Judicious Murder

by Val Bruech

  He leaned over, grabbed Malone’s limp right hand and put the big gun in it. I shrank back in horror as he slipped the safety off and placed Malone’s index finger on the trigger. With one hand he yanked Malone by the hair into an upright position. With the other hand he brought Malone’s gun hand up so the barrel was two inches from his temple.

  A car horn blasted the night, seeming to come from right outside the door. The braying sound continued, incessantly. Tite’s face twisted in alarm, and he turned toward the entrance, the gun momentarily forgotten and pointing toward the floor. A discordant clang ensued, like pots and pans banging together. I sprang to my feet, spun around, and aimed the spray at Tite, then jammed my thumb down on the nozzle. The one-second burst made a reassuring hiss.

  “Goddamn!” He could barely get the word out he was coughing so violently. I whirled around to see him doubled over, sneezing and gasping. I held my breath, gave him a wide berth and sprinted to the open door.

  “Marshfield!” he choked out. “Don’t move.”

  I bolted through the doorway, leaped down the steps, spun around the corner of the trailer and plastered myself against the back wall. Tite sounded like he was coughing up his intestines. He would expect me to run back to my car, but what would that accomplish? I should phone 911 but I needed a quiet place where I could get the phone out and manipulate the buttons behind my back. Mostly I needed to free my arms. The forest beyond the small clearing was a black morass: no help there.

  In a few minutes, the hacking lessened, and Tite burst through the front door.

  “Marshfield!” he shouted in a tone that left no doubt he was the hunter, and I was the hapless prey. I continued around the trailer to the opposite front corner and peered around the edge with one eye. Tite pounded down the path toward the road, a swath of brilliant white light slashing from side to side in front of him. A minute later, a raucous clatter split the night, followed by an expletive from the lieutenant.

  I darted behind Malone’s vehicle to get a better view of Al’s movements. His searchlight cut to the left, then bobbed down the road to the right, in the direction of my car.

  Malone’s bashed-in quarter panel had a few sharp, rusty edges. I selected the meanest blade-like plane, turned my back to it and started sawing at the tape that bound my wrists, trying not to sever a major artery. My arms ached within a minute from the unnatural angle and effort. I increased the pressure, oblivious to infection or pain, certain that Tite would kill Malone and me unless I could get free. One layer of tape split and the bond loosened a fraction.

  The bobbing light that was Tite’s lantern reappeared through the trees headed in my direction in a jerky rhythm. I redoubled my efforts, the second layer split and I was free. Tite’s light bounced from side to side now as if he was running. Something, probably the voice of reason, told me to dash into the woods and call the cops. But what would happen to Malone? I rubbed my arms and legs vigorously to restore circulation and ducked back into the cabin. Malone was holding his head. The Mace had dissipated.

  “Malone!” I ran to him.

  He looked at me in confused stupefaction. “Where’s Al?”

  “Tite wants to kill you before you can rat him out. He got your gun from your truck. He was going to make it look like a suicide.”

  Malone shook his head in disbelief.

  “Listen!” I said desperately. “I maced Al and escaped. He’s out there looking for me now, but he’ll be back soon. We gotta stop him!”

  Malone looked at a spot on the floor which grew larger as we stared. Together we traced the source to my forearm, which was dripping blood. The sight seemed to revitalize him.

  “Ma…a…rsh…field.” Tite’s singsong call wafted through the night air, making my hair stand on end. “You’re here…I know you’re here.” His tone had the sweet allure of a snake oil salesman.

  Malone’s face puckered as he struggled for understanding. Without another word, he bent over and lifted his pant leg, revealing an ankle holster. He unsnapped it and handed me a small gun.

  “Hide!” he grunted, and gestured to the second room. I bounded through the doorway into the other room, positioning myself out of sight but with a view of most of the kitchen.

  “Larry.” Al’s voice was silky smooth, quiet.

  “Al, what’s going on?” It was not a greeting but a plaintive question. “Last thing I remember you had your arm around me, then I passed out.”

  “Yeah, you had me worried.” Al came into view now, right hand extended to Malone, left in his pocket. He started to ease his left hand out. Something metallic glinted in the light.

  “Stop, Tite! Don’t move your hands.” I swung into the space between the two rooms, instinctively adopting the shooter’s stance from the movies, my gun aimed at the middle of Tite’s chest.

  Tite swung his head in my direction. Without warning Malone stood quickly, grabbed Tite’s left hand and arm and slammed it into his upraised knee. The metallic object clattered to the floor.

  “Stunner?” Malone looked wide-eyed at Al.

  Tite’s right fist came from nowhere and walloped Malone’s jaw with a sickening crack. He dropped like a sack of wet cement. Tite stood over him, fist clenched, then turned deliberately toward me. As he reached into his jacket under his left arm, I remembered his shoulder holster.

  I aimed above his head and squeezed the trigger. The shot pinged off the wall behind Tite and he flinched.

  “Take your jacket off. Keep the gun in the holster,” I commanded in a surprisingly commanding voice.

  His eyes calculated every possible scenario.

  “That’s the first time you’ve ever shot a weapon,” he pointed out pleasantly. “You won’t shoot another human being.”

  His arm stayed inside his jacket.

  “Maybe not. But I’d shoot you, Tite.”

  He smirked. His arm slowly slid out from under his coat. When the barrel of his gun came into view I swung the little .22 from Tite’s chest to the bulb that hung over the kitchen table, steadied my right wrist with my left hand and shot off another round. The bulb shattered with a popping sound and darkness smothered the trailer. I dodged into the other room, which was also dark, and dropped to all fours.

  “Suuu…san.” I could feel Tite’s presence fill the arc between the rooms. I took small, regular breaths and envisioned myself on a faraway beach so his ESP wouldn’t detect my presence.

  “It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” he said softly.

  What was it supposed to end like? I replied silently. Tite strode to the middle of the room from where he dominated the entire space. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I watched him pivot in a small circle, straining to hear the faintest movement.

  “I haven’t got time for hide and seek!” he announced harshly. He turned on his heel and marched back toward the kitchen, then stopped abruptly, listening for telltale rustling on my part. I caught myself half-rising and froze.

  “You got no place to hide, Marshfield. And no pepper spray. I found it outside.”

  Tite swept out of the trailer, slamming the door behind him. He’d be back. Maybe I could shoot him in the arm or leg. But the little .22 would barely slow him down unless I hit him in the head or chest. I didn’t know if I could do that.

  A car door clapped shut. I raced blindly into the kitchen, kicking something and sending it skidding across the floor. The stunner! I grabbed it on the run and crouched low next to the door. When Tite entered, I’d jam the stunner into his leg, paralyze him, then call the cops. Fear gave way to a naive hope.

  Shuddering silence.

  Where was Tite? What was he doing? The seconds leapfrogged into minutes.

  Malone made a sound not unlike a lobster about to be boiled alive.

  “Malone, are you okay?”

  A moan, then Malone struggled to a sitting position.

  “Tite’s outside!”

  “What say?”

  I brought him current.

  “You st
ill got my little gun?”

  I was fishing in my jacket pocket when the door exploded open and a small, heavy object whizzed past me on the floor, hit a table leg and spun crazily away.

  “Oh, God! Grenade!” Malone yelled. “Get outta here! Twenty-second fuse!” He scrambled to his feet and lurched toward the door.

  “No!” I pushed him back. “That’s what Tite wants—he’s waiting for us. The window—let’s get out that way!”

  Malone’s forehead furrowed. He nodded and we sprinted to the other room. He yanked at the window and it screeched open. He turned, gestured for me to go first and shoved me through.

  “Run like hell,” he whispered hoarsely.

  I tumbled out, sprawled on the ground and took off for the woods. How far do you have to run to get away from a grenade blast? At the edge of the clearing, I took a quick look back to see Malone rise slowly from the ground and lurch in my direction.

  I ran about ten yards through the woods, oblivious to the branches and brambles tearing at my clothes. An explosion like a sonic boom lit up the scene like a major league ballpark at night, and the ground shook underneath me. I dove behind a tree and wrapped my arms around my head, not knowing if there would be more explosions. After a minute, I peeked out to locate Malone. The roof of the trailer was leaning at a crazy angle and flames were licking up from inside.

  “Malone!” I yelled.

  “Over here!” The voice drifted weakly from my right.

  I thrashed though the underbrush in the direction of the sound. The fire provided some ambient light, but I couldn’t see clearly and didn’t want to turn on the flashlight in the event Tite was still lurking about. Finally I made my way back to within a few feet of the clearing. Malone was flat on his back, staring at a spot a few feet into the woods. The unnaturalness of the scene brought me to an abrupt halt.

  “Susan, help!” The call didn’t issue from Malone but from the woods where he was staring.

  I reached into my pocket for Malone’s .22.

  “Help!” The voice, which I recognized now as Tite’s, held a new urgency.

  “Al, listen to me!” Malone begged. “The girl’s outta here. She’s smart. She’ll get back to Ross and tell him everything. You gotta make her look crazy. When they find my body here, they’ll know she’s right and they won’t stop till they find you. Let me go, I won’t rat you out, ever. When I show up like usual and everything’s hunky-dory, they’ll think she’s gone ’round the bend and they’ll commit her.”

  Tite was silent. The flames from the trailer flickered behind him like a scene from hell.

  “Nice try, Lar,” the disembodied voice floated from the brush. “But I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering when you’re going to up the ante on me. Nope, it’s over, partner.”

  Bushes parted like a center stage curtain and Tite appeared, gun trained on Malone. He was less than ten feet from me. “How you die doesn’t matter anymore. Marshfield fucked everything up.” He sighted his weapon down at Malone.

  “Tite!” I barked his name, dodged behind a tree and went down on one knee. Tite’s gun swung to the space I had just vacated and thundered twice. The bullets whistled through the foliage where I had been standing seconds before.

  “Susan?” Tite cried with a strange catch in his voice.

  Malone made a clumsy dive for Tite’s legs. Al swung his weapon back toward the sergeant. In that second I drew a bead on his chest and squeezed the trigger, twice. “Don’t let me kill him,” I begged silently

  Tite’s face, illuminated by the raging fire, was a sculpture of astonishment. His eyes searched for me as his legs gave way and he fell to the ground, blood seeping from his fingers as they clutched his chest. My own life force seemed to drain away, and I looked curiously at myself to see where I had been shot.

  Malone crawled over to Tite, grabbed his gun and backed away, saying something I couldn’t comprehend. I found myself kneeling beside Al.

  “You…are a…piece of…work,” he said weakly.

  I shook my head in denial.

  “Sam…” His body went into spasm.

  “Al!” I took his hand and pressed it into mine. His facial muscles thawed a degree.

  “Sam wanted…to do right…at the end.” He struggled for breath, a rattling, choking effort.

  “Didn’t let him.” The eyes disappeared into themselves like water draining down a sink. The hand in mine turned to clay and his body fused into the soft ground.

  Something touched my shoulder. “You gotta phone?”

  Al’s face was a death mask. I touched his cheek, then wiped my hand, wet with his blood, on my jacket.

  “Sorry, Marshfield.” Malone was gruffly sympathetic. “We need to get help out here.”

  I fumbled in the fanny pack and gave Malone the phone. “You… you call.”

  I staggered around the edge of the clearing, half seared by the fire, half numb with the night chill. I needed to get far away from the lifeless figure on the forest floor, that mass that used to be a human being and was now a slowly cooling cluster of molecules. My stomach couldn’t hold itself together and I brought up whatever was in there. I stayed on my hands and knees for a long time.

  I rolled over. The moon had departed but one star was particularly luminous in the black sky. I lay on my back, staring at the pinpoint of light.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Every law bone in my body screamed “Shut up!” when the police started their questions. But a dead body, a suspended cop, an exploded house trailer, and a lawyer intimately involved in a second homicide seemed to raise a lot of issues.

  Fortunately, the trailer was out of the city’s jurisdiction, and the county cops were a shade warmer and fuzzier than their city counterparts. Malone was taken away in the cops’ divide-and-conquer routine. I related my story to the officer in charge, Walters, against a now-familiar backdrop of sirens and flashing lights. He was alternately incredulous and spellbound. When I told him about the clanging noise that distracted Tite, Walters disclosed that a current teenage pastime was flinging aluminum cans onto the road in the wee hours and that in fact a few hundred cans were scattered on the blacktop near the driveway. I told him that if he ever identified the kids who pitched the cans I’d give them a generous reward.

  When Chief Ross from Joliet made a guest appearance, Walters treated him with courtesy but not much more. I watched with interest as the county cop and the homicide chief spoke intently, presumably regarding Tite’s dereliction of duty. Ross was disbelieving at first, but as the details fell into place, his face hardened into a concrete slab.

  The authorities wouldn’t let me drive alone, so I was chauffeured home in an unmarked car while a uniform followed driving the Acura. My driver was pleasant and didn’t ask questions.

  I now knew the “who” of Sam’s murder but the “why” was still out there. I tried putting the emotionally-charged events of the night into a timeline, hoping to see something that had eluded me, but the effort was like trying to stop ten runaway trains at once. Mostly I tried not to think about my final confrontation with Tite.

  I had one last chance for an answer: one person left who knew the real story. I called him about an hour after I got home. Malone wasn’t anxious to meet me, but relented when I reminded him that I had saved his life, twice. We arranged to get together at a coffee shop when it opened in a half-hour. It didn’t occur to him to ask how I obtained his home number.

  Malone was waiting at The Good Bean when I arrived. We sat at a table near the door. We both wanted to get this over quickly.

  “How’d you know about the trailer?”

  I explained how I’d followed him from his house.

  “Were you still bird-dogging me about the Hart case? Why you got a hard-on about that?”

  I shook my head at the physical impossibility of his question. “You were my last chance in the ninth, Larry. Every other lead into Sam’s murder was a strikeout. If you hadn’t gone to meet Al last night I’d stil
l be freezin’ in your alley.”

  Malone grinned at the thought, then turned serious. “Al told me how he gamed you. I thought he was playin’ with fire, but he didn’t see it that way. He was really pissed when I told him what happened at the Hospitality Suite.”

  I took a slow sip of coffee. The outwitter had clearly put one over on the outwitted. But who was I kidding? Al and I had some improbable chemistry going on, but neither of us had been honest with the other. Our agendas were totally opposite: mine to find Sam’s killer, his to hide.

  “Marshfield.” Malone’s growl reminded me that we weren’t here to psychoanalyze my relationship with Al. “What did you wanna talk about?”

  I leaned toward him, eagerness trumping exhaustion. “What was Sam paying for, Larry? What did you and Al have on him?”

  Malone scratched at whiskers that sprouted from his cheeks like thistles.

  “You owe me,” I warned.

  He reached for a cracked billfold, pulled out a five-dollar bill and slid it across the table to me.

  “You be my lawyer. Then I can talk, and you gotta keep it secret.”

  He was way ahead of me on that one. “You bet. Privileged.” This little subterfuge was minor compared to some of the things I’d done in the last week, and I was beyond caring. I stuffed the five in my pocket.

  “Last night, Al said Sam was one of your ‘accounts receivables.’ What did he mean? How did that happen?”

  Malone’s face bunched up, his eyes scanned the coffee shop. He drew his chair close to mine and leaned forward, elbows on thighs, fingers interlocked.

  “Okay. It starts with Cooper Hart. The kid was a straight arrow, Eagle Scout, the real deal. He died when someone fed him Mexican Brown and microdots, three times as much as any human being could handle.”

  I groaned inwardly. Mexican heroin and LSD, a lethal combination.

  “Hart went missing with two friends during a party. When he came back, he started weirding out, just acting crazy. Couple minutes later he was dead.”

  “I got a lead on one of the guys he disappeared with, turned out to be someone I knew, told me what went down. The guy’s long gone from here now.”