by D P Lyle
“Where does she live?” T-Tommy asked.
“Apartment near here. I called a couple of times but couldn’t reach her.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“No.”
“We’ll look into it.” I finished my coffee. “You going to be okay?”
“You mean after you two stomped into my life? Pissed off those two gorillas?”
She was right, and I knew it.
“You guys have already made too many waves. If Mr. Scarcella finds out I talked to you, I’m screwed, blued, and tattooed.” Madison took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “He’ll turn that creep Austin loose. Jesus.”
“Seems to me Austin’s stuck on stupid,” T-Tommy said.
“Maybe. But he’s also stuck on mean.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, you’re not.” She tossed the napkins to the table, no longer needed, her face now stone hard. “You got what you wanted. That’s what guys like you do. Take what you want, to hell with everything else. Dancers, hookers, all trash to you.” Her jaw jutted at me, her eyes angry.
“Our friend Noel—the girl who was killed with Crystal—was a hooker. Seemed to be putting her life back together, and now she’s dead.”
Madison studied me as if trying to read my thoughts. After a moment, she said, “So what are you? Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show or something?”
T-Tommy smiled. “Something like that.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “There’s no such thing except in fairy tales, and High Rollers is about as far from never-never land as you can get.”
“Why not leave?” I asked. “Pretty, bright girl like you could do anything.”
“So, now you want to save me?” She fingered a strand of hair, pushed it behind her ear, and stared out the window, her gaze unfocused as if mentally picturing something. The rain had lightened, but drops still tapped the window. “Truth is, I’ve thought about getting out of here. Been doing this for three years. That’s too long.”
“And go where?” I asked.
“Indiana. Now that my stepdad’s gone, Mom would let me come back.”
“Do you need traveling money?” I opened my hands, palms up.
“I got money.”
The waitress returned with the check, and I borrowed her pen. I scribbled my name and cell number on a napkin and gave it to Madison along with a pair of Franklins. “For your time. Maybe traveling money. Call if you need anything. If you do go home, please let me know how I can reach you. In case I have any more questions.”
“I’m sure my mom would love to hear that I know someone who was murdered.”
CHAPTER 44
SUNDAY 12:47 A.M.
ALEJANDRO LAY STILL AS THE MINUTES DRIPPED BY, SCISSORS clutched in his right hand, the sheet providing cover. Where the hell was the guard? More than once he considered not waiting. Simply get up, walk out of room, track down an exit, and see how it went. Deal with whatever came up. But he was in no condition to fight, and even if he slipped away unseen, he would gain only a few minutes’ head start. Stick with the plan. Surprise was his only ally here.
From what he had seen earlier, the guard didn’t appear to be much. Soft from a lot of sitting. Maybe three inches shorter than he was and not muscular like that goon Austin. Surely he was armed. Alejandro couldn’t be positive of that last point but better to assume it. Which meant Alejandro had one shot.
Finally he saw the man walk by the windows and push the door open with a shoulder, a cup of coffee in his hand, a gun clipped to his belt. He stopped. “Where’s Darlene?”
“Bathroom. She said leave her coffee on the tray there.”
“She’s not supposed to leave.”
“Why? We aren’t going anywhere.”
He placed the coffee on the tray and turned toward the curtain that concealed Carmelita and Darlene. He took a step in that direction.
“Smells good,” Alejandro said.
The guard stopped and turned back to him.
“The coffee. Wish I could have some, but Darlene said I couldn’t eat or drink for another few hours.”
The guard approached him and glanced down. “Jesus, you’re bleeding.” His gaze darted toward the door. “Where the hell is she?”
Alejandro looked at the guard’s name tag. Phil Dunlap, Security. “You can handle it, Phil.”
Phil’s head jerked back to Alejandro, a surprised look on his face.
“Your name tag,” Alejandro said.
Phil smiled.
That’s it. Relax. We’re friends. First name basis. “Just grab some fresh bandages,” Alejandro said. “I think she put them up there. On top of the monitor.”
Phil turned, looked up.
Alejandro didn’t hesitate. He drove the scissors into the right side of Phil’s neck. Phil recoiled. Alejandro yanked the scissors free. Blood fountained from the guard’s neck. He spun, elbow knocking over the tray. Instruments clattered to the floor. Phil clutched at his throat. Blood gushed between his fingers. His other hand dropped to his gun. Too slow.
Alejandro rolled out of the bed and was on him before he could raise his weapon. He hammered the gun to the floor and then slammed the scissors into Phil’s chest. The guard collapsed. His breath came in wet, bubbling rasps, and his life pumped away in ever weakening pulses.
Alejandro slid to the floor, sitting back against the bed, and watched until Phil bled no more. Only took a couple of minutes.
Dizziness and nausea rippled through him. He fought the sensations and took a couple of deep breaths before reaching under the bed and retrieving Phil’s gun. He sat for another minute, gathering energy. He pressed a hand against his belly, now covered with blood. It felt hot and sticky. Fatigue pulled at him. He wanted to lie down and go to sleep.
Summoning what was left of his fading strength, Alejandro crawled to where Darlene lay. He stripped the tape from her face and tugged the gauze from her mouth. “Who else is in the building?”
“What did you do to Phil?”
“Just what you think I did. Now answer the question.”
“You can’t get out of here.”
He pressed the muzzle of the gun to her cheek. “You better fucking hope I can, or you’re going down with me. Now, one more time, who’s here?”
“Two guards.” She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath.
“Phil and one other.”
“Where?”
“Up front. One stays there all the time.”
“The two guys who did this to me. Where are they?”
“Gone. They won’t be around until morning.”
“I need clothes.”
“There’re some surgical scrubs over there.” Darlene nodded toward a row of built-in lockers.
He looked at Carmelita. “Unhook her.”
“Can’t.”
“You unhooked me. Unhook her.”
“You were awake. She’s not. She comes off the vent, who’s going to breathe for her? You?”
“Fuck.” He glanced around. “How long?”
“Couple of hours. Maybe more.”
No way he could wait it out. “All right. I’ve got to go. You better keep her alive until I can get some help.”
“Are you going to undo this tape?”
“No.”
“Then how am I supposed to help her?”
“Pray it all works out.” Alejandro managed to tape some fresh gauze over his two wounds, both now trickling blood, and put on a pair of scrubs. He dropped the scissors into the breast pocket and shoved the gun into the hip pocket.
He knelt beside Darlene. “What the hell is this all about? What are you people up to?”
“You know. You’ve been in it from the beginning.”
“The hell I have.”
“Don’t play innocent. You buried the bodies.”
“I didn’t know about all this.” He waved a hand. “This is fucking evil.”
“No, Mr. Diaz. It’s medical progress.”<
br />
“That why you do this shit in the dead of night?” Alejandro glared at her. “Medical progress? The fuck it is. How many people have you killed already? Couple dozen?”
“Progress always has casualties.”
“War has casualties. This is murder.”
“You buried the evidence,” Darlene said. “You took the money.”
He hit her as hard as he could and square in the jaw. “You bitch. I should kill you right here.”
She moaned. “You took the money.”
He hit her again.
CHAPTER 45
SUNDAY 1:26 A.M.
AFTER T-TOMMY AND I LEFT MADISON AND STOPPED BY CARMELITA’S apartment, buttoned up, no one home, we drove back to Alejandro’s. The storm had moved on, the rain now only a fine mist. I parked in the lot, and we walked to Alejandro’s apartment. Still no answer to our knock.
It took a good five minutes to get Walter Moxley, the manager, to the door. His eyes drooped from sleep, and he wore the same robe he had had on earlier. I could still hear the TV inside and guessed he had probably fallen asleep in front of it.
“We need to take a look inside Alejandro’s apartment,” I said.
“Why?”
“Make sure Alejandro isn’t ill or injured or anything like that,” T-Tommy said.
“Why would you think that?”
“Can’t say. Ongoing investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
Moxley hesitated as if deciding what to do.
“As a police officer I have a duty to check it out. Just didn’t want to break a window or jimmy the door.” T-Tommy smiled. “Wouldn’t want to do something you’d have to clean up.”
Moxley looked past us at the wet ground and dripping trees. “I can’t go out in this weather. Bad lungs. Wouldn’t want to catch the pneumonia. That’s what killed my daddy.”
“Give us the key,” I said. “We’ll bring it right back.”
“And you won’t mess nothing up?”
“You’ve got our word.”
He gave us a passkey.
Alejandro’s place was small: living room/dining/kitchenette deal, a tiny bath, and a single bedroom. There was little furniture, and the walls were apartment white, no decorations.
Alejandro was neat, the only clutter a dish towel tossed on the countertop, a dirty cup and saucer in the sink, and several pieces of paper on the dining table. While T-Tommy searched closets and drawers, I shuffled through the pages: a letter in Spanish with a Mexican postmark from someone named Juan Fernandez; an electric bill for $61.42; and a coupon for a free burger at Hardee’s. The phone sat at one end of the table, a folded piece of paper tucked beneath one foot. I pulled the scrap free, unfolded it, and read a handwritten list of phone numbers:
HR 383-6722
Eddie 516-9932
KR 307-2200
I guessed Alejandro didn’t need to chat with too many people.
T-Tommy came from the bedroom. “Nothing. His clothes and bathroom shit are here, so it doesn’t look like he split. What do you got?”
“Couple of phone numbers.” I handed him the scrap. “That’s it.”
T-Tommy read it. “What’s HR and KR?”
“Got me.”
I looked underneath the sink, then went through the kitchen cabinets and drawers and the small pantry but found nothing of interest. The fridge contained a few beers and a carton of milk. Looked like Alejandro might find that Hardee’s coupon handy.
As I walked around the kitchen counter and into the living area, something reflective caught my eye. I knelt by the central heat intake that was on the wall near the floor. The four screws that held the grate in place were scratched, paint missing. The exposed metal was what I had seen. “Look at this.”
T-Tommy dropped to one knee next to me. “Here you go.” He handed me his Swiss Army knife, screwdriver blade extended.
The screws took only a couple of minutes. I removed the grate and then bent down so I could see into the duct. Two feet in, I saw a single manila envelope. I had to lie on the floor to reach it. I removed it and stood. Inside, I found five pages and spread them on the table. Two proved to be maps of the greater Huntsville area. On them, locations were marked with either a one or a two, the numbers circled. Wait a minute. One was a three. Each had a date beside it. The marks were mostly west or north of the city. Three were in Maple Hill Cemetery. Two up north just over the Tennessee line.
The other pages, neatly printed, contained a list of dates—military style—with what appeared to be directions by each. The dates were chronological. I read the final entry.
28 March
Maple Hill—McClung entrance
First right
On left, fifth row, 4th grave in
I checked the map pages and found the March 28 date beside a circled two. In Maple Hill Cemetery near the McClung Avenue entrance.
I looked at T-Tommy. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“This ain’t no treasure map.”
I picked up the other map page and located Jeff Road. My finger followed it north of Capshaw to the wooded area where Noel and Crystal were found. I didn’t see a mark dated this week, but there were three others in the same area. A three and a couple of twos, with dates as far back as last August. I pointed that out to T-Tommy.
“Maybe he hasn’t had time to update it yet,” he said.
“That’d be my guess.”
T-Tommy flipped open his cell and dialed the number listed as HR. He waited a second and then hung up, smiling. “HR is High Rollers.” He dialed the KR. Listened for a minute and hung up. “Voice mail. Some dude named Karl Reinhardt, a security outfit I’ve never heard of. Sentinel Security.”
“You think maybe Alejandro works there?” I asked.
“Good bet. I’ll check it out tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 46
SUNDAY 1:31 A.M.
ALEJANDRO CREPT INTO THE HALLWAY. IT WAS DARK AND QUIET, and he wasn’t sure which way to turn. He chose left. His mouth was dry, and he felt cold and weak as if he might collapse at any moment. That wasn’t an option. Not after coming this far.
The wall offered support as he moved down the hall. He came to the room where he and Carmelita had been held. Now empty, it looked as if they had never been there. It would also look that way to the police or anyone else who might come snooping. Neat and clean. The way Rocco liked it. Reinhardt, too, he suspected. He had to get out of here.
But now Alejandro knew exactly where he was and where he had to go. He continued down the hall to the bathroom where he had been taken each day. He went inside and eased the door closed. The window along the back wall was high but large enough to fit through. He didn’t hesitate. He pulled a handful of paper towels from the wall dispenser, held them against the window to smother the sound, and smashed the glass with the butt of the gun. He tapped away the remaining shards with the barrel, then stuffed the weapon into the back pocket of his scrub pants. He grasped the windowsill.
This would hurt. He lifted himself up and slithered through the window headfirst. Halfway through, he realized the floor he was on sank into the ground and, thank God, the ground was only a couple of feet below him. He tucked his chin and rolled through the window and on to his back. A ball of pain ripped through his belly. It felt as if something had torn loose deep inside. He curled on his side, knees drawn up, gasping for breath. Sweat erupted on his face. Consciousness began slipping away. No, no, no. Not now. He fought against the sinking sensation and managed to hold on.
Alejandro lay there for several minutes, letting the pain settle. He pressed his hands against his belly, now a sea of wet stickiness. He was bleeding again. More than before. Cold water from the damp grass soaked through the scrubs. It must have rained, he thought. He sat up.
He had no idea where he was. All he could see was a long building surrounded by a high chain-link fence. Beyond, nothing but darkness.
Time to move.
The thirty-yard run to the fence was a stagg
ering, stumbling affair. He nearly went down several times before reaching the fifteen-foot-high chain-link barrier. Leaning against it, he glanced at the building. Still dark, no sign of activity.
He climbed. His fingers and toes ached as they clutched the metal links, and he felt as though the effort would rip open his gut. Fifteen feet seemed like a hundred, but he finally reached the top. He threw one leg over and balanced himself. The gun slid from his pocket and thudded to the ground, inside the fence. Climbing back down to retrieve it wasn’t going to happen.
Alejandro hesitated, trying to gain some strength. His blood-slicked hands made gripping the metal bar along the top of the fence difficult. The gentle night breeze seemed icy cold. Keep moving.
He rolled over the bar and tried to jam a toe into the fence but lost his grip. He braced for impact. It seemed to take much longer than he expected, but when he hit the ground, air exploded from his lungs. He rolled into a ball and began retching. The pain in his gut was unbearable, and he faded away for a moment. At least it seemed only a moment. As consciousness returned, he tried to swallow, but his dust-dry mouth refused to cooperate. He began to shiver so hard his teeth clacked together.
Alejandro beat back another wave of nausea. The fence helped him regain his feet. Looking around he saw no signs of life anywhere. Only the faint line of a road, maybe a hundred yards away. He pushed away from the fence and moved toward the road, but when he finally reached it, he saw nothing but darkness in every direction. Which way? He chose left once more.
Time and distance lost all meaning. He walked, stumbled, fell, walked again. The rough surface tore at his bare feet. More than once he considered giving up. His cottony mouth, the bitter cold that seemed to well up inside him, and the blood that continually leaked from his wounds sapped his will. He continued forward, thinking only of the next step and then the next.
Alejandro noticed a faint glow in the distance. He squinted. Lights. A large building. To its left another. He recognized where he was. On the periphery of the Cummings Research Park. Had to be. Nowhere else had a collection of such large buildings spaced apart like this. Every major space-related company known. General Dynamics. Raytheon. Northrop. You name it. He didn’t know who occupied the buildings he saw, and he didn’t care. Get there. Find a guard. Set off an alarm. Anything to get help.