Duplicity

by Jane Haseldine

  Julia reaches toward her waist pack and retrieves her cell phone. The signal is weak, but she still has one bar. She tries to move silently away from the two men, holding her breath as she goes into the thickest part of the forest.

  She hits the speed dial number and prays.

  Julia hears her outgoing call ring shakily in her ear. “Come on, come on!” she whispers.

  “Navarro, here.”

  “You need to abort your attempt to enter Rossi’s compound from the backside. Rossi has an ambush waiting for you.”

  “Julia, what do you think you’re doing? I told you not to go there. You’re going to get killed.”

  “It’s too late. I’m safe. Turn your crew around.”

  “Felix is coming up the back route. I’m on the main road.”

  “You need to call Felix now.”

  “Get out of there,” Navarro yells.

  “I can’t.”

  “Stay out of sight then and as far away as you can from the compound,” Navarro says. “Now run and hide. Do you understand me?”

  Julia is about to answer when she feels the barrel of a gun shove into the middle of her back. A heavyset man with a gold necklace and a Virgin Mary pendant hanging from its chain grabs Julia’s phone from her hand and puts it to his ear.

  “Ms. Gooden is busy. She has to go now.”

  Enzo Costas shuts Julia’s phone off and sticks it in his pocket. He roughly takes Julia’s hands and quickly ties them behind her back. He grabs her arm and forces her through the thick vegetation and into a black Hummer that waits on the side of the main road.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” Costas says as he starts the powerful vehicle.

  “Hold on,” Julia cries. “You kill cops, you’ll have a mark on your head. You think it was bad before, wait until you and your boss face charges as cop killers.”

  Enzo Costas gives Julia a sadistic laugh. “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

  “Why are you praying?” Julia asks.

  “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. That is Hail Mary, Full of Grace. But don’t bother to pray for your safety. Your prayers don’t matter,” Costas says. “And neither do you.”

  * * *

  Felix’s sedan creeps up the back of the mountainside. Felix’s body feels charged with adrenaline and ready for the fight. As he approaches Rossi’s compound, Felix is surprised to find himself thinking about what it would have been like to be an English teacher instead of a cop. To Felix, poetry and verse sound unique in the tongue they are spoken in, and he would have taught his students to train their ears to pick up the subtle differences of a language’s meaning and inflection when it is spoken in English and then in its native tongue. Dostoyevsky works in Russian, Victor Hugo’s books in French, and Octavio Paz’s poems in Spanish.

  Felix stops the van when he sees a young, well-dressed man dart out from the trees and out into the road, waving his hands for him to stop.

  Felix’s opens his window a crack and warily assesses the teenager.

  “Oh, man, thanks for stopping. My mom and I got lost driving up here. Our car ran out of gas. She’s just around the corner up there with the car.”

  “How did you and your mother get up here?” Felix asks.

  “The gate to the road was open. We’re visiting from Arizona, and we wanted to see the view from on top of the mountain. Listen, I have to get back to my mom. I went into the woods to take a leak and left the gas can back there,” the teenager says, and hooks his thumb toward the trees. “Let me just grab it and then we can go pick up my mom.”

  Felix feels something ring inside him, like a warning buzzer, alerting him that something is wrong.

  A black SUV bursts from the underbrush behind him, and Felix hits the gas, but a second vehicle, a black Hummer, roars to life in front of him and comes to a stop sideways across the road so he can’t pass. Felix jams his vehicle into reverse as his cell phone rings on the dashboard. Navarro’s name flashes across the screen, the call coming in a minute too late.

  Felix tries to ram the black SUV that has him pinned in the front. He braces for impact when shots ring out from the SUV and Felix’s windshield shatters. Felix feels something burn hot on the right side of his body and realizes he’s been hit. He struggles against the air bag that deployed as his door opens wide and two big hands pull him out of the vehicle.

  Felix prays that the person is Navarro, who has somehow gotten there in time. Felix’s wounded body is tossed to the ground like garbage, and he looks up to see not a savior but a devil, Enzo Costas, smiling sickly over him with his gun drawn and pointed at his face.

  Felix spots his new friend, Julia, captured and screaming in the passenger seat of the Hummer. Felix then sees something distant in the shimmer of heat that bakes above the hot pavement, a mirage of what his mind’s eye wants to be there, the image of his father carrying his little brother on his shoulders. The two smile happily and call out for Felix to join them.

  “Stupid idiot,” Costas says.

  Felix feels the steel muzzle of the gun as it is pushed into his mouth. He recalls the Octavio Paz line from his poem “Between Going and Coming.” Felix closes his eyes and wraps his soul around the words “All is visible and all elusive, all is near and can’t be touched.”

  A warm breeze touches Felix’s skin as Costas pulls the trigger, and all that is elusive and mysterious in the world that Felix has known disappears like a puff of smoke carried away on the wind.

  CHAPTER 21

  The road back to the compound is rough under the Hummer’s tires, and Costas laughs when Julia bangs her head against the passenger-side window. Costas reaches across the seat and pinches the skin under Julia’s tricep, squeezing until she cries out. She bites the side of her cheek to make herself stop as she realizes Enzo Costas gets off on his victim’s pain.

  “I saw you murder Felix Espinosa. You’ll go to prison for what you did to him,” Julia warns.

  “You tough-acting women think you’re so hard. But you beg for your life the loudest of all.”

  Costas steers the Hummer through a makeshift path sifting through an especially dense part of the vegetation until they reach a security gate. A mammoth guard, who is about six-foot-five and 300 pounds, doesn’t move out of the way of the gate as the Hummer approaches. He finally leaves his post when Costas rolls down his tinted window and pokes his head out so he can be identified. The guard opens the gate, and Costas motors inside.

  A quarter mile up, the compound begins to look more like a resort than a criminal’s hideout, with rows of well-tended red dahlias gently sloping the path up to the main house. The Hummer passes an Olympic-size swimming pool, two smaller houses, and what looks to be an industrial-size warehouse. The main house is a brownish orange and looks like a modern-constructed square box, the kind of design Julia has seen on the covers of architectural magazines.

  “Come on,” Costas says gruffly.

  He yanks Julia by the arm across the seat and out the driver-side door along with him, as if she needs to be reminded who is boss.

  “If you try to get away, you won’t make two steps before you’re shot.”

  Costas pushes Julia ahead of him up the stairs and into the main house. Inside Rossi is stretched out on a white couch watching the Detroit Pistons land a three-point shot against the L.A. Lakers on the biggest wide-screen television Julia has ever seen. Rossi wears a tangerine-colored button-down shirt open at the chest and a pair of pressed light tan pants. He glances away from the game and jumps up from the couch when he sees Julia.

  “What the hell is she doing here?”

  “I caught her near the gate.”

  “This is a problem. A big problem, Enzo. Was she with the cops?”

  “No. The L.A. cop is dead. I’ll dump him on the other side of the mountain so his body won’t be found. The animals will get to him before night.”

&nbs
p; “What about the Detroit cop?”

  “He’s coming up on the other side of the mountain. We’ve got two guys there who’ll take him out.”

  Rossi strides over to Julia and pulls her away from Costas as if she were a cow being inspected for purchase at a livestock auction.

  “How did you get up here?”

  “I ran,” Julia answers.

  “You ran all the way up the mountain?” Rossi asks. “You’ve got creativity, I’ll give you that. I recognize you from the courthouse. You’re the one who wrote those stories trying to pin me for the Tyce Jones shooting.”

  “I wasn’t trying to do anything. I was just reporting the facts, just like I did with your uncle.”

  “So you think I owe you or something because in your mind, you got my uncle off? You shouldn’t have come up here. I don’t like killing women. I really don’t.”

  “You want me to take care of her now?” Enzo asks.

  “In a minute.”

  Rossi moves to the bar and pours himself a shot of tequila.

  “The one thing I can’t figure out is why you ordered the courthouse bombing,” Julia says. “You already hired a sniper to take out Sammy Biggs. He wasn’t the target, though, was he? You were trying to kill my husband.”

  “You ask a lot of questions for someone in your position,” Rossi answers.

  “David had something on you that was going to come out in the trial, so you had to be sure the trial didn’t go forward. That’s why you did it. My husband told me.”

  “Your husband is a liar. Arrogant prick tried to screw me. He has something of mine that I want back.”

  Rossi gives Enzo a subtle nod. Enzo reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a switchblade that he snaps open and presses against Julia’s neck.

  “Where did he put it?” Rossi asks.

  “Put what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julia answers, and tries to keep herself from trembling.

  “I think you do.”

  “The FBI and the Detroit police have what’s left of David’s case files. I don’t know what was in them. David wouldn’t talk about the case with me.”

  Rossi leans into Julia so his face is inches away from hers and stares at her unblinking for a long minute until he finally pulls away.

  “One of the biggest skills a businessman can have is knowing if someone is telling the truth or if they’re a lying sack of shit. Tell you what. I think you’re being straight with me. Your husband probably kept you in the dark about everything, including what he’d do to make sure people he prosecuted went to jail. Love and loyalty make you stupid. Case in point, you,” Rossi says.

  “Little kids died in the courthouse attack. They were innocent, just like your daughter was. How could you do that to a child after your own was taken in a violent act?”

  Rossi flies around in Julia’s direction with the eyes of a madman. His arm jerks up in the air, fist clenched, and Julia closes her own eyes as she braces for impact.

  “Don’t you ever . . . ever talk about my daughter again,” Rossi seethes.

  Julia opens her eyes and sees Rossi has dropped his fist to his side and now paces back and forth in front of her, talking in rushed, whispered sentences to himself until he abruptly stops and jerks his thumb in Enzo’s direction.

  “What do you want me to do with her, boss?” Enzo asks.

  “Slit her throat.”

  Costas’s eyes seem to burn bright, and his fingers move up to his Virgin Mary medallion hanging from his neck. He quickly drops the charm as a volley of gunfire rings out in the distance and Rossi shoots him a warning look.

  “You told me the Detroit cop was handled,” Rossi says. “How many times are you going to screw up today?”

  “The Detroit officer is handled. I promise.”

  “He doesn’t sound handled to me. Lock the lawyer’s wife in Isabella’s place until you’ve taken care of the problem. The local sheriffs are a joke and probably won’t come up here because they think it’s not their coverage area, but I don’t want to risk it if one of the yokels at the base of the mountain hears anything. And, Enzo . . .”

  “Yes, boss?” Costas answers.

  “You screw up again, you’ll pay for it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. None of this will come back to you.”

  Rossi looks at Costas with disgust and turns his back on his failed employee.

  Julia can hear Costas begin to chant the Hail Mary prayer quickly under his breath as he wedges his gun against the small of her back. Costas steers Julia out of Rossi’s place and across the compound to another building, which is smaller than the main house but a duplicate in design, another square box.

  Before the door shuts behind her, Julia screams as loud as she can, causing Costas to cuff her on the back of the head with the gun.

  “Shut up,” Costas says as he shoves Julia inside the new building.

  Julia does a quick search of the space to see if she can find anything she can use as a weapon.

  As if he can read her, Costas grabs Julia’s face and constricts his hands around her jaw with such force, Julia is afraid her bones will snap.

  “You try to escape, I’ll cut your heart out,” Costas says, and hurries to the door.

  Before he leaves, his wide finger quickly taps a series of numbers on a security system pad.

  “You open any doors or windows, the alarm will go off.”

  Costas closes the door and locks it from the outside.

  Julia waits until she hears the Hummer’s engine disappear and then begins to comb Isabella’s place before Costas returns. Julia does a quick scan of the small bungalow and from the scant décor decides Isabella spends very little time here. The main sitting area is sparsely furnished with just a sofa and a small side table with a framed picture of a very young Isabella, vibrant and happy, running along a beach with another little girl.

  Julia runs down a small corridor that dead ends to a single room with just a bed and table. Julia works her way through the room and then into a large closet lined with shoes and rows of designer clothing. In the corner is a shelf of mannequin heads with wigs of various shades and styles. Julia searches through a tall dresser in hopes Isabella would be the type of woman to hide something from her husband, and quite possibly a gun for her own protection against the man she married.

  In the last drawer, Julia finds a stack of bank deposit statements and a business card from a Detroit vault and safety deposit company called Infinity Holdings, Inc. Underneath, Julia spots a DVD with the words “Anthony Ruiz in Bar” written across it in a black Sharpie pen and a thick, sealed file. Julia tears the file open and finds a sheet of paper with her home address clipped to the top of the sheaf of papers. Julia quickly flips through the file, which includes a detailed list of the cases David tried as a public defender and prosecutor. At the very bottom of the file is a series of glossy photos. The first image captures David outside the Detroit courthouse stairs. In the second photo, David is dressed casually in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved polo, smiling back at the camera against the backdrop of what looks like the local Santa Maria Temple. The bottom three shots are black-and-white: one of Logan getting off the school bus, a picture of Helen strapping Will into his car seat, and a photo of Julia in the parking garage across from the newsroom.

  Julia grabs the disc, and her mind works through the name written across it until she recalls the Anthony Ruiz case David tried and won when he first started at the D.A.’s office. Ruiz was a day laborer accused of the rape and murder of a wealthy mother and her daughter.

  Julia hurries through the bedroom and catches a glimpse of a DVD player next to a slim, wide-screen television and a stereo. She shoves the Anthony Ruiz disc in, realizing her curiosity may waste valuable minutes in finding a potential weapon, but she hits the play button regardless.

  The recording starts, but the screen remains dark. Julia waits for twenty seconds and is about to stop the player when a steady buz
z of static sounds from the tape. Julia turns the sounds up to full volume when a conversation begins.

  “You got the money?”

  “Fifteen thousand in the envelope. Where’s the surveillance footage?”

  Julia feels cool pinpricks move down her arms as she realizes the second voice belongs to David.

  “Here it is. I don’t want any trouble coming back to me about this.”

  “No trouble as long as you’re being honest with me,” David answers. “This is the original and you didn’t make any copies? Nick Rossi or the cops or another lawyer approach you about this?”

  “No way, man. But Nick Rossi’s guy, Enzo Costas, knew about the recording. His local guy told him. Saw your man in here the night it went down. I wish I knew why a guy sitting at a bar doing shots would be worth so much money.”

  “Just be smart. Keep your mouth shut. That’s what the money buys me.”

  “You got it, man. I’d never go back on my word.”

  The audio part of the recording goes quiet, and a grainy video appears on the screen. A black-and-white scene of a small, sparsely populated bar plays out. Two men are at the bar drinking; each man sits at either end of the circular counter. There’s a time and date stamp at the bottom of the recording, which indicates it was taken roughly seven months ago, and the location—Wayne, Michigan. Julia studies the tape and focuses in on a good-looking, younger patron, most likely Latino, who appears to order another drink from the bartender and smiles his thanks as he raises his glass to the bartender when it arrives. The Latino man downs his shot as the other patron across the bar gets up, walks toward the men’s bathroom, and disappears inside. The Latino man rises from his seat a minute later and quickly follows in the same direction. He looks over his shoulder and goes inside the bathroom. Julia stares at the closed men’s room door and watches the time elapse at the bottom of the screen. Five minutes go by, and the Latino man reappears. As he walks back to his seat, his gait this time is uneven and sloppy, like a clown trying to walk a straight line in giant shoes. He makes it halfway back to his seat and grabs a passing barstool to steady himself. The Latino man seems to regain his balance and begins to walk in cautious steps when two small, round balloon-looking shapes slip out from his coat and roll across the floor. The young man snatches them up and stuffs them back into his coat. He slaps some money down in front of his spent drink and exits through what looks like the front door of the bar. Less than a minute later, the other man emerges from the bathroom and reclaims his seat. The screen goes black, and Julia pops the disc out of the player to continue her search.