Detective Defender

by Marilyn Pappano

  She hadn’t been anywhere alone in days, and she should have been relishing the freedom: the people she passed who paid her no mind; the eeriness of the fog, cool and damp where it touched her skin; the unusual quiet for a Sunday morning. She wasn’t, though. All she could think about was the shop. If Anise was okay. What she would do when she got there. Whether she was a fool for sneaking out on Jimmy. If she would pay for it with her life.

  Her fingers clenched around the pepper spray in one pocket, the Taser in the other. Maybe she would die, but Tallie wouldn’t get away unscathed.

  By the time she reached her block, deep breaths were impossible to come by and pain throbbed in her side. She slowed to a walk, gaze locked on her destination, mind racing to come up with a plan.

  She had nothing. She sold T-shirts and postcards, anointing oil and John the Conqueror root, for God’s sake. She didn’t know the first thing about confronting psychotic killers who were holding someone she loved hostage. She was totally unprepared.

  But she had no choice.

  As she reached the edge of the plate-glass windows, she slowed her steps and peered inside. Only the lights over the checkout counter were on, not enough to dispel the gloom on a dreary day. She saw no sign of Anise or Tallie.

  The sign on the door was still turned to Closed. It was impossible to make a stealthy entrance, given the door’s habit of sticking, so she wrapped her fingers around the knob, took a deep breath and turned and jiggled and forced her way in with all the accompanying noise. It made more noise as she closed it, then all went silent.

  Martine believed in evil, but her experience with it had been extremely limited. She read about it, saw it on the news, heard stories about it. But this morning she felt it in the air, smelled it in the overpowering scents of the incense display, heard it with every thud of her heart. She wanted to yank the door open and run screaming down the street. She wanted to race up the stairs next door to her apartment and hide under her bed. She wanted to be anywhere but here, doing anything but this.

  Instead, she walked farther into the room. “Anise?”

  Another silence, another rustle, then... “In here.”

  The door marked Private was open, a faint light coming out, too little to dispel the heavy darkness of the main room. Martine slowly walked that way, circling shelves that blocked her path, coming to a stop in the doorway.

  Anise huddled on the stool behind the counter, her face a stark contrast to her black hair and clothing. She was trying to make herself look as small as possible, but no matter how small she got, it was hard to ignore the tremors rocketing through her. Her gaze was moving constantly in silent warning, from Martine’s face to the shadows against the wall on her left.

  Martine eased into the room to the other side, intending to stay as far from Tallie as the U-shaped counter would allow, but hardly five steps into the room, she tripped and fell against the glass. Thankfully, the counter was sturdy, the wood frame absorbing the force of her stumble. She regained her balance quickly, looked to see what had tripped her and gasped.

  There, her dark clothes blending into the shadows, motionless—dear God, please not lifeless, too—lay Tallie.

  Relief washed over Martine. They’d been wrong. Tallie hadn’t killed their friends. She hadn’t grown into some kind of homicidal maniac. Just like her sister, Paulina and Martine, she was an innocent victim.

  So who...

  A whisper of movement interrupted the question as a slender figure stepped out of the shadows into the light. “It’s nice to see you again, Martine.”

  Unable to draw a deep breath, Martine stared across the room into the face of her tormentor, her one-time friend and now her would-be killer. “I’d rather see you burning in hell, Robin.”

  * * *

  Between the steady beeps of his cell phone, Jimmy surrendered, rolled onto his side and picked up the phone. He rarely turned it off, though he could, of course. Even in a job filled with emergencies, no one could legitimately expect him to be available twenty-four hours a day. It had just always been a thing with him. He’d rarely had any real reason to not be available.

  According to the cell, he’d missed two calls and two messages. He squinted at the information on the screen, hoping it was just the sudden awakening that made it hard to bring the caller ID into focus and not his age. He also hoped the calls didn’t have anything to do with this case, weren’t anything that might call him away from home. It was Sunday, dreary and gray outside, a perfect day for a decadent meal, a game or two on TV and lazing in bed with—

  He glanced behind him. Martine was already up—had been long enough for the sheets to cool. He didn’t hear any noises from the bathroom, living room or kitchen, but she was the sort to stay quiet and let him sleep. She’d probably slipped out of the room for coffee and breakfast...though he swore he could smell fresh coffee from a hundred yards and no aroma lingered in the air.

  “Martine?” He sat up, still grasping the phone. His call got no reply, and deep inside, he knew why: she was gone. There was a feel to the silence, an emptiness, that meant he was alone.

  Swearing, he jumped from the bed and did a quick walk-through of the apartment, confirming his gut instinct. When he wound up back in the bedroom, he checked caller ID, better able to see now that he was wide-awake. His muscles went taut at the name of the shop. “Damn it, Martine—”

  Hands shaking, he listened to the message. He needed a moment to identify the panicky voice talking double her usual speed and half an octave higher. Detective, I need to talk to Martine. I know you know where she is, I know you can get in touch with her, and I know you won’t want to, but it’s an emergency. I have to talk to her right away. Call her right now and tell her to call me. This isn’t one of those times you get to decide what everybody else does. Call her! Right now! It’s important.

  The second call came as soon Anise finished the message. The anxiety in her voice was palpable, crawling along his skin as she left a message more of the same. Then, according to the call log, a third call was received—and answered. The conversation lasted just under ninety seconds. Long enough for Anise to report a problem, one significant enough to make Martine sneak out to meet her.

  It wasn’t hard to guess the nature of the problem. Martine had been so compliant with his requests and restrictions up to this point. The only thing that could lure her out in the open now would be a threat to someone close to her. They knew Tallie had been watching the shop and her apartment. It was a fair guess that she’d realized Martine wasn’t coming back until the danger had passed—also a fair guess that if Anise had gone to the shop this morning, Tallie could have seen her arrive. It was far too easy to guess that she knew Martine would put her own life at risk to protect Anise’s.

  Fear spread through him, leaving fine crystals of ice in its wake, freezing his blood, his heart, even his brain. This couldn't happen. He'd just gotten this second chance with her. He'd just fallen in love with her. He couldn't lose her now. He wouldn't.

  His gaze shifted to the night table, its weapons looking lonely with the others gone. She’d taken his knife, too—a weapon of last resort. Pepper spraying or Tasing someone—that could be done from a distance, maybe ten feet for the spray, up to fifteen for the Taser. But a knife...that was up close and personal. That could give a person nightmares.

  Most mornings, he needed a hot shower and steaming coffee to reach his mental best. This morning, panic was a pretty good substitute. He put the phone on speaker, then called Jack while he dressed. His partner wasn’t very happy about being awake at such an unholy hour on a Sunday morning—it wasn’t even eight yet—but at least he was used to it; his kids woke him early every Sunday.

  Jimmy related the conversation, and Jack’s grumpiness disappeared. “What do we do now?”

  “We stop Tallie.”

  Jack snorted at the obvio
us answer. “We’re assuming she’s already got one hostage. Martine’ll make two. We’re going in? Just you and me?”

  “Call Lawson and Petitjohn.”

  “Aw, man, they’re idiots.”

  “Not when they’re on the job.” Then they were fearless. “Have them meet us on Dumaine at the intersection with Royal.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  Jimmy was well aware as he left the apartment that they were violating department policy. He should report a suspected hostage situation higher up the chain of command, let them call the Special Operations Division, let the negotiator take the lead. Fine as they were, though, the tactical platoon didn’t know Martine. Being emotionally involved with a subject definitely could have its downside, but there were advantages, too, one of them being that he would do anything to get her back safe. Besides, going through official channels took time, and he wasn’t sure how much of that Martine and Anise had.

  Stopping at the gate, he asked the security guard if he’d seen Martine. She’d left five or ten minutes earlier, on foot, friendly but not chatty, a woman with a purpose. Probably, the guard joked, of enjoying this wonderful sunny morning.

  Jimmy parked his car nearer Jack’s house than Martine’s, grabbed binoculars from the trunk and jogged to the intersection nearest the shop. It wasn’t the finest view he could have asked for, but it was enough to see no one was in the main room. Next he checked the car parked in Martine’s driveway, calling in the tag number to dispatch. When footsteps sounded behind him, he didn’t look around. Jack always walked like a man with a purpose. He had an aura of authority Jimmy would like to have when he was finished growing up.

  A moment later, Petitjohn and Lawson arrived. They worked together, hung out together, vacationed together and showed up together any time they were summoned, so much that people wondered whether they were partners just on the job or in life, too. Jimmy didn’t give a damn. Like he’d said, they were fearless, and that was what he needed.

  Sliding back around the corner, out of sight of the shop, Jimmy looked at his backup: alert, clearheaded, bulletproof vests under dark hoodies or windbreakers. He didn’t need to see to know each of them was more heavily armed than he was. Good. Because Tallie Winchester wasn’t walking out of here free.

  “The car parked out front comes back to Phillip Malloy in Chicago,” he said. “I don’t know whether Malloy’s somehow involved or just another victim.”

  Jack pulled a couple of papers from inside his jacket. “This is a sketch Evie did of the shop. Here’s the front door. The back goes into the courtyard. The apartment has a courtyard door, too, on the second floor, and there’s a gate here, but it’s secure. There’s no indoor access from the shop to the apartment.”

  Petitjohn pointed at the three smaller rooms inside the shop. “What are these?”

  “Bathroom, break and storeroom,” Jack answered, “and this is where she sells supplies to serious voodoo practitioners. Only one door into each of these spaces and no windows.”

  “So we need to find out which floor they’re on.” Lawson grinned. “I don’t suppose your pretty wife sent a spare key to the apartment to help out with that?”

  Jack let a ring with a lone key dangle from his finger. “I also brought pictures. They’re not current, but they’re all within the last five years. Martine—she’s ours. Anise works for Martine. Tallie Winchester—we think she’s the killer. Robin Railey—we think she’s another intended victim. Railey may be halfway around the world, but just in case...”

  Something clicked in Jimmy’s mind. “She lived in Chicago. Robin Railey. She disappeared there after the first murder. Went into hiding, according to the second victim. Either she or Tallie could have stolen the car to get away.”

  Petitjohn took the key from Jack. “So we’re gonna check the apartment and make sure they’re not there,” he said as Lawson took the sketch, which also included the layout of the apartment. All the time Jimmy had spent there, and there were three rooms he hadn’t seen.

  “I’m going with you,” Jack added. “I’ll take the courtyard stairs to the rear door of the shop.”

  “I don’t suppose you have the spare key for that.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “So you and I go in loud.” If they all survived this, Jimmy hoped Anise would be grateful enough to remove her curse from the doorknob so he could come and go without absorbing ever-increasing voltage.

  “One last thing...” This time it was Petitjohn handing something around: earbuds so they could stay in touch. One of the perks of working with a tech geek.

  Jimmy tucked the earbud in, then the other three took off back the way they’d come. They would circle the block and come in from the opposite end. No one inside the shop would be able to see them without pressing right up to the window, which would allow Jimmy to see them.

  Martine was in the shop. He knew it in his bones. He was hoping she’d left the front door unlocked, unless Tallie had ordered otherwise. A simple thing like that probably wouldn’t cross her mind when Anise was in danger. And Tallie would want a quick escape, no dealing with locks and creaky sticking doors.

  When Jack, Lawson and Petitjohn reached the apartment stoop, Petitjohn unlocked the door while the others ducked behind the car—letting the air out of the tires, Jimmy realized. A moment later, the three of them disappeared inside. He listened to the quiet, heavy and ominous, that came over the buds, his gut roiling, holding his breath so he didn’t miss the faintest sound.

  Sticking the binoculars in his pocket, he strode across the street and down the sidewalk. Halfway to the shop, a heavy exhale sounded over the link. “Nothing here but us cops,” Lawson murmured. “Petitjohn’s going out the back. I’m coming to you.”

  All right. Martine was just a few yards away and presumably safe for the moment. Big emphasis on presumably. Tallie could have met Martine at the door with a gun and walked her and Anise out of the area. Could have taken Martine and left Anise behind. Could be on her way right now to the place where she’d cut Paulina’s heart from her chest. Could...could...could...

  “You wait here,” he murmured to Lawson. “Anyone who comes out, put ’em in cuffs.”

  When the detective nodded, Jimmy climbed the steps to the door and prepared to wrestle it open, announcing his arrival to everyone inside. His Taser drawn, he wrapped his fingers around the knob and got a hell of a shock, enough to make him spit out a silent curse and make his fingers twitch. “You’ll hear me come in,” he said to Jack, then pushed the door.

  It opened as smoothly and silently as a well-oiled high-tech marvel. Stunned at his good luck, Jimmy headed toward the room marked Private. The door was open, a light was on inside, and the faint sound of voices drifted on the air. Though he neither recognized the voices nor understood the words, a jolt through his chest told him which one was Martine’s. His knees damn near went weak with the proof that she was still alive.

  Now, God help them, they had to make sure she stayed that way.

  * * *

  “Burning in hell?” Robin echoed the words with a serious helping of disbelief. “Really, Martine, twenty-four years since you’ve seen me, and the first words out of your mouth consign me to hell? So much for old friendships being the best.”

  “I didn’t end the friendship. You guys did when you scattered like frightened little mice. You abandoned me, and you think you have the right to come back now and turn my life inside out?”

  Martine listened to herself and wondered where the words were coming from. Certainly not from her own little frightened mouse, quaking in the corner of her brain. She’d assumed she would come in here, calm and in control, and reason with Tal—Robin until an opportunity to use her weapons arose. Apparently, calm, control and reason were hiding in the corner with mouse. Instead, Martine was angry—about Callie’s and Paulina’s deaths, abou
t whatever Robin had done to Tallie, about the threat she’d made against Anise. She was furious about the past week, the fear, the grief, the sorrow, the guilt, the sadness and the regret, and she for damn sure wasn’t going to make it any easier for Robin to kill her.

  “Hey, I’m the one holding the gun here.” Robin waved it in the air for a moment. “I have a right to do whatever I damn well please.”

  Martine’s fingers flexed around her weapons. She would use the Taser, effective and with the least chance of hurting herself. Pepper spray could drift on the air and burn innocent eyes as well as evil ones, and the knife... Only if it was a choice between it and death. She did not want Robin’s blood on her.

  Martine moved a few steps deeper into the room. “Anise, leave.”

  Surprise emphasized the paleness of Anise’s face. She slid from the stool to her feet, but her knees sagged before catching her weight. “I—I can go?”

  “No!” Robin slammed her free hand onto the glass, and Anise hopped like a frog back onto the stool. “You can’t give orders here, Martine. I’m in charge.”

  Calm, control and reason knew that, but anger and frustration had the direct line to Martine’s mouth. She wasn’t about to let Robin terrorize or kill an innocent young woman who hadn’t even been born when their problems started. She continued to move toward the opening of the counter. “Go, Anise. This is between Robin and me.”

  This time Anise was prepared. She didn’t ask permission, didn’t walk to the pass-through but boosted herself onto the counter, spun around, hopped off on the other side and darted through the shadows to the door. Just as Martine had done, she tripped over Tallie, shrieked and said, “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. Sorry.”

  Shock held Robin rigid. “You—you—I can’t believe you—” A laugh escaped her, as chilling as the fog. Then, requiring a great deal of control, she forced herself to relax. “It’s okay. She was just bait. All I really need, I’ve got. Tallie’s not dead, by the way. Not yet.”