He held a box, about ten inches square. I couldn’t recall anything I had ordered. I was a bit leery of strange packages, but I would check it out closely before opening it.
I pushed open the security door and reached for the box. Instead, he slid the package under one arm and handed me a pen and a pad he pulled from a large patch pocket.
“Just sign that,” he said. “I’ll put this on the table.”
He stepped inside and set the box on an end table as I glanced at the receipt pad. It had my name and address and beneath that “one box.” No further explanation. I noticed a brown smudge on the paper. As I looked up I found myself staring into the dark barrel of a 9mm semiautomatic pistol.
“Close the door,” he said. It was not a request. And it was not the same high-pitched voice.
I pushed the door shut with my foot while closely checking his face and the hand holding the gun. Under the living room light, the brown of his face and hand had an oily sheen. I thought of the smudge on the pad. It all came together in a searing flash. The black Opryworld assassin was pure illusion.
“Chad?” I said.
34
“Get your wife in here, McKenzie,” he ordered.
Now I had no doubt. The voice was that of Chad Rowe. The message sent a cold chill down my spine. I damned sure did not want Jill involved in this encounter. I can be a pretty convincing liar, and I put on a world-class performance. “She’s gone shopping,” I said. “She and Wilma Gannon go every Wednesday night.”
“If you’re lying, you’re both dead.”
I prayed she was still sleeping soundly and would not come wandering down the stairs. “What do you want?”
“I want you out of my way, McKenzie. You’ve been meddling in things you should have left alone.”
“I only did what Molly hired me to do.”
“Damn Molly. She’s pressed her luck too far as well.”
His demeanor was calm, cool, deliberate. No twitch in his face, no tremble in his hand. He held the pistol with a relaxed familiarity. The dark eyes Molly had described as looking into her soul appeared hard as agate. As I watched him, the whole scenario rolled out in my mind like pictures in a tapestry. The black assassin on the surveillance tapes appeared no blacker than this painted face. The mirror in his basement “workshop” in Antioch and the tall wooden cabinet with hooks made a perfect setup for working on disguises. I thought of the phone number for the Gold Curtain Dinner Theatre, where he had likely inquired about costumes or theatrical makeup.
Chad’s low, resonant voice jarred me out of my speculations. “How did you track us down to the motel?”
“One of your driver friends told Art Finley you had talked about the Old Country Inn. Art passed the word on to me. Where’s Molly now?”
“She’s where she won’t cause any damn problems until I decide how to take care of her.” His face relaxed into a slight grin. “Funny thing, I was beginning to sort of like the old bitch. I married her because it provided a good cover, but she didn’t turn out too bad. Excellent cook, good lay, used to mind her own business. Then she got too demanding. Kept bugging me to take her to some damned concert or other. I’ve had enough on my mind lately, didn’t need any of that shit. I told her to get lost. Now her nosiness has got her into big trouble with somebody else.”
I debated how to handle him. He was a pro with guns and ex-Special Forces. Any attempt to disarm him would be suicide. I could keep him talking, but what would the delay achieve? It would only increase the likelihood of Jill wandering into his line of fire. Phil Adamson should have called long before now. If he did, would Damon let me talk? How could I convey the message that I was in trouble and needed help?
“Molly mentioned you had jumped onto her about the concert business,” I said, my voice conciliatory. “That was one of the things that disturbed her. It made her afraid. Somebody at the office had told her about Vietnam vets who did destructive things. I told her that was mostly a lot of crap. But she said she’d seen you chase a neighbor’s dog with a machete. That really shook her up.”
“Ah, shit.” He grimaced. “I shoulda known it was something like that. Damn woman has too big an imagination.”
“Why don’t you take her out for a nice dinner?” I said. Then, thinking of the workshop story, I added, “Give her another ring you made. Women like that sort of thing. Make up to her and put all this behind you.”
“It’s too late for that,” he said. He looked around and waved the gun toward the sofa. “Sit. I know you’re an ex-Air Force cop. Don’t get any bright ideas.”
Right now I was fresh out of ideas. I walked over to the sofa and did as he instructed.
“What have you told the cops about me?” He moved to a chair across from me. The gun barrel faced me as an ominous black circle aimed dead center of my forehead.
I gave him a puzzled look. “Why would I tell the cops anything about you?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you’ve been talking to Detective Adamson. I know about your trips to Indianapolis and St. Louis. You’ve been digging up a lot of dirt.”
I recalled the notes I had dropped in Molly’s file about my call to Ray Orman, but we hadn’t been to St. Louis when Chad broke into the office and stole the file. “How do you know we went to St. Louis?”
“I called Ray. The sorry ass apologized for telling you about Chad Rowe.”
“Do you deny being Chad Rowe?”
He wiped the back of his free hand across the uniform, leaving a brown smudge. “I don’t have to deny or confirm anything for you, McKenzie. What have you told the cops?”
I knew I had to tell him something, but I didn’t want to say anything that would link him to the Opryworld murder.
“At first I asked Phil if he could help me out with the investigation Molly hired us for. He couldn’t because he was too tied up with the Bernstein shooting. When he asked later how the investigation was going, I told him we didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“You didn’t tell him about Chad Rowe?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Anybody ask you about the house fire?”
I folded my arms and noticed my palms getting sweaty. I had a hunch time was running out. “Nobody but your landlord.”
“You hear any more from this Tony Yarnell?”
Tony’s name had been in the file also. “I heard his body was found this morning down near Smyrna.”
That brought another grin. “The bastard was after Molly. I’d already been hired to take care of her.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but before I could make another comment, the outside floods flashed on, signaling another visitor. Facing the window, I caught it immediately.
Chad saw the reflection on the wall and jumped up, still pointing the pistol at me.
“Somebody must have driven up,” he said. “Probably your wife. Go see who it is.” He had replaced the melodious tone with one of pure venom. “Don’t open the damn door till I tell you, and don’t try any tricks or it’ll be your last.”
I walked to the door, careful to keep my hands away from my body. With my eye at the peephole, I saw Phil Adamson getting out of his white Malibu.
35
I turned to Chad. “It’s Adamson. He was supposed to call me.”
“I cut the phone line.”
That figured. And I had turned off the cell phone as usual when we got home.
“He’ll know somebody’s here,” I said.
“When he knocks, open the door and invite him in. Close the door behind him and don’t move.”
The normally cheerful door chimes seemed to sound a melancholy note. He rang three times as I hesitated, but I saw no alternative to obeying Chad’s orders. I opened the door and looked out at Phil, my face a blank. Chad was out of his line of sight. I knew if the detective came in with his weapon drawn, Chad would open fire.
“Come on in, Phil,” I said, pushing the security door open.
As soon as he stepp
ed inside, he spotted the black deliveryman with the pistol and froze.
Chad pointed beyond the sofa. “Both of you move very slowly and lean your palms against the wall. You know the drill.”
He patted Phil down and relieved him of his .40 caliber Glock 22. Then he did the same to me, though I had already left my Beretta on my desk in the den. When Chad told us to turn around, Phil frowned at me.
“What the hell’s going on, Greg?”
“Meet Chad Rowe, alias Damon Saint,” I said.
Chad held the gun with both hands. Tension cranked up. “McKenzie claimed he hadn’t told you anything about me. The bastard’s lying, of course.”
Chad had pocketed Phil’s semiautomatic, and he stood back even with the foyer, too far away for us to have any chance of jumping him.
Phil turned his head toward me. “I tried to return your call, but your phone is out of order and I only got voice mail on the cell.”
“Thanks to Mr. Rowe.”
“What were you going to tell him, McKenzie?” Rowe asked.
I decided to see if I might rattle him. Maybe it would give us a chance to do something. I decided if either Phil or I survived, the one left should know the truth.
“Detective Adamson and I and an investigator for Rutherford County checked out the motel shortly after you left this afternoon,” I said. “They’re looking at you as a suspect in the stabbing of Tony Yarnell.”
“So what.” Chad sneered. “What if I told you it was self-defense?”
“People defending themselves don’t normally throw the assailant off a bridge,” Phil said.
“After they left,” I continued, “I noticed a trail back into the woods behind where your truck had been parked. I followed it all the way back to a clearing. I found a black extended cab Ford Ranger parked there. When I opened the storage box in the back, I found an assortment of weapons, including a Dragunov rifle with a sniper scope.”
Phil stared at Chad. “You shot the Mexican kid on
Hillandale Street?” Chad glared at me. “Very smart, McKenzie.”
“I also had Art Finley look up the records of the car you drove to Chattanooga the day Dr. Bernstein was shot. He said it was a new green Dodge Intrepid, the car Pedro Rodriguez saw in the hotel parking lot. What did you do with the .22 rifle you used on the Chairman?”
“I’ve heard enough of this shit, gentlemen. It’s time to say good night and get the hell out of here. I have six rounds available, and as you know from my Opryworld performance, I only require one shot each.”
While we talked, I had planned my final move. I knew Phil had been doing the same. I stood beside the sofa, where one of Jill’s fancy cushions was in easy reach. I would scoop it up with a sweep of my arm and throw it toward Chad’s gun hand. He would likely get off one shot, but my hope was the cushion would delay him long enough for Phil to nail him. If I were lucky, I would take a non-fatal hit. I tried not to think of the alternative.
As I saw Chad aim the gun toward Phil, I started swinging my arm. He caught the movement immediately, yelled, “Die, dammit!” and shifted the weapon in my direction. As I scooped up the cushion, the shot rang out. I didn’t feel it, but I knew I was a dead man.
36
I needed only an instant to realize the shot sounded more like the pop of a .38 than the crack of a 9mm. I had blinked my eyes shut, and as I opened them I saw Chad crumple to the floor. More nimble than me, Phil was on top of him in an instant, reaching for the gun. I heard another sound like a body falling and moved past the two men to find Jill slumped against the stair railing about halfway down from the landing. She still clutched her small .38 revolver.
My heart was pumping in overdrive as I knelt beside her on the stairway. “Babe, are you all right?”
She had a glazed look in her eyes as I took the gun from her hand. “Is he…?” Her voice trailed off as she tried to speak.
I knew what she was asking. I turned to look back in the living room and saw Phil talking into his cell phone. “I don’t know,” I said.
Phil walked over to the bottom of the stairs. “Are you okay, Mrs. McKenzie?” At the distraught look on her face, he came up to kneel beside me. “If that round had hit anywhere else, you’d be a widow now. It apparently struck his spinal cord at the base of the skull, paralyzing him instantly so he couldn’t squeeze the trigger.”
He looked around at me. “I need to thank you both for saving my hide. That was a brave thing you did, tossing the pillow to distract him.”
“I don’t know if it was brave or foolish,” I said. “But I couldn’t just stand there and let him have his way.”
I handed Phil the .38, then sat beside Jill and held her in my arms. Her body shook with sobs. She had saved my life, but I knew she’d pay a price for it. A woman who detested violence and despised guns for many years, she would have a tough time coming to grips with what she had done, even though she knew she had no choice. I hated the necessity of taking a life as well, but I was eternally grateful she’d had the guts to pull that trigger.
“Paramedics are on the way,” Phil said, “but I think it’s a job for the ME. Stormy’s also en route.”
Captain Stormy Weathers was head of the Homicide Division. He had taken offense at the newspaper story that caused all my problems with the department. However, he later passed on word through Phil that he knew things were taken out of context, and he realized I had my reasons for the views I held regarding Detective Tremaine.
I looked at Phil. “Let me borrow your phone a moment.” I used it to call Wilma Gannon and asked her to come over to be with Jill. I knew I would be busy for the next hour or so dealing with homicide officers.
When the ambulance arrived, I tried to get Jill up to the bedroom, but she insisted on remaining glued to her spot on the stairs. She had quit sobbing and was calmed down enough to get her thought processes going again.
“The doorbell chiming woke me up,” she said in a low voice. “I wondered who it could be. When I got to the top of the stairs, I heard an angry voice. Then I saw that horrid man with the gun. I hurried back to the bedroom for my pistol, then came down the stairs far enough to get a good look at him. When he pointed his gun and said something about one shot each, I knew what I had to do. I was already aiming. When he yelled, ‘Die,’ I fired.”
“Thank God you did it,” I said.
She stared down at her hands for a moment, then back up at me. “Where do you suppose Molly is? Do you think she’s all right?”
“He has her stashed away somewhere,” I said. “We’ll find her.”
I headed into the living room as a Metro Fire Department paramedic squatted beside Chad. I told Phil about Jill’s concerns, that we needed to find Molly.
After the paramedic checked Chad’s vital signs, he shook his head.
“He’s beyond us.”
I stared at the carpet. The wound had resulted in massive bleeding. A large red pool had soaked into the carpet. I’d have to get somebody out to replace it as soon as possible. I would cover the red stain with a small throw after they removed the body so Jill wouldn’t have to look at it.
Captain Weathers came in just after the ambulance crew. He was a big man with short black hair and the ready frown of a cop who had seen too much. His dark green tie was pulled askew beneath a brown checked jacket. He looked at Phil, then glanced my way.
“So you think this is the guy who shot Bernstein?”
“He admitted it,” I said.
“In so many words,” Phil added. “When he was about to shoot Greg and me, he said after his Opryworld performance we should know he only needed one shot for each of us.”
The captain leaned over to look at the body. “Damn. He painted himself black.” He straightened up and turned to me. “Your wife took him out?”
I nodded as Phil pulled the .38 out of his pocket and showed it to Weathers. “All three of us have handled it, but that shouldn’t be a problem. The facts are clear. I have Rowe’s nine in an eviden
ce bag.”
“Jill is still sitting up on the stairs where she was when she fired the shot,” I said, pointing toward her.
Weathers looked up at her. “Hello, Mrs. McKenzie. We’ll need to talk to you, but that can wait.”
By then two uniforms had come in, and when I turned toward the door, there stood Mark Tremaine, looking quite solemn and useless, along with another homicide detective. They moved over to let a couple of FBI agents and a Secret Service man slide past them. An associate from the medical examiner’s office walked in afterward.
“Damn, guys, this ain’t Grand Central Station,” Captain Weathers growled. “You got another room we can use until the ME is finished, McKenzie?”
I led them to the dining room that opened off the kitchen, where we had a table that seated ten. After several of the players got off into the corners, their backs turned to use their cell phones, the whole entourage joined me around the table. Phil and I took turns outlining what had happened tonight and the events that led up to it. When I was questioned about the phone number that took us to St. Louis, I said truthfully that I had found it at the house Chad and Molly had vacated. I didn’t bother to mention the place had been burned down first.
Captain Weathers and his detectives kept the discussion offbeat with dark comments like “old Saint sure resembled Shad Roe with his marbles spilled on the floor.” It was a macabre brand of humor homicide guys used in an attempt to keep their gruesome job from overpowering them.
We were interrupted a couple of times by the captain’s cell phone. One call advised that the delivery truck parked out front had been stolen during the afternoon. Later he was told that Chad’s Dodge Ram had been found in a parking lot not far from where he had stolen the truck.
By the time we finished, the Metro crew seemed pleased the case was over and ready for the file books. The FBI and Secret Service guys showed no such pleasure. Their job was just starting. They faced the task of tracking down who had sent Chad Rowe to kill Dr. Bernstein.
Deadly Illusions Page 17