Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4)

by Lawrence Kelter

  The club’s main entrance was located on the Riegelmann Boardwalk at Brighton Beach. Kozakova walked out onto the boardwalk, leaned against the railing, and looked out at the Atlantic. Wind rushed north, and she was only able to take the chill for a few minutes before she headed home. She was mildly disappointed with the evening, but the vodka was doing its job, and there was more of it waiting for her at home. She had just turned onto Brightwater Court when Tillerman came up behind her and pounded down on her skull with his massive fist. She collapsed, and he dragged her into his van.

  Chapter Forty-one

  I called for assistance. The entrances and first-floor windows were boarded up. We would need a tactical team to gain access to Tillerman’s home. It didn’t stop us from taking a look around—if there was a quick way in, we’d find it. I walked around the side of the house to the back. The entrance to the cellar was a sloped wooden door. It had been boarded up as well, but I pulled on one of the boards and was able to yank it free. With the board out of the way, I could see the padlock that secured the door. Piece of cake. “Gus,” I called out.

  It took a second for Gus to emerge out of the shadows. “Find something?”

  I illuminated the exposed padlock with my searchlight beam. “We’ve got a bolt cutter in the trunk, don’t we?”

  Gus smiled. “You bet.” He walked off and returned a minute later with a large bolt cutter. I focused the searchlight beam on the padlock while he cut the shackle. Boards were nailed over the door. They gave way when Gus pulled on it.

  “Great, nothing like crawling around a creepy, dark basement. Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” I focused the searchlight beam on the steps and descended. I walked right into a huge spider web. As soon as I cleared the web away, I noticed a light switch and tried it, but the power was off. The basement was pitch black. I explored the darkness. The basement was unfinished, cinderblock walls and a concrete floor. I saw a large, steel cart at the far end of the basement. I walked closer and saw that it was a necropsy table, a table designed for working on cadavers. Like most, this one had a plastic runoff tube through which the cadaver’s blood could drain. It ran a few feet to a slop sink, which was stained red.

  Gus walked over to the sink and examined it with his searchlight. “I’ll get a crime scene team down here. It looks like there’s some dried blood around the drain.”

  “Good deal.” I continued to look around and saw a wooden cabinet. I opened the doors and found a clean set of necropsy instruments and several jugs of embalming fluid. Gus walked over to show me a handful of small, white, conical objects that he was holding. “Trocar buttons?”

  “I found a bag of them under the necropsy table.”

  Trocar buttons are threaded plugs an ME uses to seal the wound he’s made to fill the internal cavity with embalming fluid. “Why is he embalming them?” I asked. “It’s not consistent with his MO. We’re not sure what really happened to the first victim, but we know that Tillerman ground up his bones to make a medallion. The second victim was found intact but frozen, and Tillerman tried to incinerate the third victim. I’m confused.”

  Gus seemed equally perplexed. He bit off a hangnail and then shrugged.

  I heard the sound of a car pulling to a stop outside the house. “Sounds like reinforcements are here. I can’t wait to explore the rest of this dirty old sarcophagus.”

  Herbert Ambler came down the basement stairs a moment later. Marjorie Banks followed him. I mused that they were out on a date when they got the call to head over our way. I took one look at Ambler’s face and knew better. The four of us were holding searchlights—they threw off enough light for Ambler to take in the scene before him. He looked down at the trocar buttons in Gus’ hand and looked up with an expression of puzzlement on his face. “What the hell?”

  “I know, not what you expected, right? We’re confused also.”

  “It doesn’t fit the unsub’s MO,” Banks said. BTW, Marjorie wore a very well cut jacket and black slacks. She looked thin and chic. I’m sure Ambler noticed her appearance as well—at least I hoped he had.

  “We were just saying that. There’s a cabinet filled with embalming fluid over there. Embalming equipment is the last thing I expected to find.”

  “I’ll have the building pulled apart for clues. Any leads as to where this guy Tillerman might be?” Ambler asked.

  “He hasn’t shown up for work since the night the pharmaceuticals company was robbed,” Gus said. “He’s MIA.”

  “There’s a big goddamn surprise,” Ambler said. “Do we have a line on the meds that were stolen from Vicor? Anything show up on the street?”

  “It was all experimental stuff,” I said. “Antidepressants, antipsychotics, anxiety meds . . . not the kind of drugs we’d hear about even if they did end up on the street. I’m not quite sure what this Russian guy, Vetrov, wanted with them.”

  “Industrial espionage?” Banks suggested.

  “Very possible,” Ambler replied. “Who knows who Vetrov was working for. Russian drug trafficking has become huge over the last several years, but that’s more about narcotics. Pharmaceutical espionage is an entirely different ball of wax. I’ll check with the CIA, but the chances are they won’t reply, even if they know something.”

  “Why can’t we all just get along?” Gus said.

  Ambler gave Gus a smug smile. “Pipe down, will ya? Who do you think you are, Rodney King?”

  Gus gave Ambler the old F-U, I’m pretending to wipe a tear from my eye gesture.

  “Okay, boys, settle down.” I turned to Ambler. “You okay if we leave? I want to hit the computer to check background on Tillerman and Vetrov.”

  “It’s one in the morning,” Ambler said. “Don’t you and the fetus need some rest?”

  Marjorie scowled at Ambler and gave him a playful slap on the wrist. “What kind of talk is that?”

  “Sorry,” Ambler said and smiled at her. It was more than a smile actually—to a cop like me it was a smoking gun. “We know each other a long time.”

  “It’s okay, Marjorie, I bust his chops all the time. Don’t worry, Herb. I’m not tired.”

  “Sure,” Ambler said. “Take off. Call me if you come across anything juicy.”

  “Will do.”

  We had not quite reached the car when Gus grabbed my arm. “You think something is going on with those two?”

  “I don’t know but that slap on the wrist got my suspicions going. Did you see the smile he gave her? That smile said, I want to jump your bones.”

  “Marjorie looks good tonight.”

  See? I’m not the only one—Gus noticed too. “I sure hope that spark catches fire. I want to see those two together almost as much as I want to solve this case.”

  “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Stephanie. They just met.”

  “You never know, Gus. Maybe we’ll have a double wedding.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  The first sensation Anya Kozakova had upon regaining consciousness was that she was suffocating. Both eyes shot open in panic. Tillerman allowed her panic to grow for a moment before he grinned and reached behind her to release the valve on her scuba tank. Dry pressurized air instantly filled her lungs. Her fear of suffocation subsided and was immediately replaced with newly realized panic. She was eye to eye with Tillerman on a small boat surrounded by water in the middle of the night. She tried to move but couldn’t. Her arms were taped together in front of her. Her ankles were bound in the same manner. The scuba tank bindings pulled snugly across her chest. She tried to push the regulator out of her mouth with her tongue, but it was designed to fit snuggly and could only be pulled out by hand.

  Tillerman grasped the regulator and pulled it out of her mouth. “Better?”

  Kozakova nodded nervously. Her breathing was rapid. She tried to fill her lungs with fresh air and calm down, but the situation was too extreme. She began to hyperventilate.

  Tillerman slapped her across the face with an open hand, jus
t hard enough to focus her attention. “Relax. I have questions.” He stood and walked to the other side of the small fishing boat. He picked up a weighted diver’s belt. “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Kozakova tried to comply, but she was in a state of full-blown panic and was unable to stand with the scuba equipment on her back. Tillerman grabbed her under the arm and yanked her to her feet. He weighed the heavy belt in his hand before he fastened it around her waist.

  Kozakova reached down deep and found her courage. She was an honest–to-God tough girl and was determined not to cower before her assailant. “You’re going to drown me? Why?” she demanded. “What did I do to you?”

  Tillerman considered her question for a moment before he responded. “Why did you betray me?”

  “Betray you? What are you talking about? I haven’t thought about you even once since you left my apartment. How? How did I betray you?”

  “As if you don’t know.”

  “Oh fucking Christ, man. I didn’t do anything. Are you crazy? I altered your security tag so that you could access all areas of the pharmaceuticals building—that’s all.”

  “And you made a copy for your friend.”

  “My friend? What friend?”

  “Med-ved,” he said, recalling the phonetic pronunciation of the word he had learned from her. “The big grizzly bear . . . like me.”

  Kozakova’s mind raced to decipher the puzzle and then her eyes widened. “Marat?”

  “Yes, Marat,” he repeated. “I took good care of him.”

  It took a moment for her to understand what Tillerman meant, but then recognition registered on her face. “You killed him?” Marat was dead, but she was too invested in her own self-preservation to worry about him. “Marat’s a sneaky fuck. He must have stolen my encryption key and made a copy of the security pass. Honestly, what the hell do you think I had to do with it? I don’t even know what they have in that stupid building.”

  “They have clinical test medications like Repressor, the one I take every day.”

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “It’s my happy pill. It gets me through the day—one day at a time. It also keeps me from snapping people’s necks . . . well, most of the time. I did snap your friend’s neck, but he deserved it. He stole my meds and almost killed a tiny, little man, but I caught up with him and set things right.”

  Kozakova sighed. It was a deep and troubled sigh, one that communicated her extreme exasperation. “I told you I didn’t do anything. If you want your money back, you can have it. You want my body? You can have that too.”

  “You’re a liar and a con artist.”

  “Fuck you! I work like a dog all day long. My only mistake was to help an idiot like you. I thought you were strong.” She arched her neck. “Go ahead, snap my neck. I don’t want to drown.”

  “You won’t.” Tillerman looked her in the eye and then forced the regulator back into her mouth. He ran tape around her head to hold it in place. It was the same heavy-duty, water-resistant tape he’d used to bind her wrists and ankles. He watched the courage disappear from her face and her eyes fill with terror. He checked the gauge on the pressure regulator and the lines that led to her buoyancy control vest. He closed his eyes. “Blessed are the elements of life. May the air consume you.” He opened his eyes and pushed her into the ice-cold waters beneath the Verrazano Bridge.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Toni Sonellio heard the doorbell ring. She wasn’t expecting company and walked to the front door to see who it was. She pulled aside the shear curtain and looked through the glass panel that bordered the door. She recognized the man standing outside her home as one of her husband’s acquaintances but could not remember his name. She unlocked the door and opened it. “Hi, I know we’ve met before, but—”

  “Giacomo Babocci,” the man offered. “I’m Nick’s friend from Café Baci over on the avenue. Is he home?” He held out a foil-wrapped baker’s tray.

  “What’s this?” Toni said posting a polite smile.

  “I brought you a nice tiramisu—baked fresh.”

  “Thank you. Come in,” Toni said as she made room for Babocci to enter. “My husband has a real sweet tooth. He’ll enjoy this.”

  “Why sure,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. He entered and closed the door behind him. “I know what Nick likes. How is he?”

  Toni’s expression turned sad. “He’s watching TV in the den. Give me a second; I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

  Babocci looked at the pictures on the fireplace mantle: Sonellio’s wedding picture and pictures taken at their daughters’ graduations. The lamp next to the living room sofa looked familiar. He was examining it when Toni returned. “I’ve got a lamp just like this—Capodimonte, right?”

  “Yes,” Toni replied. “It was my parents’. I think it was the only really fine thing they owned.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Thanks. Listen, he’s on oxygen. I didn’t want you to be shocked.”

  Babocci pressed his lips together and shook his head sadly. It took him a moment to regroup. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Good.” Toni smiled demonstratively to set an example for Babocci and then led him to the den.

  “Hey, Jaco,” Sonellio said with delight in his voice. “What a nice surprise.” He turned to Toni. “Best Italian food on Staten Island.”

  “I wouldn’t know. You never took me there!” Toni said, pretending that she had been offended.

  Babocci showed his palms. “Don’t be upset, Mrs. Sonellio . . . Café Baci is for gentlemen only.”

  “Will I be breaking any rules if I have a piece of that tiramisu?”

  “Mi scusi. Please, help yourself,” Babocci said. “Enjoy.”

  “Coffee, gentlemen?” Toni asked.

  “You make espresso in this nice Italian house?” Babocci asked.

  “Coming right up.” Toni smiled and left the room.

  Sonellio hit the pause button—the image of the Starship Enterprise froze on the TV screen. He motioned to the chair next to him, and Babocci sat down. He tugged on the oxygen tube that ran under his nose. “Sorry about this, Jaco. The doctor says I need this right now.”

  “That don’t mean nothing—my aunt, Zia Rosalia, wore one of those things for twenty years. My father said she wore it because I cut the cheese too often.”

  Sonellio chuckled quietly. He had learned to control his laughter so that it didn’t hurt quite so much. “And you believed him?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I used to fart an awful lot.”

  Sonellio shook his head in dismay. “You know I haven’t asked you in a while, how’s your boy?”

  Babocci sort of shrugged. “I don’t know what to say, Nick. The army took everything from him. He came back from Iraq in pieces. Sometimes I wonder—”

  “Don’t go there, Jaco,” Sonellio warned. “He’s a wonderful young man. He’ll find his way again.”

  “I hope so. The poor kid, he’ll never have a family of his own. Some Arab motherfucker made sure of that.” Babocci sighed deeply. “He’s creative.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah, although he doesn’t enjoy the arts-and-crafts end of it like I do. He likes painting. I guess it’s true what they say about the apple not falling far from the tree. You should see the one he’s working on now. Nick, I’m not just saying it because he’s my kid, but it’s fucking gorgeous. I mean it’s really something special. I’ll ask him if it’s okay for you to take a look. He’s kind of private about it though. He’s down in the basement working on it all day.”

  “I’m glad to hear he’s found something that gives him pleasure.”

  “It’s heartbreaking, ain’t it, Nick? He had so much to look forward to. Remember his girlfriend, Luisa? What a stunning kid—Madonna. I shouldn’t say this, but I got a hard-on every time she walked into the house.”

  “She’s not in the neighborhood anymore?”

  “Nah, I don’t see her anymore. A b
eautiful girl like that . . . c’mon, Nick. I’m sure she wanted a family and my poor son . . . like I said, he came back in pieces and unfortunately not all of those pieces work. I mean even if she could look past the arm and leg . . . every girl wants to be a mother. You know what I mean?”

  “I’m sorry, Jaco. I really am. Before Toni comes back with the coffee,” he leaned forward, “you hear anything?”

  Babocci shook his head. “I’ve got everyone looking: the Cantone boys, Ziggy and Pasquale Millefinucci, everyone I could think of. We monitor the police radio . . . everything. This guy is some kind of lone wolf. No one has heard anything. What about the police, they doing any better?”

  “Not really, but Forzo, the assistant chief, has every last man out looking for this monster. Sometimes these investigations take awhile.”

  “And still nothing? Madonna. We’re looking for a friggin’ ghost.”

  Toni returned with three portions of tiramisu. “The coffee will be ready in a minute, gentlemen.” She turned to walk back to the kitchen but stopped. “I heard the two of you talking. This really gets me angry.” She began to cry. “How does someone get away with this? The Jacobys were such nice people.”

  Sonellio stood and put his arms around her. “We’ll get him, sweetheart. No one is going to get away with anything. You have my word.”

  “That’s definite,” Babocci said. “This guy is as good as dead. No one does this on our turf.”

  Sonellio gestured to Babocci to tone down the level of his hostility. “One step at a time,” he said. “Let’s catch the SOB first.”

  They all jumped when the doorbell rang. “Jesus,” Toni said. “Who could that be?” She wiped the tears from her cheek and walked to the front door. She repeated the ritual she carried out whenever the doorbell rang. She moved aside the curtain to take a look outside. She smiled when she saw who was visiting. She pulled the door open. “Stephanie,” she said. “What are you doing here?”