by John Moralee
“I’m loaded for bear,” Wayne said.
“Whatever that means,” I said. “So am I.”
Wayne and I ran towards the beach house and descended the steps on one side, stopping when we got to the front of the house, where it had a long patio. The sliding doors were wide open, so we approached them cautiously. Some velvet curtains were drawn behind the doors, moving gently in the breeze. I could hear noise inside – glass breaking, objects crashing. We crept up to the curtain and stepped inside. We communicated with hand signals, agreeing on the sides we would go. We came out on either side of the curtain, guns raised, looking around the gloomy room. It was a spacious lounge with hardwood floors and lots of black leather furniture. The furniture had been tossed and ripped up. The noise was coming from another room up some stairs and through an alcove.
Wayne pointed at something lying on the ground behind the upturned couch.
I moved forward until I could see more.
It was David Freeman.
Someone had stripped him naked and put a plastic bag over his head. The bag was steamed up with condensation. Freeman’s eyes were glazed over, fixed on the ceiling. His tongue was huge, bloated and an ugly shade of purple. He was dead.
My finger tensed on the trigger. I clicked off the safety. Wisely, Wayne had already done that before coming in.
I prayed no one had heard the safety click.
“What are we looking for?” someone said through the alcove.
“Anything that looks like a tape, papers, computer disks.”
Something crashed. “Damn. Bet that cost a thousand bucks. Not that he’ll need it now.”
I climbed the stairs one at a time, keeping perfectly quiet. Wayne matched my movements.
Wayne and I were sneaking up on the archway - hoping to surprise Ecker and Gruemann - when someone foolishly rang the doorbell.
Everyone in the next room went very quiet.
The doorbell sounded extremely loud.
“Police! I’m Deputy Jacobson! I know you’re in there! Drop your weapons and come out with your –”
Gunshots erupted from the next room, fired through the windows.
Wayne and I rushed in, keeping low, looking for targets.
It was a large bedroom. Ecker and Gruemann were by the windows, shooting at Jacobson with handguns. They could see through the glass, shooting up towards the top level of the house, where the cars were parked, but it looked as though the return firing by Jacobson was random guesses. The deputy was shooting back, blasting the windows with his shotgun. Ecker and Gruemann were occupied and had not noticed our arrival.
But there were more men in the room - caught in the act of looking for damning evidence. They dropped what they’d collected – a box of tapes and papers – and reached for weapons. Frankenstein – Zeke Morrow – saw us enter and called out to his people. All together, there were five men in the room. There were two by the windows, one by a cabinet next to another doorway, and two opposite us, caught taking drawers out of the bedside cabinets.
Time seemed to slow down as everything erupted.
There was no time to think.
Wayne and I slammed ourselves into opposite sides of the archway to provide some cover. Then we aimed at the men and I may have shouted something like “DROP YOUR GUNS!” but they seemed to have a learning difficulty because they translated that into “GO FOR YOUR GUNS!”
The two men working for Zeke Morrow, Strykner and Danza, went for their guns.
They would shoot us if we gave them a chance.
“Shoot,” Wayne said, as he fired at Morrow, who leapt sideways, avoiding the bullet that thudded into the wall.
And I pulled the trigger. The gunshot stung my ears. I pulled it again and again, unloading my bullets as fast as I could, just shooting and shooting and shooting at the moving targets.
I couldn’t even remember what their names were as I shot one in the chest and he tumbled backwards over the bed. I had killed a man – for real – but I didn’t have time for it to sink in. The second one went for a pistol in his jeans, diving left. Wayne shot at him and caught him in the leg, but it did not stop him taking out the gun. He shot at us. The bullets slammed into the stucco archway over our heads. Wayne, speckled with blood from something flying across the room, unloaded half a clip into his chest. Game over.
“Aaaaaaahh!” screamed Gruemann, swinging his gun from the windows towards the archway. His bullets blasted paintings and mirrors and took chunks out of the walls.
Morrow used the distraction to dash out the bedroom via another doorway, leaving his men to shoot back. Ecker and Gruemann turned to face us, yelling. They sounded just as frightened as angry. Wayne and I had to retreat under the hail of bullets. I hid behind a wall. Gruemann stormed forward confident he was winning. It was a mistake – for the deputy improved his aim. He was caught by a shotgun blast that made his head burst. His blood hit the wall and bed and splattered Ecker. The blood blinded Ecker. Panicking, Ecker threw down his gun and put his arms up as he cowered on the floor.
There were shots outside and a cry. It sounded like Jacobson had gone down. Wayne covered Ecker as I raced through the archway Zeke Morrow had gone through. It led to a stairway to the top floor, the wood-panelled kitchen. I looked up the stairs and saw nobody. I hurried up it. I entered the kitchen. The windows were shot out and the side door was swinging. I thought about going through it, but that would be what Morrow expected. Instead, I hastily reloaded and went to the shattered window and cleared the jagged glass away.
Outside, Jacobson was down on the ground, bleeding from a stomach wound. He was the only cop I could see – he must have come alone. Morrow was running for the brown pickup truck, looking back at the doorway with his gun aimed at anyone following. He saw me at the windows and swore and fired. I shot at him but missed. The pickup truck was protecting him now.
I climbed over the windowsill and dropped down onto the path. Morrow was opening the door. He saw me and raised his weapon, a large calibre handgun.
I fired again and hit the side of the vehicle. He sprayed bullets in my general direction. He was a wild-eyed maniac enjoying the moment. Shooting first, then refining his aim for the next shot. Each shot made a sound twice as loud as my Beretta.
I didn’t wait around to find out if it would hurt being shot - I jumped behind a low wall as a series of bullets slammed into the building. The bullets set off the fire alarms and dropped sheets of black glass onto the ground by my feet. Suddenly, the gunfire halted. Rolling sideways, I came up with my gun. Morrow had discarded his empty gun and was now trying to start the pickup truck. The engine growled.
Jacobson, lying in a pool of blood, managed to let off a shotgun round.
It blew the windshield out and some of the glass struck Morrow.
Morrow uttered a snarl and wiped blood from his eyes.
Then Jacobson slumped, exhausted.
Morrow started up the truck and started backing it out of the driveway. He changed gears suddenly and brought the vehicle towards the injured policeman, intending to run him over. I came out of hiding and shot out a tyre. Seeing me, Morrow reversed quickly towards the road. The flattened wheel screeched along, kicking up friction sparks and chunks of smouldering rubber. Morrow ducked down, making it impossible to hit him.
I unloaded a complete clip into the pickup. The pickup reached the road before stopping and dying. Morrow jumped out and ran towards the next beach house. He was fast. Very fast. His legs were so long that he could power across the grass and hedges with lightning strides. He was out of sight in ten seconds. I slammed in another clip – my last one – and ran after him … but I heard a car pulling out as I got there. It burst out of a garage, sending the corrugated iron doors flying.
It came veering towards me as a flash of blue.
I didn’t know whether to jump left or right or stand my ground and shoot.
Raising my gun, I fired at the maniac driving it. The bullet cracked the windshield and left a
white line streaking over the roof. But it didn’t stop. I kept shooting. The gun was getting hot in my hands. Morrow swerved. The car missed me, barrelling over the grass until it bounced onto the road, losing its tail pipe in a collision with the kerb. I was out of bullets but fortunately he didn’t know that – for I was sure he would have turned around to try again. I saw the number and make before the car screeched towards the town, tyres leaving black slashes on the asphalt. It was a blue BMW.
I looked back at Jacobson, trying to sit up with a chest wound bleeding down his uniform.
“I’m okay,” he said, weakly.
Police sirens wailed, like the crying of children.
Chapter 44
“Start at the beginning again. Describe in your own words everything that led to the shootings at David Freeman’s house.”
Boone and his deputies were video recording my statement. His question sounded like an essay question. Describe in your own words … I had been spending most of the afternoon explaining to the police why Wayne and I had been shooting people, but they still didn’t understand it fully. This was despite the incriminating tape of Freeman’s conversation with Van Morgan. This was despite the evidence found in Freeman’s house. The evidence consisted of recordings David Freeman had made of his private conversations with Van Morgan. They were as damning as the Nixon tapes. Freeman had been working for Van Morgan since the beginning of Sarah’s lawsuit. Van Morgan bribed/blackmailed him with money and cocaine to spy on Scott as he worked on Sarah’s lawsuit. Freeman fed Van Morgan important information on the case Scott was building so he could have an advantage in the courtroom. All was going well until Scott was killed. Afterwards, Freeman had believed Van Morgan did it. In their secret meetings he had confronted Van Morgan, but the businessman had never actually admitted it. He claimed he had nothing to do with it. Van Morgan assured Freeman that nothing could go wrong as long as he worked on the inside, sabotaging Sarah’s lawsuit. Freeman had reluctantly believed him – at first. But then I had caused Van Morgan to lose his temper. When Van Morgan sent his men to beat me up, things started to unravel. Van Morgan ordered his people to solve the problem before things went wrong, exposing him as a criminal. Boone wanted to charge me with something – but the most he could get me for was carrying a weapon that wasn’t mine. He released me after my statement matched Wayne’s. We were free to go.
At six The Boat House was filled with people dying to hear the news. There was going to be a special report on the local TV news. I should have been feeling good, but I was emotionally wiped out. I had killed a man and though I had no remorse for doing it, I could not stop thinking about it. I switched on the television and sat down next to Wayne and Sarah.
Cathy Secorski smiled at the camera outside the courthouse. “Today, there was a gun battle on the streets of Cape Mistral.” She went on to describe how Charles Van Morgan had been arrested for ordering the murders of several Mistral residents. “Today, Van Morgan ordered the murder of lawyer David Freeman to cover up his crimes. Deputy Carl Jacobson was injured during a shoot-out at a beach house property owned by Mr Freeman, an employee of Dyler and Westbrook. Three criminals were killed in a dramatic shootout between Van Morgan’s men and the police. Deputy Jacobson, who was at the centre of a gunfight, caught one of the killers with the aid of two civilians, Wayne Leary and Michael Quinn, the actor.”
People applauded. I felt embarrassed. They hushed down so they could hear the rest of the report.
“Van Morgan is suspected of ordering the murders of Scott Taylor, Ed Wendel and David Freeman. It is believed he did this ensure his Emerald Point hotel complex was built. David Freeman was allegedly providing information on a lawsuit to Van Morgan. Several of Van Morgan’s employees are named in the documents and tapes found in David Freeman’s house. These allegedly prove he was committing serious crimes for years. The alleged criminals are now being held in custody pending formal charges.”
Cathy Secorski listened to her ear microphone for a second, then resumed. “We have just learned that a witness has come forward to testify against the men. Her name is Cindy Dorlin.”
“Way to go, Cindy,” I said.
“In a related matter, the police have issued an arrest warrant for Zeke Morrow, who escaped today’s crime scene in a BMW. The bullet-riddled vehicle was found abandoned in a Cape Mistral side street. Morrow is a dangerous man who should not be approached. He may be armed. He is the main suspect in the killing of Scott Taylor. He is described as being 6 feet 8, well-built, with a distinctively flat head. If you see him, contact the police immediately ...”
Sensing something, I turned around. Sheriff Boone was coming into the bar. He looked around, moving through the crowd until he reached me. I guessed he expected Abby to be here, but she wasn’t.
“Just thought you’d want to know we’re putting in every effort to catch Zeke Morrow. He can’t get off this island alive.”
“Don’t you have something to say?” Sarah said.
“Like what?” he said.
“Like apologising for not believing us when we told you about Van Morgan?”
He grunted.
Then he walked away.
“I guess that’s as good as it gets,” Sarah said.
“No, this is a good at it gets.”
I kissed her.
“Mmm, you’re right.”
“Excuse me?” said a familiar voice. It was Doug Clark. He extricated a chair from another table and sat down at our table. “I don’t like interrupting your kissing, but I want to congratulate you on taking down Van Morgan. And I also have an interesting titbit from one of the rats leaving his sinking ship, as the cliché goes. Guess what?”
“What?” I said.
“I’ve uncovered why Van Morgan wanted Emerald Point instead of any old location for his hotel. It’s not just the gaudy hotel and golf course that he wanted to building. Oh, no – far from it. That boy had delusions of being Donald Trump.” Doug reached into the pocket of his immaculate green suit, unfolding with care a sheet of fax paper. “Just after the news broke, I received an anonymous fax from a disgruntled employee. Voila!” He showed me a sheet of paper. It showed a drawing of the cliff with a large hotel complex on it. Beneath the hotel, the cliff had a series of cable cars leading down to a large marina. “This was his ultimate goal. A massive marina with shops and hotels and so on.”
“But the water’s too shallow – there are rocks.”
“He intended to blow them to pieces. Your basic eco-disaster waiting to happen. He basically wanted to take business away from Cape Mistral, bringing it to Emerald Point. Cape Mistral would loose millions of tourist dollars every season. It would have been highly embarrassing if this had been exposed before he had permission to do what he liked with the land. The only thing stopping it was Sarah’s lawsuit. Without the go ahead to do what he pleased, the project was worth nothing. However, it would have been a goldmine owned exclusively by Van Morgan and his greedy partners if nothing had been done. Naturally, this secret plan will be in the Tribune tomorrow morning. The final nail in his coffin, as it were.”
“That’s excellent,” I said. Sarah agreed. She hugged him. Doug blushed.
“Well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to continue,” he said. “I have a story to write. I do hope it gives Van Morgan a heart attack.”
Sarah turned to me and pulled my face towards hers. “I believe we were kissing?”
“I have something better.” I took her hand. “Let’s dance.”
Chapter 45
“Why the long face?” Sarah asked.
It was 7.30 a.m. and I had met her at the ferry. We were walking along the shore in hazy sunlight and yesterday seemed already long in the past. Van Morgan was in jail and Heaven and Earth Enterprises had ceased business while a full investigation by the FBI and IRS took place, but it didn’t feel resolved. For one thing, Zeke Morrow was still on America’s Most Wanted. While he was free, I would not feel safe. But he wasn’t top of my worries – th
e police were looking for him. Something else was bothering me. I had the same doubts and regrets brooding in my mind as I did whenever I completed filming on a movie and had the interminable wait between finishing the movie and waiting for it to be released. Van Morgan may have been where I wanted, but I wasn’t happy. I kept thinking about what he’d said to David Freeman. Van Morgan had said he had not killed Scott.
“How sure are we Van Morgan ordered Scott’s death?”
Sarah stopped and shaded her eyes with her hands so she could look into my face. “What?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “What now?”
“I’m just thinking about Ecker.”
“Van Morgan’s goon. What about him?”
“Since Wayne and I caught him in Freeman’s house, he’s confessed to his part. He’s told the police how he was involved in the murder of Ed Wendel, how he was aboard Van Morgan’s yacht while Zeke Morrow drowned Ed. He’s also described what he did with David Freeman. How he did nothing to stop Zeke Morrow suffocate Freeman to get the evidence off him.”
“Yeah, yeah. He blamed Zeke Morrow for both murders,” she reminded me. “According to him Zeke was behind every killing. He’s just trying to reduce the charges against himself.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But there’s one thing Ecker hasn’t confessed to. He’s denied any involvement in the killing of Scott. He said he hadn’t been ordered to do any violence until the night they attacked me. His confession checks out – none of the men working for Morrow or Van Morgan had been on Mistral Island when Scott died, including Zeke Morrow. They were all in Los Angeles. They didn’t come to the island until after Scott was dead.”
Sarah lowered her hands and put them on her hips.
“They didn’t kill Scott?”
“No. Not unless they were in two places on the same day.”
“What about Van Morgan?”
“He was here.”