Double Deception

by Desiree Holt

  Eric raced down to the broad street and started toward where the floats were lined up. The cops on duty were trying to get everyone out of the roadway so the parade could begin, without much success. He was pushed right up against a knot of people blocking his progress.

  Fucking A. There were a ton of people in that mass.

  Okay, okay, that’s a good thing.

  Eight was already wearing a pirate shirt and black pants, a concession to the party after the parade. A bandanna, whipped out of a pants pocket, covered the head and fastened with a knot in the back. Now no one could tell the difference between one pirate and another.

  Eric was still trying to muscle his way out of the little crowd of people. Eight’s hand curled around the dagger, handy in a pants pocket, and just slipped up next to him. Everyone was talking and laughing and he was trying to get them to move aside. Impulse and desperation took over, and in seconds the knife had been plunged into Eric Braun’s chest not once but twice.

  Slipping away was easy after that. With people pressed hard against him, Eric didn’t fall at once. By the time he did and someone noticed what was happening, Eight was back down the street and heading toward the car. And didn’t draw a full breath until there was distance from the parade.

  Someone would find Eric. Call an ambulance. Have to identify him. Call Liam. Put everything into motion. By the time the curtain rolled up on the next act, Eight would be controlled and prepared.

  Hopefully.

  * * * *

  Tampa Police Officer Andy Frankel didn’t mind working security at Gasparilla the way some of the others did. For the most part the people, although often tipsy, were warm and friendly. In four years, he’d only had to break up two fights. And usually he got the drunk and disorderlies out of there and off with friends before they became critical. Once the parade was actually over, he and the other cops out here with him managed to get the people off Bayshore Boulevard and into downtown. The parade ended there and partygoers broke off into groups. Then it was mostly a matter of just being a blue presence. For the most part, people behaved themselves.

  But the damn parade was due to start and people were still filling the damn street. Which is why he was startled when, as he tried to herd people into the first section of bleachers, he heard people shouting at him.

  “Officer?” a man yelled. “Officer, come over here. Help. Hurry.”

  “Yes, hurry!” a woman screamed in a shrill voice.

  He hurried over to where a tight knot of people was crouched around something on the ground. Damn it. Had someone had a fist fight? Injured somebody else? Crap. The parade would be coming through here in the next little bit and they needed to move out of the way. But his annoyance faded when he saw what they were all crowded around. A man in jeans and T-shirt lay on the ground and another man and a woman were using pirate bandanas in an effort to stop the blood pouring from two wounds.

  What the hell?

  Andy took one look and used his shoulder radio to call his precinct, giving his name, badge number and location.

  “I’m at the end of the bleachers with a man stabbed and down. Send me backup and EMS now. And tell them to step on it,” he added. “This guy’s in bad shape.”

  And might not make it if the ambulance doesn’t get here like yesterday.

  “Anyone know who he is?” he asked.

  There was a chorus of nos.

  “He just got shoved into us while we were standing here,” one of the women told him. “The next thing we knew he collapsed and was bleeding everywhere.”

  He knelt beside the wounded man, urging everyone back except the two people putting pressure on the wounds, glad to see the flow of blood had slowed but wondering if it was enough to save the guy. He did what he could but he hoped to hell the EMTs got here fast.

  He was peripherally aware of the arrival of a patrol car parking askew at the end of one of the streets leading into Bayshore. The two cops who climbed out brought orange cones from the vehicle and hurried down to block off and contain the scene. That accomplished, they went to work at once containing the scene and dispersing the crowd of rubberneckers that had gathered. They also took down the names and phone numbers of the people who had tried to help the man.

  Andy was never so glad to hear something as the whoop! whoop! of the ambulance siren as it punctuated the air. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the other cops clearing the way for the vehicle to pull up to the spot where they all waited. In seconds the EMTs were there, checking the guy, wrapping his wounds tighter, taking his vitals, contacting the hospital then lifting him on a stretcher and into the ambulance. Then they were gone, sirens blaring, off to Tampa General Hospital and its emergency room.

  Now Andy and the others steered all the curiosity-seekers out of the street and back into the bleachers, or onto the sidewalk across the road if they could find room. Fortunately, the people who had surrounded the victim had seats in the bleachers, held for them by friends while they’d gone to get drinks. That taken care of, he reported back to his corporal, giving him a status update.

  “See if the people who helped you will hang around just a few,” he told Andy. “The detectives are on their way, but with streets blocked and parade traffic they won’t get there until the parade is all the way past the bleachers. They’d like to talk to them if possible.”

  “I’ll do what I can. And I’ll hang around here until they’re finished.”

  “Great. We’ve got two more detectives on the way to Tampa General. That’s where they took the guy, right? Nearest facility?”

  “It is.”

  “All right. Good job, Frankel. I’ll be looking for your report.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Andy signed off, thinking it would only be a good job if the guy survived. Which at the moment didn’t look too promising.

  One of the officers stayed by the blocked-off area while Andy and the others went to work getting the crowd of rubberneckers and curiosity-seekers out of the street to make way for the parade, which was already starting late, and keep them off the road until the parade passed by.

  The parade had passed the starting point and all the floats and vehicles were wending their way down Bayshore by the time the two detectives arrived. Some people were leaving to head downtown, but others were still hanging around, talking, drinking, laughing.

  “You still have those people here?” one of the detectives, Jay Howard, asked Andy.

  “Yeah.” He pointed. “Let me take you over to them.”

  He introduced himself and Andy noted that, for the most part, the people were happy to talk to the detective. The women were still shocked at what had happened.

  “I can’t believe that happened while we were just standing there,” a tall redhead said. “Lordy. I’m sure I’ll never forget it.”

  “Nice people,” Howard commented when he was finished. “But the parade’s already started so it’s no environment to question witnesses. Listen.” He read Andy’s name on his shirt. “Office Frankel. Thanks for everything. You’ll be filing your report when you get back to the precinct?”

  “Yes, sir.” Andy nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll request a copy. But if you could hang around until the parade is over here and help keep the scene blocked off until forensics gets here. That would be great.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  Andy just hoped the poor stabbing victim would be okay.

  * * * *

  Liam was ready to tear his hair out. He hadn’t bothered to check his phone once he got to the parade lineup spot, figuring he wouldn’t be able to hear anything anyway. But as soon as the parade was done he leaped off the float, stepped into a Starbucks and turned his phone on. Most of the calls he could return later, but when he heard Eric’s, his blood chilled. The man had not only found the glitch, he’d figured out who had installed it? The guy was a fucking genius, but that didn’t change the fact that someone working for him had screwed with a client and he had no idea why.

  W
hen he got Eric’s voice mail, he said, “Call me back. Now.”

  Five minutes later, when he hadn’t gotten a return call, he tried again. He also texted. Nothing. Nada. Blank. He had left his car in a parking lot downtown, knowing he’d need it after the parade, and Ubered to the launching spot. Now he ran for the lot, fidgeting while the attendant took his damn time processing Liam’s payment.

  Once in his car, he turned on the Bluetooth so the phone would hook up and tried calling Eric again. Where in the hell was the guy? Liam was getting a very sick feeling about the whole thing.

  He got no satisfaction at the offices. The guard said Eric had run out of there a couple of hours ago like his pants were on fire, the strap for his computer bag slung across his chest. But Eric’s car was gone and the offices were empty. He opened the door to Eric’s workroom with his master code key and found just one laptop sitting there. A program was running on it, but when he tried to bring it up it asked for a password. He wanted to find Eric before he did anything. If the man had found the problem with the Hoffman program, that needed attending to at once.

  So where was Eric? And where was the other goddamn laptop? And the messenger bag?

  Shit!

  He wanted to pull his hair out. Should he call the cops and report the man missing? Most times, they wouldn’t even take a report if it was less than twenty-four hours. He wanted to avoid calling Taylor and asking if she’d heard from him. He could just imagine her reaction. What kind of dumbass loses an expert doing highly specialized work for him?

  But where in the fucking hell could he be?

  He had just taken the elevator back upstairs, planning to go through whatever Eric had left in his work space, when he heard the phone in his office ringing. He raced down the hall but by the time he got the door unlocked it had stopped ringing. Then his cell phone rang.

  “Eric?” Jesus, please let it be him.

  “Is this Liam Benedict?”

  Liam frowned, held the phone away to look at it, then put it back to his ear.

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Detective Brian Duarte. Tampa Police Department. You’re Benedict?”

  Liam nodded, unable to form words for a moment. Then he realized the man couldn’t see him. “Yes. I am. What’s—what’s this about?”

  “You have a man named Eric Braun doing some specialized work for you?”

  Oh. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

  Liam’s stomach pitched to the bottom of his shoes and all the saliva in his mouth dried up. Whatever the detective had to say, he knew it wasn’t good.

  “I do. I’ve been looking for him and haven’t been able to locate him.”

  “That’s because he’s in surgery at Tampa General.” Duarte delivered the news in a flat voice.

  Liam squeezed the cell phone so tightly his hand hurt. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I think it best if you get down here so we can discuss this in person.”

  “But—”

  “We’re in the surgery waiting room. Get here soon.”

  The call disconnected and Liam just stared at the phone. What the hell?

  He was so rattled he almost forgot to go through the security process to lock his office. It seemed to take forever to get to the hospital, although on a good day the trip only took fifteen minutes. Of course, this wasn’t a good day, what with the Gasparilla craziness still going on. He was ready to tear his hair out by the time he got there, parked in the parking structure and managed to find his way to the surgical waiting room.

  It wasn’t hard to spot Duarte and his partner. They were the only two men there wearing jackets and slacks and ties. He looked from one to the other.

  “Which of you is Duarte?”

  “I am.” The taller of the two men, dark-haired and slim, stepped forward.

  “I apologize for the costume.” He gestured at the pirate clothing he wore. “I rode one of the parade floats and haven’t taken the time to go home and change.”

  “Yes.” Callahan cleared his throat. “Can I see some identification, please?”

  Liam stared at him even as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and flipped it open to his driver’s license.

  “What the hell is going on here? And how is Eric? Is he out of surgery yet? Can I see him? What happened?”

  Duarte sighed. “I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Benedict, but your friend died fifteen minutes ago.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Liam wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Everything around him faded until he felt as if he was wrapped inside a cocoon. He blinked, gave himself a mental shake and stared at the two men.

  “Excuse me. Did you just say Eric Braun is dead?”

  Duarte nodded. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you. Listen, I know this is a shock to you, but—”

  “A shock!” Liam interrupted. “Are you kidding me? That doesn’t begin to describe it. What the hell happened? And how did you know to call me?”

  Duarte exchanged a look with his partner.

  “How about we go sit in the corner over there and I’ll tell you what we know?”

  “How about you just spit it out right now?” Liam demanded. “And while we’re at it, how about the two of you show me some identification, so I know this isn’t just some kind of practical joke.”

  They displayed their shields hooked to their belts, then hauled out their wallets and flipped them over to their ID cards.

  Liam studied them.

  Brian Duarte.

  Dean Callahan.

  “Now can we go sit down?” Callahan asked.

  Without answering Liam turned and headed for the corner seating arrangement. There were only two other people in the room, both in seats by the door.

  “Okay.” Liam faced the two men. “Talk. I want to know exactly how this happened.”

  “We can only tell you what we know,” Duarte said. “Your friend was in the middle of the crowd at the end of the parade bleachers on Bayshore when someone stabbed him. Twice. No one knows who it was or even how it happened.”

  “Parade bleachers?” Liam was stunned as the situation hit him. “He must have been looking for me.”

  “And why would he be looking for you there, at the start of the parade?”

  “He knew I was riding on one of the floats. He’d tried to call me, but my cell was turned off, so he left me a message. He must have come there to try and find me.

  “Can you tell us how you know the victim?” Duarte asked. “And why he was so hot to find you before the parade started?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Liam studied both men.

  “We don’t know yet.” Duarte studied him. “Why don’t you answer the questions and maybe we can figure this out. We had to chase all over hell and gone just to identify him.”

  “Wait. What?” Liam thrust his hands in his already disheveled hair.

  “You heard him.” Callahan’s face gave a way nothing. “The man had no identification on him, nothing to tell us who he is.”

  “Then how did you find out? And where is his stuff? His messenger bag was not at the office because I looked for him there first.”

  Duarte cocked an eyebrow. “What was on the message that was so all-fired important?”

  “It had to do with business. Can we please quit playing Twenty Questions and get to the facts here?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do.” Callahan sighed. “Eric Braun was stabbed at the very end of the bleachers on Bayshore Boulevard, right at the start of the parade. Whoever did this pushed him into the middle of a crowd waiting for the parade to start. We’re lucky that a heads-up cop was right there working security.”

  “He knew what to do,” Duarte added. “Applied emergency first aid, called it in and asked for an ambulance. Made sure your guy got taken to the hospital right away. But…”

  “But?” Liam prompted.

  The detective’s face sobered. “The doctors did everything they could to save him,
but there was just too much damage from the knife wounds. I’m sorry.”

  Liam scrubbed his hands over his face as if trying to wake from a bad dream. “If he had nothing on him, how did you know who he was? Or that you should contact me?”

  “We took his fingerprints electronically just before they took him into surgery. Once we knew who he was, we found a phone number for him that leads to his assistant. She said he was here in Tampa on a job for you. All we told her was we needed to contact him and I left both our cell numbers. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from her.” Duarte studied his face. “So what kind of a job is he doing that could get him killed?”

  Shit!

  The last thing he could do was give them that information.

  “He was analyzing some software for us, trying to find a glitch that had popped up. I doubt it was anything that cause someone to murder him.”

  Duarte studied him for a moment. “But you don’t know that for sure.”

  “Let’s just say it would fall somewhere between absurd and unbelievable. It’s just a business situation. Very boring.” I hope. “I’ve never been in this position before. I need to make arrangements about Eric’s body. I have arrangements to make, and people to consult before I can do that. What happens now? When can I move forward?”

  “Let me check with the coroner.” Callahan pulled out his cell.

  “The coroner?” Liam’s eyes bugged. “But we know how he died.”

  “Yes, but all we know is someone used a sharp instrument. The medical examiner will be able to tell us what he was stabbed with, the size and depth of it, all things we need to find the instrument itself.”

  “And you think you can do that? Pardon my skepticism.”

  “Not unexpected. We’re going to do our damnedest.” Duarte put away his little notebook. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Benedict. We’re gonna be looking at everyone he came into contact with since he arrived in Tampa.”

  “What if it was someone unrelated to his trip here? Maybe they just saw it as a good opportunity to kill him in a place where they wouldn’t be connected.”