

  She was doing a kind of dance, trying to get around him, trying to get past him at dos Santos, who was wrenching open the door of his Vanquish. Suddenly she was screaming, “Get out of my way!” She lunged, he grappled with her, and the knife flashed, once, twice, three times, and Duffy was sinking to his knees.

  I was halfway across the road and turned back, racing for my Jag, bellowing, “Move in! Move in! Get a paramedic here now! Call an ambulance! Man down! Man down!”

  I heard the Vanquish’s tires scream, and as I clambered into the Jag, I saw Tammy jumping over the door of her open-top Mercedes. I heard the sirens wailing behind me and took off after dos Santos. He screeched into Neill Avenue as I accelerated after him. A vintage Jag, however cool, is no match for a modern Aston Martin supercar. As long as we stayed in the city, I had a chance of staying with him, but once he hit the freeway, I didn’t have a hope in hell. I radioed in.

  “In pursuit of a silver Aston Martin Vanquish headed east on Neill Avenue toward Benjamin Nolan. Request a chopper.”

  By the time I had finished, he was already jumping the lights at the junction and thundering north on Nolan. I followed to the tune of honking horns and squealing brakes. I knew what was coming next.

  “He’s headed for the junction with the Bronx Pelham Parkway.” That would lead him to the New England Thruway. If he did that, I would lose him. “Have you got me that damned chopper?”

  “Working on it, Detective.”

  Ahead, I saw him hit the Parkway and take the corner at sixty miles an hour. The car cornered flat and stuck to the road like it was nailed to it. The massive V12 on a Vanquish will hurl it from zero to sixty in just over three seconds. I took the corner and floored the pedal, but the Aston Martin was moving away from me like I was stationary. In a few seconds, he was going to hit spaghetti junction. If he took the I-95, he would vanish in seconds.

  “Dispatch! Where is that damned chopper?”

  I hit a hundred and ten miles per hour as I crossed the bridge. Ahead, he must have been doing a hundred and fifty, because he was pulling away from me at forty miles per hour at least. But he didn’t take the I-95 turn off. He rocketed under the New England Thruway and kept going, east and north. And suddenly, I knew where he was going.

  I’d been checking my rearview, and now I saw Tamara’s Mercedes closing in on me.

  “Dispatch, request immediate backup, headed north on Pelham Bridge Road. Suspect headed for the islands at New Rochelle.”

  “Copy that.”

  Tamara passed me doing a hundred and thirty. I was creeping up to one twenty, but I didn’t think the old Jag could give me much more.

  We had to slow as we hit Shore Road and the sleepy suburbs that surround it. Soon, I was cruising through the town with Tammy a few yards ahead of me. I was scanning left and right. I knew he was here. I could feel him.

  Then I saw the Vanquish. He’d dumped it in the Marina Parking lot. Ahead of me, Tamara had seen it too and was dithering. I dropped into second, gunned the engine, and thundered past her on her right. Then I spun the wheel and turned down Town Dock Road onto the docks, with Tamara screaming on my heels.

  He was there, on the jetty, clambering into a small speedboat. I screeched to a halt by the steps that led down to the quay and jumped out. I heard the Mercedes skid to a stop behind me. Then Tamara’s voice:

  “Freeze!”

  I turned just in time to get pistol-whipped across my head. My head was having a bad couple of days. I sank to my knees. Through a haze of pain, I saw Tamara running down toward dos Santos’s launch. I heard shouts and feet running and turned to see a group of men coming toward me. I pulled myself to my feet and held up my badge. “NYPD. I need a launch! Now!”

  A big guy with an Italian face frowned at me. “I got one. You okay, pal?”

  I pointed at dos Santos. “Follow that speedboat…”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes!”

  “Okay! I’m Tony.”

  Down on the jetty, things were not going as dos Santos had planned. He was pulling out of the harbor and moving off at speed, but Tammy was standing behind him, holding a gun to his head.

  We clambered into Tony’s speedboat and took off after them. They turned into the Glen Island strait and accelerated toward Huckleberry Island. They were maybe a hundred yards ahead of us, slapping across the water and raising great plumes of spray as they went, holding their position. We were not gaining on them. I turned to Tony.

  “What the hell is on that island?”

  He looked bemused. The wind whipped his words away as he spoke. “Nothing. It’s deserted.”

  Now they were banking, looping into a long curve around the northern tip of the small landmass. Whatever they were after was clearly on the other side.

  “There is a natural bay around there,” he shouted. “Maybe they have a yacht.”

  “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “She’s at top speed!”

  As we came around the headland after them, I saw what dos Santos had come for. It wasn’t a yacht. There was a broad bay with a sandy beach, as Tony had said, and sitting in the bay, bobbing on the gentle waves, was a twelve-seater seaplane. Dos Santos was approaching it fast, and somebody on board was opening the door and firing up the rotors.

  Tony grinned. “If I ram him, will the city buy me a new boat?”

  “Don’t put yourself at risk, Tony. We stand down. We let them get away.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  He aimed the prow of the boat at the seaplane and accelerated to top speed. Dos Santos was pulling up by the near float. I was searching in my mind, trying to anticipate what the hell Tamara thought she was going to do. She heard us approaching and turned to look. She raised her gun to careful aim and fired. The shot went wide. Dos Santos was reaching up frantically for the door. I saw Tamara lean against him. She pressed the revolver against his back and fired. Suddenly she had her hands to her face, screaming. The gun went over the side, and she was on her knees, shaking dos Santos like she couldn’t believe he was dead, making out we had shot him. Hands were reaching down for her from the plane.

  I saw her hand slip in his pocket, and then she was clambering aboard and the plane was accelerating away down the river, rising, climbing into the air.
>
  We pulled up beside dos Santos’s launch, and I clambered aboard. He was slumped against the gunwale, bleeding profusely. I felt his pulse in his neck; it was just a flutter. I looked back toward the shore. I could see the red-and-blue flashing of police units. I looked over at Tony. “Radio in—we are going to need an ambulance.”

  Dos Santos’s eyes seemed to clear for a moment, and he focused on my face. He was an ugly, pasty gray color. He was trying to talk, and I leaned close. “You,” he hissed, “You will go to hell for this…”

  The last words he ever heard were his own, telling himself he was going to hell. That’s how I choose to see it anyhow.

  I felt in his pocket, but the box was gone, as I knew it would be.

  Tony threw me a line, and we tied dos Santos’s boat to his, then towed it back to the harbor. Dehan was there with half a dozen cops waiting for us on the quay. She helped me up out of the launch, searching my very bruised and battered face.

  “Are you okay?

  I shrugged. “She got away. I’m sorry.”

  “And dos Santos?”

  “Dead.”

  She looked down at his body, where the cops were trying to lift him out.

  “I guess he’ll be facing trial somewhere else.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, maybe.”

  Twenty-Nine

  The captain didn’t look pleased. We sat looking at him across his desk, while he sat looking at the glaring sunshine outside.

  “It’s a less than satisfactory outcome, John. I’m not blaming you, but I have to say that it isn’t up to your usual standard. Either of you.”

  “No, sir,” I said, “We are not satisfied with the result either.”

  Dehan said, “Have you heard from the hospital, Captain?”

  “Duffy is in a serious condition, but he will live. There is also news of the plane, which is why I asked you to come up here. They found the wreckage of the seaplane out at Montauk Point.”

  I frowned. “What about the bodies?”

  “Two pilots. Tamara Gunthersen’s body was probably washed out to sea.”

  “What does the ME say about cause of death?”

  The captain looked surprised. “They crashed in a plane. What do you expect him to say?”

  “Well, sir, I am guessing that dos Santos, with his resources, employed competent pilots. In this weather, there is little reason to crash. So I’m wondering why they did.”

  He looked impatient. “He has barely had time to look at them, but there will be a full report on the cause of the crash and the cause of death. Let’s not try to complicate it any further.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He looked at us in turn and seemed to relent a little. “However,” he said, “I must congratulate you both on resolving a very complex mystery, even if the body count was rather high.”

  Dehan spoke up. “Thank you, sir, but we did not in fact cause any of those deaths. Tamara Gunthersen turned out to be a pretty lethal woman. In my opinion, Detective Stone did well to come out of this alive.”

  The captain gazed at her through hooded eyes that were probably meant to be intimidating. She met them with a smile. Dehan is not easy to intimidate.

  “As I said,” he went on, “I must congratulate you. Your recording via the webcam on your laptop was very effective. You have quite a flair for the dramatic yourself, John. It is just a shame we won’t get to prosecute anyone with the evidence you garnered.”

  Dehan was in a voluble mood and spoke up again, with a grin that bordered on the insolent. “Ms. Gunthersen has at least saved the city the cost of an expensive trial. Sir.”

  “That is not an appropriate observation, Detective Dehan.”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right. It has been a very trying case, for both of you, but especially you, John. I suggest you take a few days off to recuperate.”

  We thanked him and left. It was six o’clock. I dropped Dehan at her apartment on Simpson Street and made my way home. I had a shower, ate a steak, and by eight o’clock I was in bed with a book, falling asleep as the lines crossed in front of my eyes. Gradually, blissful unconsciousness enfolded me.

  I lay staring at the darkened ceiling, wondering what had woken me up. I looked at my clock. It said 2:02. I was still tired. My eyes were heavy. Then the doorbell gave a prolonged jangle, and I knew that was what had woken me. I wondered what the hell Dehan could want at that time of the morning and staggered down the stairs to open the front door. It wasn’t Dehan.

  It was Tamara. She stood looking up at me with that face that should have belonged to an angel. She looked scared and vulnerable.

  “I couldn’t do it.” She said it like it should make sense to me.

  I stepped aside. “Come in.”

  She stepped in and placed her hands on my bare chest. “John, I am so sorry. Tell me you’ll forgive me. I was out of my mind. I was so scared of what that monster would do to me.”

  “You stabbed Hugh Duffy three times in the stomach.”

  “I was out of my mind. I know it was wrong. You have to believe me.”

  “I don’t have to believe anything.”

  I walked away from her into the kitchen and started making coffee.

  She followed, but stopped in the middle of the floor. She looked like a beautiful, frightened child. “You are right to be angry.”

  “Why did you kill the pilots?”

  “They were flying to Bermuda. They were going to take the box to Spain. I had to come back. I had to come back to you.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled. “Because we are partners, remember? We are going to sell the box together. You are going to fix all this. The way you fixed it before, for Emma.”

  I nodded. “Have you got the box?”

  “Yes.” She reached in her pocket and pulled it out to show me. “There is nobody left now to stop us. Baxter is dead, dos Santos is dead.”

  “A lot of people are dead, Tamara.”

  “But they are not important people. People die. People come and go. Emma taught me that. They are not important. Important people are Emma and me, and you can be important, too, if you join us. Steve could have been important, but he was stupid.”

  I poured two cups of coffee and reached in the cupboard for the whiskey. I laced both cups and pushed one across the breakfast bar for her.

  “And if I don’t?”

  She laughed. “Come on! Don’t tease.”

  She came forward and picked up her cup. We were like two old friends having a chat. She sipped and smiled. “So what’s the plan?”

  “The plan is you hand yourself over to the cops.”

  She didn’t seem to register. She blinked a couple of times. “What?”

  “I said, the plan is, Tamara, you hand yourself over to the cops. It’s over. You are done killing people. The box goes back to Duffy, and you go into psychiatric care. It’s over.”

  She sighed. “Come on, John, cut it out. We sell the box, we go away, you and me and Emma.”

  I put down my cup and walked around the bar to stand in front of her. “Tamara Gunthersen, I am putting you under arrest for multiple homicides and attempted homicides…”

  The scream seemed to tear the whole night in half. The blade flashed. I stepped back and stumbled, and that probably saved my life. I fell back on the floor, and she fell on top of me, plunging the blade down toward my throat. I gripped her wrist with both my hands, but I was holding up the full weight of her body and I could feel the steel tip inching closer, until the point was pricking my skin. She leaned forward, straddling my chest, and heaved.

  And then the door busted open. I heard Dehan’s voice shouting, and I have never been so happy to hear anything in my whole life. She bellowed, “Drop the knife!”

  Instead, Tamara raised herself up for a lunge that I knew would skewer my neck to the floor. I heard her scream of rage a fraction of a second before I heard the crack of Dehan’s .38, and Tamara’s beautiful, tragic body sank slowly to the f
loor by my side.

  Dehan rushed to me, checked I was okay, and then checked Tamara. I sat up with my back against the wall.

  “What… Why are you here?”

  She spoke into her radio instead of answering. “Dispatch, this is Detective Dehan of the 43rd precinct, requesting an ambulance at Haight Avenue. One female, seriously injured… Also any unit in the area to respond…”

  And far off I heard the wail of approaching sirens.

  Epilogue

  The ambulance had gone, with the patrol car. It was three in morning, and Dehan was in the kitchen making scrambled eggs on rye, and more coffee. I watched her a while, feeling numb and in pain at the same time, and deeply confused also. I sat gingerly at the table and sipped my laced coffee.

  “Dehan?”

  “Yuh.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I came to save your butt, remember?”

  “No. I mean yes, but no, that’s not what I mean. I mean, why are you here saving my butt? How did you know?”

  She sighed and shook her head, and spilled eggs onto the toasted rye on the plate. “Come and eat.”

  I made my way around to the kitchen table and sat. She sat opposite.

  “It was obvious, Stone. She was coming back for you. I waited for her outside.”

  “How was that obvious?”

  “She was in love with you. Don’t tell me you didn’t see that. I saw it straightaway.”

  “How could she be in love with me? She was crazy!”

  “What? Crazy people can’t fall in love?”

  I had no answer for that, so I ate and drank my coffee. I frowned. “How could you have seen it from the start? You didn’t see her till today.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “What? Don’t give me that look. How could you have seen that?”