by Ann Roberts
She could tell he was starting to lose it. She backed up closer to the door, and he took three giant steps toward her and belly laughed. Her heart pounded and she tried to picture the doorknob behind her. If she turned and ran, he’d grab her for sure and pitch her over the railing, regardless of the consequences.
“So you killed her before the secret got out. If everyone learned that Scott was Sam and Evan’s father, you’d be disgraced.”
“Worse,” he argued. “I never would’ve been appointed to the governor’s task force. Under the law, Georgie raped Scott all those years ago, which is as far from the truth as it could be. He actually seduced her, but that doesn’t matter. She was the adult. There was no way the governor would appoint the husband of a statutory rapist.”
She heard voices coming down the hall—Jane.
“We’re in here!” she called, hoping they could hear through the locked door.
“Ari?”
“Jane! Get the door open!”
She ran to her right and managed to put Georgie’s worktable between her and Steve as the pounding and shouting increased. He cocked his head like a dog deep in thought, listening to the commotion outside. Suddenly a childish grin spread across his face.
“They’re coming,” he said in a sing-song voice. He darted to a cupboard and pulled a small handgun off the shelf. She instinctively ducked behind the worktable. “Georgie insisted on protection,” he said, facing the door, the gun at his side.
“Gun!” she shouted as loud as she could, unsure if anyone could hear her over the screech of the wooden door splintering away from the lock.
Clay Justice and two uniformed officers trained their weapons on him. She saw Jane, Georgie, Evan and Sam behind them.
“Ari, are you okay?” Jane cried.
“I’m fine.”
“Mr. Garritson, put down the gun,” Justice said.
He ignored him and looked toward Georgie. “Honey?” he bellowed.
“Mr. Garritson, put down the gun. Then you can talk to your wife.”
“You are not in charge here, detective! I’m calling the shots, so to speak.” Realizing his own play on words, he giggled. “Honey? Answer me!”
“For God’s sake, Steve,” Georgie cried from the hallway, “put down the gun. What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What am I doing? For the first time in my miserable life I’m doing something for me. It’s finally all about me. Instead of perpetuating your lies, licking your ungodly ugly pointed pumps or cleaning up after you, I’m doing something for myself, and this is all on you, baby.”
“Mr. Garritson, put down your weapon,” Justice repeated in a firm, even voice.
“I will not,” he said in a child-like voice, and a vision of the PEZ dispensers floated through Ari’s mind. He cleared his throat and in a deep, manly tone said, “Boys, your mother has something to tell you.”
Then he raised the gun.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Biz was the type who hated the last day of vacation. She wanted to savor every minute of her life away from her life, which was usually full of darkness and problems. If she was flying to a destination, she always booked the earliest flight to start her trip and the latest one for the return. She maximized her time away and the journey home was always bittersweet and somewhat sad.
Such was not the case coming back to Phoenix from Laguna. She’d pushed the speedometer to ninety during the long stretch across the desert, knowing it was highly unlikely a highway patrolman would stop her. She had to get back as fast as possible and check out her apartment. The idea of Molly snooping through her things enraged her, but she’d managed to sound cool and calculating on the answering machine even though she wanted to scream.
At first glance everything seemed to be in its place. She rushed to the bedroom closet and dropped to her knees in front of the safe. How careless she’d been! She couldn’t believe she’d left it open, but she’d never killed anyone before. Her mind had stopped the moment Wanda gasped and fell through the air. The slice of time between her death and nearly toppling her bike outside Quartzite didn’t exist.
She surveyed the rest of the apartment. Nothing was missing and she wasn’t surprised. Molly wasn’t a thief. She just wants to see you arrested for murdering the woman who ruined her career. YOU ruined her career. She returned to the kitchen and poured a shot of tequila. She needed to calm down.
So what if Molly knew everything? She couldn’t prove it. Even if she’d taken photos with her camera phone, they wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, and Biz would press charges for breaking and entering. Molly had as much to lose.
She pulled the receipt from her wallet—her insurance policy. She wasn’t in Arizona when Wanda was murdered. She was at a mini-mart in California. It was flimsy, but it was enough proof to get any charges against her dropped unless they found something else at the crime scene, another mistake she couldn’t remember. The tequila went down her throat slowly as she contemplated the idea of Jack Adams finding a clue.
Her cell rang and Ari’s number popped up. “What? No FaceTime?” she asked when she answered, her mood already shifting. “I like to see you when we talk.”
“I’m not really interested in seeing you right now,” she said coolly. “I’m pretty upset, actually.”
“Why?”
“We caught the real murderer, Steve Garritson. The police are dropping Bobby Arco’s murder charge.”
She poured another shot, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable. “Steve? Really? I thought it might be Georgie or Evan.”
“No,” she said flatly. “It was Steve. He’s dead. The police killed him after he pointed a gun at them.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe any of it. “Are you okay, honey? You sound funny.”
“I’m fine. It’s been a rough afternoon.”
“I still can’t believe it was Steve.”
“No, you knew it was Bobby,” she said tersely. “Remember? Open-and-shut case?”
“Yeah,” she said weakly.
“But you’re the one who shut it. Somehow you found out about the dress shirt and you put a matching one in his closet so he’d be charged with murder in addition to child pornography.”
“He deserved it.”
“That doesn’t matter! It’s not right. You can’t manipulate justice. You can’t be a vigilante.”
She bit her lip. Ari was the last person she ever wanted to fight with. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. When are you coming home? I really need to see you. I need to hold you.”
Ari sighed. “Biz, I don’t know what to think right now. I’m not sure us being together is a good idea. We see the world too differently.”
Anger flared inside her heart. She’d waited so long. “You mean how in your world justice and truth always win and in mine they usually don’t, at least not without a little help?”
Ari didn’t reply and she slapped the counter. She shouldn’t have said it, but the tequila was stripping away her patience. She hated do-gooders like Ari, but she loved her because she was so good. It didn’t make sense.
“Look, just come home and we’ll talk,” she pleaded. “I know I screwed up.”
“Jane and I are going to hang out for a while. I’ll be back in a few days and we can talk then. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem.”
She disconnected and finished her third shot of tequila. It was over already. She didn’t see that coming. She thought Ari understood. She’d had enough pain in her own life to recognize the means justified the ends. Biz was certain Ari would do anything to bring her brother’s murderer to justice, even if it meant resorting to devious or illegal tactics, but Bobby Arco and Steve Garritson weren’t Richie Adams. In Ari’s world there were two standards, but Biz saw only one for everyone, which is why she’d stopped by the police department and found a sister in the evidence department who gladly showed her the dress shirt pocket for the promise of a date. After a quick stop
at the mall and a little help from her pocketknife, she’d left a piece of evidence the police wouldn’t miss.
Only slightly inebriated, she pushed Ari from her mind and returned to self-preservation and her plan. She grabbed a trash bag from the pantry and went to the bedroom closet to retrieve the blond wig and the slinky black cocktail dress, her only remaining connections to Wanda. She had hurled the highball glass from Wanda’s apartment into the desert on her way to California so once the wig and dress were gone, if the police searched her apartment, they would come up empty-handed. She just needed to dispose of the bag.
She donned her favorite baseball cap and took the Subaru keys from the peg in the laundry room. She was desperate for a shower but removing Wanda completely from her life was a priority. She was sorry to lose the wig. It was one of her favorites. Damn that Molly, she thought.
The parking garage was half empty, most of the residents still enjoying the end of their weekend. As she waited for the gate to scroll up, she debated where to dump the bag and decided to keep it simple. She’d drive over to the east side and find a garbage bin on the perimeter of a strip mall. No one would ever know, and it would be impossible to trace.
She’d just pulled out of the garage and was waiting to turn left when three black and whites converged on her, sirens blaring and lights flashing. She was too stunned to move. She took some deep breaths and glanced at the bag next to her. It doesn’t matter, she thought. It’s private property. It means nothing.
Jack Adams and Andre Williams approached, motioning for her to get out. Keep it together, she thought, as she rolled down the window. She’d make them work for it.
“What’s going on?” she asked perturbed.
Andre pulled a warrant from his breast pocket and handed it to her. “Sorry, Biz, but we need to search your vehicle and your condo.”
She read the search warrant implicating her in the murder of Wanda Sykes. “This is crazy.” She looked at Jack, who wore a stony expression. “Jack, c’mon.”
He squatted, his enormous frame filling her window. “You need to think, Biz. The last thing Sol Gardener told me before he died was that Ari was still in danger. Someone could still hurt her. I’m guessing that someone is you.”
“I could never hurt Ari,” she said sincerely.
“Maybe you couldn’t push her off a balcony, but Vince Carnotti wouldn’t hesitate to take her out.”
He paused and she realized what he said was true. Eventually Carnotti would use Ari against her if he felt threatened.
“Now, you need to come with us for a little chat. On the way to the station you need to think about what should happen next, about what’s important and how to save yourself.” He checked his watch and added, “We’ve been here a little over a minute. How long will it be before Carnotti knows you’re in police custody? Think about that.”
She peered through the windshield looking for the dark Escalade. He was right. Carnotti’s people listened to police scanners and had cops on the inside. If he didn’t know about the search warrant he would soon, and he’d wonder what Biz would say or what she possessed that might incriminate him. Then he’d worry. Jack knew it.
Ever the gentleman, Andre opened the door for her. “I’ll run this back down the ramp to your parking space. Which one is it?”
“Forty-eight,” she mumbled, already sensing her life was shifting.
She walked with Jack up the street to his sedan. She glanced back at the lofts, wondering if and when she’d return. She suddenly realized it didn’t matter whether the police could prove a case against her. She’d taken painstaking precautions to kill Wanda and sifted through garbage to gain an alibi, but she didn’t need insurance against them. They were the good guys. If she wanted to stay alive, she needed insurance against Vince Carnotti, and she guessed that was what Jack and the DA would propose. They were the good guys—and she wasn’t. Despite all of her years helping women, she was a thief, a burglar and now a murderer.
As the car pulled away to join the downtown traffic, she noticed a red truck parked on the other side of the street. She glanced into the side mirror as they passed. She may have been mistaken, but she was almost positive Molly Nelson was leaning against the steering wheel, flipping her off.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jack reached for a bottle of Maalox he’d found in Molly’s old desk and took a hefty swig. His stomach was doing somersaults and he couldn’t relax. Who would have imagined he’d get stage fright the first time he conducted morning briefing as the interim Chief of D’s? He’d been going to briefings for decades, never contemplating what the poor guy at the front might be experiencing. Now he knew, and it had turned out okay. The officers actually seemed to like him in the position.
It wouldn’t be official for a few more weeks, since he’d be getting a promotion to lieutenant, but according to Phillips it was a sure thing. He was definitely the hero of the hour for solving Escolido and getting an indictment on Vince Carnotti. It had been a great week.
“Have I told you how great you make me look?” Dylan asked, strolling into his office and folding herself into one of the small chairs. Today her hair was pulled back with some clips and he could see her high cheekbones. She was smiling. He liked it when she smiled.
“You have,” he said. “Thanks.”
“I want you to see this through with Elizabeth Stone. You know, work with the marshals, act as the go-between. Are you up for that?”
He nodded. “I was going to insist, actually. She was involved with my daughter.”
She didn’t hide her surprise. “Your daughter’s gay?”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “She’s a lesbian. Her previous girlfriend was Molly Nelson, whose help on this case, I may add, was critical to the indictment.”
She held up a hand in surrender. “I’m sorry. I take back everything I said. I was wrong, and I look forward to meeting her and shaking her hand. Satisfied?”
When she looked up, he saw a dimple on her chin. “Mostly,” he said, grinning.
She pointed at the darts on his desk. “Are you any good?”
“I’d like to think so. I became really good during my retirement, but I imagine I’ll get rusty really quick.”
She picked up a dart and fired it into the board on the opposite wall. It didn’t hit the bull’s-eye, but it came close.
“Beat that.”
His landed directly across from hers. “I’d say we’re evenly matched.”
She looked momentarily flustered, and they exchanged a long look before she sprung out of the chair. “I need to get back to work.”
He watched her go, enjoying her lingering perfume.
* * *
The music inside the apartment delayed his knock. He’d never heard Molly play, but Ari had said she was amazing. He listened to the lively and brisk melody. He knew nothing about classical music or the composers and had cringed the few times Lucia, Ari’s mother, had forced him to the symphony or, worse, the ballet. Violin music and dancing.
“She’s really good, isn’t she?” a nearby voice asked.
He peered over the rosebush and saw Molly’s neighbor sitting on her porch. She was a typical little old lady with her hair in curlers and wearing a duster.
“I love to come outside and listen to her,” she continued. “I can hear the music a lot better outside than through the wall.”
“I agree. She’s excellent.”
“Who are you? I’m not tryin’ to be nosy. I’m Dorothy Lyons, the head of neighborhood watch. So I’m watching—and listening to Molly.”
“I’m Jack Adams,” he said with a wave.
Her face lit up, and he realized she didn’t have her bottom dentures in. “Ari’s dad?”
“Yeah, Ari’s my daughter.”
“Great gal,” she said. “The best. We need to get those two back together as soon as possible. Molly’s turned into a grumpy Gus without her.”
“I’ll work on it. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Lyons.”
“You too, Jack. You got a girlfriend? I can set you up. I know a lot of women, and all of them still have their original teeth.”
“That’s okay. I’m good.”
Before she could ask any more questions, he knocked, and the music instantly stopped followed by a commotion as if she was picking up things before she opened the door.
“Jack? What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d come and give you an update on Biz.”
They went to her small kitchen table, and she brought them each a can of diet ginger ale. “I hope this is okay,” she said. “It’s the strongest I’ve got these days.”
“This is great,” he replied. “So, Biz agreed to immunity and witness protection in exchange for her testimony against Carnotti.”
She looked dumbfounded. “Are you serious? The DA’s going to let her get away with murder?”
“She’s not getting away,” he said. “She’s losing her life as she knows it, and we’re getting the biggest criminal in the city.”
“She should lose everything regardless! She’s a killer!”
He reached for her hand. “Molly, hear me. Biz knows the game. She knows how to play hardball. She doesn’t have to give us anything, and she’s also saying that Carnotti as much as ordered her to kill Wanda.”
“What?”
“She corroborated your story about the day at the apartments. The waitress who saw Biz in the coveralls was right. Biz and one of Carnotti’s goons went out the back way, and according to Biz, Carnotti told her to kill Wanda—or else.”
“She was already planning on doing it—”
“No,” he interrupted. “She was planning an accident, and it probably wouldn’t have worked.”
She shook her head, not liking any of it. “You don’t know that.”
He leaned back in the chair. “It doesn’t matter. The deal’s made. She’s out of here and Carnotti’s in custody.”
“And Wanda’s dead.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “she’s dead. The woman who ruined your career is dead. Have you forgotten that?”