by L.H. Thomson
She pulled into the next turn lane and pulled a u-turn, then pulled the car up to the pumps. The station was still open, and she whispered a little prayer of thanks as she opened the glass door, before turning to watch the road.
The car was nowhere in sight, a steady stream of other vehicles trudging north, another south. Had she imagined it? Jessie wasn’t sure. Maybe. Maybe I need my head examined for taking this case in the first place.
There wasn’t much in common between Deidre Featherstone and Tommy Orton, Cobi thought as Jessie sipped her coffee. But from what she’d learned and what he’d beaten out of Tommy, their stories dovetailed in one regard: before his murder, Brian Featherstone had been with a woman named Gail. If Tommy was to be believed – and sheer terror suggested he’d been telling the truth – then she was the key.
“A blonde woman named Gail,” Jessie said. “There’s a needle in a haystack. A middle-aged blonde woman, in Alberta? Why didn’t they just ask me to find a guy named John Cardinal? We only have a few thousand of them, too.”
It was true. When Cobi played football, there seemed to be a constant flock of pretty blonde Alberta women around, ages ranging from too young to overly ambitious. He looked around the Starbucks quickly, noting three – platinum, suicide and otherwise – within twenty feet.
Jessie had a hopeless look on her face. “Without a motive, we can’t take our information on Ritchie Grant to the police without getting laughed out of headquarters. Without the person who paid him, or without finding Grant and getting him to give us a reason, we have a loud argument and gunshots … halfway across town, hell and gone from where the body was found, where the gun was found, and where the police arrested Paul.”
“So we find Grant, we get him to talk.”
“How? The last two times you’ve gotten close to him, he’s threatened to kill you and then actually tried. You think he’ll figure that was enough and maybe not try to shoot you the next go round?”
Cobi leaned back in his chair, slumping slightly, fatigued from chasing Tommy and skipping dinner. He took a sip of juice and thought about how long he’d gone without booze or coffee, all those years on a special, precarious diet, nearly all protein, no fat, no caffeine, no sugar. Not a whole hell of a lot of fun, either. “I need to go get something to eat pretty soon,” he said.
Then he had a thought. “You know what? We’re still missing something big: why there? If it was Ritchie Grant, why did he pick that spot? We keep avoiding the question because it seems so secondary to the players; but what ties them to…”
In a subtle look of surprise, his mouth dropped slightly open and he stared past her, oblivious to everything, dumbstruck by a realization.
“That’s it. That’s why he was dumped so far away. Why didn’t we see it sooner?”
“Eh?” Jessie exhaled stress and coffee breath. “Mr. Tate, I apologize, but I’m way too tired to do the riddle thing…”
“Gail. It’s a short form for Abigail. The couple who called the body in to the police had a pair of elderly neighbors, the Ellands. Mark, Carly, and their daughter….”
“Abby,” Jessie realized. “Abigail.”
41
Cobi drove, fast, businesses flying by in a blur as the BMW shot up Ninety-seventh Street towards One Hundred Eleventh Avenue, the major artery to the Elland’s neighborhood.
Grant had to have dumped the body there for a reason, they’d agreed, maybe to scare her or just implicate her. Either way, she could identify him. There was a real chance that he’d try to get to her first, now that he knew people were looking for him.
So Jessie dialed the Ellands before they left, figuring that, at the very least, the elderly couple would be home and able to either warn their daughter or tell Jessie where she was.
Instead, the recorded operator told her the line was temporarily out of service.
“You think we need to call the police?” Cobi asked her.
She shook her head quickly. “No, not yet. Let’s make sure there’s a reason to, first. Hit the gas; if you get a radar ticket, I’ll pay it.”
So he did, cutting in and out of traffic on the avenue like it wasn’t moving. Jessie gripped the handle on the inside of the door for dear life. “But… you know, get us there alive, too.”
“Don’t worry.” Cobi smiled at her even as he swerved around a Volvo truck. “I learned to drive in Detroit.”
“And we’re going to die in Edmonton,” Jessie said as he pulled the wheel hard left to cut back into the other lane. Up ahead, the barrier alarm began ringing at the commuter train tracks. Cobi stepped on the gas, the German car’s engine whining as he pushed the tachometer up near the red mark. Jessie saw the train closing, towering over them, filling up her vision, its horn sounding as the car flew off the bump-and-rise ahead of the tracks like a stunt car off a ramp. Time slowed, and she craned her neck slightly to turn back and watch as, barrier dropped and the train flying by behind them, the car crashed down to the tips of its suspension upon landing.
Jessie was jolted out of her seat, her belt keeping her from injury, the car recovering.
“Not far now,” Cobi said as he stepped on the gas gain, unfazed by the near miss.
It took less than fifteen minutes to get to the house, the street ahead of it quiet as any typical winter afternoon. He parked at the curb, and they got out quickly.
“Front door’s open,” Cobi noticed before they were even up the front steps. It had been left slightly ajar. He ran up, then slowed down when he reached it, careful not to rush into the place unaware, his father’s advice kicking in. Jessie joined him as he slowly pushed it open.
The hallway was empty, but they could hear muffled noises from the living room, ten feet away.
Cobi peeked around the corner. The Ellands had been tied up and gagged. “You untie her, I’ll help him.”
When the couple was loose, Mrs. Elland had trouble holding back tears, panting slightly from fear and adrenaline, her husband’s breathing tube sucking greedily from the tank beside him. “He … He said you should call him, because he figured you would have his number by now,” she sobbed. “Then he took Abby. He said if you call the police, he’ll kill her.”
Of course he did, Cobi thought. “Do either of you need an ambulance or medical help?” he instead asked.
“Please help my daughter, officer,” Mrs. Elland told him, forgetting he wasn’t a policeman. “I know she’s had her troubles with the drugs and the crime, but she was a really good girl once, and I just know she can figure it out, I know it… please…”
Jessie watched the woman weep, Cobi trying to comfort her. She wondered how many times in the past Abby had made her mother cry. Then the message hit home. “You have a number for him?” she asked Cobi.
“From Tommy… From a guy who knows him.”
“All we can do is try,” she said.
He dialed the number. It rang once.
“Yeah.”
“This Ritchie?”
A chuckle. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Football. You surprised I know who you are, superstar?”
“Not really. I ain’t exactly hid the fact that I’m trying to find you,” Cobi said.
“You want to talk, you bring yourself and the lawyer over to the stadium,” he said.
“The stadium? Commonwealth?”
“Uh huh. Figured we’d take the train down to Southgate and get lost down there, but there were cops all over the station. I saw that big ol’ gate open for the cleaning crew, and I thought of you, Mr. Hero.”
“You just walked in?”
“Arm in arm, like any nice couple. Except for my nine in her ribs. You want her alive, you best show up here real soon. And if I see a cop car, she does a dive off the top row. Maybe with a bullet, maybe without.”
“What if we can’t get in?”
“Figure it out. Just make sure you bring the lawyer.”
The phone beeped as he cut off the call. Cobi relayed the message to Jessie.
“It’s a trap of some sort, obviously,” she said. “But what can he want?”
“Probably to shoot both of us.”
“At the stadium? That’s crazy. There would be security people all over it before he could get out and get away.”
“Maybe so,” Cobi said. “You have a better idea?”
“I wish I had a gun permit,” Jessie said. “Never thought I’d say that.”
“Right now, me too. And I hate guns. But we sure could use one.”
They said nothing as they made the short trip to the stadium. Cobi parked in the transit lot across the road. Grant was right: police had set up “points” with cruisers blocking traffic along the adjacent avenue. They were looking for someone, but it didn’t seem likely it was Grant. Points usually meant an active crime scene nearby.
They got out, and both instinctively scanned the top row from across the street, looking for signs of life, and perhaps impending death.
But if Abby Elland and Ritchie Grant really were up there, they were out of sight. “Come on,” Cobi urged. “I know a way in.”
“I knew there was a good reason I hired an ex-football player,” Jessie said.
“Yeah, well… I didn’t make much money as a backup, but I had a friend who wanted to come to the games. So the team used to give us leftover tickets in the upper deck, and they’d come in through the media gate on the west side, skip the lines. During the week, they leave that gate open a lot to come and go because it’s mostly out of sight from the road or other side.”
“So if there’s no guard there…”
“We should be able to slip on in.”
They crossed the street and followed the sidewalk to the far side of the stadium. Once a guard moved back to the west side, they climbed the short, snow-covered bank between the road and the elevated grounds. The door was open, no guard to be seen. “Quickly.” Cobi darted across the sidewalk, looking inside the door to make sure the coast was clear before motioning her to join him. Jessie scurried over, her winter boots heavy in the wet fluff.
“When we’re inside, we’re just going to go straight ahead to the first set of stairs up, okay?”
Jessie nodded nervously.
They crossed the polished grey concrete concourse quickly and ran up the first flight of stairs, then began the long climb up more than forty steps to the top row. When they reached the top, Jessie took a deep breath. “That was too quick,” she complained. “Now what?”
“Not sure.” Cobi shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun as he scanned the circumference of the gigantic, sixty-three thousand-seat facility. “Maybe he’s going to contact us.”
A sudden flash of light blinded him for a moment, then Jessie. Across the stadium, someone used the glass on a phone to reflect sunlight their way. “Over in the far corner, where the rail meets the back wall. Has to be him,” Cobi said. “You should stay here. We both know this is a trap of some kind.”
Jessie was frightened, but sucked up her courage and shook her head. “No. He clearly told you we both have to come or he’ll kill her.”
“He said to bring you. He didn’t say where you had to stand.”
“Cobi, we can’t take chances with this.”
“All right. But if anyone opens fire, you hit the deck, get behind the chairs on the nearest stairwell then start heading back down towards the first guard you can find. If he does try something, best if we don’t both get shot.”
It took a couple of minutes to cover the distance. As they approached, Grant held a gun on the woman, as he’d promised.
“Get over here.” He motioned with the barrel of his nine millimeter. They complied, Cobi raising an arm to Jessie’s waist height when he wanted them to go no further, stopping perhaps twelve feet away.
“So talk,” Cobi said. “Why’d you kill Brian Featherstone?”
Grant looked pissed off, his captive terrified. “Man, what you think this is, Law and Order Motherfucking SVU? You don’t get to ask the questions.” He paused for a second, actually considering what Cobi had asked. “Sides, I didn’t shoot nobody. Least, no time lately.”
“Then what are we doing up here at gunpoint?” Jessie ignored Cobi’s lead. “You had an argument with him outside that bar, you took him in the alley and you killed him.”
“Bitch, shut the fuck up!” he insisted. “If I killed a motherfucker, I wouldn’t be trying to hide the fact like some little pussy.”
“Then it’s just a coincidence you were arguing…?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Grant repeated. “Man, you some piece of work.” Then he turned to Abby. “Gail, you want to get out of your debt?”
“Sh—sure, big daddy,” she stuttered. “I’ll do anything for you, you know that.”
He smirked, teeth just barely visible beneath his contempt. “Sure, baby, sure. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to shoot these two nosy fuckers for me, and I’ll wipe your debt clean. Okay, baby?”
He took his pistol and leaned around her body, wrapping his right arm around her so that he could hold both of her hands to the pistol butt. “Now all you got to do is point and pull the trigger.”
“Ritchie –I….I don’t want to shoot nobody.”
“It’s okay, baby. They’re trying to put me in jail. You want something bad to happen to me? You want to lose that taste I can give you?”
She shook her head quickly, like a child afraid of angering a parent.
“Then you just…”
“You killed him over a drug debt?” Cobi said.
Grant angrily pulled the gun away from her and held it outstretched, sideways. “I told you, I didn’t kill no one. Not yet. I met her sugar daddy, yeah; he tried to get involved in my shit, and I warned him off. But you so stupid, you think I’d kill the man supplying her with money, when she owe me a grand for product?”
“Then why shoot us now?” Cobi questioned. “Why shoot at me before when I was trying to talk to you? Why not state your piece, let it all come out on its own if you’re innocent.”
“She-ittt. Innocent,” Grant mocked. “Man, they took one look at my record and you tell them I threatened the dude, they fry my ass. Who you think the cops believe? The ex-ballplayer or the ex-con? Nah, man. We got to do this. Make sure no one’s dropping my name to any cops from now on.” He wrapped his arms around Abby again, cooing a little, rubbing her arm. “Come on, baby. Do it for Daddy.”
Her bottom lip trembled in a mix of fear and disgust as she looked at Jessie. “I’m sorry, but it’s you or me,” she apologized.
“Don’t do it, Abby,” Jess pleaded. “Think about what he just said. He wants no witnesses. Why do you think he brought us up here? To the one spot where there’s a dead drop, where the wall and stair rail connect? You shoot us, he tosses you right over the side of the stadium, gun in hand. To the cops, it’ll look like a double-murder suicide, like you shot us then killed yourself.”
She turned hesitantly, unsure as she looked up at him. “Ritchie? Is—is that true?”
Angered, he grabbed the gun and pushed her away, toward them. Cobi stopped her from stumbling, tripping over.
“Fuck it, I guess you’ll have to go, too,” he said. “I shoot them, then I shoot you too, put the gun in your hand, toss you over. Same fucking difference.”
He raised the pistol, then pulled back the slide and chambered a bullet. “Who wants it first? Shit ain’t easy to watch, believe me, so you can do yourself a favor by volunteering.”
Over Grant’s shoulder, twenty-five yards away, Cobi saw the figure obscured by seating, someone in a dark jacket, crouching and heading up the concrete steps. He looked sideways for a split second. If Jessie saw it, too, she didn’t give anything away.
“How ‘bout you, Mr. Football Star? Might make you famous again. ‘Former Heisman favorite dies in love triangle murder-suicide, two women involved.’ TMZ would eat that shit up.”
Cobi had to buy the new arrival more time. “Don’t you think five-oh are going to wonder
how Abby got hold of a gun? Or why this all went down up here? If she meant to kill herself all along, maybe… but then why not just eat a bullet? Your plan won’t work.”
The figure stood up slightly as he reached the top row and began to creep slowly up behind Grant. Jessie took a sharp intake of breath, and Cobi took his eyes off the gun for a second to peer back.
It was David Nygaard. But why didn’t he just take out a gun and shoot the guy? Because he could hit one of us. Abby’s right in front of Grant. Chances are, she takes the same round.
“Yeah? Well maybe we change the story, hero,” Grant said. “Maybe you brought them both here because you had something to prove; your old stomping grounds. Then you shot them both before turning the gun on yourself.”
David was just behind him, and Jessie held her breath. Grant caught the look on her face. “What? What the fuck is up with you?”
The detective placed the barrel against the back of Grant’s head. “Uh uh uh,” David warned. “Let me see some hands, before my trigger finger gets any itchier. That means fast, you piece of shit.”
“Okay! Okay… just… be cool, okay?” Grant said.
“Gun on the ground, now!”
“David! Thank God,” Jessie breathed with relief.
“You better be thankful,” he said.
“Wait… how did you know where we were?”
Nygaard said nothing, but his eyes darted nervously. Jessie looked confused for a second, then shocked. “Were you following my car? Were you the person following me from Beaumont? Have you been following me?”
Cobi whispered through gritted teeth, “Now might not be the time, Ms. Harper.”
“Oh, so you’re not happy to see me?” He kept the pistol up but his eyes fixed on Jess. “Why do you keep acting like I’m some stalker or something…”
Shit man, not now, Cobi thought. Don’t get into this shit right now. Anything but that.