Final Price

by J. Gregory Smith

  “Whatever, just give me my money!”

  “First thing Monday, and please think of Patriot if you ever want another Honda.”

  “And please think of my dad if you ever want a new ass!”

  Shamus hung up.

  After Hank completed his delivery, the showroom emptied of customers. Always eager to fill the void, he came out of his cubicle with a fancy shopping bag for show and tell.

  Shamus tuned him out. The rain continued unabated.

  CHAPTER 28

  Slip of the Tongue

  Monday morning

  Shamus never wanted a weekend to come and go as much as this last one. On Saturday it rained, and he started the day with yet another call from Myrtle. She told him she didn’t want to negotiate in the rain. Did she think he’d make her stand in the middle of the parking lot? By the afternoon, he’d sold two cars, including a spot delivery to customers who were downright pleasant. Good to keep busy. “Idle hands are the devil’s plaything,” was one of Gran’s favorites.

  Sunday he barely managed to drag himself out of bed, but the whole day turned around at the bagel shop. He sat with his coffee and was reading the paper when he overheard two guys in the booth behind him start to talk about the killings. “Why can’t the cops catch this guy?” “What else aren’t they telling us?” “Scary. Who’s next?”

  Shamus congratulated himself on not turning around. He heard the fear in their voices and something else. Respect? Could be. Part of him wanted to offer his autograph. He was a star!

  No way he’d answer their question about who was next. Too bad, he couldn’t even tip off Flannigan. This one was going to be his little secret. Heather was too close, so Gran would just have to accept the compromise. Shamus spent the remainder of Sunday working on a disguise.

  Mondays he wasn’t due in to work until the early afternoon, so he had time, and he wanted to make sure Heather was alone when he dropped by to bring her what she needed. He packed everything up and stuffed some change into his pocket. He wore painter’s coveralls over his work clothes and donned a painter’s cap and sunglasses. A pair of cheap sneakers he’d never wear again completed his outfit.

  By nine thirty he’d driven through the gorgeous winding back roads from Greenville to North Wilmington. Heather’s folks had a nice place not too far from the Hubberts’, though in a much fancier development called Garden Ridge. He passed the house and pulled into a nearby gas station. He dropped a pair of quarters into a pay phone.

  After four rings Shamus felt irritation when the call rolled over to Heather’s voice mail. He knew she was home. He hung up without leaving a message and realized the money was gone since the call went through.

  He used his last coins to call again. This time he let it ring three times before he redialed. He repeated this procedure until she picked up.

  “This better be good.” He heard the drowsiness in her voice.

  “Good morning!” he boomed into the receiver and then settled his voice so commuters wouldn’t hear his name. “It’s Shamus from Patriot. I have your deposit, Heather.”

  “My what?”

  Shamus pictured the gears in her head grinding.

  “Your deposit.”

  “Oh, yeah. You can send me a check. It’s okay.”

  “I’m just around the corner. I have cash, but if you want a check instead…”

  “Cash? Okay. Can you be here soon? Or why don’t you slide it under the door?”

  “Five minutes, but I must hand it to you personally and get a receipt. Otherwise they’ll never reimburse me.” He knew she’d jump on the cash.

  “Just hurry up. My parents are at work, and I was sleeping.”

  “You’ll be out cold before you know it. See you soon.” Shamus wiped off the phone and hung up.

  CHAPTER 29

  Full Disclosure

  Monday morning

  Chang detested politics almost as much as administrative interference. Today he and Nelson would confront a perfect storm.

  Media pressure meant intense political heat. The governor’s office and a representative from the attorney general wanted a briefing on the case, and the colonel “suggested” that Chang bring Nelson. Nelson speculated that it was a good sign, but Chang knew better. The colonel was up to something. Maybe he could make some allies in the meeting.

  Nelson said little in the car. Chang broke the silence. “There will be a few more people in the meeting, but nothing you can’t handle.”

  “I hate this crap.” Nelson could get cranky when he was nervous. “Any luck on the dry cleaner bag?”

  “There were some smudges, but nothing we could use. I’m more optimistic about the hair samples. At least that could tie the same person to all the crimes.”

  “We already know that.”

  “We’ll add it to our profile and pull Sandy’s customer records. Maybe we can get a composite sketch that someone will recognize.” Make it sound plausible to the politicians.

  “Long shot.”

  “It’s the most proactive thing I can think of until we nail the link between the victims.”

  “It’s right there, I can feel it.” Nelson ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Is your scalp itchy yet?” Chang knew it would tingle when Nelson was close to a flash of insight.

  “A little.”

  Chang and Nelson stepped into the conference room near Colonel Byrd’s office. Chang felt everyone’s eyes turn toward them. He resisted the urge to ball his fists, but he could smell a fight.

  Byrd was already seated at a large circular table. Two civilian representatives sat next to him. Chang was surprised to see a friendly face. Nancy Brand, from Governor Spiker’s office. Her smile reminded him of Colleen’s, like she knew something he didn’t.

  Nancy was in her early thirties and a knockout. Tall, great figure, sharp. Too bad she pulled her hair back in such a severe style. He’d met Nancy when he joined the force. The governor was eager to showcase her diversity program, and Chang felt like the latest toy. Nancy was sent to parade him around. She seemed embarrassed by the spectacle.

  Chang remembered her kindness and the spark of attraction he’d smothered. He was still with Colleen during what he now realized marked the beginning of the end of their marriage. He hadn’t seen Nancy since the divorce.

  Nick Fargo, from the attorney general’s office, was a young guy with a smug mouth and predatory eyes. Chang disliked him on the spot.

  “Come in, gentlemen.” Byrd made the introductions and jumped right in. “What new information or leads do you have? Keep in mind we’ve read your initial reports.”

  Chang saw Fargo appraise Nelson and lean over to whisper something to Byrd. Both laughed, and Byrd mouthed “could be.” Political weasels.

  He glanced at Nelson. Uh oh. Nelson had “sponge face.” He was absorbing every facial cue from the people around the table. He would know their frame of mind and might take it to heart. No time to talk him down now.

  “Yes, sir,” Chang jumped in. “I’ll start with what we’ve learned and how it fits into what we already know and then let Mr. Rogers fill in the gaps.” Chang felt like a player in Japanese Kabuki, just going through the motions toward a predetermined end.

  He described how they thought the killer wore gloves and switched shoes, given the footprints and lack of fingerprints.

  Fargo shook his head. “That’s not good enough in court, officer.”

  Chang gripped a pencil and pictured a snowy field.

  “We’re still in the early stages of our investigation. Right now we’re trying to develop a picture of the killer and a link between victims.” A white blanket to cover the shrubs and grass…

  “Please go on.” Byrd appeared to be enjoying himself. Had he waxed his head? Or did it always look that shiny?

  Chang presented the information on the dry cleaner bag at Midori’s. “We think the killer may have made an oversight while trying to make a statement.”

  Nancy looked up f
rom her notes. “Statement?” A strand of her hair escaped the bun, and she wound it around her finger. Chang broke off his gaze and cued Nelson.

  Nelson stood and opened his mouth. Nothing. He closed it and swallowed. Chang heard a dry click. Nelson took a sip of water and spilled some on his papers. The silence filled the room. Chang tried to project calm to give Nelson something positive to read. Fargo whispered again, and Byrd looked like he struggled not to laugh. Only Nancy looked receptive.

  If Nelson could just break the ice, say anything, then he’d be able to give his presentation.

  “Just tell them what’s on your mind, partner.”

  Byrd and Fargo snorted.

  Nelson found his voice. “We’re not.”

  Byrd’s laugh settled into a thin smile. “Sorry?”

  “We’re not gay.”

  Byrd sputtered and turned very pink. “What?”

  “Nope. Just sensitive. Get that a lot, though.” Nelson jerked his thumb toward Chang. “He used to be married, and I almost had a girlfriend once.” Was that a proud smile?

  Chang felt the burn sear from his neck up to his ears.

  “Yes, well…I had in mind a less freewheeling discussion, Mr. Rogers.” Byrd regained his composure. Nancy flushed red and stared at her notes.

  “Me too, but it’s distracting to try talking past your phobia.”

  “I don’t…”

  Nelson raised his hands palms out. “I’m not judging. Just glad to correct the record. May I proceed?”

  Byrd looked like he’d just tasted something bitter. “Please do.”

  Nelson recapped the rituals and put forward their theory that the signatures were jokes, not food. “We think the killer was so focused on displaying the warning that he forgot that the name and address of the source are printed on the bag.”

  “The killer may use this dry cleaner,” Chang said. “Unfortunately, thousands do.” He was relieved to have the conversation back to business.

  Byrd scowled. “What if he does? What are we supposed to do, arrest every customer?”

  “Sir, it would be premature to stake out the dry cleaner, but we know more about what he looks like than you might think.” Chang could hear the wind begin to howl on his imaginary snowy field.

  Nelson smacked his lips. Nervous, dry mouth, but he managed to speak. “Detective Chang is correct. We’ve isolated that the killer has reddish-brown hair, Caucasian-type.”

  “So far, so good. But how do we use that with the dry cleaner?” Tap, tap, tap went Byrd’s pen against his capped front teeth.

  “We want to interview employees and ask them if they have a regular customer who fits the description. We could narrow down a list from the customer base.” Out of the corner of his eye, Chang saw Fargo shake his head.

  Fargo leaned toward Chang. “Wait a second. I deal in facts. We don’t know for sure the killer uses this dry cleaner. He could have pulled the bag out of the trash, for all we know. It seems like a big waste of time chasing shadows when we should concentrate on if these crimes really are all connected.”

  This kid had never investigated a homicide. Fargo was just close enough for a hard punch. A blizzard buried Chang’s snowy field, and he broke the pencil with a loud snap.

  Nelson jumped at the sound but spoke up, and Chang used the moment to collect himself. Byrd’s smirk didn’t help.

  “Yes, sir, you raise an excellent point. We try our best to deal with the facts, but you probably know that we also have to operate on instincts.” Nelson’s voice cracked, but he hung tough.

  “I can’t be expected to build a prosecution against ghosts and hunches,” Fargo said. “I need hard evidence, or this killer will just walk out the door.” Fargo glowered at Chang and ignored Nelson.

  “Once we have a suspect, I think we’ll see things resolve quickly, Mr. Fargo. You’ll have everything you need when it’s your turn to get involved directly.” Chang kept his voice level but locked eyes with Fargo. Fargo thanked him and stared back.

  Chang continued. “On another front, we’ve all read the Flannigan columns. I’ll speak to him, but I’m not optimistic. If what he says is true, can we obtain a warrant to monitor his phone or stake him out?” Give the worm a chance to be helpful.

  Byrd used his best phony scold voice. “Chang, you know better than to even ask.”

  What Chang knew was that Byrd would throw Flannigan in the Brandywine River if he could get away with it. “Well, sir, it seems likely the killer will reach out to him again.”

  Fargo shared a look with Byrd. “You want to screw up our case before we can get near the guy?”

  Ah, so. Birds of a political feather. Could he trust anyone in the room?

  “If we can’t catch him, your point is irrelevant. Whose side are you on?” Chang knew it was always whatever side helped Fargo.

  Fargo turned to Byrd. “I don’t have to take this.”

  He sounded like a petulant child.

  Byrd held up a hand to call for silence. “We’re all on the same side. Chang, see what you can find out on the dry cleaner. We might get lucky.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Another thing. Given the blistering criticism from our little friend at the Daily Post, you should leave him alone. Likewise, despite the apparent fact that Mr. Rogers is not preoccupied with a social life, for now he is not to be involved in the case in any way until we decide otherwise. No civilians. Is that clear?” Byrd looked at him hard, and Chang gave him an inscrutable wall.

  “Of course, sir.”

  Nancy Brand raised her hand. “I have a dumb question.”

  Classic hands, like a sculpture. She could be stunning if she allowed herself to be.

  “Yes?” Byrd said. Did Chang see a trace of annoyance?

  If Nancy saw it she gave no indication. “With all the publicity, what are the chances the killer will lay low or get out of town?”

  Nelson spoke up. “Anything is possible, Ms. Brand. But he won’t.”

  Nancy looked at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Loves the attention. Killings just about once a week. If anything, he’s overdue. The whole city is afraid of him, and he’s never felt so alive. Would you stop?”

  Nancy shuddered. “Sorry I asked.”

  Chang felt an irrational urge to protect her. “Don’t be. That’s how we’ll catch him. He’s made mistakes. He’ll make more.”

  “I wish that made me feel better.” Nancy smiled again.

  Chang wondered what she looked like with her hair down.

  CHAPTER 30

  No Signature Required

  Chang slammed the car door. “You haven’t lost your touch.” He knew his sarcasm stung Nelson.

  “What?”

  Chang didn’t answer.

  “Oh, the first part? But it’s true. Besides, you know I hate doing presentations. My mouth is still dry. Think it helped?”

  “With who?” Chang blew out his breath. “Forget it. Byrd’ll let me know.” He had no business wanting Nancy Brand’s phone number anyway. Chang pulled a bottle of water from under the seat and tossed it to Nelson.

  Chang’s cell phone rang. He picked up and listened for a moment.

  “Another?” Nelson almost spilled his water when Chang mashed the accelerator.

  “We’ll see when we get there.” Wiggins was calling from the scene, and Chang trusted the man’s instincts.

  Nelson rocked slowly in his seat. “I’m sure I heard the colonel say I’m to stay away until he makes a decision.”

  “There’s no time to drop you off; you’re stuck in the car. I’ll note you tried to comply.”

  Chang turned into the Garden Ridge development. “We’re close to the Hubberts’ house.”

  Nelson peered out the window. “He’s moving upscale. These homes are nice.”

  “Yes, Wiggins said the father is a big lawyer in Wilmington. Try not to be too blunt. He just lost his daughter and thinks the whole thing was an accident.” If only they could view the s
cene without the family around. Nelson’s unconventional techniques might come across as inappropriate. He didn’t care what Byrd thought, but he didn’t want to add to a family’s pain.

  The large brick house sat on a lush green lawn and immaculately landscaped yard. The doors of the three-car garage were open, and an officer along with an ambulance and its driver stood in the driveway. Inside the garage, Chang made out the back of a gold BMW.

  They got out of the cruiser, and Ed Wiggins greeted them. Chang noticed he gave a respectful nod to Nelson.

  Next to Wiggins Chang saw a short, squat man with a boxer’s nose and thick shoulders. He carried himself as though he walked into a strong wind. Must be the girl’s father. He stepped forward before anyone else could speak.

  “Three cops to investigate an accident?” He stared at the notepad in Nelson’s hand. “He’s not a reporter, is he?” Cleary wore a lost look that reminded Chang of Jennifer Topper’s father.

  Chang blocked the distraction and introduced himself.

  “Mr. Rogers is consulting for the police. He’s not a reporter.” He could see he wouldn’t win the man’s trust easily.

  “Mind if I stay with Heather?” Cleary asked. “She’s been through enough, don’t you think?”

  Chang shot Wiggins a look and saw he took the hint. “It will be quicker if they work alone, sir. I’ll be right there, and as soon as they’re done we can come back.”

  Cleary seemed to wilt, but Chang knew it was temporary. They would have to work fast.

  When Cleary went into the house, Wiggins returned.

  Nelson ignored him and stared into the garage.

  Chang quashed his annoyance. “What have we got?”

  “The victim’s on the garage floor,” Wiggins said. “There’s oil on the floor that she may have slipped on after she started her car. What it’s supposed to look like, anyway. She falls, hits her head, and is overcome by the CO fumes. Get this: we dusted the key in the ignition, and it was clean. No prints at all. The father came home for lunch and found her. Be careful around him.”