Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

“I’m not running. I just can’t do it.” Norton laced her arms.

  “You are not safe here.”

  “Isn’t that for me to decide? Besides, you said you were going to catch whoever did this. You come through on your promise, I’ll have nothing to worry about.”

  MADISON’S STOMACH CLENCHED AS THEY walked away from Norton’s house. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “What are you supposed to do? You can’t make her leave.”

  “I know, Terry.” She’d ask Higgins to keep a watch on her house. Just the thought of that sweet woman in the hands of a Russian hitman—it made her want to vomit.

  On the count of three, pull the trigger.

  She took a deep breath and tried to focus. Her heart sped up and she could hear its beat in her ears.

  We simply call it roulette when we play. The Russian part would be redundant.

  Sweat dripped down her back.

  “Maddy?”

  She felt the hand touch her shoulder and she flung it off. “Don’t touch me!”

  Her yell brought her back to the present. It wasn’t the hand of a homicidal Russian, it belonged to Terry. His eyes showed empathy.

  She could sense the unasked question in the air—Maddy, are you all right? She was happy he didn’t verbalize it because, at this moment, she wasn’t sure she could lie.

  “We have to get back to the station and read these over.” She brushed past him toward the car.

  “Not tonight we’re not, but first thing in the morning you’ll have me,” Terry said.

  Madison had called Higgins before she left and he assured her he’d drive by a few times and check on Lillian Norton.

  THIS WAS LIKE TAKING CANDY from a baby, as the Americans would say. If he ever smiled, now would be the appropriate time—he had plenty of reasons. The cops had led him right to her.

  While they left with a bunch of files in their hands, he would have to settle for other means of obtaining the information he sought. The other means, he excelled at.

  He took the blade from its sheath and admired the metal as the setting sun refracted off of it.

  Yes, it would all work out in the end. Failure wasn’t an option for him.

  He parked around the corner and went to the woman’s front door and rang the doorbell.

  It only took one ring.

  The mature woman opened the door, her pale eyes were bloodshot and tears fell down her cheeks. When she saw him, her eyes widened. Something sparked and she knew it wasn’t in her best interest to open the door. She went to close it, but he forced his way by, pulling out the blade.

  The woman shuddered and went to scream, but he had pushed her back onto a nearby sofa faster than her enlarged eyes blinked. He had managed to kick the front door shut behind him as he did so.

  He only regretted that he couldn’t slit her neck at the door, but a dead woman couldn’t speak and he needed to know what she knew.

  He looked down at her. She struggled beneath him but seemed to succumb to the fact that she would be dead before dawn.

  What she didn’t realize is the fun he’d have until that time.

  -

  Chapter 41

  “THE BODIES ARE PILING UP.” That was Richards’s greeting when Madison and Terry walked into the morgue.

  Sergey and Anatolli each lay on a stainless steel gurney.

  Looking down on them, Madison’s mind warped it into an out-of-body experience. She knew what she was physically seeing, but her mind was fighting to accept it. Even though this didn’t mean an end to her hunt to destroy the Russian Mafia, it should bring an end to the torture in her mind.

  On the count of three…

  Sergey’s face was in front of her. Real. Alive.

  Anatolli’s cackle—audible.

  She took a deep breath and when she surfaced from the flashback, both Richards and Terry were looking at her.

  “This must be rough for you.” Richards’s dark brow compressed, forming wrinkles that otherwise were not there.

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “You do know that you don’t have to be here for this?”

  “Yes, of course.” That was how she responded, but, in reality, she did have to be there. She needed to know these men were dead, verify it, beyond the fact that their blood had stained her face the day they went down. She needed to know that their hearts no longer beat, that their blood no longer flowed.

  “I will proceed then.” Richards went on explaining that, where both men were struck, it was instantly fatal. “They wouldn’t even have known anything happened, alive one second, gone the next.”

  Madison found the ease of their exit from this world unfair. These men had inflicted torture. They had killed countless people.

  Richards started, first on Sergey and then Anatolli. Even in death, Sergey was the leader.

  The autopsies took longer than Madison had expected, but there were a lot of fragments Richards had to take out of their brains. She tried not to dwell on that fact too much.

  An hour and a half later, Richards was finished with both men and he snapped off his gloves. “Unfortunately, because the bullets fragmented, it’s hard to tell the type by looking at their present state. These will go to the lab to be analyzed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “And Douglas and his maid, when—”

  “I can have Cynthia update you on their findings if you’d like. There’s no reason you have to come back for them.”

  He must have read her mind. “Yes, please.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to attend that many autopsies so close together. A part of her felt responsible for all this loss of life. Maybe if she had just left everything alone.

  Her phone rang and it was Higgins. The message he gave her made her legs lose strength as she hung up.

  “Maddy, what is it?” Terry asked.

  “Lillian Norton was murdered.”

  -

  Chapter 42

  “I’M WARNING YOU, it’s messy.” Officer Tendum stepped to the side to let Madison and Terry into Lillian’s house. The young officer looked pale, and even though Madison knew it wasn’t his first dead body, he was far from being a veteran.

  “Who found her?”

  “A new friend. They were supposed to go to a local art showing. She came to pick the victim—”

  “Lillian Norton.”

  “—up and found her. She swears she never touched anything. She called it in and Higgins recognized the address. Said you had asked him to keep an eye on her last night.”

  “I did drive by.” Higgins stepped up to them. “Nothing looked unusual.”

  “It’s okay, Chief.” Madison tried to reassure him, by using his nickname. She even added a hand to his shoulder, but the man was carrying the burden. If only he knew, she shared the load with him. They never should have left her alone.

  “Neighbors see anything?” she asked.

  “One neighborhood watch lady said she noticed a large man with blond hair, but nothing else,” Tendum said.

  “And she saw him here?”

  “No. Just walking down the street.”

  “She didn’t notice a vehicle or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Some neighborhood watch.” Madison shook her head and went to go inside, but her feet grounded temporarily in the doorway. The smell assaulted her sinuses instantly. There was blood and a lot of it. She briefly wished for the job that would see her outside cordoning off the crime scene, rather than being the one immersed in it.

  “She’s in the living room,” another officer said.

  She didn’t need the direction. Her nose would lead her straight to the body, but the trick was getting her legs to move.

  “You all right?” Terry nudg
ed her elbow with his.

  She made herself look at him and was able to force out the words, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Lillian Norton was laid out on the couch. Her arms open wide, one resting against the back of the sofa, the other raised in the air, its wrist laid back at an unnatural angle.

  Her torso was stained red with blood, which extended to the sofa and the floor. It was as if a can of red paint had been dumped on top of her.

  The bile rose in Madison’s throat. The odor, the sight, it was all-encompassing.

  “It looks like she was stabbed dozens of times. The killer must be a professional too. There are no obvious impressions on her wrists or arms where he would have restrained her while doing this.” Cynthia took some photographs.

  With her friend’s voice, the rest of the scene came into focus. Her team collected anything that could be evidence. Madison noticed that, besides the immediate area surrounding the body, blood wasn’t spread around the room. The killer was a professional like Cynthia had said.

  Cole Richards went past them to the body, his assistant trailing behind.

  Cynthia stepped back and confirmed she was finished.

  Richards got on his haunches and examined Norton. “She still isn’t in full rigor. Time of death was within the last twelve hours.”

  “Can you narrow that down?” Madison regretted the question when Richards paused all movement and looked up at her. She raised her hands in surrender. “I should know better.”

  “Yes, you should. Temperature will confirm this, but I’d put the time of death between three to five hours ago.” He pointed with his gloved finger toward the various stab marks. “It’s possible that he took his time with her, but only a thorough autopsy will determine this for certain.”

  “So, three to five hours ago…he could have been stabbing her all night. We’ve got find this son of a bitch.” Thoughts of retribution hampered the stench of death—until it slapped her in the face again. She swallowed roughly.

  “You’ve got that right. He didn’t kill her right away, he methodically stabbed her.”

  “He didn’t just—” Madison couldn’t bring herself to verbalize the rest. This bastard had taken his time and made this poor woman suffer. “He must have been trying to get information out of her.”

  “Only, we have it,” Terry said. His pallor and tone of voice gave the impression he was fighting nausea with this one as well.

  “Milo, can you bag her hands?” Richards requested, and his assistant began working to follow his directive.

  Madison turned to Terry. “He killed her because of us.” Remorse blended with discovery. “The fact that Norton was tortured tells us that there’s something good in Douglas’s files.”

  “At least the Russians believe so.”

  “That’s good enough for me. We’ve got to get back to the station and dig into this.”

  “Don’t you have a shrink appointment?”

  She growled. “In a couple of hours.”

  “Well, we better get back to the station then.”

  MADISON AND TERRY SPENT THE next hour and a half going over the paperwork Lillian Norton had given them. Douglas had filled pages with his suspicions about the Russians. Still, it was the word of a dead man against the living and powerful. But the fact that this information had gotten two people killed made it quite credible.

  Madison opened another folder as Terry returned from the bullpen with coffee.

  He extended her a mug and slipped into the chair across from her. “Find anything solid yet?” His hands went to a folder, but he didn’t make a move to read its contents.

  She glanced down at her mug, trying to prepare herself for the flavor. Mud brew was how most termed it, but it was better than nothing. Even if the tip of a spoon could disintegrate in it, the coffee had holding power and it was what she needed. The recollections were draining her energy and had her craving a nap—something she never allowed herself.

  She took a sip, still not prepared for the astringency.

  She lifted the folder she held. “There’s a lot here. I mean, it’s obvious that Douglas felt very strongly about the Russians being involved with the murder of Lexan. Still, no proof. It’s just conjecture and nothing concrete. There’s mention of ‘other lives’ being taken but no names or locations for bodies.”

  “You think Dimitre knew about this file?”

  “Absolutely. I think it’s why Douglas and Norton were killed. Dimitre’s cleaning up.”

  “I’m not even sure that’s all it is. The question I can’t answer is why now, this many years later.”

  Madison scanned down the first sheet in the new folder she took. “It’s a good question. It might just be because we’re getting close. This time, they are going to be held accountable for their actions. Oh!” Her heart raced as she read. “Terry, we have a body dump location.” She paraphrased what Douglas had written. “Douglas followed them out to a ravine and they ‘took care of someone.’ The Russians must have found out what he knew. It got him killed.”

  “Who do you think he’s referring to when he says someone?”

  “Could be anyone. James Calin maybe? All right, it could be a lot of people. So, Douglas followed them out there.”

  “Dimitre isn’t naïve. He knew the lawyer knew, but let him go.”

  “Until we got too close.” Guilt came over her.

  “I see it written all over your face, Madison. It’s not your fault.”

  “If it wasn’t for me—”

  “You didn’t kill these men. Dimitre did. He’s behind it anyhow. You’re doing what you should be doing. Your job.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now don’t get all mushy on me.”

  She would have punched his shoulder if he were beside her. Her eyes went briefly to the coffee, but consideration over taking another mouthful was muted by the flavor still coating her tongue. “Douglas mentioned a ravine. We’re going to that spot now. There’s only one area it could refer to around here.”

  Terry directed her attention to the clock. “Don’t you have an appointment?”

  When she noticed the time, she inwardly growled. Doctor Connor would be expecting her in less than an hour. “She’ll just have to be disappointed. I have a job to do.”

  “And part of that right now requires that you go to the shrink. Speaking of, you better get going or you’ll be late.”

  She angled her head to the side and the resultant eye lock was held for a sustained period.

  Terry broke contact first.

  She brushed past him. “Don’t go without me. I mean it. They’ve been buried for who knows how long already. Another couple hours will not hurt them.”

  “I can adhere to that.”

  “Read the rest of the files while I’m gone. There’s got to be a lot we can use to nail this bastard.”

  -

  Chapter 43

  CONNOR WAS IN HER CHAIR, looking exactly as she had the last time, with her hair pulled back into a soft chignon and her mouth showcasing a warm smile. “Good day, Detective.”

  She pretended not to let on that she’d caught the discreet glance the doctor took at her watch. Instead, Madison sat on the couch and leaned back, her hands on her thighs. For some reason, the posture and position felt awkward. Was she uncomfortable? She shook the thought aside. She had nothing to worry about. Shrinks were for other people. She was only here because she was required to be.

  “Last time we touched on your relationship with your partner.”

  “Everything is fine now.” Maybe if she rushed this along she would get out sooner than the allotted time.

  “Fine.” Connor wrote something down on her pad. “How is fine?”

  The dance would now ensue, the personal prodding, relentless eye contact, and the analyzing of her body language.

 
Madison sat up straighter and leaned forward. Maybe she could fool the doctor into thinking she was fine to be there. The truth was, all she could really think about was getting out of there and getting the solid evidence required to make sure Dimitre never saw the light of day again.

  She braced herself. “Just that—things are fine. We are communicating and working well together like it was before all of this.”

  Connor bowed her head slightly to the left. “I’m happy that things are fine with you.”

  She was placating her now.

  “Is fine a good thing?” Connor asked.

  Madison screwed up her forehead. “I would think so. Doesn’t get much better.” She shifted her position and realized, the moment she did, the shrink observed it. “I really don’t think I need to waste any more of your time, Doctor. Everything is going fi—good.”

  “I’m here to help you, Detective. You may not think you need to talk to someone,” she lowered her pen-holding hand to the armrest of the chair, “most people don’t think they do, but psychology is proven.”

  “I don’t mean to insult your profession. It’s just that I have a job to do, too. There’s a lead in the case.”

  “And you can pursue it when your session is over.” Connor balanced the line between reprimand and warmth.

  Madison exhaled a deep breath. There would be no getting out of this until she spilled how she really felt. She might as well throw it all out there, hope it stuck and proved sufficient to free her from this obligation.

  TERRY CLOSED UP DOUGLAS’S FILES, intent on taking care of something else. He should have done this long ago, but with the assassination of Sergey and Anatolli, it had taken a backseat in priority.

  Even though the men were in the grave, there was a possibility that a lawsuit would still be pursued against Madison for starting the whole mess in the first place. Madison lived in a make-believe world where everything always righted itself and good prevailed. But Terry knew better than that. Even with the Russians six feet under, they could haunt her from the grave.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for the database to pull the backgrounds of the two men who said they had witnessed Madison go in with her gun drawn. He would find something that would indicate—or at least sway any judge into thinking—reasonable doubt and have their statements dismissed if it ever had to stand up in court.