“Yo! Bob!” Harry finally got my attention. “Let me repeat what I just said and only Lori heard. I don’t think Turner really wanted to pull that trigger.”
“What? You were there! You saw the bastard—”
“Yes, I did and he was shaking like a leaf. At first he aimed low, like he meant to avoid a fatal shot. But she moved and he shook. The round went high. That instant I looked at his eyes. They were wide, horrified. He’d never shot anybody before and he didn’t like what he’d done, maybe what he’d been paid or forced to do.”
“You’re trying to make me feel sorry for him?” I almost yelled.
“No! He had the choice and he made it. He did it. Period. I’m just saying there’s more to this whole thing and that’s what you need to go after . . . not just Turner.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Maybe we should just call the police with all this.”
“No!” Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Who would it be turned over to? Morten! Who would that dumb sonofabitch talk to first? The brass at Bison. Didn’t that Maggie say the whole bunch of ‘em were tight? That means, if Harper is involved in any way . . . it would blow everything. He’d cover his tracks and be outta here before anyone could take another breath. As popular as you are with Ol’ Henry, he’d probably turn around and accuse you!”
Lori nodded her agreement.
“What about Roy?”
“I don’t trust him.”
“He helped us with Trout.”
“You mean took him out for us. Real considerate of him.”
My fingers drummed on the table in exasperation. Harry and Lori waited quietly while my brain tried to put things in order.
“Okay, here’s the deal. Lori goes to work Monday, looking for as much information as possible on Turner and Harper. Maybe, through her, we can get one of them talking and set up a tape or video.”
Harry tilted his chair back on two legs, grinning at me. “Sounds good but . . . I’d rather go in blasting everyone with guns.”
I grinned back. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Men!” Lori rolled her eyes.
* * *
I parked right in front of Bison’s “No Parking” sign. Lori smiled at me. Really smiled. “Thanks for the lift. If you had bought me a car, instead of that Mustang for Harry, you could have slept another half hour.”
I shrugged. “Buy a car or sleep? Which can I afford?”
Her smile turned into a grin and those calf-eyes of hers snapped with playful delight. She looked good enough to . . . ogle, wearing a new Leanne Dorf outfit from Marci’s. The matching vest and fitted slacks looked perfect with the soft leather flats covering her painted toe nails. For a moment I worried that she might look too good for the mail room, but dismissed that. She looked damn good for her first day and that was her intention.
As she slid out of the car, I called, “Have a good one!”
She saluted me with a thumbs up then slipped into a crowd of office girls going through the front doors. A sudden emptiness hollowed my chest. I fought it by whipping out into traffic. A horn blared. I waved the finger out the window and started weaving in and out of traffic, in a hurry to get someplace, but not knowing where.
My attention wandered, drifting back to Bison, envisioning where Lori would be, what she would be seeing, what she would be doing. For a second I wondered if she saw this Bison opportunity like Harry did the Stop-and-Go, a real job in the middle of this mess, something that would go on when my mission was accomplished.
A masked faced flashed across my memory, Turner’s masked face. He’s behind you at Bison. I slammed on my brakes, ignoring the sound of screeching tires and yelling. Two seconds later, traffic in the opposite direction opened up. I swung the little car around and headed back, glad no cop car had seen all the laws I just broke. I didn’t have time for that right now. My mind could only handle one thing: Find out why Turner killed Eileen.
Taking Bison’s private drive, I went around the building to the management parking lot. It didn’t take long to locate the space reserved for “B. Turner, Building Security.” It was empty, so I filled it with my Ferrari.
Thirty minutes of the Neil Diamond tape played before I heard the car horn. In the mirror, a large white Ford blocked my exit. The driver’s door opened. Giorgio Italian shoes stepped to the pavement, probably the same ones he had worn at the robbery.
Turner stopped at my door and tapped on the window. I pushed the switch allowing the glass to slide noiselessly into the door panel. Pasting a Henry-type smile on, I looked up into his stone-chiseled face and politely asked “May I help you?”
He stared at me in disbelief. “What do you mean ‘May I help you?’ Can’t you read the goddamn sign in front of you?”
I turned my head a moment as if noticing the sign for the first time, while my brain went into the Harry-prepared mode. “. . . And you are B. Turner?”
“Yeah. Who the hell are you, Mr. Hotshot-in-a-fuckin’-Ferrari?”
“Bob Norris.”
He started to say something, blinked, then took a step backwards. His head swiveled as he took it the absence of people in the lot, then his gaze swept the office building windows for any observers. His right hand slid under the front flap of his Stafford suit jacket and the next instant I stared down the barrel of a chrome revolver. Strangely, I felt very calm, even in control.
“Get your ass out of that car right now!” His voice quivered. A good sign.
“Are you going to shoot me if I don’t?”
“Are you going to sit there and find out?”
“I’m sure you don’t want a dead man sitting in your parking space.”
He lowered the gun. Harry was right. I saw it in Turner’s eyes. He had no taste for pulling a trigger. Even if ordered. I had to know who was issuing those orders.
The revolver slowly disappeared back into its shoulder holster. The next moment the Mason ring on his right fist came at me. The fist felt like a wrecking ball exploding into my face and everything went black.
* * *
The blackness lightened into a throbbing white light behind my eyelids. A high-pitched ringing bounced around inside my head. I tried to bring a hand up to rub my face, but couldn’t. That’s when I tried to open my eyes. Nausea rose. I swallowed several times, working to get a grip on that white light. Finally, I managed to crack one eyelid. The left one throbbed and wouldn’t budge.
Swollen shut. Fist. Mason Ring. Turner.
My limited sight grew hazy as I tried to look around. Damn! My head felt hollow and heavy, as if twice its size. Again I tried to touch it, but realized my hands had been bound behind me. Someone, Turner probably, had set me on a cement floor against a brick wall in a large, shadowy room. I was alone.
Fighting the pain and sick feeling, I looked up. High above me, a small window admitted the only light. Dust particles floated in the shaft of bright sunlight. The musty smell of the place told me it had not been used lately. Warehouse. A light area on a far wall looked like some sort of door. Thirty yards of squirming would get me to it, but I knew that would be a worthless effort. Turner would have secured it from the other side, unless he was fool. He hit me rather than shoot me. He was no fool.
I moved my fingers, discovering my wrists had been taped together. Wide tape, probably goddamn duct tape. I had always hated the stuff and now wished I could strangle its inventor. I strained that one good eye trying to see into the shadows, looking for something, anything sharp that might have been thrown aside or left behind. A piece of glass kicked into a corner would be nice. The dim light and the pain limited my field of vision.
When I tried to move my legs, I found the bastard had taped my ankles together, too. Rolling onto my side made my head pound worse and pushed my nose into the dusty floor. I inhaled the sour smell of mouse droppings. The sneeze just about exploded my head. I fought the curtain of blackness that tried again to suffocate me. Steel rubbing on steel echoed across the warehouse. I forced myself to stay awake.
The door opened and Turner entered. He stood a moment, his head turned in my direction. I guessed his eyes were adjusting to the dimness.
“Fell over, did you? Is that more comfortable, Norris?”
When I didn’t answer, he walked closer, until his Giorgio shoes once again filled my vision.
“Hey, I’m talking to you!” The shoe landed solidly in my ribs. I curled, fighting blackness and pain. Air! Take a breath. When I gasped, I heard his laugh.
“Mean . . . son . . . of . . . a . . . bitch,” I whispered.
Squatting on his heels, he peered hard at me. His grin showed off perfect teeth. Probably capped. Right next to breathing was the need to break those caps.
“This is going to be your luxury suite . . . until the Skipper tells me what to do with you. Is the little man hungry?”
“Oh, yeah,” I muttered. “Bring me . . . a burger and fries.”
“There ya go. The proof that you’ve really come down in the world. Lost your appetite for expensive beef and French shit?”
I hawked and spat at him. His hand flashed out, but he only twisted my shirt front. Reluctantly he slammed me back to the floor. I swallowed the grunt of pain.
“You mind your fancy manners, or I won’t feed you anything but the rat shit in this place.”
“What would . . . this ‘Skipper’ say?”
“I wouldn’t tell him, would I?”
“Who is he?”
Turner chuckled without humor. “You don’t need to know and you’re never gonna know.”
“Is he why you . . . didn’t kill me?”
“He calls the shots. Get it? Shots?” He tapped a vicious finger against my forehead. “Right there. He gives the word and the bullet will splatter your goddamn brains all over this brick wall.”
“A quick end. Better than . . . I had planned for you.”
He flicked his finger against my forehead, grinning when I flinched. “How did you find out I killed your wife?”
“An admission of guilt. Not too smart.”
“Oh, like you’re gonna tell somebody. Answer the goddamn question!”
“I followed . . . the smell of your shit!”
“I’d kick you again, but I want you to tell me who else knows.”
Though it hurt like hell, I slowly shook my head, then asked “Why did Harper want my wife dead?”
“Who? Harper, the big-shot Vice President? He got canned yesterday for ripping off five hundred grand from the company. That fancy Ferrari of yours must not have a radio. It’s all over the news that the cops arrested him for knocking off his wife.”
Why did he look so smug telling me all this? I closed my one eye and tried to think. Harry’s theory and my own conclusions had just been flushed down the toilet.
Blocking everything but the need to sit up, I collected myself and jerked upright. When I opened my eye, I saw a glint of admiration in Turner’s eyes.
“Since I’m dead . . . anyway,” I panted, “tell me who wanted Eileen dead.”
“Naw, I don’t think so. I don’t like you. I wouldn’t tell you anything . . . even as you took that last breath.” Squatting in front of me, he rocked as he laughed hard at his own sick joke.
In the outline of the light from the open door, I saw the flash of a human form running, jumping. The collision against the unsuspecting Turner sent him rolling. A pink-trousered leg whipped across my vision. Turner’s head snapped back and he somersaulted, thudding against the wall. He lay motionless.
I moved my eye this way and that, dazed and not quite believing Lori knelt before me, tugging at the tape on my wrists.
“How . . . ” I started to ask.
She pulled out her blouse, bit at an edge until a piece ripped free. Folding that into a pad, she carefully dabbed at the dirt and crusted blood at my left eye. “Goddamn, you look like hell! If he really hurt this eye, I’ll kill the bastard myself.”
“You got a . . . good start.”
She gave me a quick smile and quicker shrug. “I told you the streets taught me a thing or two. Now shut up . . .” Her fingers tore at the tape on my ankles. “We gotta get you to a hospital.”
“Just get me to my feet. I’ll be all right.”
“You sit right there. I knocked a phone out of Turner’s pocket. I’ll use that.”
I watched her search the floor. “How did you know . . . where to find me?”
“Went outside for a smoke. Heard your goddamn car alarm. Nothing sounds like that alarm, Norris. I caught a glimpse of you slumped over in this asshole’s car as he drove by. Since I still had your car keys from the other day, I just jumped in and followed him. He lost me, though, and I had to drive around the warehouse district. Where is that friggin’ phone?”
She jubilantly scooped it up, punched in numbers, then gave the address.
“I must have bumped the alarm trigger when he pulled me out. How did you find this place?”
“Would you believe I found Turner’s car parked next to that couch we dumped Alabama on? Down the way was this door busted open.”
She again knelt before me to blot the blood that trickled from my eye and cheek. Grimacing away from her, I froze, then whispered, “Turner’s right behind you. With a gun.”
She spun up, legs flashing. The gun flew through the air and clattered onto the cement floor. Totally surprised, Turner backed two big steps, then ran through the open door.
“Good. Real good. You, ah, didn’t learn that . . . on the streets.”
Like she searched for the phone, she now searched for the weapon.
“Classes at the Y. Right after I started whoring.”
I heard the annoying siren of an approaching ambulance. Then I made the mistake of trying to use one hand on the brick wall to pull myself to my feet.
Lori saying “Shit!” was the last thing I heard as the blackness returned.
* * *
I squirmed under the crisp, clean sheets and knew immediately I was not waking up in my own bed. Opening my right eye to blurred images, I confirmed it. I was in a hospital bed. Two figures took shape nearby. I listened to their whispers. Harry and Lori. Since my tongue really did feel stuck to the roof of my mouth, I got their attention by clearing my throat.
Lori immediately hovered over me, her cool hand stroking the unhurt side of my face. “Quiet. The nurse will be here in a minute. Had us worried. You’ve been out for two days!”
I wanted to tell her that word was the last thing I heard before passing out, but couldn’t work up the energy to be entertaining. Two days! Then I remembered her saying “If he really hurt this eye, I’ll kill the bastard myself!” Instead of laughing over that, I sighed, drifting, feeling lighter as if a wind carried me up like a kite. Sunlight and colors. Yeah, I need to see to paint. That’s what I am, an artist. Aren’t I?
I settled gently down, down. Not falling, but like a feather, until the wind lifted away and I sat in a rowboat. At the stern, Eileen sat in front of me, silent, patiently waiting. She smiled. I took up the oars and began to row, not randomly, around and around, but in one direction. I set the oars deeper, pulled harder. My arm muscles ached as I pulled against the current. The gentle breeze roared into a high wind. Faster and faster the oars hit the water. The distant shore rose and swirled into the darkening clouds overhead until a giant twister formed. I looked to see if Eileen was worried that I might not get us away from that storm. She had disappeared. I was alone in the boat. Above me, the sky lightened until all was blue and clear.
Both my eyes opened on the bright sunlight slanting past the colorful hospital curtains.
“Hello, Mr. Norris. Can you hear me?”
I blinked, my left eyelid moving a little slower than the right. The blurred lines and forms in the room grew more distinct, more vivid. A young nurse stood beside me, watchful, friendly. I swallowed then tried to wet my dry lips with my drier tongue. She gave me an ice chip. I sucked on the piece of heaven.
“Where-where’s Harry and Lori?” I finally r
asped out, not sounding like myself.
“They went home hours ago. Here’s a whole cup of ice. I’ll hold it. You just sip.”
“What happened?”
A frown brushed over her face, then she gave me an encouraging smile. “The doctor will be here shortly. You suffered a concussion and a small hemorrhage into your left eye. But everything is clearing up nicely.”
I closed my right eye. The vision from the left was a bit blurry, but there. She smiled at my testing it.
“It’ll be normal in a few days.”
My hand drifted up to the bandages on my face and head.
“Those will come off shortly. You have some stitches under there. Harry said to tell you the few scars would make you look like him. But he was laughing when he said it. You have nice friends.”
I smiled back. “Yeah, I know. Tough, too.” Obviously she had drawn her own conclusions about Harry. I decided not to explain the many sides of Lori.
The afternoon passed slowly. I couldn’t sleep, probably because I was slept-out. Dr. Burroughs came by. She went into more details than the nurse had, though I only understood half of her medical gibberish. When she listened to my chest and made me take deep breaths, I found out I had two broken ribs. Finally, she happily reported I could be discharged the next morning, after the last of the IV antibiotics and the dressings came off. So I had one more night in the medical prison.
Lori walked in while I feasted on gelatin. Apparently embarrassed by the flowers she brought, she shoved them beside another small arrangement already sitting on my bedside table.
“Flowers?”
“Harry got those down in the gift shop yesterday. He said a pansy-assed art teacher would probably want something more than TV soap operas to look at. I, ah, didn’t like what they had. I went to a real florist. So, you look a whole helluva lot better. How’re you feeling?”
“Sore. Headache, ribs ache. What happened to Turner? Did the cops arrest him?”
To Find a Killer Page 15