by Ed Gorman
Fitzsimmons walked to the door, opened it slightly. The collective noise of phones, computers, faxes and voices invaded Sievers' tiny domain.
Sievers still looked humiliated and whipped. When somebody this rich was murdered, there was always a lot of heat, especially when the DA put a country-clubber like Fitzsimmons in charge of the case.
Fitzsimmons said, 'I'm going to trust you'll do your job as I've outlined it, Lieutenant.'
He still wasn't favoring Mitch with any eye contact.
He left.
The asshole.
Mitch said, 'You OK?'
Sievers smiled sadly. 'You ever see that John Wayne picture She Wore A Yellow Ribbon?'
'Sure. It's one of my favorites.'
'You know how Wayne had this big calendar hanging on his wall and he checked off every day till he retired?' He smiled. Sievers was always good at bouncing back. 'I think I'm going to get myself a calendar. And meanwhile, go call that Cini girl. Keep the heat on her.'
'What about Fitzsimmons?'
'Screw him.'
'Thanks, Lieutenant. I appreciate it.'
Mitch went back to his desk.
***
Doris slept.
Just as she was drifting off, she realized how odd this was. She'd never been able to nap, not even as a small child.
But todaypossibly because of her anxiety over meeting Jill tomorrowshe fell into a fast and deep slumber.
So she was not aware when her door crept open
Not aware when her mother entered the room bearing a needle and syringe
Not aware when Evelyn sat down next to her on the bed and pulled up the hem of her dress so she could find a good and true place to administer the shot
Not aware
But then she was aware.
Mother. Needle in her hand. Injecting the fluid into Doris' thigh. Pain.
'Don't worry, dear. This is just the sedative Dr Steiner has me give myself. I'm letting you have a triple dose, is all.'
Shrieking, grabbing her mother. 'Why are you doing this?'
'I want you to be sensible about Jill, dear, that's all. I want you to see that you shouldn't be talking to anybody who betrayed our trust and our family the way she did.'
Triple dose. Feeling the effects already. A darkness pulling her downward…
'You shouldn't talk to her, dear. Not ever.'
Her mother's face blurring. Her voice faint.
'She betrayed our family, dear. Every one of us. I'm just trying to protect you from doing something you'll regret.'
The darkness pulling Doris down…
Down…
***
Marcy had to give Rick Corday one thing: he was real good at tying people up. He was also good at taking their clothes off.
Marcy lay naked and trussed on a dusty single bed in the east corner of the very cold basement. Rick Corday's basement. She was already sneezing. And her throat was already raw.
Actually, she tried not to think about her throat.
Before he'd left this morningright before, at the last moment, almost as an afterthought, he'd tied a gag across her mouthhe took his axe and he gave Marcy a little demonstration.
It had been truly weird. Rick brought out this simple wooden X made of two-by-fours. He'd set the log in the crook of the X and then chop away.
He could cut a log in violent half with a single swing.
Impressive.
She tried real hard not to think of what would happen to her head if he ever rested her neck on the log-holder.
But that wasn't the weird part.
All the time he split logsand he must have split around thirty of themhe told her about axes.
It was as if he were doing a TV infommercial and she was the audience at home.
'Don't buy a long handle just because it looks more powerful. Always get a handle you feel comfortable with.'
And then he'd rend another log in two.
'Always treat your axe like your best friend. If it's been stored away for some time and the socket at the head of the handle isn't snug around the axe, soak the handle in water and then later on treat it with linseed oil.'
Another log would shatter.
'Be sure to be careful in winter weather, especially when you're outside. Axes can break sometimes. It's a good practice to warm the axe first over a stove or fire.'
'Enough already!' she was shouting inside her mind. Too bad she couldn't shout it out loud. Maybe then he'd take the hint.
She tried for a time to will herself out of this basement. She'd read somewhere that during great periods of stress in World War Two some soldiers had been able to will themselves out of their bodies.
But it proved impossible to do this feat with a four-inch-thick piece of wood clattering to the concrete floor every few minutes. Sawdust and chips and chunks of bark littered the floor around the X.
'So what's the best axe-head for you?'
She forced herself not to listen anymore.
There was only one thing she knew about Rick Corday. He was clinical. Real clinical. One of her Crim courses had included some profiles of criminally insane people, and Rick here certainly fit the profile.
Especially since his voice kept changing every five minutes or so. He was, from what she could see, at least two different peopleand both of them were insane.
He finished with the axe and then walked over to her.
'I'm going to go get my friend and bring him back here and then the three of us are going to have a good time.'
She just stared up at him. She felt very self-conscious about being nakedand very scared of what he might be suggesting herebut she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see this.
'Did I mention that you've got a nice little body? You've got a very nice little body. And I'm going to capture it for posterity on my videocam.' He smiled his fruitcake smile. 'That'll be fun, won't it?'
'Oh yeah,' she wanted to say. 'Yeah, that'll be a whole lot of fun.'
Rick left then, clomp clomp clomp up the basement stairs, clomp clomp clomp across the kitchen and out the back door.
Then she was alone, utterly alone, and terrified.
***
O'Hare was always a pain in the ass and never more so than when flights were delayed because of bad weather. Even though the plows had been out and the runways were clear, flights had piled up from yesterday and many people were still waiting to get flown out of here.
The place looked like a refugee camp as Adam made his way to the public phones. Some people had slept in their seats all night and looked like it, rumpled, glassy-eyed, vaguely dirty. Little kids ran around screaming while sleepy parents snapped at them. College students tried hard to concentrate on Sartre just as housewives tried hard to concentrate on Danielle Steel. The massesin the abstract they weren't a bad idea. It was just when you got up close to them.
When Adam reached the phone, he took his wallet from his topcoat and ran a finger down a list of names and phone numbers. He called the office of Arthur K. Halliwell and when the receptionist asked who was calling, Adam gave a false name that Halliwell alone would recognize.
Halliwell came on. 'Do you know how many days I've been trying to reach you?'
'I went to New York on business. I wish to hell you'd relax.'
'He's going to get us in trouble. He's a loose cannon. I take it you know by now that he killed Eric Brooks?'
'Yes, he told me.'
Halliwell sighed. 'I need to approach Evelyn today. I need the money.'
It was all going to be so simple, Adam thought. Several years ago, just after Adam had gotten to know him, Rick had told him a strange storythat he had once been a young man named Peter Tappley supposedly put to death in the electric chair for killing several young women. But he'd made a deal with the family lawyer to give him his entire part of the Tappley estate if Halliwell could arrange for the execution to be faked. This meant bribing, for a great deal of money, the man in charge of the executio
n, the attending physician, the County Coroner and the funeral home director in charge of the corpse. Evelyn Tappley knew nothing about any of this, as Peter wanted to escape her power and influence. He'd gotten extensive plastic surgery in readiness to start a new life. He was sentimental about the Chicago area so the two men lived there. The first year or so was fine, Adam showing him how paid assassins went about their work, Peter being a willing and eager student. Then the change started. Adam first noted the symptoms in Rick: the mood swings, the depression, the blinding headaches, even the change in voice. There seemed to be another person inside of Peter struggling to get out. Then the more frightening symptoms began: periods of amnesia, sleepwalking, terrifying hours of dazedness… and then insane fits of jealousy. Where had Adam been? How could he betray Rick this way? Didn't he know that someday he'd be sorry? Adam was unfaithful, true; but not that unfaithful. Adam called Halliwell and introduced himself. Both were afraid that Rick would crack and end up in a hospital and tell his doctors all about how Halliwell had faked Peter's execution and how Adam was a hit man. Peter had become somebody else completely, somebody Adam neither recognized nor controlled. One day, Adam had shown Rick some pictures of Peter Tappley as a boyand newspaper clippings of his executionbut Rick had shown no recognition whatsoever. Then Evelyn called one day and asked Halliwell to arrange a murder for which her former daughter-in-law Jill Coffey would be blamed. Halliwell said yes. He was virtually bankrupt. He needed money desperately and Evelyn was offering half a million. Then Halliwell got a better idea. After Jill was framed, he'd go to Evelyn and tell her that he'd just learned that Peter was alive. Naturally, she'd be desperate to see him. He would say that his source wanted one million dollars for the rest of the information. Evelyn would pay it without question. They would set up a meeting for mother and son, but just before it took place, Adam would kill Peter, for which he would be paid one hundred thousand dollars. Adam would then leave town. By now, both men were seriously worried about Peter. What if he did something really crazy before they got their million from Evelyn?
'I wish we could just kill him now,' Halliwell said, 'but we can't. In order to convince Evelyn that he's alive, we'll have to have him say hello to her.'
That was the only reason they wanted Rick alive now. They'd have him call this woman and say hello to herthey'd force him at gunpoint, if necessary. She'd recognize the voicethere wasn't anything the plastic surgeons could do to alter a voice in any significant wayshe'd recognize the voice and pay Halliwell the million dollars.
'Just hope he doesn't run amuck somewhere and take us all down with him,' Halliwell said.
Adam checked his watch. 'I'll keep a close eye on him,
Arthur. Relax. This'll work out fine. I can control him. I really can.'
'I'm not sure you can these days, Adam. He's different now. Truly psychotic.'
Adam heard several flights being announced. 'I'd better go. He's waiting out there to pick me up.'
'Call me and let me know how things are going.'
'Just relax, Arthur. Relax.'
He hung up and walked out to find Rick.
CHAPTER 59
The final work consists of inserting the plastic to reshape cheeks and chin. It is here that the surgeon's craft becomes his art. It is here that most surgeons reveal themselves to be mediocrities. He is different, of course. From Buenos Aires to Geneva; from Paris to Washington, DC, he is known as indisputably the best. And now, as he finishes his molding with the plastic, looking at the finished product, he can agree with them. He is indeed no mere journeyman; he is an artist of the first rank.
CHAPTER 60
Adam scared him. He hated to admit it but it was true. This incredible power Adam had over him to hurt his feelings, to make him feel less than he really was
'Everything go all right?' Adam asked when they were in the car and on the way home.
'Went fine.'
'No trouble, then?'
'You were expecting trouble, Adam?'
'I was asking a civil question, Rick.'
'No, you weren't. You were implying that I couldn't pull anything off without you.'
Adam, blond Adam, shook his head and looked out the window at the fine autumn day. 'I'm really not up for this crap, Rick. I mean it.' He didn't look at Rick. Continued to stare out the driver's window.
'Meet anybody interesting in New York?' Rick said. He knew he shouldn't have said it but couldn't help himself.
'I'm not even going to answer that.'
'Maybe I'll find another note on the floor.'
Adam looked at him. 'Maybe you will. And you know what, Rick? I don't give a damn if you do.'
Scared, that's what Rick was. Scared that Adam was going to say goodbye to him. So what does he do? Pushes Adam into saying goodbye to him. Go figure.
'Maybe we should give it a rest, Rick, you ever think about that?'
'Meaning whatyou met somebody here in Chicago, too?'
Very dramatic sigh. 'Meaning that I'm not in the car two minutes before you're on my case. Meaning that we should be talking about how it went with Jill Coffey and instead we're arguing about some imaginary lover.'
'Imaginary. Right, Adam. Was that note I found imaginary?'
'One note. Not exactly the end of the world, Rick.'
'Maybe not for somebody who doesn't care about being true and loyal.'
Another sigh. 'The subject, Rick, is Jill Coffey.'
Rick's jaw clenched. He wanted to keep on talking about what an utter bastard Adam wasjust the sight of him had made Rick insane with angerbut he supposed he'd have to let Adam shame him into talking about Jill Coffey.
'Everything went fine.'
'You were able to get some of her clothes?'
'No problem.'
'And Eric Brooks has been found by now, I take it?'
'Two hours after I killed him. It's all over TV and the papers.'
'You know what our good friend the lawyer told usMrs Tappley plans a very big bonus if things go right.'
'You trust him?'
'Who?'
'Halliwell. Arthur K. Halliwell. I don't trust him.'
'Rick, you say that about half the people we work with. You ever think of seeing a shrink about your paranoia?'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'What's what supposed to mean?'
'About me seeing a shrink. You think I'm losing it or something?'
Yet another sigh. 'Rick, you're all the time talking about how we can't trust this guy or can't trust that guy. I mean, it gets a little crazy after a while.'
'So that's it.'
'What's it?'
'Crazy. I figured you'd get around to using that word eventually.'
'Rick.'
'What?'
'Shut the hell up, will you? I'm half an hour off the plane and I'm already ass-deep into one of these things you insist on us having.'
And then Rick reached inside his sport jacket, felt for his shirt pocket and took out the photo, the lone photo he'd kept from the envelope in Adam's bottom drawer.
'Where the hell did you get that?'
'Where do you think, Adam?'
'That cuts it, pal. That cuts it clean. Once we start snooping in each other's private business…'
Rick tried not to smile. He was enjoying himself. Something about the photo of fifteen-year-old Peter Tappley had alarmed Adam greatly.
They reached the Dan Ryan.
'Adam?'
'God, Rick. You don't get it, do you?'
'Get what?'
'Who you are.'
'What the hell's that supposed to mean?'
'God,' Adam said. 'That youthat you're Peter Tappley.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' Rick said.
'The headaches, Rick, and the blackouts. They're part of the multiple personality thing. I did some reading about them.'
'You're saying I have this multiple personality thing?'
Adam looked at him and shook his head. Crazy sonofabit
ch. Pitiful crazy sonofabitch. That's what Rick was.
'Just drive,' Adam said. ''Just goddamm drive.'
CHAPTER 61
Evelyn sat in her den, looking out the mullioned windows at the fading day. November always depressed her, land and sky blanched of all color, nights when the winds howled out here on the plains like the cries of some animal dying.
She tried not to think of her daughter Doris.
Of how her daughter Doris had been about to betray her.
Of how her daughter Doris preferred the esteem of Jill Coffey to her own mother.
Of how her daughter Doris would set her own mother in jeopardy with the law.
A knock.
'Ma'am?'
'Yes.'
'Would you like a lamb chop for dinner?'
'There'll be no dinner tonight.'
'No dinner?'
'Are you deaf, girl? I said no dinner.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Now go find something useful to do. And don't sit in the bathroom so long. I'm well aware that you sit in there and read magazines.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
Evelyn went back to her thoughts.
On such a dusk as this, she felt old far beyond her years. There was no one to comfort her. Nobody ever pitied or tried to understand the truly wealthy. All the prattle today about minorities who weren't treated well, from blacks to gays. Well, in many respects, the minority of rich people were treated far worse than all the other minorities put together. When a rich person got very ill, the masses were spiteful: 'He deserves it, the rich old bastard.' When the congress decided it needed money, to whom did it always turn? 'Rich people, let's tax rich people.' And when a rich person's son got in trouble with the law… Well, if Peter had been the son of a black man who lived in inner-city Chicago, the press would hardly have paid attention at all. Certainly, no army of press would have besieged his trial, his prison years and his execution. But no… rich people were always fair game for the press. And so she'd had to endure the media circus all those years. They'd even taken to helicopters so they could get video film of her playing croquet on sunny Sunday afternoons…
But on this dusk, Evelyn knew an even deeper bitterness than being held up to public scrutiny and spectacle. She had lost her children.