Fatal Deception

by Russell Blake

  Bob crossed the room to his rucksack and dug inside as knocking sounded from the entrance again. He dug out the revolver he’d used on the store robbery, a snub-nosed .38 with its serial number filed off and electrician’s tape wound around its grip, and spun at the clomping of Jeremy’s shoes on the stairs.

  “Who’s at the front door?” Jeremy demanded angrily. He froze at the sight of Bob holding the gun. “What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  “Shut up. They’re not going to take me, dickhead.” Bob’s eyes narrowed. “Was it you? Did you call them?”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Cops.”

  Jeremy frowned. “Cops?”

  “Like you don’t know, you prick.”

  “That’s probably about an investigation from my work, moron,” Jeremy said, and continued down the stairs toward the front door.

  Bob cocked the hammer on the revolver. “You’re not opening that door,” he hissed, taking a step toward Jeremy.

  “You’re wasted, idiot. Give me the gun and shut your piehole,” Jeremy said, approaching Bob, his face twisting in anger.

  “Back off. You’re not taking my gun.”

  “Like hell I’m not,” Jeremy said, and grabbed Bob’s arm. The two men struggled, and then the living room exploded with a gunshot.

  “Crap,” Ben said at the explosion from the house. Ron drew his Glock as Ben was freeing his piece, and delivered a jarring kick to the door. The heavy wood held, and he and Ben threw their full weight against it. It gave on the third try, and they spilled into the foyer.

  “Police. Freeze,” Ron screamed, his gun barrel roaming the room for a target.

  Another shot rang out and a divot of mortar exploded from the wall near Ron’s head. He ducked as Ben threw himself to the side, and then they were squeezing off shots into the living room, where the gunman was crouched beside a coffee table laden with cans and bottles.

  A round caught the shooter in the chest, and then another slammed into his abdomen, and he tumbled backward. The gunman’s revolver fired again, but the bullet whined harmlessly into the dining room, and then the pistol clattered against the hardwood floor as he hit the planks hard.

  Ron kept his weapon on the downed man as Ben scrambled to his feet and approached him, gun trained on his form. The man labored for breath as crimson spread across his yellow T-shirt, the chest wound gurgling with each inhalation like a faulty bellows. Ben kicked the revolver further away and Ron moved forward, never dropping his aim as he entered the living room.

  The two detectives stared at the prone figures, Jeremy’s dress shirt a red mess from a shot at the center of his ribcage, the gunman gasping nearby. Jeremy’s eyes were wide from shock, and he was trying to say something in a hoarse rasp.

  “Search him and secure the scene,” Ron said, indicating the gunman. “I’ll take Jeremy. Call this in. Paramedics, stat, shots fired, officers need assistance.”

  Ben moved like a cat to where the gunman was straining for air. After frisking him, he placed a call on his cell, his weapon still pointed at the downed man, his ears ringing from the shots in the enclosed space.

  Ron knelt beside Jeremy and quickly searched him. Finding nothing, he holstered his weapon and withdrew cuffs. Jeremy’s voice burbled, thick with blood, and Ron leaned his head close to the man’s mouth, trying to make out what he was saying. Jeremy’s eyes saucered and he groaned, and then a rattle emanated from deep within his chest, and he spasmed and lay still.

  “This one’s history,” Ron said, and turned to where Ben was finishing with dispatch.

  “Backup and medics are on the way. They said ten minutes, max,” Ben growled, and shook his head. “What did we walk into?”

  “I honestly have no idea.”

  “Let’s check the upper floors,” Ron said, and Ben moved next to him with a nod.

  They crept up the stairs, leading with their weapons, and methodically searched the two upper levels, which were empty. Ron stopped on the way back down, at the children’s room, and took a long look inside at tiny clothes laid out on the chairs.

  “Lucky thing they weren’t home, huh?” Ben asked from behind him.

  “That’s about the only break we got.”

  They returned to the living room, where the shooter was convulsing as his face gradually turned blue.

  “Who is he?” Ben asked, gesturing at the downed man.

  “Beats me,” Ron said with a nod at Jeremy. “That’s the perp. Maybe an accomplice?”

  Ben nodded. “Innocent men rarely shoot at cops.”

  “Think he’ll make it?” Ron asked.

  “Doubt it. He’s bleeding out.”

  “Let’s try a pressure dressing. Could work.”

  Ben moved toward the kitchen as the sound of distant sirens drifted from the splintered entryway. “I’ll get some towels.”

  Chapter 52

  Tess had the taxi drop her off on Amsterdam Avenue in order to avoid the traffic in front of the Lincoln Center complex, where a snarl of cars was disgorging theatergoers for the evening performance. She walked the remaining half block to West Sixty-Third and made a right toward the stage door, which was barely visible from the stage-setting shipping containers stacked outside in rows.

  As she hurried to the backstage entrance, her mind was racing over her discussion with Rachel and the implications. Here was a witness – no, a victim – of Jeremy’s, in possession of evidence that could bury him. Ron would probably be annoyed that she’d played intermediary, but Tess figured it was worth the friction it might cause.

  She realized with a start that he still hadn’t returned her call, and then a rustle and a scrape from a dark gap between two piles of pallets caught her attention. She slowed and peered into the gloom.

  “Tess?” a voice called from the shadows.

  Tess stopped. “Rachel!”

  A woman stepped from the gloom, and Tess’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the chrome-plated semiautomatic pistol in her right hand. “I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but it’s anything but,” the woman said, her voice soft.

  “What is this?” Tess demanded.

  “This is where you learn that poking your nose where it doesn’t belong gets it cut off,” the woman said as she took measured steps toward Tess, closing the distance until she was only a few yards away. Tess realized too late she was guaranteeing that she could hit her with the pistol, and tried to turn to present a smaller target, but the woman spotted her gambit and shook her head.

  “That’s far enough,” she said, waving the gun at Tess.

  “Why are you doing this?” Tess asked. “Who are you?”

  “Who am I? Your worst nightmare. As to why, because you’ve been bird-dogging Jeremy. Making a nuisance of yourself.”

  “But you said you had evidence–”

  “Which you believed. And now here you are.”

  “Who are you?” Tess repeated. “Did you…did you have something to do with Dakota’s murder?”

  The woman’s face twisted into a sneer. “If you’re asking whether I killed your filthy whore cousin, figure it out, you dumb bi–”

  Tess’s cell phone rang, the sound loud in the narrow byway between the containers. The woman dropped her gaze to Tess’s purse for a split second. Tess seized the opening and flung it as hard as she could at her head and rushed her.

  The gun went off. Tess felt a burn in her right side, and then she was on the woman, pounding her face with her elbows as they went down together. The woman landed on the concrete with a crack of ribs, Tess on top of her. She cried out but was silenced by a brutal elbow slam to the jaw, all of Tess’s strength driving it. Her eyes lost focus for a moment, and then she was struggling to bring the gun toward her to finish the job.

  Tess grappled with the woman for the gun, continuing to pound at her face as she fought for control of the weapon. The woman tried to roll away and twist the gun at Tess, but Tess saw what she was a
ttempting and brought her head down in a head butt, knocking the woman’s skull against the pavement with a thump.

  The gun discharged again, and Tess repeated the head butt. This time the woman released her grip on the pistol with a moan, and then Tess was rolling away from her unconscious form, blood streaming from the wound in her side as pounding footfalls approached from the theater.

  A whistle split the night. The area began spinning as Tess tried to stand. She made it to one knee before the ground beneath her tilted like an amusement park ride. Tess saw a running policeman, his gun drawn, and then she collapsed and reality receded into darkness.

  Chapter 53

  Tess’s head swam as she regained consciousness. Something hissed and beeped beside her, and the air had the astringent odor of antiseptic that was unique to hospitals. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy, and the attempt drained her of what little energy she had. The beeping increased in tempo and everything faded, and then she was floating, weightless and ethereal, along a long dark tunnel, a faint light glimmering at the far end.

  When she next came to, her first impression was that her skull had been split open and every nerve in her face set on fire. She moaned and sensed a presence by her side, and after pressure on her arm, a euphoric rush spread through her veins until the pain receded to a dull ache. She again tried to open her eyes and nearly cracked one open when her awareness drifted off and she fell into a deep narcotic slumber.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Tess.”

  Her name reached her as though she was at the bottom of a deep well. The voice calling to her from high above was recognizable but indistinct. And yet…familiar.

  “Tess,” the voice repeated.

  This time she succeeded in forcing her eyes open and found herself looking at Ron, who was seated by her side, his face etched with concern. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

  She tried to clear her throat and winced at the effort. “Yeah,” she managed.

  “Are you in pain?”

  “N-no.” She paused. “Just…out of it.”

  “They’ve got you loaded up on morphine. That’s probably it. That, and you’d lost a lot of blood by the time they got you to the hospital.”

  “Where…when did…?”

  “Yesterday evening. You were in surgery for a couple of hours. Thank God the bullet didn’t do more damage. As it is, the doctor says you’ll make a full recovery.”

  “She…shot…me…”

  “Yes. And you beat her to a pulp.”

  “She killed…Dakota.”

  Ron nodded. “I know.”

  Tess couldn’t keep her eyes open and allowed them to close. “Sleep…now…”

  She felt his hand on hers, a gentle squeeze, and then his fingers withdrew.

  “I’ll be right here.”

  ~ ~ ~

  This time when she awoke, Tess’s head felt clearer, although with the clarity came discomfort. But her eyes opened on the first try. Ron was still beside her, dozing in the chair. The lights were down, and she realized it had to be night.

  “Ron?” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s, dry, tentative, and weak. She tried again. “Ron.”

  He bolted awake, his hair askew, and leaned toward her. “I’m here. How you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “They tapered off most of the dope.”

  She made a face. “I can tell. Feels like a horse kicked me in the ribs.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “Sore.”

  He smiled. “You should have seen the other guy.”

  She tried to nod. Bad idea. Her neck protested with a sharp spike of pain. “Ow.”

  “You’ll be tender for a few days.”

  “The woman. Who was she?”

  “Elizabeth Glass. Jeremy’s wife.” Ron hesitated. “He’s dead.”

  “What? He is? How?”

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is he got shot.”

  “By you?”

  “No. By her brother.”

  “Why?”

  “The brother was wanted for armed robbery. We think he freaked when Ben and I knocked on the front door of the house, and went for his gun. Jeremy probably tried to stop him. Jeremy lost.”

  Tess took a deep breath. “She killed Dakota because of him?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “But the video. You said it couldn’t be…a copycat.”

  “I didn’t factor in what a twisted bastard he was or what money could buy. We got a warrant for his apartment above the café. He had DVDs of the prior killings there. Bought from a contact at one of the media outlets, obviously. We also found a bunch of other seriously sick crap on his computer. He had a thing for snuff flicks.”

  “How did she know?”

  “Her prints were on the disks and his computer. She’d installed spyware and had all his passwords. We believe that’s how she discovered the affair with Dakota. They had exchanged some pretty explicit emails.” He hesitated. “The last one between them was arguing over her having an abortion. He was pushing for it – talking about her career, the effect on her body, blah, blah, blah. Totally manipulative. Dakota wasn’t having any of it and wanted to know when his divorce was going to be finalized.”

  “He lied to her.”

  “Looks that way. ‘We’re estranged, I’m leaving her, you and I will live together with love to nourish us.’ What he didn’t realize was that his wife was reading it all.”

  “Did she confess?”

  “No, she lawyered up. But it doesn’t matter. Between her statement to you and the evidence, she’s going down. I mean, she shot you. Her prints are all over the gun. Regardless of what she claims, that’s pretty damaging. And once we found her prints on the disks, it was obvious what she’d done.” He paused. “We also found traces of blood in the apartment. Dakota’s.”

  “You think Jeremy was in on it?”

  “That’s a question mark. But my gut says no. Although…I found some articles about a killing in his old hometown, back when he was fourteen. Long story short, he was charged with murder, the family exerted pressure and paid a fortune, and it was pled down to manslaughter. So he was probably a sociopath.”

  “You don’t sound certain.”

  “Because she was also from his hometown. They were teen lovers. It’s entirely possible that she had something to do with that murder too, and he covered for her. That’s what the FBI is thinking now. The other murder was a girl his age. It fits.”

  “God. What a monster.”

  “Yes,” Ron agreed. “She’s demonstrated zero remorse for shooting you, by the way. I questioned her. She lawyered up immediately after claiming you tried to mug her, and saying that it was your gun. When I told her that was impossible, she went silent and demanded her attorney.”

  “Any chance she’ll weasel out of it?”

  “Zero. I’m taking a personal interest, obviously.”

  “How did she recognize me?”

  “Social media. Photo of you and Dakota on the web.”

  “How did she know I was digging about Jeremy?”

  “I pulled the traffic camera footage from the intersection by Jeremy’s apartment the day you went there. She was in the apartment. She must have seen you.” He studied her face. “I think she planned to shoot you and make it look like a robbery. She had no way of knowing that I was back on Jeremy’s case – so in her logic, no more Tess, all her problems go away and she gets to continue with her nice little nuclear family.”

  Tess closed her eyes. “Damn. And it’s possible the housekeeper said something.”

  “Housekeeper?”

  Tess sighed and fixed Ron with a contrite look. “I tried staking out the brownstone. I know. Stupid. I ran into the housekeeper and struck up a conversation. Not too slick.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of it?” Ron asked, and then sat back. “It doesn’t matter. What does is that you’re okay.”

  A thought occurred to
Tess. “You think she was the one who tried to run me down?”

  “No. We found the car. The brother had the keys in his pocket, so we knew it had to be somewhere close. We dusted it, and only his prints were found.”

  “So he was in on it?”

  “She probably convinced him to help get rid of you. If so, you can thank the universe that he was a complete screwup.”

  “What about Dakota? You think he helped with that?”

  “We’ll never know. He died in the ER. There was a shoot-out. He took two bullets,” Ron said, his voice flat.

  “With you?”

  Ron nodded.

  “You weren’t hurt?”

  He smiled. “You have to be bulletproof and invisible for my job. Part of the description.”

  “So the hedge-fund guy, and the performance artist, the sex parties, all that…was a red herring?”

  “Not at all. They were germane to the two Gunter killed. But not your cousin.”

  Tess managed a painful nod. “I told you so.”

  “You absolutely earned the right to say that.” Ron shifted on the seat. “Hedge-fund guy disappeared, by the way. Hasn’t been seen for a week.”

  “You think that has to do with Gunter getting caught?”

  “Could be. At this point I don’t care. Gunter was the killer. You don’t always get to tie up every little loose end. If Stibling was involved, he got away with it, at least for now – we’ll track his money and see where he shows up.” He hesitated. “Elizabeth might have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you.”

  “Sounds like you would have nabbed her eventually.”

  “I’m not so sure. If Jeremy’s alibi held up, we would have been back at square one.”

  “How could it?”

  “A million ways. A vendor remembers selling him a hot dog. He bought coffee or soda at a market and the clerk corroborates that he was there. He would have been vindicated, so we’d have had no reason to look further.”