by Lee Killough
So was it Sara? Cole stared at the space behind the VW, corresponding to where the trunk of his car had been. It had to be Sara. How could it be anyone else in this location. Certainly of it reverberated in him. Despite no blood being found in his trunk-
Cole felt a click in his head. No blood but bulging, terrified eyes; muffled scream; clawing at the mouth. Now the fear around him seemed to intensify. The cold bit deeper into him. “Could the lower face be blank because something covered the nose and mouth?”
Razor sucked in a breath. “You’re thinking suffocation? Why go that route? Irah had a gun.”
A much faster way to kill Sara. Unless Irah wanted her to suffer and was willing to risk someone hearing Sara thrash as she fought to breathe. Cole imagined Sara experiencing the terror he felt that night, only multiplied by the interminable minutes it took to deplete the oxygen in her blood and her brain finally shut down. Horror and rage flooded him. “Sara, I’m so sorry! I promise you Irah’s going to pay for this!”
“If you can prove she did it,” Razor said. “I still don’t see a motive for killing either of you.”
Cole did not, either. He set his jaw. “We’ll ask her when we nail her. Now that I can appear as anything I want, I’ll come up with the proof.”
Razor eyed him warily. “You’re not thinking of some ghost stunt like confession by impersonation, I hope.”
Cole stared at him, inspired. “I was thinking of haunting them as Sara’s and my dead bodies until they cracked, but you’ve given me a better idea.”
Razor went even more leery. “Like what?”
“How about a whole new level of create-mutual-suspicion-by-telling-each-suspect-the-other-has-rolled-over.”
Razor’s eyes lighted. “Cute. You think it can work?”
“Piece of cake.” Cole snapped his fingers.
Razor snorted. “Bull. There’s a million things that can go wrong. Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
Nothing that Cole could think of. “I’ll let you know. Until then, cross your fingers.”
They both glanced toward the space imprinted with Sara’s dying terror. Razor said, “On both my hands.”
18
Razor was right, of course. Pitfalls and obstacles littered the plan. Foremost: he had no control over his subjects’ access to each other. Unlike suspects in custody, they were free to communicate and straighten out conflicts and misunderstandings he tried to set up. And anything that betrayed his immateriality — running out of steam and evaporating before one of them, letting them try touching him — would shoot him down. Ditto if the original walked in on one of his impersonations. This needed careful planning.
He knew where to start, though. With Irah. He doubted she would crack easily, but coming eyeball to bloody eyeball with her victims ought to shake her up.
He made a trial run to locate Irah and found her working at her computer. Quickly, Cole sent himself to the Embarcadero…and while collecting heat from the vehicles there, kept his fingers crossed that Irah stayed put.
When he returned to her office, to his relief, she had gone no farther than the shelving, where she stood thumbing through a stack of Security Management issues. Cole grinned. Perfect.
Quickly, he moved through the desk and arranged himself in the chair with arms dangling limp, head thrown back with jaw gaping slack and eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling. The right eye anyway. Guessing at the bullet trajectory, he visualized the exit wound as a gaping hole taking out his left eye and surrounding bone, with blood covering his face and running down the side of his head to soak the backrest of her chair. Imagining his body like this felt creepy. He hoped it hit her that way, too.
As he drew on the accumulated heat energy, willing materialization of the bloody body, global vision let him watch her without taking his gaze off the ceiling. The feel of weight came just in time. She pulled one magazine out of the stack and turned around. Cole waited with grim glee for her reaction.
Her attention was on the magazine. She flipped pages on her way back to the desk, never looking up.
He gave a long, quavering moan. “Iraaah…”
She turned a page.
He swore. Shades of that parking attendant. “Irah, you bitch, look at me!”
She neither glanced at him nor broke her stride in coming around the desk. Where, as he sat frozen in disbelief, she dropped into the chair.
The static buzz of their contact shattered Cole’s paralysis. “Son of a bitch!” Shuddering with revulsion, he sprang free of her and through the desk.
Behind him, he saw her start, too, then shiver and run her hands down the arms of the chair. After a few moments, though, she shrugged and pulled her chair up to the desk, where she spread the magazine open on her blotter.
Cole swore in dismay. Ghost blind! Damn! That meant he had to work everything through Flaxx and Lamper. Were they going to be enough?
He set his jaw. If they saw him, he would make them enough!
If they saw him.
He needed more energy to check that out. Before zipping down to the Embarcadero, though, he better make sure Flaxx was there, and absorb the feel of the office’s location. And why not take a shortcut there. Considering the suite floor plan, Cole guessed that the wall behind Irah’s shelving separated her from Flaxx’s private washroom and his built-in bar.
Closing his eyes, Cole walked forward into the shelving and kept going until he estimated he had cleared the washroom. A good guess, he found on opening his eyes. He stood in the office. Also nearly two feet above the carpet.
While looking around, adding the office to his internal map, he stepped down to the floor. At the same time, he frowned at Flaxx, who sat reading some papers and looking smug. The expression hit Cole like fingernails scraping a blackboard. What a pleasure it would be to shatter that self-satisfaction. First, though, Flaxx had to know Cole Dunavan was dead.
The question was how to go about it. He doubted he could have “Irah” to come in and announce: “Hey, big brother; guess what I’ve been up to.” Carrying off impersonations these people needed believable behavior.
Flaxx pushed away from the desk headed into the washroom, closing the door behind him.
Cole stared at it, reminded of his fire rescue. The old woman heard him through her own bathroom door before he ever materialized. If Flaxx did, too, then the materializations certainly ought to work on him. And if Flaxx heard him, why not start the show right now? With a psychological flash-bang.
Mind racing, he stepped over to the door and listened. Sweet. He had caught Flaxx with his pants down. He pulled in some room heat to give his voice more substance. “Yo, Donald! How are things moving today?”
Inside, Flaxx called back, “Who’s that?”
He heard! Cole grinned. Let the fun begin. He had no trouble putting acid in his voice. “It’s Specter Dunavan, asshole. I’m hurt that as long as we’ve known each other, you don’t recognize my voice.”
“How the hell did you get in here?” Cole almost heard blood pressure rising. “I’m calling Security.”
Excellent. “Yeah, I guess you would have a phone in there. Got to stay in touch 24/7, right?” He listened to Flaxx pick up the receiver. “Except you’re not as in touch as you think. You need to keep a closer eye on your Asset Manager. Little sister has been up to more than burglary and torching stores in her Kijurian disguise, and more murder than the firefighter’s death.”
The phone banged into its cradle. That meant he had just seconds before Farrell arrived.
“Thank you, Dunavan. I’m taking those accusation to Citizens Complaints…and you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. You’re finished…in such deep shit you’ll never get out!”
Cole grinned. “Oh, I’m finished all right, but you’re the one in deep shit. Irah murdered the bookkeeper, Sara Benay. Suffocated her down in the parking garage. And we can make you an accessory. Have a nice day.”
From inside came a satisfyingly shocked gasp, but before Flaxx cou
ld respond further, the door of the office crashed open and Antoine Farrell rushed in, followed by Flaxx’s secretary.
The two plowed to a halt, eyes scanning the office. Farrell’s shaved scalp furrowed. “Where’d he go, Mr. Flaxx?”
Flaxx called back, “What do you mean, where’d he go?”
Farrell came over to the door. “There’s no one here.”
Flaxx barreled out, still buckling his belt. He stared around. “That’s impossible. He was talking to me just a second before I heard you come in.” His eyes narrowed as he eyed the office door. “Dunavan must have heard you coming, too, and stepped behind the door when it opened. Then he left while your attention was on this door.”
Farrell ran from the office.
Flaxx scowled at Katherine Maldonado. “How did he get in here?”
She stiffened at the accusation in his voice. “I don’t know. No one’s come past me.”
His scowl deepened. “He had to. You must have turned your back.”
“Not for more than a moment, not long enough to- ”
Flaxx stalked out of the office and up the hallway.
She followed as far as her desk and dropped into her chair with a hiss of exasperation.
Cole trailed along while Flaxx peered into one office after another, asking, “Did any of you see a tall, lanky guy heading toward my office or running away from it?”
Blank looks and head shakes answered him.
When they reached the reception area, they found Farrell there with Gina…who glanced up anxiously toward the security camera. “Have I seen Inspector Dunavan today?”
Cole kicked himself for that materialization. No one was likely to ask her about seeing him, huh? Now he either had a credible witness saying he seemed alive and well or she lied, as he asked her to, and risked losing her job. He was making trouble for one woman after another.
“It’s a simple question,” Flaxx snapped. “He was in my office. I want to know how he got in.”
Gina stiffened. “Not past me, Mr. Flaxx. I would have called you if he tried that. You can see for yourself on the tape.”
Cole blew her a kiss. “Great answer.” Of course, she thought the tape would show him come in and leave.
Flaxx and Farrell headed back down the hallway. Flaxx said, “Yes, check your tapes. Maybe he found a way to come in by the emergency exit. Then save the tape that has him on it so I can use it to file a complaint against him. I’ll check back with you in a few minutes.”
Flaxx left him and strode back down the hallway. Angling toward the side away from his office door. Did that mean he was headed for the Irah’s office? Yes. They turned into the side hall.
Flaxx pushed open the door without knocking and slammed it behind him. “So much for your claims of Dunavan never being a problem again.”
She turned from her computer, eyebrows arching. “What do you mean?”
He planted his hands on her desk. “I mean he was just in my office.”
“Dunavan?” Irah snorted. “That’s impossible.”
If Cole needed more proof that she killed him, the flat certainty in her voice gave it to him. Now give me something for Hamada.
“I wish.” Flaxx leaned over the desk. “This time he wasn’t even bothering to just insinuate things. He accused us outright of the burglaries and arson, and you of murdering what’s-her-name, the bookkeeper he was screwing…and claimed I’m an accessory.”
She froze for a moment and her heart jumped, then her eyes narrowed. “Dunavan was in your office?” Her tone doubted him.
Big brother should love that, Cole mused.
Flaxx’s voice hardened. “I know his voice.”
Irah sat up straighter. “Voice. You didn’t see him?”
“He came in while I was in the washroom,” Flaxx snapped. “I had the door closed. He mouthed off at me through it.”
“Oh.” Irah settled back in her chair. “You’re sure it was him…even though he’d have to get past Gina and Katherine, and Gina has orders to call you when any cop shows up?”
Flaxx flushed. “I’m thinking he found a way in through the emergency exit, and left that way, too. Farrell’s checking the tape now.”
“I promise you it wasn’t Dunavan,” Irah said. “So we don’t know who we’re looking for.” She picked up the phone and punched an in-house number. “Antoine, what are you seeing on the security tapes? … Is there anyone unknown on them who’s left in the last few minutes? … Terrific, but before you run that one, check all your monitors for an intruder. Check the supply room.” She waited, drumming her fingers, and a minute later she said, “I see. Well, you keep watching and I’ll get back to you.” Hanging up, she stood. “Donald, do me a favor. Stand in the doorway and watch for anyone trying to reach the emergency exit. I’ll be right back.”
Cole followed while she looked into the break room and marched into both the men’s and women’s restrooms and checked each stall. After leaving the men’s room, she leaned into the Security office. “Any sign of someone hiding or trying to sneak out?”
Farrell shook his head. “Nope.”
She smiled. “I thought not. Thanks. You can relax now. You’re not going to see any intruders.”
Back at her office, Flaxx still stood in the doorway. “Well?”
“The tapes don’t show anyone leaving.” She closed the door. “And there’s no outsider visible in the suite.”
Flaxx frowned. “Then what the hell happened to him?”
She sat down, looking thoughtful. “That’s obvious enough. The question is who he is. There’s one possibility that comes to mind.”
“Who!”
Irah shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he’d do it, or how he knew… Don’t worry,” she said as Flaxx’s mouth thinned, “once I know for certain, I’ll give him to you.”
Flaxx eyed her for a few more moments, then grunted. “Make it quick.” He turned toward the door.
What a piece of work Irah was, Cole reflected. She had completely sidetracked him from the subject of Sara’s murder.
He moved up to Flaxx’s ear.“Why should this character accuse Irah of killing that bookkeeper?” he whispered.
Flaxx hesitated just a second before he continued reaching for the doorknob.
Indicating he heard something. Cole tried again. “Why is she ignoring that and not denying it? That’s suspicious.”
Flaxx paused with his hand on the knob.
Cole kept whispering. “Is it possible the guy outside the washroom wasn’t lying?” He had a thought. Could he pass as an inner voice? “I have to know. I can’t afford more cops digging around if that bookkeeper turns up dead.”
The shot hit home. Flaxx wheeled and walked back to the desk. “Why did Dunavan accuse you of killing the bookkeeper? Aren’t you upset by that?”
She looked up wide-eyed. “An accusation delivered anonymously through a door? No.”
A lie. It did worry her, Cole noted with satisfaction. He heard tension in her voice. Flaxx was relaxing, though. He obviously bought the innocent stare.
Education time, asshole. “Shouldn’t she have said she isn’t upset because she’s not guilty? Damn. She’s dodging my question.” Cole whispered. “I can’t let her get away with that! Let’s see how she reacts to hearing how he said she killed the woman.”
Flaxx scowled at her. “He said you suffocated the woman in the parking garage.”
Irah’s pupils dilated and her heart rate jumped. For a split second Cole also saw shock in her face. Then she regained control. Her expression turned mocking. “Suffocated in the garage by Colonel Mustard using the velvet pillow? I can’t believe you’re buying this guy.”
Cole whispered, “Why won’t you won’t give me a straight answer? Is what Dunavan said bullshit or the truth…yes or no?”
Flaxx parroted the words, then slapped a hand on the desk and finished on his own. “That woman’s linked to this company and if she turns up dead Dunavan will- ”
“He wo
n’t do anything,” Irah said. “He’s history. Don’t worry about Benay turning up dead either. Trust me.”
“Trust you.” Flaxx grimaced. “Trusting you has gotten me involved in burglary and arson. I don’t want it to be murder, too.”
Cole ground his teeth. Shit! If only he could be wearing a wire!
“I don’t know why I listened to you.”
She gave him a razor smile. “Because I offered you a chance to make more money and you love waving profit figures in front of Daddy. I’ve delivered what I promised, right? So listen to me again. Neither Dunavan nor Benay is going to pop up. I guarantee it.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Never mind. Per your often stated preference, you have results without being bothered about the details of execution.”
She drew out the final word, her inflection savoring it.
Flaxx stiffened. He stepped back from the desk, staring at her in disbelief. “Oh my god. You did kill the woman.”
Irah’s eyes measured him for a moment, then she shrugged. “Yes.”
Rage hit Cole in an incandescent bolt. A rage fueled in part, he realized, by his own guilt. One word, delivered so casually, as if it meant nothing, destroyed the last hope that he might redeem himself by finding Sara still alive somewhere…and indicted him for sacrificing her to his obsession.
He bared his teeth. Now taking down Sara’s killer was all he could do for her. “And I will take you down for it, Irah, if it’s the last thing I do.”
“Now…as long as you insist on being given knowledge of a capital crime,” Irah added, “you might as well know I killed Dunavan, too…also down in the garage.” She fired a finger gun at Flaxx.
Cole swore. If only he could be recording this!
Flaxx choked. He stared at Irah in horror…then took a deep breath and asked casually, “What made you decide to do that?”
Despite his apparent calm, the air felt supercharged. Current ran down Cole’s spine. Irah eyed her brother warily.