Lies in High Places

by Dana Killion

  “How about some wine?” Erik said, moving toward the kitchen, not waiting for me to offer. I stood open-mouthed, irritated at his familiarity, but willing to postpone my objection until I had a better idea of their mission.

  I turned back to Platt, waiting for the tell, wondering what they had planned. Trying not to signal my wariness.

  “I understand you have a stunning terrace. Why don’t we go outside? The temperature is lovely,” Platt suggested.

  Alone with Platt was the last place I wanted to be but I’d left my phone outside. “Of course.” I motioned toward the door, but my eyes were on the remaining papers splayed over my dining table. Would Erik notice?

  As all visitors did, Platt walked to the edge and lifted his head to look up at the X-braced exterior of the Hancock Building to the white band of lights rimming the one hundred-story structure, then down the eleven stories to the street below.

  Platt made trivial small talk about my remodeling as we waited for Erik. The charm that had unnerved me in the past with its slickness now seemed to have sinister undertones. How far would he go to achieve his goal? To conceal his involvement? I glanced over at the chaise. My cell phone was in sight, but unfortunately not in hand.

  Erik returned, glasses in hand, seeming to have ignored the mess on my table. And my banged-up head, I realized. Neither man had shown an ounce of curiosity.

  They didn’t need to ask. They both already knew.

  No, not Erik, too. My heart shattered.

  The two men filled the air with inane banter as we sipped our wine under the summer stars and felt the light breeze of the evening. With a hollow heart and every nerve on edge, I watched Platt, saying nothing, waiting for the drama to begin. I glanced back at the phone.

  “Andrea, I hear you’re considering a move back into legal practice,” Platt said. “I’d be happy to introduce you to some of my contacts. You have the tenacity for corporate law, and the pay is definitely better in the private sector.” His lips turned up in an attempt at a smile, but his eyes were sharp and calculating, as if he were daring me to challenge him.

  I smiled at the two men. “You haven’t done too poorly on the government payroll, Owen.” I watched the flicker in his eyes that told me I’d hit my mark. “I’m sorry, but your source is mistaken. Thank you for the offer, but I’m going to give freelance work a shot.”

  “Are you sure that’s smart, Andrea?” Erik said. “You could have a pretty secure future. Owen’s willing to make the right introductions. It would be the best thing to do. Freelance work is unpredictable, and you have some hefty expenses in this apartment,” he said, glancing back inside.

  “What’s going on?” I looked from Erik to Platt. “Why are you here? Why are you so interested in how and where I work?” The back of my neck bristled. I was tired of the dance already.

  “Be practical, Andrea,” Erik said.

  I glared at him. Who the hell did he think he was? I was angry at his supposition, angry that he’d involved himself in Platt’s insane scheme. How could he have been willing to take that risk? To go that far?

  “Erik, why don’t you go inside and give me and Andrea a few minutes to talk,” Platt said.

  Erik nodded and, with a pained look at me, did as he was told. My stomach clamped down as I gauged Platt’s intent.

  “Let me grab my phone. I’m expecting a call.” I said.

  Platt hooked my arm as I turned to follow Erik, pulling me back.

  “You can hear it ring. Let’s chat.”

  “What is it, Owen? What game are you two playing?”

  He chuckled to himself, enjoying my irritation.

  “I think what Erik is trying to say is that I can get you re-established.”

  He stepped closer to me, backing me against the parapet, until his face was six inches from mine. I could feel a cold sweat trickle down my back as I looked into the face of a man who knew no bounds. Would that include silencing me? I shouldn’t have come out here with him.

  “Let’s look at this logically,” he said. “You’ve left one career. Been fired from another before it even took off. You’re about to be divorced, and the sad truth is women rarely fully recover financially. It’s been a tough six months. I can help turn this situation around.” He was whispering, but his voice was as sharp as a blade.

  “In exchange for what? My silence on a certain real estate deal?” I stared him down, but couldn’t suppress the adrenaline flooding my system. I pictured the path between me and my phone. Fifteen, maybe twenty feet. Would Erik stop me if I made a run for it?

  “I knew I’d like you.” His laugh was low and dead, as he leaned in. “I like smart women, challenging women.”

  I stepped to the side trying to make a move toward my phone. In one sudden movement, he grabbed my wrist and spun me around, pressing me hard against the stone. I gasped at the suddenness and the menace in his voice.

  “Now, be that smart woman or we’re going to have to find another solution to this problem.” His breath was hot against my neck, his body steeled against mine, his fingers dug into the flesh of my wrist. My mind raced. How far would he take his threat? I listened for signs that Erik was close at hand and squirmed against Platt’s grip. He just squeezed tighter and laughed.

  “After all, you’re distraught. Alone. No job. A husband who has betrayed you. People will be shocked at first, but who wouldn’t understand that you might not want to go on. That the pain of all this trauma could be too much.”

  His arms came around me as he hissed these horrible things in my ear, and I knew he wanted me silenced, permanently.

  I pushed against him as his arms tightened around me and he began to lift. Wedging my knee under the cap, I braced my arms against the granite while Platt pushed me forward until I could see the sidewalk eleven stories down. I watched as the flower pot beside me was knocked over the edge and obliterated below me. And knew I would be next.

  Wriggling in his grip, I spun my shoulder, aimed high, and slammed an elbow into his neck. Hearing him grunt, I kicked against the barrier, pushing, fighting for leverage. My bare feet slipped against the stone, and Platt regained his grasp on me, lifting me toward the edge.

  “No!” I screamed for Erik and lunged toward the concrete planter on my right. Thrashing, kicking, clawing. I strained to get a hand on something solid as Platt lifted my legs.

  My fingers clutched at dirt and plants, probing for the rim, for something solid to hold on to, as my feet hung over the edge of the building. With nothing but willpower to stop what was happening I screamed again, struggling with every ounce I had in me. As we fought, I heard Erik pleading with Platt to stop, felt Erik pulling at him, trying to force him to release me, but Platt would have none of it. As my body shifted, my hand brushed wood. A trowel. I grasped the handle and, with every ounce of strength, swung. As I felt the prongs hit flesh, a gunshot rang out, and I tumbled to the ground.

  Lying in a heap of sweat and dirt and blood on the slate, with my mind fogged over, I sensed movement around me. I felt a body being pulled off of me. Felt myself tremble as the world around began to go dark.

  38

  A cold blast of air whipped at my shoulders, and I burrowed deeper under the covers. Why were these pillows so flat? Slowly, the faint sound of Willie Nelson trickled through in the background. The alarm? What happened to my classical station? I labored to shake off the sleep that cemented my eyelids. My body felt like marble, but the chirp of voices and daylight were pushing into my consciousness. Voices. Who was here? Platt! I threw myself upright.

  “It’s okay, Andrea. You’re safe.”

  A nurse laid her hand on my shoulder and inspected an IV line in my arm. Michael and Karl Janek watched, from the end of the bed, Cai and Lane from chairs next to the window. “How about some water?” Cai asked.

  I nodded and felt the hammering in my chest slow. The men said nothing as I drank.

  “Last night. Were you there?” I asked the men after settling back against the pil
low. Images and fragments of conversation drifted into my consciousness. Dreams or memory? I couldn’t distinguish. Cai laid her hand on mine, a tear rolling down her cheek. Lane stood at her side.

  “Yes,” Michael said, his face wracked with pain. “How do you feel?”

  “I think I heard a gun last night. Did someone get shot?” I asked reluctantly, hoping that the terror I was feeling in my gut was misdirected, unreliable.

  The men looked at each other before Janek spoke. “As we walked in, Platt had you in position to go over the edge. I fired, and as I did so, Mr. Martin changed his position. He took the hit. I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it.”

  Erik was dead? I stared at Janek. I was immobilized, unable to breathe, feeling tears stream down my face. We looked at each other for what seemed like months, the torment visible in his eyes.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” I said, my voice barely a murmur. I watched as a small weight slipped off Janek’s shoulders with my words. “And Platt?”

  “Your skill with garden tools incapacitated him, but he’ll recover,” Michael said. “He’s talking.”

  “He told you about the casino plan?” I shot my eyes from man to man, looking for confirmation.

  Janek nodded. “You figured that out?”

  “Not until last night. I had most of the players, but hadn’t connected Platt until recently. Apparently he and Ty Mankoff go way back, had a deadly build they swept under the rug with payoffs decades ago.” I looked at Michael, wanting to take his hand, words unspoken between us.

  “Funny, Platt left that part out,” Michael said to Janek. “If he thinks that ratting on his buddies is going to help him get a lighter sentence, that history isn’t going to help his case. Tierney will be overjoyed.” He turned back to me. “As you suspected, Platt gave up Anthony Langston, Porter Gladwyn, Nelson Ramirez from Rami Concrete, Ty Mankoff from Mezey Development…”

  “Don’t forget Dubicki. The highlight of my career was hauling him in,” Janek added, a satisfied smile crinkling his eyes. “The State’s Attorney’s Office is suddenly understaffed. Watch out, Tierney may come recruiting.”

  “I think I’ll keep the perch I’ve got,” I said softly. “What about the shooter? Who was it?”

  “The group couldn’t buy up everything they wanted fast enough for the world not to notice, so they had to get creative,” Michael said.

  “The deed theft,” I said.

  “Yes, but even that wasn’t enough,” Janek added. “Dubicki decided to add a little pressure. He hired this gangbanger he knew from back in the day and gave him carte blanche to scare a few more home owners into selling. Dubicki claims he didn’t hire the guy to kill anyone, but if prices took a dive in the process, all the better. But the guy turned the tables on him. He figured there was something big going on, so he started using the Dan Ryan as target practice until they coughed up more money.”

  “We don’t think killing anyone was ever part of their plan,” Michael said. “This was just about money.” He paused and a pained expression crossed his face. “Andrea, you should know that Erik was involved. At least financially. These seven men conspired to purchase the land with the intent to develop a casino. And to mask their involvement in the process.”

  “I knew that Erik was trying to raise cash, but I got it wrong. I thought the business was in trouble.” My mind was numb. How could Erik be dead? How could he have been involved in all of this? I couldn’t process any of it.

  “The shooter is the guy that attacked you,” Michael said. “He’s in custody. Your description of the tattoo pointed us in his direction. We’ve had dealings in the past. Platt’s claiming Dubicki acted on his own, but that will be up to Tierney to ferret out. Apparently this was a preemptive strike. Platt knew that a casino was just a matter of time.”

  “And figured he was in a position to influence how and where and who made money on it,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Janek said. “Mankoff would put in the bid, if you can call it that, when the politics had worked themselves out. Between Platt and Langston, they figured they could get it rubber-stamped. Set up another shell corporation to hide the ownership, and then this circle of men would cash in. No one would know that every detail of the deal had been rigged from the start. All they had to do was use the gang activity for cover as they plotted and they’d all get richer.”

  “Art Borkowski can fill you in on Platt and Mankoff’s history,” I added. Michael nodded and glanced over at Janek.

  Stepping to the side of the bed, Janek held out a hand. “I owe you an apology. My stubbornness got in the way. I let my personal history with the media prejudice my investigation.”

  I took his hand and smiled.

  “I’ll go track down Tierney,” Janek said glancing at Michael. “You probably have some catching up to do.”

  “Can you handle another visitor?”

  I looked toward the voice, seeing only a large arrangement of peonies hiding the woman who carried them. Jenelle Platt placed the flowers on a nearby table, then took my hand. We looked at each other, locked in indescribable pain and sorrow.

  “When you’re well,” she said, “let’s have dinner. We have a great deal to discuss. He wasn’t always like this. Ambitious, yes, but corrupt and heartless…” Anguish racked her body.

  I squeezed her hand. “Was it you? The poems?”

  She squeezed back and smiled. “Like Owen always says, not bad for a poetry major.”

  Janelle said goodbye and Cai gave me a hug as she left, telling me she’d back in the morning. Lane held back.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lane said. “I’ve been selfish and a horrible sister. Erik had me completely fooled.” She couldn’t meet my eyes.

  “He fooled a lot of us.” I pulled her in for a hug, all the tension of our relationship forgotten.

  Michael stepped over as she left and sat next to me on the bed. He lifted his hand, caressed my cheek, then leaned in. Our lips met.

  “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said.

  39

  Standing in the doorway at Link-Media, I found my stomach full of butterflies. Everything had changed since the last time I had walked through these doors—Erik’s death, the arrest of the other six men involved in the conspiracy, Jenelle Platt’s announcement of her own mayoral candidacy, a news story that rocked the country. My story.

  Three weeks after being released from the hospital, I was here to face the staff. To answer their questions about the future. Since our divorce had not yet completed, ownership of Link-Media had passed to me, and it was time to start making decisions. I unlocked the doors, flipped on the lights, and walked back to Erik’s office. Brynn had packed up his personal things, but I could still sense him. I could smell his cologne. Hear his laugh. See him sitting at his desk. I choked back a sob.

  “Good morning.”

  I turned. Art Borkowski stood in the doorway.

  “When I heard you at the door, I expected Erik,” I said, feeling the wound open back up. I was so confused by the emotional ping-pong going on in my head. Love, hate, sorrow, sadness, and the strange comfort that his last action had been to try to save my life.

  “I think that’s going to be the way it is for a while,” Borkowski said. “For all of us. We’re all grieving.”

  “Did you know? Did you know about Erik’s involvement?”

  He shook his head. “I knew something was going on, but I hadn’t figured out what.” His face held a pain and a humanity that I hadn’t seen before. “As I told you, I thought there was a sale in the works.”

  “And you thought I was in on it, at least at first.”

  He nodded. “I figured if Erik was selling the business, you were probably involved or your divorce was the cause. Either way, you were influencing him. I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume. I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss your talent as a journalist. Your work on this story was outstanding.”

  “So what do we do now?” I asked, letting th
e question linger in the air.

  “I guess that’s up to you as the owner. Sell it, close it, run it into the ground. Your call. I’m here if you need me. Or if you’d prefer that I step down, I certainly understand. I’ll go quietly.”

  “Well, it appears that I’ll be needing a new managing director. Interested?”

  He looked at me and smiled. “Definitely.”

  Brynn stepped into the office. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as we embraced, both wiping away tears.

  “I think it’s time you have a real job. What do you think? Are you ready for your first by-line?” I said to Brynn.

  “I was born ready.” She winked.

  Together the three of us left Erik’s office and walked out to where the staff was gathering. The momentum was ours, and we needed to embrace that. Tomorrow would bring yet another crime, yet another challenge, yet another story, and yet another version of the truth.

  <<<<>>>>

  Did You Enjoy the Book?

  Thank you so much for reading LIES IN HIGH PLACES. I’m truly honored that you’ve spent your time with me.

  Reviews are the most powerful tool in an authors’ arsenal for getting attention to our books to other readers. If you’ve enjoyed the story, I would be very grateful if you could spend a moment leaving an honest review.

  You can leave your review by visiting this page. Lies in High Places

  Next in the Series

  GET INFORMATION ON THE NEXT ANDREA KELLNER STORY

  The Last Lie - Release Date - 3/26/18 - available now for pre-order on Amazon

  Want to follow the series? Sign up for my Mailing List

  I love to hear from my readers. Did you have a favorite scene? Have an idea for who I should kill off next? Jot me a note. I occasionally send newsletters with details on the next release, special offers, and other bits of news about the series.

  About the Author

  Dana Killion grew up in a small town in northern Wisconsin, reading Nancy Drew and dreaming of living surrounded by tall buildings. A career in the apparel industry satisfied her city living urge and Nancy Drew evolved into Cornwell, Fairstein, and Evanovich.