“Who?”
“A guy.”
“I could come with you.”
He turned on her. “You can’t.”
She took a small step back. “Why not?”
“You can’t tell anybody, either.” He glared at her. “I mean it, Jo. Nobody. Not ever.” He waited to make sure she got it. “Promise?”
She didn’t like this; he was acting really nuts. But she nodded. “How you going to get there?”
“Walk.”
“You’re supposed to stay off your sprained ankle.”
“It’s not that far.”
He prodded her ahead of him and closed the bedroom door as he came out. When they were outside, he told her he’d see her later. She got on her bike, and he took off down Hollis Street on his crutches. He’d wiped out the stuff on his computer screen pretty fast, but not so fast she hadn’t seen it.
The name Porter Kane and an address.
With her bicycle, she had no trouble getting there before he did; all she had to do was be careful he didn’t see her. That meant stashing her bike a block away against the side of a garage and hoofing it back to Kane’s.
There wasn’t much place to hide at his house. No trees or shrubbery or anything close enough to the front porch and the door so she could see. She had to settle for crouching down near the front tire on the far side of the minivan in the driveway. She had to wait forever.
Almost ten minutes passed before Zach came hobbling up on his crutches. He climbed onto the porch and knocked on the door.
Mr. Kane or somebody opened it. “What you want, kid?”
“You were out on Falcon Road.”
“Yeah, so?”
“It was you,” Zach said. “You took it.”
“Whata’ you talking about?”
“You had his tobacco in your jacket pocket. I smelled it.”
“Anybody can buy tobacco.” The door started closing.
“Anybody who is at the place where a pouch of it disappears, along with a lot of money? You think the cops might like to hear about that?”
A hand grabbed Zack’s arm and jerked him inside.
Jo waited.
It got dark, and still Zach didn’t come back out. She didn’t know what to do. She had promised him she wouldn’t ever tell.
She didn’t like this. Something really bad was going on.
She waited.
She pulled in a breath with a big sigh and blew it out. Maybe this guy who had Zach was the killer.
Even very much aware that Zack might hate her if she broke her promise, she had to tell somebody. If she told Zach’s mom, Mrs. James would freak. Mrs. James was just that kind. If she told her own mom she’d get, I’m sure it’s nothing, don’t worry about it, or I’m sure it’s nothing but we need to tell his mother, or we need to tell his mother right away. The first wouldn’t help and the other two would take too long.
Jo breathed in and out on another sigh, got on her bike and rode to the police station. She told everything to the pretty woman police chief, except she didn’t mention the name Porter Kane.
“I’m sure Zach’s fine, but I’ll check it out. What’s the address?”
Jo made a big deal acting like she was embarrassed because she wasn’t exactly sure where the house was. “But I can show you,” she said.
No way was she just going home without knowing Zach was all right.
Chief Wren got in the back of a squad car and Jo sat in the front next to a cop named Officer Demarco so she could show him where to go.
33
Zach got dragged inside and tossed on the couch. Kane backed up to an overstuffed chair and lowered his butt on it, sitting hunched over with his forearms on his knees.
“You got something to say about cops, kid?”
Ignoring his heart slamming away in his chest, Zach straightened, leaned back, and rested one hand on the couch arm. “No,” he said. “I’ll never tell the cops.”
“Doesn’t matter. You got no proof.”
“First off,” Zach said, “I got E-mail set to go to Baines at eight o’clock tonight. That’s when the post office closes.”
“What do I care when the post office closes?”
“The E-mail says you have his money.”
Kane squinted his eyes into narrow slits.
“Cops might need proof,” Zach said, “but Baines won’t. He’ll come for it. If you don’t hand it over, he’ll hurt you so bad you’ll wish you’d never seen the stuff.”
Kane leaned back, hands behind his head like he was halfway amused, but Zach could tell he was listening. “That’s what you came to tell me?”
“No, sir. I came to tell you that you have to give it back.”
Kane made an explosive noise that was half snort, half barking laugh. “Assuming I stole anything, which I didn’t, why would I go and do a damn fool thing like that?”
“If I get home before eight, I’ll delete the message. Nobody will ever hear anything about the money. Not Baines, not the cops. If I don’t get home, if something … happens to me, Baines will know at eight o’clock that you took his money.”
Kane stared at him and made a rasping sound by rubbing a knuckle over the stubble on his jaw. “How you think this giving back is supposed to work?”
“We’ll take the money to the post office and send it overnight mail.”
“You think you got everything figured out, don’t you?”
“Except how you knew the money was there.”
Kane’s teeth appeared in a wolfish grin. “Word gets around. You need money? Ask Baines, he’ll lend it to you. Fellow like that has to have it coming and going. Understand?”
“Not really,” Zach said.
“Kept an eye on the place. People comin’ and goin’. Gotta be always takin’ it or bringin’ it back. Your dad, he was bringin’ it back. And there it was, sittin’ there for anybody smart enough to be in the right place at the right time.”
Kane’s face got a hard feral look. “And you’re thinkin’ I’ll give it back?”
“Yes, sir, I hope so.” Zach’s heart was starting to leap around again, but this time because it was going to work! They’d package the money, get it to the post office, and Baines would no longer be waiting to ambush Zach and Dad wouldn’t be in trouble. Everything would be just the way—
Kane’s head went up, like a dog who hears something suspicious. He stood and looked out the window. “It’s the cops! You lyin’ little shit!”
* * *
Demarco started to get out of the squad car. A shotgun boomed. The windshield crazed. Screaming, Jo opened the car door, jumped out, and tore down the road.
He sprinted after her. The shotgun scattered dirt at her heels. He tackled her. They fell, his body shielding hers. Susan got on the radio and told Hazel to get all available officers at this vicinity immediately.
The shotgun boomed again.
34
Using the car door as a shield, Susan fired at the window on the side of the house where the sniper was shooting from. The shotgun thundered. Buckshot rattled along the road like sleet.
She fired back. He sent off another shot. Dirt exploded at her feet. Wind blew particles in her face like a handful of sand, filling one eye. Tears welled up, blurring her vision.
Sirens wailed. One squad car pulled in behind Demarco’s and one ahead. Blue-uniformed officers spilled out, moonlight shining on eager faces. Probably everybody who wasn’t out sick. They worried her. She didn’t want any wild-man heroics that would get someone killed.
Spreading out across the front seat, she murmured into the car radio to keep the sniper occupied.
When the shotgun barrel appeared in the window, shots smashed into the frame and all around it. In a running crouch, she made her way to Demarco.
He lay still, one shoulder black with blood. Jo made mewling noises and struggled to get away from him. Susan touched a fingertip to the corner of his jaw. Her hands were so cold, she couldn’t feel anything.
Taking a firm grip on Jo’s arm, she told him, “Ease off.”
A sharp intake of breath as he released his hold and shifted his weight. Susan pulled Jo out. Forcing the girl to stay crouched and shielding her with her own body, Susan, under the crack crack crack of handguns, ran Jo from the middle of the road toward the squad parked nose to nose with Demarco’s.
White grabbed Jo and shoved her in. He handed Susan a Kevlar vest. “Ambulance on the way,” he said.
In three minutes, the ambulance swerved in behind the squad car. Paramedics jumped out. From the rear, they grabbed a gurney.
“Keep him busy,” Susan murmured into the radio.
Under the barrage of shots, the paramedics ran to the center of the road, dragging a gurney with a squeaky wheel. They lifted Demarco, buckled him on, and raced back, slowing only slightly when they reached the back of the ambulance. They tucked him inside and took off.
With the radio, she told Crenshaw, Marshall, and Ellis to go around to the rear. “At my signal, make a lot of noise. Break down the door if you have to.”
She told Adler and White to come with her.
“Remember,” she said into the radio, “this may be a hostage situation, so be careful what you shoot. And, guys, let’s not shoot each other.”
What she wouldn’t give for five experienced cops. She held the 9-mm handgun ready as she approached the porch. Heart thudding loud enough to almost cover the creak of the boards, she went up the steps, eyes on the door. Nothing happened inside the house as far as she could tell.
Motioning Adler to go to the left of the door and White to get behind her, she cautiously moved up to the right side of the door. Standing against the wall, as far back as possible, she reached out and gently tried the knob. Unlocked. She pushed it open.
As it swung in, a round hole splintered the wood, and the thunder of the shotgun made her ears pop. With the aftermath of noise crackling in her ears, she murmured “Now” into the radio.
Adrenaline kicked up, she went low through the splintered door, gun ready. She heard the noise as Crenshaw, Marshall, and Ellis came in the back. The living room was empty.
Expecting another shotgun blast, she peered around the doorjamb into a kitchen. Ceiling light on. Empty. Formica-topped table, four chrome chairs, white-painted cabinets.
When the shotgun roared again, her heart leaped into her throat. “Stay put,” she muttered to Adler, and motioned White to follow her.
Back against the wall, she eased along the hallway to a stairway leading to the basement. She took a quick glance as she ran past. She waited for the shot. When none came, she moved slowly to the open door beyond the stairway. No sound from inside. She peered around the jamb and went in fast and low, gun ready. The room was empty.
There was a closed door across from the basement stairway. She stood to one side and listened. No sound. She called, “Police. Put down your weapon! Come out with your hands on your head!”
Her answer was a shot that splintered the door.
“You can’t get away! Come out with your hands on your head!”
“Come in and get me!”
She wondered if the room was filled with ammo and he could sit there blasting away forever.
“Mr. Kane?” she called. “It’s Chief Wren. We spoke last week.”
She thought her answer might be another shot, but there was a silence that stretched out.
“So?” he said finally.
“What will it take, Mr. Kane, to get you to come out?”
“Ha! You think you can just sweet-talk me out of here?”
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“A million dollars.”
“Anything else? Something to eat? A cheeseburger?”
“A million dollars and a helicopter.”
“Hampstead Police Department doesn’t have a helicopter.”
She didn’t know much about hostage negotiation—but “keep the barricaded suspect talking” was rule number one.
“I want a helicopter and a propeller for a Cessna 150.”
Keeping her voice low, she told White, “See what’s in the kitchen to eat. Don’t waste time.”
“Right.” He went off to the kitchen and returned shortly. “Cans of soup, a loaf of bread, and some moldy cheese in the refrigerator, plus some beer.”
“Where do you keep your can opener?” she called, not expecting him to reply.
“Lower cabinet, next to the sink.”
“I’m kind of hungry. You mind if I have some soup?” She told White to warm up a can.
He answered with a grunt. She kept asking questions. Some he answered, some he didn’t. “I don’t like talking through a door. Why don’t you come out?”
No response.
When White got back with a cup of soup, she said, “Soup’s ready. Want a cup?”
“You can come in, if you want. Door’s unlocked.”
She twisted the knob and pushed the door slowly inward. Zach sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of a single bed. Kane sat on the bed with a handgun at Zach’s head. The shotgun lay beside him.
She kept her voice level. “You all right, Zach?”
“Nothing wrong with him,” Kane growled. “Yet. Get everybody out or I’ll pop him.”
She motioned for White and Adler to move back.
“Tell ’em to leave!”
“Mr. Kane, you know I can’t do that.”
Zach coughed, tight and croupy. She could hear the wheeze when he drew breath. His eyes were looking above her shoulder, and his head moved a tiny bit as though he was keeping time to music only he could hear.
“You sure I can’t get you something? A sandwich, soft drink? Coffee?”
“Get rid of the soup. Think I’m stupid? Let you waltz in here with hot soup and throw it at me?”
That was a possibility she’d had in mind. “I could set it on the floor. You could pick it up yourself.”
He laughed. She eased closer to the doorway.
“Get back! Any closer and I pull the trigger!”
She stopped but didn’t retreat. “You know a lot about planes?”
“Get rid of the soup! Get rid of it!”
She handed the cup to White and stepped just inside the bedroom doorway.
“Tell him to leave! Tell ’em all to leave.”
“Take it easy, Mr. Kane.”
He jammed the gun against Zach’s temple. She motioned for Adler and White to move back. White sidled along the wall toward Crenshaw and Marshall in the kitchen entryway. Adler moved toward Ellis at the other end of the hallway.
“I saw on your minivan that you give flying lessons,” she said. “Could you teach me? I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Kane bared his teeth in a humorless smile. Zach started swaying his head and shoulders, barely moving, in time with his inner music. Kane grabbed one shoulder to make him stop.
Zach coughed.
“He needs a doctor,” she said. “Let him go. So far you haven’t done anything a good attorney can’t take care of. Let me have Zach. I’ll take him to his mom and—noo!”
As if Mom had been some kind of trigger, Zach uncoiled and lunged at Kane.
Kane fell awkwardly backward and rolled onto the floor.
Swinging her gun, she slammed it hard against his temple. With a grunt of pain, he got to his knees. As he rose to his feet, he smashed his weapon into her ribs.
Zach yelled. Throwing his arms around Kane’s neck, he let his body go limp. The unexpected weight jerked Kane to one knee. His gun went off. Zach dropped like a stone, blood flowing from the top of his head.
The explosion in the enclosed space deafened her. She lunged and grabbed Kane’s shirt collar. Fighting to retain her balance, she slammed her gun hand on his ear. He twisted to backhand her.
She struggled to get control of his gun while not losing her own. Kicking at his knee, she shoved her weight against his shoulder. He collapsed and she
went down with him, landing beneath him.
Five cops swarmed in and made grabs at Kane.
She struggled to roll him on his back and get on top. Forearm hard against his throat, she shoved the barrel of her Sig Saur against his temple.
35
It was four A.M. when Susan limped into the interrogation room. Kane was sprawled in a plastic chair he’d pulled away from the table, picking with one thumbnail at the greenish black crescent in the other. His thinning brown hair stood on end, making him look somewhere between pissed off and deranged. White and Ellis were with him. She asked him his name for the record.
“Porter Kane,” he growled.
She turned on the tape recorder, repeated the Miranda, and mentioned the date, time, and all those present. She reeled off offenses: kidnapping, child endangerment, discharging a weapon within the city limits, assault on an officer, attempted homicide, homicide …
He jumped to his feet. “I didn’t fuckin’ murder anybody!”
Ellis shoved him back down.
“I didn’t kidnap the fuckin’ kid, either. He broke into my house. I have a right to defend myself.”
“What about Branner Noel? Were you defending yourself against him?”
“Who?”
“Tim Holiday.” He didn’t seem to recognize that name, either. “The man who repaired your furnace.”
“That dipstick? Why would I kill him?”
“You tell us, Mr. Kane.”
“I didn’t kill anybody.” He crossed his arms.
“We searched your house, Mr. Kane.” She paused. He stared at her mulishly. “We found what appear to be cremated human remains. Is that why you killed Holiday? He saw the ashes and you had to get rid of him?”
Kane snorted. “What? You think you got yourselves a serial killer here? I never killed anybody.”
“Why, Mr. Kane, do you have boxes of ashes in your basement?”
His skin had taken on a tired gray tinge. He slumped forward and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Paul Satterly Funeral Home, that’s where they come from.”
“Why do you have them?”
“Take ’em up, tip ’em out. They float through the air”—he rocked a hand back and forth—”to the river.”
“You were supposed to scatter these ashes from a plane into the Kaw.” She wanted to make sure she understood. “You were paid for this?”
A Cold Christmas Page 19