Oliver stormed past McKenny as his plan evaporated. His chest ready to explode, he followed the sounds of tragedy down a flight of stairs to a recessed hallway. There he found a group of women holding onto each other as they wept near a door’s entrance. He pushed past them, his gun in hand and stepped into what appeared to be a complete bedroom setup.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the low bedroom lighting, revealing two men and a woman kneeling over what appeared to be another woman. Something about the shoes caught his attention.
“Jenny!” His voice choked as he stepped closer and caught a glimpse of blonde hair mixed with blood suddenly the room swam around him. A hand gripped his shoulder, followed by a familiar voice.
“Detective Peidmont, please step back. I promise, they’re doing all they can.”
Oliver steadied himself and turned, then found himself facing the executive he’d interviewed only days earlier.
Jeffers lifted his head toward the medics hovering over Jenny.
“They’re our onsite medical team. We have them here in case of accidents with the heavy machinery.” Then, as more of an afterthought, “An ambulance is on the way as well, as are the local police.”
Oliver turned and watched as the trio continued their work. A moan floated up between them and to Oliver, it seemed the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. Briefly, he thought he might weep, but managed to reign it in.
Hold on to that for later, he thought, there’s a very good chance she’s still in danger.
Only then did Oliver see the two other bodies: Jenel’s splayed out on the bed with what appeared to be a single bullet hole through his heart and that of Cory Hana. He was able to recognize Hana’s body only because of the familiarly loud shirt, now soaked in a pool of blood. The shoulders and head lay covered with a permanently borrowed jacket.
Oliver turned to Jeffers. “What the hell happened?”
Jeffers shook his head, almost in hangdog fashion, “I can’t even begin to make a guess, it’s really such a terrible tragedy.”
But, after a moment, he did manage one.
“Apparently Mrs. McKenny shot Mr. Jenel, then when Detective Hana stumbled onto the crime, she shot him as well.”
There was the sound of running feet, followed by several men with medical equipment who burst through the doorway. They forced Oliver and Jeffers aside as they set to work.
Oliver stared at the executive, aware that he was likely involved in Jenel’s sick game and his boiling rage threatened to spill out. There was a good chance that Jeffers had shot Jenny and was now here, acting like some innocent bystander. Oliver clenched his fists tightly but allowed nothing to show on his impassive face.
“Where were you when this all happened?’
For an instant, Jeffers’ own face tightened before quickly softening.
”The top of the stairs actually, at the end of the hall. Once Detective Hana showed up, he ordered me to wait there while he went to check on Mr. Jenel. When I heard the gun fire, I ran up to my office and called our in-house security and medic team. Then I dialed 911 for these guys and the local police.” Jeffers' face sagged dramatically. “Mr. Jenel’s death is a great setback to the company.”
Yeah, right, thought Oliver. You’ll cry a bucket when you get promoted in his place! More feet and voices could now be heard in the hallway and both he and Jeffers turned as Chief Williams and Willy Johnson stepped quickly through the door.
“Ollie, you okay?” Williams came alongside him and gave his shoulder a squeeze before seeing Jenny. “My God! What happened to her?”
“She’s alive, Chief, but she’s been shot,” Oliver said, watching the medics work on Jenny. After a minute, Willy stepped over to where Hana lay and lifted the coat. Normally stoic, Oliver saw him wince before abruptly dropping the blood soaked garment.
All turned as the medics carefully lifted Jenny onto the stretcher, then watched as it was raised and locked into position. Firmly strapped onto the stretcher, Oliver saw that Jenny lay covered with an assortment of tubes, bags and wires before a blanket was finally placed over her still form. Gathering around her, one man guided the stretcher to the doorway while the two other paramedics pushed at the back, a glistening pool of blood marked the spot where Jenny had fallen.
“Chief, I’ve got to stay with Mrs. McKenny.”
Oliver trailed behind Jenny’s stretcher as it was squeezed through the doorway.
Williams nodded.
“I understand, Ollie, go ahead. Willy and I’ll stay till the local cops get here to begin their investigation.”
“One more thing, Chief,” Oliver said, turning back, “I’d like a couple of round the clock guards watching Mrs. McKenny.” Williams nodded, then walked over to the phone to begin making arrangements.
Oliver turned toward Jeffers. “I’ll need to ask you a great deal about this fairly soon, would tomorrow morning be possible?”
Jeffers nodded. “Of course, Detective. I’d be happy to answer anything I can, but isn’t this now a Monterey investigation?”
Oliver peered straight into Jeffers' eyes.
“Yes, but I believe this shooting is connected to Carol Montoya’s murder and that makes this a Pacific Grove concern as well.” He allowed this to sink in, then turned and caught up with the stretcher.
“Mr. Jeffers,” Chief Williams called to the executive as he watched Piedmont go. “I need a list of everyone who’s been in this room since the shooting.”
Paul Jeffers turned to the small intense man who barely reached his shoulders, his face serious.
“Of course, right away.” the executive said, then pulled a small note pad from his right coat pocket, flipped the leather cover open and began compiling the requested names. As he wrote, he decided to call the Consortium about Jenel’s death once the cops were done. If he played this event right, he could take Jenel’s place here at JenelCo and perhaps higher. Chief Williams looked up in time to see Paul Jeffers scribbling away, smiling.
Oliver stood near the garage level elevator at JenelCo, his hands tied uncomfortably behind. Directly in front of him, Collin held Jenny in a massive head lock, her eyes pleading as the arms about her neck slowly tightened. He moved to step forward but found both arms immovable as laughter, cruel and mocking rang out from some unknown place.
This is just a dream, he thought, that’s not Jenny! Yet he found himself pulling frantically at his invisible anchor, leaning forward like a mule tied to a wagon, and yet he moved no closer. Rage spilled forth as he began to kick and scream as McKenny’s right hand reached around to the back of Jenny’s head.
"Oh, God! No!" Oliver screamed. "Not that! Not to Jenny!"
Suddenly McKenny turned to him.
“You’re such a pussy, Ollie. That’s why your wife left you. Now, Jenny here...," he said, nuzzling his head to hers, "will never leave me. I’ve got good insurance against that.” McKenny’s massive forearm tightened around her slender neck until no part of it showed, only her terror-stricken eyes. “Isn’t that right, sweet ‘ums? You’d rather die than have to leave me.”
Tears streamed down Jenny's face as she nodded once, then again and again and again. Their eyes locked together, Oliver watched McKenny suddenly twist her small head in one quick motion, then saw her go limp as McKenny released her to fall at Oliver’s feet.
“You heard her, Peidmont, that’s what she wanted, you heard her.”
Oliver woke to the sound of his own screams, felt his body arch toward the ceiling while his arms thrust against the bed and gravity with all their strength. Sweat poured over his bare chest as the dream’s intensity and horror faded and he fell onto the soaked sheets below.
“Good God,” he said to the darkness once he’d caught his breath. “What a nightmare!”
Still breathing hard, he turned toward the clock and found himself staring at what his grandfather had called the Hour of the Wolf.
During a visit to his grandfather in England while a boy, he’d tried to stay awake
till 4:00am when, according to the old man, the wolves would howl loud enough to wake the dead. He hadn’t lasted much past midnight, yet his grandfather had sworn the following day the wolves' howling could be heard for miles. Many years later on stakeouts around the Los Angeles area, he’d passed the wolf’s hour with little noise and even less howling. Yet if he was awake during that ungodly time, he never failed to think of the old man.
He threw his robe on now, found his slippers and made his way into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Despite being awake for close to forty-eight hours, he’d stayed with Jenny through her three hour surgery, dozing in the waiting room until a Dr. Grant had woke him.
“She’ll probably remain unconscious well into the morning, Detective Peidmont,” Grant’s voice had held that busy quality to it, as if he was economizing each phrase.
“I wouldn’t stop by till at least noon tomorrow. She won’t be up for visitors for several days but you can at least check in on her.”
Oh God, Doc, that’s great, really!" A fifty pound weight had seemed to lift off his chest at that moment. “Thank you!”
The doctor turned to go, but Oliver reached out and touched his arm. “What kind of long term damage is she looking at doc?”
For the first time the weary doctor smiled.
“Not much in the long run, Detective. Her body's healing powers will throw everything it can to deal with her damaged abdomen and stomach. As long as the infection is dealt with, she’ll be back on her feet in a couple of weeks.”
Oliver frowned. “Infection? An infection’s set in already?”
"Yes," the doctor nodded reluctantly. "Unfortunately when the bullet pierced her stomach, small amounts of food entered her system and have brought about a mild infection. But she’s young, Detective, her body can fight off a mild infection easily.”
He’d been permitted to go in then, having made sure both policemen were stationed at the door before allowing himself the luxury of sitting at her bedside. She’d looked like hell, no two ways about it; her blonde hair still matted with blood and her face a patchwork of bruises and cuts. Jenny’s recovery, he understood, would be a long slow process. It was then the tears had come, spilling onto the hospital bed until a young nurse had arrived and gently sent him home.
Now, as the Hour of the Wolf passed, he poured the steaming black coffee into a marginally clean Monterey Aquarium mug, then stirred in milk and sugar to make it palatable. Hooking a nearby chair with his right foot, he pulled it closer and rested both legs, watching the digital clock atop the microwave blink 4:14am several times before it clicked over to 4:15am. He took a sip of coffee and felt the liquid burn all the way down. Setting the mug down, he rubbed his eyes and thought about the last several days. He took a smaller sip and this time, enjoyed the stream of heat as it worked its way downward.
This is my first real chance to make sense of it all, he thought, while not being chased, shot at or beaten. He settled back against the chair in the semi-darkness of his small kitchen and began this process, slowly going through four more cups of coffee before the sun made its presence known throughout the house.
Two miles away, in a run-down Cannery Row motel, Collin McKenny sat watching the sunrise over the bay. Try as he might, he could not remember where he lived or who with. His driver’s license listed the Pacific Grove address, which he had found sealed by the police, pending their investigation. That had forced him to spend the night here. He’d slept well enough and the previous day's angst seemed distant, even foolish. What he’d been so uptight about really was lost to him, he was who he was and there was no fighting that.
The closer he’d come to JenelCo, the more disoriented he’d become until finally in the elevator with Peidmont, his skin had felt as if it might crawl off of him. He was just lucky Peidmont had run out towards the crying, and he’d quickly rushed the elevator back up.
A girl in the parking lot named Veronica, who he’d obviously known before had offered a ride into town where he’d picked up a cab. Now, a few hours later he was here, paying tourist rates for a room which lacked any sense of style or taste, only blocky furniture, pale, faded drapes and an abundance of brochures for outdoor activities of all kinds: from kayaking, sailing and biking to a tour of locations filmed on or around the Monterey Peninsula.
Reaching over to the night stand, he picked up the sorry looking remote and aimed it at the television that seemed to deal only in red, green and brown colors of the spectrum. Settling back, McKenny began channel surfing through some of the local news shows. It wasn’t long before a neighboring Salinas station featured the Peninsula’s top news story: the murder of JenelCo’s founder and the cop, Cory Hana. He lay hearing the words, yet nothing touched him until Jenel’s photo appeared at the right corner of the screen.
“What the...” McKenny squinted as the announcer’s face grew blurry and a sharp pain lanced through his head. “Ahhhhh!” He dropped the remote and gripped his head with both hands. Just as suddenly, the pain lifted as his old self thrust to the surface of his mind, while his newborn conscience slipped once more below the surface.
McKenny looked at the screen and blinked a final time, seeing what seemed like the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for: the death of his boss. Memories of the last two days swept over him as his mind made sense of it, all while he basked in the sweet knowledge of Jenel’s death.
“That bitch did it!" he said, giddily. "She really did it! In a single day I’ve gotten rid of my wife and my boss!!!”
His laughing took on the sound of a kid on Christmas morning, but then the messy business of breaking the cop’s neck came to mind. Oh well, he thought, they can't arrest me if they can't find me. He spun around and picked up the phone and dialed Courtney’s number.
Surprisingly, she answered the phone on only the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
Her voice sounded odd, distant. “Courtney, it’s Collin.”
“Collin?” There was a pause, then, “I don’t believe this!”
He ignored her tone and began planning off the top of his head.
“Courtney, get packed, we’re heading to L.A. I’m at a cheap motel on Foam Street so I’ll need you to pick me up.” He looked at the one page breakfast flyer and found the motel’s address but didn’t get a chance to read it to her.
“You fucking idiot!” Her husky voice started low, but soon began to rise. “Your last early morning call got me hauled into the Monterey Police Station for five hours. Five hours while some low life cop kept asking me why a wanted felon called my house at six in the morning.” Collin held the phone away as her voice continued its climb into the higher octaves. “They found my drugs, my supplier’s names and it took all of my father’s influence to just get me out. I go before a judge in a month and daddy says I’ll have to probably do community service for six months!!!”
She was screaming now. “On top of that, I have to get a job! A fucking job! Because of you, Daddy’s cut me off for a whole year and if I get into any more trouble, that’ll be it!”
Her breathing had become ragged now and as she took a deep intake of breath, Collin couldn’t resist a final dig.
“Cheer up, Courtney! Down on Fremont Street, there’s lots of guys looking for your special kind of talent.”
He laughed as her shouting grew hysterical just before the sound of breaking glass and the line went dead.
“Oh, Courtney,” he chuckled as he settled the phone into its cradle. “You really have no idea how much a decent cell phone costs.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Paul Jeffers sat facing the telephone, staring as if at some kind of hypnotic cobra. As Vice-President of JenelCo, the sudden death of his boss had assured his own promotion to President of JenelCo, with approval from The Consortium. That his success came from the demise of another, hadn’t bothered him at all. Indeed, he’d felt a certain satisfaction that Jenel had died of a heart attack, brought on by a solid kick to the balls. A silly kid-like grin spre
ad across his face as he thought of Jenel curled up, gasping for breath, but then the crumpled sheaf of papers had fallen at his feet.
Not wanting to wait till morning for a duplicate set of keys, it had taken Jeffers nearly a half hour to pry Jenel’s sturdy antique desk open. Once the drawer slid free, the weathered document had fallen before him like a bad omen. When he’d spread out the wrinkled pages, a detailed outline of The Consortium faced him. As he'd read, a growing sense of unease coursed through him. Sweat trailed down his long brow when he’d finished reading what should have never existed.
The unwritten code, according to Jenel, had always been the chief principle of The Consortium and meant nothing connected the companies, in any way. What Jeffers' had just read was not new to him. What caused the knots in his stomach however, was the number 47 on the top page of the pile. Where were the previous forty-six pages?
He’d ripped apart the remaining drawers and spent the entire night dissecting Jenel’s files in hopes of finding them. Once he’d gone through the desk and adjoining file cabinets, he had turned to Jenel’s computer files, files which only top members of The Consortium could grant access to, now that Jenel’s body lay in the city morgue.
Reluctantly, as if calling angry parents, Jeffers dialed the priority phone number which called the seven members of The Consortium to the video conference, something he'd never participated in and yet would now convene. Vague to the point of paranoia, Jenel had given him only the phone number to summon the others and a password to initiate the video software program.
One by one, all eight members of The Consortium logged on, each registering surprise as his unfamiliar image appeared on their own computers. Seeing that a stranger had just crashed their syndicate, reactions were interesting. A raised eyebrow, a flushed face, an amused tight-lipped smile and one balding, red-faced man who refused to make eye contact.
Jeffers wondered what city or state each member called from. He saw only well dressed professional men and women before him. The layout seemed familiar but eluded him until the old Hollywood Squares game show came to mind, and he couldn’t help but smile seeing that it was his face occupying the center square.
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