Then he looked to Garcia. “You too, hot shot. Pardon the cliché here, man, but remove your gun from its holster real slow. That’s it, easy now. Don’t make any moves I might interpret as threatening. Good, good. Now kick it across to me. Yeah. Perfect. Now relax while I fill in the rest of the blanks for you. Wouldn’t want you should miss a single delicious detail. I was so sure no one had seen me. I was home free. I’d never mentioned her by name to anyone, and apparently she hadn’t said much about me. I got a little nervous about Fraga, though. I knew he’d been her supplier and I got to thinking. What if she told him about me? What if she’d told him who was footing the drug bills? What if he had something on me? I sure as shit wasn’t gonna wait until he came to me. That’s why I tossed his office. He didn’t have shit except that gun. Never know when someone else’s gun is gonna come in handy, right? I made it look like robbery, knowing he’d report the gun and put it out there.”
The room was chilly, but Will was sweating profusely. “So then we get to that prick, the so-called personal trainer. My gut told me something was wrong there. I just couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. I thought he might just be a faggot. He never did say anything though, so I chalked his schizoid behavior up to nerves. And Karen comes up with maybe he’s got problems with immigration, and that would have checked out right ,too.”
He pulled Karen a little closer. “But then when he called and wanted to talk to you alone, Kar, I knew there was a problem. You were thinking I just antagonized him, but I knew it was something more. That’s why I sent you back to the station, to give me a window of opportunity. I got my ass over to his place. When he sees me he freaks. Couldn’t wait to tell me what happened, how he was the one she was freshening up for that night. Turns out the little prick saw me leaving her building. He went up and found her, got scared and took off. The wimp shut his mouth because he didn’t want anyone to find out that he’d been there, either. You were right, honey. He had INS problems, and much more than that. Here’s the fucking irony of this whole thing. When we interviewed him, he recognized me from the night of the murder and figured if he shut up about that night no one would be any the wiser. Except he got that little attack of conscience, and decided to talk to you about it, Karen. He really shouldn’t have done that. The yutz thought I’d let him off if he swore to leave Miami and lose my name. He broke down and cried, lots of crying in this case, don’t you think? That’s when Fraga’s gun came in real handy. I smacked the back of his skull with the butt and he was out cold before he fell. I knew you’d be along any minute, so I was working too fast and not thinking quite right.” He squeezed Karen’s arm until she gasped and then leered at her.
“Stupid! I should’ve just shot him and gotten rid of the gun. But, no, I get this great idea. If I make it appear a suicide, it’d maybe look like he did Jessica then killed himself when he found he couldn’t live with it.” He stopped talking once again and stared at Karen. He leaned into her and sniffed her neck, inhaling deeply. He said, “Oh, lady, I always loved your scent!” Then he clamped his lips to her neck and sucked loudly. He moaned low, painful and bitterly, drawing blood. Karen cried out and Frank reflexively stood up and lunged toward them. Will tightened his grip on her and pointed the gun at Frank with a straight, sure shot.
“Sit down and stay there, goddammit!” Will shouted.
Frank remained on his feet for a moment. Karen continued to stare at him, her eyes begging for help. Frank nodded slightly to her as if to say, “Yes, but not yet.” He stepped backward and sat back onto the couch.
As if nothing had happened, Will continued, “That would have pretty much locked this case up, and we could’ve all gone home happy. But it’s just not smart to work in a rush, right? I thought I’d wiped that sucker clean. I would’ve sworn I had. Then it turns out the kid’s a lefty. A fucking lefty! And the heat gets turned up another notch. Screwed in my own petard, so to speak. You two gotta be slapping each other’s backs when you figured it out.” He took a deep breath and eyed his prisoners. “Since you called me and were kind enough to keep your theories to yourselves...”
“Will,” Frank interrupted. “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself here. Sam Garrison knows about the prints, along with half a dozen other agents at Quantico. Anything happens to me, you’re the go-to guy.”
“You think you’re real smart, huh, Frank? Well, think about this. They aren’t even gonna know you two are missing before I’m so far out of this country they’ll have to chase their asses forever to find me.”
Turning again to Karen he said, “But first, little one, we have some unfinished business.” He jabbed the gun into Karen’s ribs, and nuzzled his mouth over her ear. He ran his tongue around the inside and trailed it down the side of her face, caressing her breasts with the muzzle of the gun. He nipped her cheek with his teeth and with a lightning-quick move ripped the front of her blouse. The buttons flew off, revealing her bare breasts. He grabbed her left nipple and twisted it violently until she cried out in pain.
“Oh yeah, honey, sing to me. Am I hurting you so good?” He then moved her hand down to his crotch and pressed it against his erection, never moving his gun. “Good, huh, baby? I’m ready now, and I’m gonna show you just how hot I am. What you’ve been missing all these years. Ah, what a partnership we really could have had!”
Garcia dug his fist into his bleeding thigh and shifted his weight. The wound was not as bad as it looked, but it gave him a chance to shift. His eyes locked with Karen’s, assuring her he was ready to move. That was the moment he decided to stop Will’s killing spree, even if he died trying.
Will was lost for the moment to Karen’s body. He softly moaned as he rubbed against her. Karen shut her eyes and leaned into him, faking submission. He relaxed for only a second as he moved in to kiss her hard on the lips. She grabbed the advantage and shoved her knee into his groin just as Garcia came charging in and jumped him. The three of them fell to the floor, but Will still held the gun. Somehow, Karen scrambled away from the pile and got to her pistol. She yelled for them to stop, but they were struggling over Will’s gun. She pointed her gun at them and shouted, “Stop! Both of you. Will, I have my gun pointed at your head. Please don’t make me use it.” But the two men continued to wrestle hard and fast, Frank desperately trying to get the gun from Will.
Karen was having difficulty getting off a clear shot, but for one second they separated. She took aim and shot Will with surgical precision in the thigh, careful not to hit an artery.
Recognizing that it was all over, Will went limp and grabbed his leg. Frank shook free, pulled the holster across the floor and released the cuffs from his belt. Will’s arm dragged over something — his gun. He took it in his right hand, pushed himself up and pointed it at Garcia.
“Give it up!” Karen ordered.
“It’s over, Will.” Frank Garcia spoke with sincerity to his old colleague and friend.
Karen’s gun targeted Will. Will’s gun targeted Frank. In one swift move, Will shoved his gun into his own mouth and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains sprayed Karen’s living room, leaving the two detectives staring at one another in disbelief.
Karen’s blouse still hung open. Frank, who was the first to find his voice, limped over to her, pulled it closed and put his arms around her.
“Are you okay?” he asked, as he put his fingers gently on her cheekbone, which was angry red and quite swollen. “How bad is it? Ice. Let me get you some ice.”
“It’s alright,” she droned, in a voice she didn’t quite recognize. “I’ll call Tom. Someone’s going to have to take charge here.”
She looked down at her fallen partner. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
C oach Raymond banned all reporters — newspaper, magazine and television — from the Demons’ complex. He demanded focus from all the players and refused to tolerate any outside interference. Practices started early and ended long after dark, leaving little time for sleep.
> But Kyle found time for Karen. They spoke frequently and she kept him apprised of all the events following Will Kaufman’s death. The ‘debriefing’ process was brutal, and the interrogations she and Frank Garcia were subjected to were arduous and draining. No one really faulted her or Frank for attempting to talk Will in rather than turn him in without the opportunity to explain himself. It had been the right way to deal with a fellow officer. In the end, she and Frank were exonerated of any wrongdoing and credited with clearing the case.
Despite the ugly realizations during the days leading up to Will’s death, Karen confided to Kyle that she felt she lost an old friend as much as a partner. The discovery that Kaufman’s view of their relationship had been so warped hit her hard, like a strong punch in the stomach. She anguished over signals she might have given him that helped propel his fantasies about her, and worried over what she might have done differently.
Karen could no longer face living in the place where Will had killed himself. The entire scene from that awful day played over and over in her mind every time she walked into that room. She moved to a new apartment, hoping the change would help her recover.
Unfortunately, she fell into a deep depression. She simply could not put things into the proper perspective. Department psychologists helped her to understand what had happened to Will. He had apparently become delusional at some point in time, perhaps because of a chemical imbalance in his brain, or maybe the drugs, or a combination of both. He had probably started unraveling long before he murdered Jessica Benson, and there was no way she could have foreseen the freefall of his mind and prevent the final explosion.
Karen and Kyle leaned on one another for strength during the ordeal, and, in turn, formed a sort of glue that continued to bond their growing respect for one another. She had never doubted his innocence during the investigation, and had even risked her life as well as her career to protect his name. He was determined to stand by her now that she needed him.
Karen had been understandably nervous about her colleagues’ reactions to her romance with a former suspect, but after people learned of their past, there hadn’t been more than a murmur of discontent. Of course, she never let on that their affair had begun before the case ended.
For the most part, and especially within the Crimes Against Persons unit, everyone was just relieved to have the entire mess behind them. Kyle had actually become quite popular in the squad room. He had offered box seats to the final game of the season to all who were interested in them, which had been just about everyone.
Kyle’s important career decision was, of course, whether to retire from football or extend his contract for another year. The Demons had already put an offer on the table, and it was all up to him. Nietzsche said that which does not kill us, only makes us stronger. Kyle Sands knew that to be true, certainly in his relationship with Karen, and probably in his dealings with the team. He had hit the zone at practice all week, and was going into the last game with dogged determination to come out a winner.
On the Friday night preceding the game against New England, the coach told the players to take a night to themselves and get their heads straight. Kyle had used the time to take Karen to City Hall The Restaurant, which had become their favorite place. In the romantic ambiance, they shared a bottle of expensive champagne and each had the signature lobster pot pie.
Kyle took Karen back to his place afterwards, and they went straight to his bedroom. He undressed in a hurry, but she was nude before he, and suddenly, seized by a moment of pheromonal abandon, or so he remembered it, he whispered he loved her. Before she had the chance to respond, his mouth covered hers. The sweet warmth of her told him his feelings were shared.
From there they moved very slowly, savoring each kiss and every touch, all the way until dawn.
CHAPTER THIRTY
J oe Fraga faced serious jail time for trafficking. Life outside prison walls would be no less traumatic, though. He was barraged with malpractice suits from athletes who, after careful research and examinations, found he had been shooting them up with steroids on a regular basis. The American Medical Association immediately suspended his license, yet the doctor, who had more guts than glory, actually protested that action.
Tyrell Utley, former up and coming star quarterback for the Miami Demons, was out on bail from the truckload of drug charges that had been leveled against him.
Coach Raymond’s press release had been succinct. Kyle Sands is and always was the Demons’ starting quarterback. Tyrell Utley has been released from the team. Words to the players were not so gracious. He growled daily about how he would not tolerate that kind of behavior from a player, on or off the field. To Kyle, he said, “I always liked your style, son. Utley, he was way too interested in his own butt to appreciate the importance of team mentality.”
Kyle’s mind was nearly blown by that one. “ Importance of a team mentality,” he joked to James Lundy. “I didn’t think he even knew any two-syllable words.” The two had enjoyed a long laugh.
The final game of the season had been an easy win, as were the two playoffs leading to the world championship.
EPILOGUE
I t was late January when the World Championship game was played in the Demons’ home stadium on a cold, windy afternoon, somewhat of an anomaly for South Florida. Seventyeight thousand in attendance — a huge number were Miami fans — huddled in uncharacteristic sweaters and jackets kept the volume pumped up. When Number Thirteen was called, the roar of approval could be heard for miles. The stadium rocked with a standing ovation that was so out of control it delayed the opening kick-off for two minutes.
The players on both teams had slugged it out for three and a half hours and the atmosphere was tense. The Demons were down by five, and now had the ball with a little less than a minute to play. The fans were howling for Kyle to put it in the end zone, and he intended to do just that.
Pulling himself up from his third sack of the day, he felt the pain, every pain in every joint. Suck it up, he muttered to no one in particular and dragged himself over to the huddle. He called the play, broke and waited as his teammates took their positions. It occurred to him that this might be the last ball he ever threw professionally and he damn sure wanted to make it count.
In his stance, he watched as the defensive players shifted back and forth into different slots, trying to confuse him and at the same time defend whatever the Demons had to toss at them. As planned, he counted “blue-72” then shouted “blue blue 7-2” and dropped back as James Lundy began his charge downfield.
The crowd gasped as two tackles bore down on Kyle. Adrenaline pumping, he moved as well as he had done as a young rookie, danced a couple of defined steps, raised his right arm, and released the perfectly thrown ball. He backed up a few feet and took a couple of deep breaths as he watched the football arc higher and higher in its flight toward the end zone.
About the Author
Novelist C.K. Laurence, who lives in and writes about steamy South Beach in Florida, holds a Masters Degree in Sports Administration from St. Thomas University and has worked professionally with the University of Miami Hurricanes (Football) and the Miami Heat Basketball Team. Known for her quick wit and competitive spirit, C. K. is a passionate football fan, thus the thread that runs through her novels. In addition to football, she has spent tireless hours with homicide detectives and CSI personnel, researching each story and every situation, learning the nuances of criminal investigation. Her riveting plot lines, brought to life by great characters, run through twists and turns toward shocking finales. C.K. believes that all of life is truly a mystery, but dreams do come true “as long as one is very, very patient but aggressive. The older you get, the closer you are to success.” She’s happy to tell you all about it when she's signing your copy of her works.
C. K. invites you to v
isit her website at www.cklaurence.com The restaurants in this novel are actual South Florida eateries. C.K. writes about only the places she loves and sugge
sts if you live in the area or are visiting that you put them on your dining list. You won't be disappointed. Be sure to mention that you read about them in THE MYSTERY OF JESSICA BENSON!
The Mystery of Jessica Benson Page 22