Ms. Seemore was helpful to my family after the murder attempt and the ambush. She likes Dillon and cared for him while Francis and I were in the hospital. My landlady has become a dear friend to our Sorrell family. Thanks to her efforts, we have been able to restore our daily lives to some degree of normalcy.
Normalcy includes the smell of breakfast aromas coming from my kitchen. I know that Grandfather is a great cook. Maybe he has made homemade biscuits, corned beef hash and fried eggs.
I remember that Ms. Seemore offered my Grandparents the use of the vacant furnished apartment next door, but when they told me that for my safety they were going to stay in my spare bedroom, I was pleased. Nana said, “Since we three are planning to leave for North Carolina in a few days staying in your apartment is a better arrangement. You need some tender loving care and protection.” My newly discovered Grandparents are very concerned for my safety. I have grown to love both of them very much.
There is a knock on my bedroom door and Nana calls, “Keith, I am cooking breakfast this morning. Everything will be ready shortly.”
Apparently Nana Marguerite not Francis has decided to tempt my appetite with some wholesome food. She told me that she and Grandfather want to help me regain my strength. Nana told me last night that she has noticed that my appetite has been poor since I was released from the hospital. Smelling the breakfast cooking and thinking with affection about my considerate family the pleasant thought enters my mind that I will be putting on a few pounds.
My apartment has come to feel like a safe cozy home as I move with no sense of trepidation within its confines.
I stand in my bathroom and review my short term memory list on my bathroom mirror. Francis and Nana are continuing to help me construct the vital list until the three of us have become completely certain the list will no longer be needed.
Beginning to read and think through my daily list, I realize how great it is to have some memory back. With every passing moment more of my lost memory is returning.
I have changed into my Kung Fu garments as fast as humanly possible. As I exit my bedroom I pause to breathe deeply of the heavenly vapors coming from my kitchen. I see Nana Marguerite in the kitchen and say, “Good morning, Nana.” She replies, “Yes it is a good morning Keith. Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes. I am planning pork chops, turnip greens, small red boiled potatoes, and cornbread for dinner. There is a bag of self-rising cornmeal mix in your pantry, but I have not been unable to find a baking pan or iron skillet in which to bake cornbread. Do you remember what happened to your pan?”
Let me think Keith replies, “Iron skillet, iron skillet, huh, I remember that I do have a small iron skillet somewhere.” My memory fails me, so I offer Nana no reply. Nana does not press me.
“Your Grandfather and Dillon walked out to the park and should be back soon. I hope I did not wake you, I was practicing throwing my knives at the board your Grandfather hung over his mattress. I have them in here by the kitchen sink ready for polishing, take care not to touch them and cut yourself they are very sharp,” Nana informs me. Nana Marguerite’s last statement caused a shiver to run up my spine.
So that was the noise I heard earlier this morning, it was Nana throwing her knives. Go figure. This revelation deeper into the character of Nana Marguerite amazes but does not shock me in the least. This could be one dangerous lady. My grandparents are formidable forces.
As is my morning ritual I walk toward the large living room window and begin to settle into the first of thirty-four short form Tai Chi dance steps. I look toward the park and see Grandfather Francis Sorrell and Dillon Edwards Sorrell at their customary park bench.
I look around and note that all appears to be back to normal on our street. Crime scene tape and markings have been removed. Traffic is moving on Elm Street.
Everything seems quiet, calm and safe. I note that there is no lady with a guitar or a mother pushing a baby carriage. They are not in the park because they are dead. I notice an SUV parked just up the street to my right, and I see an African American man with a baby carriage sitting on the park bench to the left of Francis and Dillon. I reflect back and remember that the bench he is sitting on is the same bench that the mother with the baby carriage sat on.
I hear birds chirping; I see small animals scurrying up trees and running around the park grounds; and sad but true the pigeons continue with dropping their excrement everywhere. Everything seems peaceful and normal. The traffic is moving smoothly and the buses are once more running their regular Elm Street schedules. I watch as a bus arrives and people get off as others prepare to board.
All seems well as I see Grandfather Francis and Dillon rise from their bench and walk to the pet island. I see Dillon look up panting his signature smile at Grandfather indicating that he is ready to walk across the street and go home. The bus begins moving after Francis and Dillon disappear from my view. I know that they have entered my apartment building. “No repeat of an ambush,” I think with relief.
After a few minutes I hear the duo casually and quietly enter the apartment. Francis sits on the leather couch as Dillon raises his head recognizes me, and gives Keith Edwards Sevan Sorrell a big smile.
I ask, “Grandfather, don’t we have work to do today?” I am still by the window standing in a Tai-Chi stance. Before he can answer I continue with, “Yesterday at the hospital Detective Sergeant Hernandez told me that the district attorney will not allow any charges to be pressed against you. He acknowledges that you were acting in self-defense. By you, Hernandez means all of us Sorrell’s, are free to travel anywhere we wish. He would like for us to leave cell phone numbers so that his office can reach us. We can leave for Charlotte, North Carolina at any time.”
I begin to speak once more, “We will not be seeing Kate before we leave. She says she needs some space because of the murder attempts. She is afraid and does not want to chance getting killed. Kate being scared is understandable, and I don’t blame her for wanting to keep her distance. She and I never have been more than close friends, although her choice of words sounds like we were romantically involved. This misinterpretation of our relationship concerns me; I hope that she is okay.”
Francis chimes in with, “It makes good sense to me for her to keep her distance. Dillon definitely does not like her. Of course, remaining friends at a distance or not at all is your decision and not Dillon’s, but I would hate to be in your place if Dillon is unhappy. His growling continuously when Kate is around would make me nervous. Dillon does not waste his efforts growling, when he growls something is amiss. When I hear him growl that low don’t mess with me growl, the hair on the back of my neck straightens with electricity.”
“That much more reason to put our relationship, such as it is, on the back burner for a while, don’t you think?” I enquire of Francis.
An angelic voice comes from the kitchen, “Breakfast is ready you guys,” says Nana Marguerite. Hearing the lovely feminine voice Dillon picks up the scents and turns his head toward the kitchen. Francis and I anxious, for Nana Marguerite’s breakfast, and feeling totally relaxed move from our positions toward the kitchen.
Chapter 51
Kate Surprised
I, Nana Marguerite, watch Dillon with interest as I announce to Francis and Keith that breakfast is on the table in the breakfast nook. Hearing me speak, Dillon perks his ears up and turns his head toward the kitchen as he leaves his position in front of the couch and begins to walk slowly across the living room; he stops abruptly and looks toward the apartment front door. After pausing, he begins to walk toward the hallway and the kitchen once more, but his body and mind are on high alert. His head is turned slightly toward the door and his ears are straight up and he is ever vigilant.
Simultaneously as I rummage through Keith’s utensil drawer, my eyes follow all my men and I hear a faint sound outside the front door. Francis and I make eye contact; I know that Francis, always vigilant, heard the sound also. We both observe Dillon’s movements and body posture
. Francis’ eyes go to where Dillon is looking.
Francis and I both hear another sound; it is a light metallic sound coming from the hallway. Francis is very familiar with firearms and he and I both know that the sound is that of someone chambering a round in a Glock. When Francis hears the sound; he is already half way between the couch and the dining room heading toward the hallway and kitchen entrance. He has no weapons close at hand.
Keith’s living room dining combination is quite a large room. The couch sits at a slight angle and is placed at the window end of the room with the fireplace being to the left of the couch. Francis’ practice mattress hangs to the right of the fireplace. From the window and couch perspective the front door is to the right. The kitchen pass through opening is quite large and overlooks the door to the left and the dining and living room space. There is approximately ten feet between the entrance to the hallway and the front door.
Francis realizes too late that he left his cane and other weapons on the leather couch. The couch is a few feet behind him. As he hesitates, we make eye contact; I keep my eyes on Francis and the door.
Francis and I are both aware that Keith has stopped moving and is watching us. He is standing in the sunlight coming through the window, but the bright light is immediately replaced with a perception of darkness. I can see that Francis knows danger is imminent; it is evident he also realizes that he cannot make it to his cane or guns so he turns preparing to lunge himself toward the door if it becomes necessary. I think, “Francis is several feet from the door and a lunge would only get him killed; I must act.”
I watch as Keith continues to assess all of our behavior. Standing in the kitchen, I am watching Keith watch Francis and Dillon, Dillon faces the door and begins to growl his low but strong danger growl.
All of us hear the sound of a key being carefully inserted into the door lock and the door is opened a little. Suddenly the door is pushed open with great force and a small person wearing a hooded jacket with a skull cap on under the hood enters the room. It is Katherine Kate Miller standing in the door, eyes glaring. Her feet are spread and body dropped down in a shooter’s position while she begins leveling her Glock directly at Francis. Kate’s eyes are wild; she looks very surprised and appears to be in a state of confusion. Finding Francis and I in Keith’s apartment is not what she expected.
Before Kate can gather her thoughts and recuperate from her surprise at finding Francis in the living room she turns slightly to face Keith. While touching the trigger Kate levels her Glock on Keith and says “If I can’t have you, no one can.”
I, Nana Marguerite, pull my hand from the utensil drawer and fire my Beretta through the kitchen pass through opening toward Kate. My first round hits Kate in her upper chest causing her round to go into the ceiling of the living room. As Kate moves to fire her weapon again, my second round hits her in her mouth, teeth fly. I think, “No pun intended Kate literally bites the bullet.”
We all watch as Katherine Kate Miller sinks to the floor a stunned perplexed look on her damaged face. I realize all of a sudden that I have become very nauseous and I grip the counter top holding myself erect and remaining ever vigilant.
I watch as Dillon walks slowly into the kitchen and sits next to my left leg. He pants in relief and smiles up at me as if to say, “I told you Kate was bad.” Still in shock I keep my eyes fixed on Kate waiting for even the slightest twitch, or other sign of life from her.
My mind races and I sympathize with my Grandson as he says he recognizes the clothing and skull cap on Kate’s head. He says Kate was the person he saw through the bus window the morning of the ambush. Kate was the person making frantic motions to the SWAT officer that was assisting him and Francis. “Why Kate, why did you do this? I have always loved you like a younger sister,” Keith shouts in anguish.
The perception of darkness disappears and sunshine radiates through the living room window. Keith is once more standing in front of the window in disbelief of what has just occurred.
I look over at Kate’s body and emphatically say, “Not my men Kate, not today, not any day.”
I take charge of the bad situation exclaiming, “I believe that Kate is dead. I suggest that the two of you get to your guns and hold them on her anyway; she may not be alone, watch the door while I call 911 and request that Detectives Hernandez and Breau get here as soon as possible.”
“Yes ma’am,” Keith says, to me as he gets moving following instructions.
I re-emphasize, “Francis, please get a weapon and stay on guard, this may escalate to involve more people than Katherine Kate.”
“Yes ma’am,” Francis says as he also follows instructions.
I lay my Beretta on Keith’s kitchen counter and say, “Don’t touch a thing and we should try to stay in place and remain alert until Hernandez and Breau get here. If the ambulance arrives first keep your guns in your pockets ready for anything. We must not trust the ambulance people or even the police. We must stay on high alert until the detectives take control of this crime scene. There have been too many people involved in these murder attempts. We cannot trust anyone.”
I observe Keith’s actions as he removes his cell phone from his martial arts uniform. I know that he is calling Raj. After Raj answers Keith says, “Kate Miller has been shot in my apartment. The shooting was in self-defense. Kate used a key that I had given her long ago to enter, and after entering she pointed her gun in my direction intending to shoot me, my Nana shot her.”
Keith turns to us, “Raj says tell Hernandez and Breau all the details and he will come to Rockford as soon as possible.”
Dillon, you stay in the kitchen with Nana,” Keith orders.
Dillon moves to a spot in the hall near the kitchen entrance and lies down. He thinks, “Yes, from this vantage point I can keep watch on all my family members and Kate. I can watch Kate on the floor, and see Nana in the kitchen; and Francis, and Keith in the living room.”
I dialed 911 and requested EMS assistance, and Homicide Detectives Hernandez and Breau. My hands are still shaking very badly as I continue to hold very firmly to the kitchen counter. Nervous verbal exchanges commence with me saying, “I am glad we decided to stay in Keith’s apartment rather than in the apartment next door. We made the right decision to not tell anyone our plans, even Kate.”
Keith and Francis simultaneously say, “That is for sure.” Francis adds, “God has been watching over all of us.”
Francis continues, “Kate believed we were next door and for her own reasons came in here to kill Keith, or if she knew we were here, possibly having monitored our apartment, she wanted us to witness Keith’s death and her swan song suicide. Kate felt rejected by Keith, and we should all feel sorry for her. I know that I am sorry that she had to die. Better Kate than Keith or you Marguerite.”
“Guys, do you suppose Kate has been behind these murder attempts?” I ask and receive no answer to my query as I recognize Francis and Keith are in shock at what has just occurred.
Keith’s apartment phone rings and Francis and I watch as he walks a short distance over to a table and answers it. We hear him say hello and then he tells Francis and I, “This is Ms. Seemore calling to check on the family. She says another resident called her about the sound of shots coming from my apartment.” We listened as Keith brought Ms. Seemore up to date and asked her to stay downstairs. He advised her to lock her doors and he hung up the telephone.
Francis, tired of standing, sat on the couch, Glock in hand and says, “Déjà vu, Groundhog Day just keeps playing over and over.”
I retrieved my Beretta from the kitchen counter and stood legs slightly spread knees bent leaning forward ready for any action necessary. I suddenly realized that my knees hurt very badly.
Dillon is still lying quietly in the hall, keeping a vigilant eye on all of us, including Kate’s body.
Keith, Dillon and I watch as Francis once again fully armed rises from the couch and stands just beside the living room window looking for the re-enforcem
ent troops to arrive. The sirens can be heard and in less than ten minutes they have arrived on the street below in front of Keith’s apartment building.
“Here is the emergency vehicle, and I see Hernandez and Breau getting out of their cars. I am sure that Rock Savage and his media crew will be here shortly. Spectators are gathering on the street,” Francis reports to Keith and me. Francis looks over and down at Dillon as though he has spoken to him as well.
Francis tells us that he sees Devon Carter sitting on a bench in the park holding a baby. Francis adds that there is a baby carriage parked next to the bench. Francis says, “I am sure Devon heard the shots, but he is not approaching the apartment building. I saw him when Dillon and I visited the pet island.”
Francis thinks, “Devon Carter, I believe we have more business to discuss, and I am sure you will make certain we will meet again very soon. Is this the missing baby from the now deceased mother with the baby carriage?”
Francis grumbles out loud, “This is getting to be a habit.” A very well armed Francis returns to the spot where he was standing when Kate entered the apartment.
I watch as Francis and Dillon observe Keith as he briefly leaves the living room and returns holding his Walther PPK hand gun in his right hand. With his left hand he is placing a Beretta behind his back into his waist band. Placing the Beretta behind his back with only one hand is a much practiced professional military move. Keith walks back to the window and resumes his previous position as he says, “I have had all I can stand of these vicious attacks on me and my family. I will never be unarmed or unprepared again.” Keith’s statement was made with a great deal of conviction.
Suddenly Ms. Seemore, going against Keith’s request for her to remain behind locked doors, appears in the hallway just outside Keith’s partially open apartment door. I call to her, “Ms. Seemore, please wait out there until the police give you the all clear to come in. We are fine as Keith told you over the phone. We are all fine in here except for Kate. Do not worry about us.” “We are fine,” I repeat once more for my own assurance as much as for Ms. Seemore’s.
Signal to Murder Page 26