by Ronnie Allen
Tonight another sacrifice was about to happen. It was the dock where he’d be done with Carlson and his life could go on without interruption.
Morgan heard a small five-seater boat with an awning over the top approach. Aside from the American flag decal, no decoration indicated it was anything special. It was nothing that he would even consider going in.
As he walked down the dock to their meeting point, he looked down toward the ground so he wouldn’t trip. The heel of his shoe entangled in a long fibrous white rope used as an anchor for the smaller boats. He nearly slipped on the icy, pitted from years of wear, gray concrete ground. Barrels and large containers for the caught fish and ice crowded the area and narrowed the path. Light generators, attached to the side railings with huge poles, provided just a glimmer to foster the anchoring of incoming boats. It was the last place Morgan wanted to be, slipping on the ice in the cold winter Brooklyn air, and smelling fish. He’d definitely need to take his coat to the dry cleaners tomorrow. He grabbed onto the white pigeon-excrement-filled railing to keep his balance.
He waited on the dock farther down toward the gate. There was room enough for one more motor boat to enter and one was approaching slowly. The rough waters forced it to bob up and down, and it was evident that the young man steering had lost control. He strayed from his path and was headed for a crash into the dock. He spun the wheel in opposite directions to guide it.
Morgan looked around, impatiently. The strong winds made him very uncomfortable. “Paul?”
***
Carlson snuck out nervously from behind a barrier of gray cylinder crates which were piled high. He had taken many bribes over the years, but this one was of the magnitude that could not only cost him his career, which would be a minor consequence, but could put him away for over a decade and chuck his pension. He’d never finish the sentence, anyway. The doctor had given him less than six months to live. Carlson had thought long and hard about this moment for the last six years. When would it end? Would tonight be the night? When would be the last time he had to protect Morgan? What could he do for his own self-preservation? What could he do to protect Maria, the woman he’d loved for the past twelve years? Yes. He found the answer tonight.
“Here’s the money and plane tickets.” Morgan handed Carlson the briefcase, not being able to get rid of it fast enough.
“Not so fast.”
“What’s the matter with you, cous? You’re jumping out of your skin. Don’t trust me after all these years?”
John, Tony, Sal, and the Brooklyn South ESU team slipped in behind an angler’s truck at the north side of the docks on Emmons Avenue. It provided the perfect barrier. They waited and tried to make out what the men said, but it was impossible with the wind. Morgan’s back faced them. Carlson was jittery, and a jittery cop was never a good omen.
“It’s not that, Morgan. But I can’t let you leave. There’s bound to be an investigation. I can’t put Maria through it.” He pulled a Glock .40-caliber on Morgan.
“Don’t do it, Paul!” Sal appeared from hiding with his weapon drawn.
***
Barbara jogged down the corridor without waiting for Clancy. She exited into the garage and jumped into the jeep, with Clancy yelling after her.
“Your bag!” He waved it.
“Bring it with you. I don’t want to waste time. I’ll meet you at the airport!” Clancy tossed it into the passenger seat of his van as Barbara sped up the exit ramp.
Clancy looked around and into a car close by and saw a flashy stereo unit. He wanted it. He sauntered over to the car, peered into the window to get a closer look, nodded in approval, and removed a tool kit from his pocket. After disengaging the alarm wires from underneath the car, he slipped into the passenger side seat.
***
Barbara stopped at a red light a block away, slipped on gloves, took the transmitter switch out of her canvas bag, and then depressed the red flashing button. Her glee at the situation overcame her and she burst into laughter as she tossed the transmitter out the window, under the wheels of a passing delivery truck. The evidence was crushed to smithereens.
***
Inside the computer room, each computer burst into flames one right after another. Ten quick explosions, ten seconds.
Nothing more.
The fire was contained because of the heavy steel doors but the room, its ceiling, and floors were scorched, and its contents, gone.
The flames subsided quickly and smoldering metal, paper ash, and smoke were all that remained.
In the garage, Clancy’s van exploded. He came away from the driver’s side of the car with the radio in hand. “That bitch! I should have killed her in the beginning, before I let her con me into her scam. And now I will!”
***
John intervened. “Paul, take it easy.”
Carlson pointed his weapon at John. “Don’t fucking come near me, John. I’ll fucking use it. I fucking swear, I’ll use it. I’ve been itching to get rid of you for years, you fucking pompous son-of-a-bitch. The only one who’ll miss you is my wife.”
John extended his arms out. “Paul, you know I’m not armed.”
“That means nothing to me. They all are. Go ahead, guys. End it. It’s me or your sex addict shrink.”
Sal hitched his breath. “We don’t want to have to, Loo. Talk to us, Loo. Tell us what Morgan did to you. Come on, Loo, put your weapon down.”
Carlson heard the out of control boat coming into the dock. He’d gone through how he’d do it a hundred times in his head. He had numbed himself. Valium had numbed him before. But he didn’t take it tonight. He needed to remain alert to shoot. He stood here, practicing before every meet over the last six years with Morgan. What if this night was the night?
He’d felt the water with his bare feet, gotten used to the frigid temperature, studied its depth. He’d taken pictures and memorized them. There were six metal steps, comprised of seven small metal horizontal planks, with a one-inch space in between. It was six steps down to a tiny platform that wouldn’t hold a baby’s foot and then a ten-foot drop into the frigid water.
He’d studied the waves and their powerful undercurrent in the bay. He’d studied it all, while leaning over the railings on the avenue side. He knew the speed of the boats pulling in and which had the sharp propellers on their undersides that would tear him to shreds like the pulsating blades of a mix master. That was why he had chosen this pier. The propellers could tear him to shreds. Quickly.
He knew it was time. He backed up to the gate. It was open. No lock. No chain on the gate. It was always that way. He’d studied the pictures of the open gates. He’d studied how to position himself. He’d studied the exact time the boat, his weapon of choice, pulled in. He backed down three steps. He felt the splashing water drench his shoes and socks. His temperature rose from anxiety. “Sorry, Sal. If you don’t have the guts to do it, I’ll do it myself.”
He jumped backward down the steps, just hitting the first one, into the path of the oncoming boat, which could not swerve in time to avoid hitting him. The boat’s propellers sucked him in with more power than a fierce vacuum cleaner. The men rushed to the gate but all they saw was Carlson’s blood spreading to the top of the water and out into the bay.
No body.
CHAPTER 41
In the Brooklyn precinct interrogation room with John and Sal, Morgan fidgeted as his right leg vibrated involuntarily at the conference table. At one point, he pushed down hard on his thigh to stop the movements. He perspired and loosened his shirt collar as he zoned out for a moment, staring blankly at the wall. John noticed his daydream and tapped on the metal table, startling him. Morgan shuddered, pulled a matching hankie out of his jacket pocket, and dabbed his forehead and hairline.
John snickered, seeing his reaction, but was not at all sympathetic. “Calm down, Mr. Reynolds. You’re not going to be charged with murder at least. Did anyone hear you make the plans with Carlson?”
Steve shot Morgan an it’s
-the-time-to-come-clean look.
“Yes, Dr. Trenton, a date, possibly.”
“Barbara Montgomery?”
Morgan whitened.
John continued. “All right. Listen up. Carlson locked her up. He didn’t believe there was anyone after her until the same person went after you.”
“But I still don’t understand why Barbara would set me up. We were with her today. I financed a new clinic for her.”
“We know. She could have wanted to set up Carlson for revenge. For incarcerating her. Or to divert us.”
“Incarcerating--”
Tony stormed in. “Fire Marshall just called. Reynolds publishing was hit.”
Morgan jumped out of his seat frantically. “What?”
“In the computer room, totally blown.”
Morgan attempted to escape the room. Tony grabbed him by his arm. “You’re not going anywhere, pal.”
“I’ve got to get over there.”
“What’s the point of that?” Steve asked. “We have a full back up system on site and another one off. It’s nuisance damage at the most.”
Tony pointed to the chair, frowning. “Sit down, Reynolds. There’s nothing you can do now. They know you’re here. There’s time to go to the scene. There was a van in the garage also blown to bits. Registered to a guy, yeah, here it is. Clancy Davis.”
“Clancy Davis? We just hired him this morning. He’s the father of one of Barbara’s patients. She pleaded with me to give him a job. Dr. Trenton, what’s going on?”
“You certainly did. And he’s not. She had him snitch because she knew you’d be tied up with the meet. It gave her time to--what would she want in the computer room?”
“Money. She knows how I transfer money. My company gave her $400,000. She specifically asked for it that way.”
John paced to get a handle on his thoughts. “Okay, hear me out. I’m just putting the dots together here. And, Mr. Reynolds and Mr. Katz, you don’t even know the third of it. I’m not sure I should even go on with you two here, but again, I may need the validation.”
“John, go ahead,” Sal urged him. “Even your Max can join the party. Loo is dead. We need all the help we can get.”
“All right, Sal. You two just listen until I ask you a question.”
Morgan and Steve nodded.
“That means she’s been planning this from the day she met you or before. Your father had been giving to her clinic for two years?” Morgan nodded. “I believe Clancy did start to go after her like he did you,” John continued. “But she decided she could use him. She gets him to torment her, not planning on Carlson committing her five days ago.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “That’s must have been when I tried to reach her. She told me she was at a conference in Connecticut.”
“She was in Sheepshead Psychiatric. She gets him to hit her apartment.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I said to be quiet, Mr. Reynolds. It takes the onus off her. Clancy is definitely her partner and we discussed this before. Mr. Reynolds, you’re the real target.”
“She already got what she wanted, money.”
“Nah, that’s a bonus. She wants you dead. And she plans to do it.”
“What?”
“She’s a murderer. She’s been doing it for years and was never found out until a few days ago.” John observed Morgan’s fearful expression. “I’m going out on a limb here, but I could guess you slept with her. Why didn’t she kill you then?”
Morgan reddened.
“For one, she wanted more money,” John continued. “She probably got that today. We need you to access your accounts.”
“Definitely. Who did she murder?”
“Mr. Reynolds, let me just say, we’re privy to a lot of information and facts about her background, and all I can tell you is that you and your father were conned by a pro, and your life is really in danger. You have to trust me on this.”
“Why my father? He adored her and couldn’t wait for their meetings.”
“Good question. Let’s go there. How did their relationship start?”
“My father was a philanthropist and was in organizations to promote education, and he always read the grants teachers wrote for the funding of one program or another. And what I found odd, but my father was too impressed to think rationally, was that she included a roster of other publishing companies in other states that had donated to her clinics in their state. So she had established her credibility for her program being successful. My father met with her and was sucked in immediately. He didn’t even bother checking out the claims.”
“Did your father know that after six months, the grant was pulled from her for non-compliance of the regs?”
“No. Obviously not. Jesus! Wouldn’t this mean tough jail time for her?”
“She’s not going to let us catch her. We need to back up. Why publishing companies? I know she wants revenge for all the horrendous things that happened to her. We know she was adopted at birth. We know both adoptive parents died. Her father was a suicide. What triggered his suicide? Her real name isn’t Montgomery. Does Wilson ring a bell? She was Kellie Wilson back then.”
Morgan connected. “No. Can’t be. Ralph Wilson?”
John smiled.
Sal looked at John. “Care to share, John?”
“Yes. His name was in Kellie Wilson’s record as a child. Sergeant McDonald got it for me.”
“Okay, wow, it was so long ago, but I re-read it,” Reynolds said.
“When?”
“I took over the company when my father passed on three months ago. My hotshot lawyer here made sure I had the full company history, and I had to go through three decades of crap. I was only four at the time. Barbara and I are the same age. It was two years before my mother died. My father had to let go several employees. Times were bad and he didn’t want to be forced to close the company. Ralph’s wife had been killed in a hit and run and my father felt bad for him, but he had no choice but to let him go. He committed suicide six months later. Seems like my father was a colder bastard than I am. Even I wouldn’t have done that. Because it was a suicide, they didn’t put anything into a trust for the daughter. There was no life insurance policy and his salary just stopped. You think she’s doing all this because my father fired hers?”
“Yes. It’s a very simple motive. They usually are. She was thrown into the foster care system and a life of abuse began. It destroyed her. And we don’t know if she killed other publishing company owners or just scammed them until she found the right one. And that is you, Mr. Reynolds.”
“What I want to know is why did she wait till now?” Steve asked. “She had to know who Jacob was.”
“Good question. Don’t know if we’ll ever get the answer to that one,” John replied matter-of-factly.
“Oh, God. This can’t be happening. I thought we had the beginning of something good.”
“Morgan, wake up. You’ve been had.”
“Thanks for your support, Steve.”
“You can recognize great talent, I’ll give you that. But you can’t see when you’ve been conned. First, your cousin and then this whore.”
“Remind me to fire you when all this is done.”
John deepened the blow. “He may not be prosecuted for murder, but he should be prosecuted for stupidity. Could that backup system function now to see if any money was transferred?”
“I’ll call the company,” Katz said. “But hold on. My client wants some bargaining power here. If he cooperates and helps find these two, what’s in it for him? He’s not prosecuted--no charges will ever be brought against him. Carlson got all this together by himself, and he’s a dead key witness.”
“Save it for court. Mr. Reynolds, where can you stay until we have her in custody? But you can’t leave the state. There is going to be an investigation. How much money did you give Carlson?”
“Over two mil.”
“Where can you stay?”
“I have a lake house
on Lake George,” Reynolds said.
“Go there now,” John insisted.
“Now?”
“Now. Out, both of you. And Mr. Katz. Make that call and let me know immediately.”
Morgan and Steve couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“Listen to me, guys,” John said. “She tried to eliminate Clancy. Now he’ll be after her with a vengeance. Get a unit to Central Park West. Let’s go.”
***
In the bedroom of her Central Park West Apartment, Barbara packed furiously, but lightly. Just some shorts, tees, no makeup or toiletries. Only a minimum amount of light seeped into the bedroom from a crack in the closed closet door. She assumed no one knew her whereabouts. The most she was aware of was that they were either, at the meet, or publishing company by now. It was only a matter of time.
I will not be caught. I can’t be caught. I’ve got too many more to kill. I’ve got too many more for revenge. Death to all those who come near me!
She shimmied forward a modern décor fireplace, revealing a locked drawer on the back, and recovered three fake IDs, three more of her alias’s over the years. She didn’t have time now to use the tarot cards to help her make the selection, so she just stared at all three, with her eyes drawn to one, Emily Connors.
She pulled out a long straight hair brown wig from her dresser and makeup for the fair-skinned woman. Underneath the accessories was the matching forged passport for the personality of the day. She tossed it in her bag before she forgot. She perfected, practiced, and rehearsed everything down to Emily’s cockney accent. Nothing would compromise her escape.