The Accidental Audience

by Faith Wood

  “Excuse me . . .” She bolted from her chair, barely making it to the bathroom before violently retching. He heard the toilet flush, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do—he wanted to comfort her, but it wasn’t his place.

  Finally she returned, her face an ashen white.

  “What the hell just happened?” He was even more concerned as he looked at her.

  Colbie sat, barely able to speak. “The mystery man,” she whispered. “The mystery man is . . . Sarge.”

  LIKE WHAT YOU’RE READING? CHECK OUT THE SECOND BOOK IN FAITH WOOD’S COLBIE COLLEEN COZY, SUSPENSE MYSTERY SERIES!

  SEND MY FREE GIFT!

  Chapter 23

  Al Vincent was livid! He always knew Alberico was stupid, but he didn’t think he was that stupid. He warned that dumb shit more than once to keep his hands off the female employees, and Alberico swore he wouldn’t do it again. Optimum was lucky Kellie Marchand didn’t file charges against the company, Alberico—or both—and Vincent ordered Vinnie to keep his nose clean.

  Obviously, that was impossible.

  The question was what to do about it—and, what to do about Alberico? Tammy was supposed to return to work in a couple of days—she called the day of the assault saying she had the flu, and it would be at least a few days before she would be well enough to come to work. That was a bullshit line if I ever heard one, he thought as he sped toward the city. The obvious solution was to make sure Alberico and Tammy didn’t collide, but he couldn’t count on that. If she had a mind to, Tammy could sue the company, causing it to implode. No, it seemed the wiser choice to treat Tammy like gold.

  Alberico? That was a different story . . .

  Vincent glanced at his passenger who sat silently, eyes glued to his cell. Probably playing some stupid video game, he thought, as he realized how much he detested the man sitting next to him. He had no patience for stupidity, especially when it put his operation in danger. Rifkin ordered him to make it right, no matter the method, and gave him twenty-four hours to do it. Rifkin also told him he—Alvin—was expendable, placing him in a position completely foreign to him.

  As They neared the city, Al Vincent was clear about how he could make things go away—swerving onto a dirt road leading to nowhere, he was confident in his decision. Somewhere between weather beaten mile markers seven and twelve, he pulled over to the side of the road, Alberico by then asleep in the front seat. Vincent got out, and surveyed the area—to the east was an abandoned quarry, to the west a deep ravine.

  Both on a seldom-traveled road.

  He yanked Alberico from his seat, marched him to the ravine, and put a bullet in his brain with a gun he lifted from the evidence room at the precinct. Kicking him into the depths with his steel-toed boot, he watched Alberico’s body tumble and roll to the bottom. Good riddance, he thought as Vinnie’s body came to rest against a jagged boulder.

  He strode back to his car, his mind already on putting the screws to Colbie Colleen.

  Chapter 24

  Colbie still couldn’t believe the deep breach of trust permeating the precinct. Seeing the photo of Sarge, Alvin, and Alberico was a roundhouse to her gut, and she couldn’t think of a time when she felt more betrayed.

  She lay in bed the following morning thinking about how she needed to proceed—considering two of the top officers in the precinct were knee-deep in corruption, she also had to consider how many other officers may be involved. There was no question she had to report it to Internal Affairs—she had the proof, and the sooner the better. First, however, she needed a face-to-face with Nicole Remington. She grabbed her glasses from the nightstand, and dialed. It was early—only seven-thirty—but she didn’t care.

  “Nicole? This is Colbie—I need to see you immediately.”

  “What? Why? What’s happened?”

  I’m not comfortable discussing this over the airwaves—how about we meet at the coffee shop at First and Cross? Nine o’clock?”

  “How about nine-fifteen? I need to work around a previous appointment.”

  To Colbie, fifteen minutes didn’t make a difference one way or the other. “I’ll see you there at nine-fifteen—and, Nicole? Don’t mention our meeting to anyone—don’t even tell anyone you have an appointment. Understand?”

  Nicole detected something different in Colbie’s voice—something frightening.

  “I’ll see you at nine-fifteen.”

  Al Vincent pulled open the door to Optimum Security early that morning thinking about the lonely road. As satisfying as it was to kick Alberico to his grave, he knew his actions could have serious ramifications—especially if someone happened upon the body. But, it was a risk he had to take—and, if luck were on his side, critters and scavengers would work their magic before anyone could recognize him. He hadn’t told Rifkin yet, and chances were good he wasn’t going to be pleased—but, the way Vincent saw it, Alberico was nothing but an irritating, puny piss ant with little to offer anyone—especially him. Certainly a viable reason . . .

  He wasn’t sure when Tammy would make it back to work, but, when she did, he had to make sure he treated her with respect. He was confident she didn’t know anything, so there wasn’t a reason to drag her into the whole thing—besides, if that happened, he’d probably have to get rid of her, too. The last thing he wanted, though, was ‘serial killer’ plastered next to his name on a wanted poster—but if it meant saving his own ass, then he’d do whatever.

  Vincent didn’t bother with his own office—he first rifled through Tammy’s files to see if he needed to suspect her—nothing. Her desk contained files found at any receptionist’s desk and, as far as he could tell, everything was in order. He was sure Tammy was everything she appeared to be—a single mom, working her butt off to make ends meet.

  Next, Alberico’s office. It was a surprise that Alberico was actually doing a good job for Optimum—his files were in order, but Vincent did wonder about the client list with handwritten names on the last page. He didn’t know any of them, but he suspected they may be prospective marks for Optimum—Mark Lofton, Nigel Crestmoor, and Kathy Simonson. He recognized the first two, but wasn’t sure about the last, thinking it may be the woman he was supposed to meet at the coffee shop, but she was a no-show. Still, the names didn’t concern him, and he couldn’t see how any of them could possibly pose a threat to the operation.

  By the time he finished combing through all the files, it was nearly eight o’clock. He grabbed a cup of coffee in the break room before heading out the door only to run into Tammy. On a Sunday? He was stunned at the extent of Alberico’s brutality and, in that moment, he put to rest any false regrets lurking in his soul.

  “Tammy! What the hell happened to you?” Playing dumb seemed the best approach.

  “Hey, Al. I’d rather not go into it—I’m just stopping by to hand in my resignation.” There was no reason to go into details, and the less they knew about her involvement in helping Colbie, the better off she’d be.

  “Resignation? Why?” Damn it! Now I’ll have to find someone new . . .

  “I found a job closer to home, and I’ll be able to spend more time with my son.”

  “Is it about the money? I think we can manage a substantial raise . . .” In his world, everyone could be bought.

  “No—it’s not the money. ”

  “If you need to take some time off, I understand. It looks as if you’ve been through a hell of a lot.”

  Tammy shook her head. “No—I don’t think so . . . here’s my resignation letter.” She handed him a sealed envelope, thanked him for the opportunity to work at Optimum, and headed out the door.

  Class act, he thought, flipping the letter on the receptionist’s desk. Can’t say I blame her . . .

  Remington was right on time. She looks older, Colbie thought as she walked through door and made her way to Col
bie’s table.

  “Okay—I’m here. What’s so important?” Nicole didn’t bother to take off her coat.

  “Thanks for meeting me—I want to tell you in person what’s going on . . . and, it’s all about to come to a head.”

  Nicole sat up a bit straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way, but, right now, I need you to take me to Brian.”

  “I can’t do that! Al will kill me—literally!”

  “You don’t understand—it’s over, and I’m trying to save your skin. Remember when I told you things were going to hit the fan? Well, they have . . .”

  Remington stared at Colbie as if she saw an apparition of Al Vincent standing in front of her. “But . . .”

  “There are no ‘buts,’ Nicole—take me to him, now.”

  Colbie’s gut told her things were going to move quickly, and she wanted to honor her promise to Remington to help her get out as unscathed as possible. Alvin MacGregor played her for a fool and a patsy and, although Nicole had her own skeletons, Colbie felt prosecutors could negotiate her involvement down to something minor in exchange for her help in the investigation. Or course, there were no guarantees, but with Colbie’s throwing in a good word, she was confident Nicole would come out smelling like a rose.

  Without a word, Nicole got up and started for the door. “Follow me, she directed. “I’m in the brown BMW . . .”

  “I know what car you drive . . .” Colbie offered, just to make certain Remington didn’t mistake who was in charge.

  Alvin strode up the precinct steps as if nothing happened. It was nearly empty, filled with only a skeleton crew because of its being a Sunday. He arranged to meet Rifkin in his office to hash out their next move and, as far as he could tell, there was nothing else he could do but tell him about Alberico. He’s gonna be pissed, he thought as he waited for Rifkin in his office. But, once he realizes Alberico was a loose cannon, he’ll see it was the best thing to do.

  Five minutes passed until Rifkin closed his office door behind him. He grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, sat down at his desk, and glared at Alvin.

  “This better be good . . .” Rifkin waited for Alvin to bring him up to speed.

  Better to get it done. “Alberico’s dead.”

  “What do you mean—dead? What the hell happened? He sure as hell was okay yesterday . . .”

  “I know. But, after we left the farmhouse, I gave serious thought to what was happening, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that things are about to go south.”

  “Go south? Why?”

  “I don’t know—just a gut feeling.”

  “A gut feeling? That tells me nothing other than you sound like that bitch, Colbie Colleen—but, I see your point. With Alberico out of the way, what do we have to worry about? Nobody knows anything—unless you’re talking about Remington . . .”

  “It’s no secret Alberico was a dumb shit and, with him out of the way, we may be able to fly under the radar. Still . . .” Alvin bristled at Rifkin’s comment of his being like Colbie, but chose to let it go—dissension among the ranks was the last thing they needed. He was also positive Remington didn’t know crap about anything other than the oil reserves operation. She wasn’t that smart, and he took every precaution to keep her in the dark.

  Rifkin glared at MacGregor from across his desk. “Brian—he’s gotta go.”

  “I have some ideas . . .” Alvin returned the glare.

  Colbie followed Remington to the country road leading to the farmhouse. When she was there the first time, she approached from the south. That day, however, Remington took another route, past the crazy woman’s house, turning right instead of left onto the lane leading to the farmhouse. This must be the route Ryan took—he mentioned seeing the dog run on the side of the nutball’s house. As she drove past, she noticed the woman in the front yard, mowing a small patch of grass with an ancient rotary two-bladed manual mower. The whole area had a creepy feel to it, and Colbie wasn’t sure what to expect as she pulled up beside Remington’s car.

  The outside of the farmhouse looked as if it hadn’t seen a speck of paint for decades. The front porch—probably a ‘veranda’ at some time—sagged, corner pillars straining under the weight of a shambled roof. As Colbie climbed out of her car, she noticed a cat streaking across the what once was a manicured lawn, on its way to a barn at the back of the property.

  Colbie wasted no time. “Take me to him,” she ordered, as Remington led her to the back of the house. Three broken steps led to a screened back door hanging from its hinges, a foul odor assaulting their senses as Remington unlocked the door.

  There he was—shackled to a chair in a windowless room at the end of the hall. Remington stepped aside as Colbie entered. “He’s right there . . .”

  “Oh, my God—Brian!” As a cop, she knew better than to announce her arrival, but she couldn’t help herself as relief rushed through her. She knew Alvin MacGregor too well and, until she saw Brian alive, she wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Brian raised his head, turning slightly as he looked toward the voice at the front door. His health deteriorated severely since the previous week, and it became clear to him the head of the operation had no intention of letting him go. All he could count on was Colbie . . .

  As much as Colbie wanted to rush to him, the cop in her surfaced. She had to consider Remington’s proclivity for weakness—there was a chance she clued Alvin into the progress of Colbie’s investigation, and she couldn’t take a chance. She carefully drew her thirty-eight from its shoulder holster, gripping it in classic cop style.

  “Stay here,” she ordered Remington as she inched down the hallway.

  Remington was all too happy to comply.

  Colbie called to Brian, as she assessed her situation—two rooms to her left and one to her right serving as an ambush point was a real possibility. “Brian—it’s Colbie. Can you hear me?”

  Brian nodded. “Colbie!”

  “Is there anyone in there with you?” Her question exposed possible risk—if anyone were in the room with him, he or she could easily blow his brains out without a second thought. Hers, too. She had no doubt Alvin and Sarge were capable of doing just that.

  Brian’s voice gained strength as he called out to her. “No—no one’s here.”

  “When was the last time you saw anyone?” She figured Brian would know if someone were lurking in any of the rooms flanking the hall, setting up an ultimate choke point once she entered the room in which Brian sat cuffed to a chair.

  “Yesterday . . .”

  Colbie continued to move forward as if she were a member of a trained SWAT team, her cop instincts in full swing. She scouted each room in the hall and, as she reached Brian’s room, she violently kicked the door open to its fullest width, strafing her weapon from left to right.

  Empty.

  She rushed to Brian, assessing the extent of his injuries—handcuffs shackled his wrists to the back of the chair, his feet secured with two, long zip ties. Spittle stained the front of his shirt, and he barely had the strength to look at her.

  “It’s over,” she promised, motioning to Remington to give her the key to the handcuffs. Remington obliged, then stepped back toward the doorway as if she couldn’t stand to be close to either of them. Truth was she was scared to death something would go down and, if she stood close to the door, at least she had a fighting chance to get out.

  Turned out it was a good plan, but one that didn’t work. Before she reached the hall, Alvin and Sarge bulled through the screen door, weapons drawn.

  “Get over there!” Alvin ordered, his weapon trained on her as she retreated to a place beside Colbie and Brian. Remington’s face drained as she realized he had no intention of leaving witnesses. She knew that look—an unwavering determination to have his way,
no matter what.

  Sarge aimed his weapon at Colbie as if he felt nothing for her. “Drop your weapon, Colbie—don’t do anything stupid. You can’t get out of this, so you may as well make it easy on yourself—and, lover boy there.” He sounded like a perp in a grade B movie.

  “How can you do this? You’re a cop, for God’s sake!”

  “For Christ’s sake—spare me the sanctimonious crap. Why do you think?”

  “Money? Is that it? Is that what seduced you into giving up your career?” Colbie couldn’t believe what she was hearing—she barely recognized the two men standing before her.

  “It’s a powerful motivator—you know that. The opportunity presented itself, and I went for it.”

  Alvin kept his weapon trained on Remington as Colbie turned her attention to him. “Why, Alvin? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Ah . . . that’s a rich one! What did you do to me? Let’s see . . . every day I had to watch you climb through the ranks, leaving me to do your dirty work.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about—with you around, I couldn’t trust you wouldn’t find out about my—extracurricular—activities. After you left the precinct, I still couldn’t get rid of you . . . so, I decided it was time to knock you off that damned high horse of yours.”

  “That’s when you decided to kidnap Brian? Just to get back at me?”

  “Shut up, Colbie!” Sarge commanded, his voice strong and determined.

  Colbie intuitively sized up her situation. There was no question Alvin was a walking time bomb, and she had no doubt he’d go off the deep end with the slightest provocation. Sarge, on the other hand, was a crapshoot. Clearly she didn’t know him, at all . . .