Mirror Image

by Dennis Palumbo

  “Poor Paula.”

  “I know. But I wish her well.”

  I felt her move under my embrace, so I let my arm fall away. She gave me a sad smile, tossed the bloodied handkerchief on the floor beside her.

  “It’s funny,” she said calmly. “It took Kevin’s death for me to finally learn about his life all these years. From his hospital files. The Sisters of Mercy. Clearview Hospital. The suicide attempts. I know it’s lame to think so, but maybe at least now he’s finally at peace.”

  Another silence grew between us.

  Finally, I found the words. Asked the only question that seemed to matter to me right then.

  “Karen…why didn’t you tell me who you really were? From the start?”

  “I wanted to…really. But I couldn’t take the risk. If my father found out who I was too early in the investigation, he might’ve bolted before we could bring him in. As it is, he almost got away…”

  She averted her eyes. “Anyway, that’s what I told myself. But it’s not the truth. I was really afraid that if you knew I was Kevin’s sister, you’d pull away from me. You’d think it was wrong, or unethical or something…” She took a short breath. “I was afraid I’d lose you…”

  I hesitated. “You could never…lose me…”

  She looked up at me again. Then her lips were on mine, a kiss as tentative as a school girl’s. Then, just as quickly, looking away again.

  I tried to think. Would it have mattered if I’d known? Probably not. I’d been lost in her from the moment I saw her, against my every instinct. Regardless of doubt or reason. Like a madness I welcomed with open, lonely arms.

  And whose loss I was already beginning to feel…

  She sniffed, giving me a sidelong glance. The old Casey. “Any other questions, Inspector?”

  “Just one. About coming here. When you called and told me about SkyLark Aviation, and that Sinclair and the Feds were just treading water—”

  “I’m sorry, Danny. It was a shitty thing to do. But I was afraid my father was going to escape. That he wasn’t going to pay for anything he’d done. To me. To those poor patients. But especially to Kevin.”

  She tapped my chest with a closed fist. “I guess I hoped you’d feel something similar. That you’d get on your goddam white horse and—”

  She looked down. “I didn’t know what I wanted you to do. Stall him. Kill him. But then I realized I’d sent you into danger, and drove as fast as I could here myself.”

  “Good thing, too. If you hadn’t opened the door when you did…”

  “Oh, Danny…” She leaned up and took my face in both hands. Kissed me again, deeply this time, our lips slick with tears and rain and blood.

  Suddenly, I heard Trask stirring outside the room. I got gingerly to my feet, hoisting the Uzi, and whispered for Karen to stay down. Out in the hall, I found Trask barely conscious, bleeding from the head and neck.

  I called into the lounge. “Hey, this guy’s not going to make it if we don’t get an ambulance here soon.”

  Karen stood in the doorway, wiping tears from her eyes. “I thought you said Garman went for the cops.”

  “Dammit, I should’ve stopped him. There may be more guys like Trask in the building. Or in the hangar.”

  As if on cue, the phone in the lounge started ringing again. Karen ran to the broken window, shards of glass crunching under her feet, and peered into the night.

  “The jet’s still on the tarmac, with the engines going. And I don’t see any patrol units. Any lights.”

  I took another look at Trask, then joined Karen in the middle of the lounge. I handed her the Uzi.

  “What are you doing?” She gazed dumbly at the gun.

  “I’m going to find Bert before it’s too late. Use that damn phone and call the cops. If Trask moves, shoot him. Understand?” She managed to nod.

  As I headed out of the room, her voice stopped me at the door. “Danny…?”

  We looked at each other.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said, and hurried off.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  I took the stairs two at a time, stopping at each floor and searching the darkened halls. The office doors were all locked. No sign of security, or anybody working late. Maybe Wingfield had cleared the place out before.

  On the lobby floor, I found a well-lit kitchen, and the steward, Stevens, huddling behind a tiled counter.

  “Are you okay?” I went over and crouched next to him.

  “I heard shooting.” His teeth chattered. “Gunfire. At first I thought it was the plane’s engines, but—”

  “Where is everybody?” I asked.

  “Mr. Wingfield sent his staff home earlier, except for Mr. Trask and myself. I was just about to leave when I heard the shots.”

  I pulled him upright, just as the faint sound of a siren in the distance pulsed through the walls. Somebody must have spotted Wingfield’s body on the tarmac.

  Steven stared at me, wide-eyed. “Perhaps I should stay here, sir. In case Mr. Wingfield needs me.”

  “Trust me, he doesn’t. Feel free to take the rest of the night off.”

  I turned and headed back out to the lobby. More sounds from outside. Voices. Airport security, maybe.

  I was too worried about Garman to wait and find out. After a quick search, I found the door to the hangar. It swung open with a pneumatic whoosh.

  The tunnel itself was low-ceilinged, lined with lights like a runway and filled with Muzak piped in from hidden speakers. My running footsteps echoed as if in a dream.

  The set of double-doors at the other end opened into the hangar, a yawning structure with high, curved walls and rows of hanging ceiling lights, none of which were on. I could only make out their outlines in the cross-hatch of shadows overhead. What light there was came from small wall lamps placed at intervals around the hangar.

  I made my way carefully through the dim, nearly empty space. Except for the two remaining Skylark jets angled away from me, their wheels locked.

  My footsteps clicked on the concrete as I moved around the fuselage of the nearer jet. The cockpit was empty. Then a sudden rush of wind made me turn around.

  At the far end of the hanger, the huge doors stood open, walls-on-wheels bolted to their tracks. Beyond, on the tarmac, I could see the jet Karen had mentioned, still idling. Lights flashing. Waiting to take off.

  As I crept slowly across the floor, my thoughts kept returning to Casey—to Karen. Something she’d said was stirring in my mind. Some vague notion whose contours I couldn’t yet see…

  I heard a sound. A muffled cry—

  My heart began to pound as I moved through the darkness, the emptiness. A feed-back loop of echoes and wind and the quick cadence of my own breathing.

  Where the hell was Bert Garman?

  Another dozen paces and I’d reached the second plane, sleek and silent, a dull sheen of plastic and glinting struts in the uncertain light. Its wings halved the space before me like knives suspended in air.

  I ducked my head and slipped under the fuselage, coming up on the other side.

  To nearly stumble over Bert Garman.

  I jumped back, righting myself. He lay panting on the cold asphalt, one elbow down, trying to push himself up.

  “Bert!” I helped him up.

  “Danny.” He gasped and began flexing the fingers of his right hand, more shamefaced than injured.

  “What happened?”

  “I guess I tripped.”

  He blinked in the dimness. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have run off on you, but I went to call the cops. I can’t find a phone. Everything’s locked. Then I heard something and ran in here—”

  He glanced around. “Dark as hell, isn’t it? I keep stumbling over stuff, and…”

  I just looked into his pale, watery eyes. And knew.

  “You were at Clearview Hospital, weren’t you, Bert?”

  “What?”

  “When Casey mentioned it upstairs, it reminded me. You were on staff there. You
told me yourself, remember? You came from there to Ten Oaks.”

  “Yeah? So…?”

  “You knew Kevin, didn’t you? When he was a patient there. You were both there at the same time. Funny, during all this, you never mentioned that fact…”

  Bert Garman shook his head sadly, then turned away. When he turned back, he held a gun.

  “Aw, hell,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Garman waved the gun.

  “Know what this is?” he asked lightly.

  I shrugged. “A .22? Maybe a .38. I don’t know that much about guns.”

  He beamed. “That’s not what I meant. See, Danny, this is the gun that killed Brooks Riley.”

  “You mean—”

  He took a couple steps back, out of my reach. No fool.

  “My wife Elaine. My soon-to-be-ex-wife. She thinks she’s so smart. Like I wouldn’t find out about her and Riley. Like I’d stand for being cuckolded by that bitch. After all the shit she’s put me through.”

  I had it now. The pieces clicked together in my mind.

  “You killed Brooks,” I said, “just before the patient riot. When you left your office for my files. You told Polk and me you’d just need a minute…”

  “I was right. That’s all it took.”

  Never taking my eyes from his gun, I reached to grip the wing strut beside me. I needed the feel of its cold solidity to ground me. Order my thoughts.

  “You went down to Brooks’ office, shot him, and brought the files back to your office. Easy. Then the alarm bell sounded. Per your arrangement with Lucy.”

  “Yep. See, you had the steps down right, but figured the wrong person. Elaine.”

  “But Lucy admitted to the cops it was Elaine who—”

  “Christ, Danny. I told her to finger Elaine if the cops pressed her. I’m the one keeping her supplied with nose candy. Her main man, she calls me. Trust me, that’s all she gives a shit about.”

  “While you get to see your wife charged with murder.”

  “Sweet, eh?”

  He shouldn’t have smiled. But he did, dropping his guard for only a moment.

  Which was all I needed.

  I pivoted off from the wing strut, kicking out at him with my left foot. Literally airborne for a second. I didn’t connect—knew I wouldn’t—but it changed the equation. Startled, he staggered back, gun jerking in his hand, firing. Into the rafters.

  I hit the pavement hard and rolled to my left, under the jet’s fuselage.

  “Goddam you, Danny!” He righted himself. Fuming.

  I stayed low, moving along the length of the jet’s body, keeping it between me and Garman.

  “Now where the fuck did you go?” Garman’s voice echoed off the high ceiling.

  I made my way to the jet’s tail, crouched beneath the cross-wings. Behind me, one of the hanging lamps threw an oval of pale light. I saw Garman’s shadow creeping slowly on the other side of the aircraft.

  At the same time, my mind raced, knitting the story together. What really happened at Clearview. Garman had had an affair with Loretta Pruitt, one of his patients. Maybe he wanted to break it off, maybe she did. But Kevin happened to be on the roof and saw the whole thing.

  Garman was getting closer, on his side of the jet. My best bet was to keep him talking. Distracted.

  “Kevin saw you strangle Loretta Pruitt, didn’t he, Bert? That night on the roof.”

  His laugh was bitter. “So that’s how we’re gonna play it, eh, Danny? Cat-and-mouse. Okay, I’ll play. Except I’m the one with the gun.”

  A shot boomed, loud as cannon-fire. I ducked just in time, as a slug tore into the jet’s tail above my head.

  “Truth is, Loretta was a total pain, but a maniac in bed. Nothing like a woman with low self-esteem, I always say. But I wanted to end it, so she threatened to talk. Destroy my career. Naturally I couldn’t allow that.”

  His shadow froze where he stood, a silhouette with a gun in its hand. He was trying to orient himself.

  I backed away from the jet, out of the light. Felt my way behind me in the dark with my hands.

  I kept my voice even. “But she’d already told Kevin. They’d become friends. Maybe she even told him she was meeting you that night. So he followed her.”

  “Who cares? All I know is, I squeezed the bitch till she was dead and tossed her off the roof. Then I looked behind me and there’s Kevin Merrick, staring at me…”

  An irritated grunt. “Where the hell are you, Danny boy? This is getting—”

  But I saw it coming. I rolled to the floor as Garman leapt from behind the jet’s tail and fired. The bullet whizzed over my head and shattered a wall lamp, spraying glass. The pool of light winked out.

  “Shit, Danny, now we’re both in the dark.”

  Gulping air, I crouched and edged toward a bank of thick wooden work benches along a far wall. I had to keep pressing him, throw off his concentration.

  “So Kevin sees you kill Loretta, you threaten him—”

  “I didn’t have to.” I tracked Garman’s footsteps as he advanced. “He knew. Ran down the stairs and disappeared. I searched half the night for him. Then all hell breaks loose the next morning. Cops everywhere. No way to get him alone, know what I mean?”

  The footsteps stopped. The scrape of shoe on concrete as he swiveled, looking for me. “Funny thing. He could’ve told the cops what he saw right then. But he didn’t.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  And I wasn’t. Kevin was probably traumatized by seeing Loretta killed. He’d spent a lifetime keeping secret the things that had been done to him. Or maybe he thought the cops wouldn’t believe him. God knows what his mental state was during the questioning. I doubt he came off as a credible witness.

  More importantly, Garman was a therapist at Clearview. A powerful authority figure, like his father. He probably figured Garman could get away with anything. Again, like his father.

  “Kevin was too terrified to talk. That’s why he took off. He knew his life was in danger.”

  “His life? What about mine?”

  He fired again, and I winced as the bullet whistled past my ear. His anger was making him reckless.

  “It drove me crazy knowing he was out there somewhere. That he might still talk. So I looked for him. Checked other hospitals. Everywhere. But he’d vanished.”

  He was on the hunt again, this time for me, moving, shifting, stalking. Like he’d stalked Kevin.

  The sharp edge of a heavy work bench pressed against my spine as I leaned back, hugging the shadows. I was running out of options. Risking the sudden movement, I dropped to the floor and crawled behind one of the thick wooden legs. And, hopefully, out of sight.

  “Then you took over at Ten Oaks. Which meant you led the peer supervision group. One day, years after Loretta’s death, I present a patient for discussion. A kid named Kevin Merrick…”

  Anger choked his words. “Can you imagine how it felt, hearing you describe him? Realizing that he’d surfaced at last.”

  “And was beginning to open up…”

  “Right. He might tell you about Loretta’s murder. You’d urge him to go to the cops. Even if he didn’t, you’d know about it. And God knows where that would lead, confidentiality or not.”

  He was right about that.

  Plus, I thought, Ten Oaks was just about to be acquired by UniHealth, which would make Garman a wealthy man. But Kevin Merrick could end all that.

  “So Kevin had to go,” I said. Moving again, pulling myself along the floor with elbows and knees under the row of work benches.

  “No other choice, Danny boy. Then, when you presented his case, how he’d begun looking and dressing like you…I saw a way to kill Kevin but make it look—”

  “Like I was the target,” I finished for him. “That the killer had mistaken Kevin for me.”

  Garman changed position, an indistinct outline in a shaft of light from the opposite wall lamp. The gun barrel
glinted dully.

  He was talking easily now. Trying to draw me out. Get me in his sights.

  “I didn’t enjoy killing him, by the way. A bloody mess. I wanted it to look savage, crazy. That’s why I thought the kitchen skewer was a nice touch.”

  “So was planting it in my office. Using the key that fell out of Kevin’s pocket. So it would look like the killer was still out there, tracking me.”

  I’d crawled the length of the work benches, and was back near the tail fin of the jet. That’s when I saw it, off to my right. Even from this new angle, it was nearly invisible in the dim light. A service ladder, aluminum, leaning against the fuselage on the other side of the jet.

  I ducked low and crept silently toward it.

  But still I had to finish it. Had to know it all.

  “Same thing the night Richie Ellner died.” I reached the ladder, started climbing. Raised my voice to dull the sound of my feet on the rungs. “The manikin, impaled with the second skewer.”

  “Cool, eh?” Garman chuckled. “See, I have it ready in the trunk of my car. Richie takes his little dive into eternity, I duck out in all the commotion, break into your car and put it behind the wheel. Your crazed killer strikes again!”

  I stepped off the highest rung and onto the top of the fuselage. The surface was polished, slick. I quickly knelt, for better balance, both palms gripping the bowed width. I figured I’d also be harder to be see.

  Taking a breath, I began sliding carefully along the top. Garman was on the floor on the other side of the jet, maybe a dozen feet forward and to my left.

  Now the silence between us grew ominous.

  I risked leaning out over the side and saw him, his face taut, alert. As though listening for my breathing. To find me, sense me in the darkness.

  But suddenly all I could think about was Kevin. My patient. My responsibility. His sad, lifeless eyes looking up at me as I cradled him. His blood pooling beneath us in that cold, empty garage.

  And Bert Garman. My friend and colleague. Who’d played me for a fool since this whole nightmare began—