A Rush to Violence (A Spellman Thriller)

by Christopher Smith

  “I’m not sure. He first mentioned her to me about ten years ago. I’m not sure when the affair began. But I know they were seeing each other up until the day of his death.”

  “Did she know she was a beneficiary?”

  “She knew. He called to make an appointment with me because of a conversation they had the night before. He was nearing eighty. Pamela Decker is thirty-nine and she was getting concerned about her future. Miller had no plans to marry her. He liked things the way they were. She didn’t. She wanted marriage and stability. If this was as far as it was going to go between them, she didn’t want to waste what was left of her youth on not finding a man who would be there for her.”

  “Who would provide for her.”

  “Whatever. To be fair to her, they were together for nearly ten years, Jennifer. She was committed to him, her concern was reasonable and Kenneth knew it. If he wanted her, he’d need to take care of her.”

  “He’d have to buy her.”

  “He didn’t see it that way.”

  “Did she know where he placed her in the will?”

  “No.”

  “So she didn’t know that before she received a dime from his estate, every Miller needed to be six feet under first? Is that true?”

  “That’s true.”

  “That’s pretty cold on his part.”

  “Not really.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He asked me to send her a check. Something to help her get through should he die because he thought it was only fair. He was getting older. He knew he was putting her at the bottom of his beneficiaries. He wanted to make sure she was protected and so he did.”

  “How much protection was in that check?”

  “Twenty million dollars’ worth.”

  “That should take her to her grave.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s just say that Pamela Decker has expensive tastes. From what I know about her, that money might last her two years. Max. For years, he treated her like a queen. Anything she wanted, she got. She’s used to that lifestyle now. And once you’re used to something like that, it’s almost impossible to go back. I’ve seen it too often. As bright as she is—and she is bright—she’s stupid when it comes to handling money. She’ll go through it quickly. She’ll burn through it thinking that somehow more is coming her way.”

  “Did you send the check?”

  “I sent it the moment he left. You don’t wait when you’re dealing with someone like Kenneth Miller.”

  “How long before she cashed it.”

  “Next day.”

  “Was she afraid it would bounce?”

  “I doubt—”

  “That was a joke, Eliot. Where does Decker live?”

  “In a penthouse on Park.”

  “Did he buy it for her?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Do you have her address?”

  He found it and gave it to her.

  “Her cell?”

  He coughed that up, too.

  “So, getting back to why it took you twenty-seven minutes to sign off on the will. What was the reason? How were you advising Miller?”

  “He told me he’d be faxing me a letter later that day to add as an addendum to the will. We talked about what he was putting in the letter, which I had no problem with. If he wanted to ream out his adult children from the grave, so be it. I can’t stand half of them, anyway. With the exception of Camille, he hated the rest and he wanted them to know why. I listened to him, which takes time. Then I advised him that perhaps Pamela should take a bit less than twenty million, which seemed high to me, but he was having none of it, so that was that. Add to that a cup of coffee and catching up on some business-related issues, and there’s your twenty-seven minutes.”

  “But why the letter?” Jennifer asked. “He still put them in the will, right behind Camille and Emma. What was the point?”

  “The letter gave him the last word. He put them in the will because he knew his wife would have wanted it that way. Kenneth Miller might have taken a mistress, Jennifer, but before his own wife died, he was well aware of her own affairs, of which there were many. For years, he was lonely. He met Pamela one night while having a drink at the Waldorf. They got on well, but it took months for him to trust her because Miller tended to trust no one—and for good reason. Still, when he decided that he could trust her, he told his wife about it. Not to hurt her, but to be honest with her in ways that she hadn’t been honest with him. At that point, he hadn’t consummated the relationship with Pamela, but he was about to and he wanted her to know why because deep down, he still loved her. I think that was the turning point in their relationship. It was at that point that Katherine started spending a fortune on the children her husband hated. It was her quiet way of retaliation.”

  “Katherine sounds like a peach. Do you think Miller was murdered, Eliot?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But what do you think?”

  “To my knowledge, nobody knew what was in that will. Nobody knew that it was Camille and Emma first, then the rest of them. So that strengthens the argument for murder. If each of the Miller siblings thought they were being treated equally in the will, then murdering Kenneth would expedite their access to their share of his fortune, even if the others benefited as well. So, could it have happened? Sure. But he also could have just tripped over his dog.”

  “Fair enough. But let’s say he was murdered. Who would do it?”

  “With the exception of Camille, take your pick. Increasingly, money was becoming tight for each of them because Miller shut them off when Katherine died. But you have to remember the autopsy. It suggested no signs of stroke or heart failure that would have led him to fall down those stairs. Police reports suggest no sign of struggle. Instead, his death was ruled as a direct result of him falling down the stairs and being impaled. It could have been an accident. It really could be that simple. It might just have been his dog.”

  “Or it could have been murder. Somebody could have pushed him.”

  “Maybe somebody did. I’m not arguing against it.”

  “So, what about Decker? Since she was a beneficiary, she was there for the reading of the will.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that’s when she found out where she came on the list. At that point, she already was sitting on twenty million dollars. She cashed the check the next day. Money spent on an experienced assassin would mean nothing to her if she knew she would receive hundreds of millions more. So, the question is simple. Would she take the rest of them out to get to that money?”

  “Do you realize how illogical that sounds? That would mean killing eight people, leaving her as the sole beneficiary. Pamela’s only dumb when it comes to handling her money, Jennifer. Otherwise, she’s smart. People know that. She went to Yale, for God’s sake. She has a law degree, though she hasn’t practiced since she’s been with Kenneth. She’s no idiot and no one views her as such. If she did something like that, all fingers would be pointed at her. It’s too obvious. She wouldn’t do it.”

  “Here’s how I see it. I think that because it’s so obvious, it gives her an edge. If she’s known for being so damned smart, the assumption would be that hiring someone to kill the people ahead of her in the will is not something she would do. People would defend her. Wealthy people. Friends of Kenneth’s. People who would get on the witness stand and laugh at the absurdity of it because they knew she wouldn’t do anything so blatant. If it came to trial, which it would, the defense would use that argument, which frankly is powerful. I think she’d win.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Lots of murderers walk, Eliot. I think Pamela would be one of them. Anyway, thanks for your time. Let me clear a few things on my end and I’ll be in touch about the profile. You were good tonight. I appreciate the candor and the information. If any questions arise, I might need to call you again, but your time will
be well spent. I’ll do a bang-up job for you. You lost a bit of your clout in this city when Miller died, but the right profile will help get it back.”

  He didn’t say anything, likely, Marty thought, because it stung to hear that his position in Manhattan had slipped. The line was severed and he heard Jennifer moving toward the office door, which she leaned against.

  “Thoughts?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure about Decker.”

  “It’s a stretch. I get it. I just wanted to see how far he’d go with it.”

  “But I’m also not ruling her out. Your point was extreme, but also plausible. And because it’s extreme, it strengthens your argument. She’d know she’d be the prime suspect if she hired someone to take out the rest of the Miller family. Her defense would bring in heavyweight character references who would back her as a wonderful, loving, intelligent person who also once practiced law. Because of her education, she’d know how this would go down for her if she went through with it. The defense would use that to her advantage. If I was a juror, I’d also wonder why such an smart woman with her background would do something so blatantly stupid. Unless the prosecution could present damaging evidence against her—such as a large amount of money wired to some mysterious account, which would bolster the idea that she hired an assassin—I’d side with her. In spite of everything Carr told me this morning, that it’s Miller’s children who want Camille and Emma dead, it’s possible that it’s Pamela Decker. Maybe it’s she who hired Carr. Maybe he’s using Miller’s children to throw me off because he doesn’t want to reveal the truth. What we need to do is either meet with her or talk to her. Hopefully, the former so we can get a better feel for who she is.”

  “I’ve got her cell.”

  “We’ll call in a minute. First, let’s talk through the other possibilities. I was told this morning that all of the Miller children had decided to take down Camille, but that isn’t necessarily true. I could have been misled. It could be one person in the Miller clan who hired Carr, knowing that receiving even a portion of their father’s fortune, split six ways, would be enough to set them up for life. Or it could be two siblings working together. Or three. Four. Hell, all six. Who knows how deep this goes? There are too many possibilities.”

  His satellite phone rang. He looked at the number and answered it. Detective Mike Hines.

  “I think we have a read on Camille Miller,” he said. “One of our guys saw what could have been her in Brooklyn. She was with a man. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder. He said he’s ninety percent certain he got an ID on her face, but that her hair no longer was dark. She had a hood pulled over her head, but he could see her hair well enough to know that she’s now a blonde.”

  “So, she’s bleached her hair. And she’s wearing a hood in this kind of heat. We know Camille once was an assassin. Assassins change their appearance when they’re about to act. What was in the duffel bag?”

  “Probably guns.”

  “Who’s the guy who was with her?”

  “Probably assistance.”

  “I offered a reward for hard evidence. Does your man have any?”

  “He reached for his camera, but was too late.”

  “Tell him if this leads to something, I’ll compensate him anyway. If he could continue to keep his eye out for her, I’d appreciate that.”

  “Done.”

  “Camille hasn’t returned to Paris for a reason, Mike. She’s planning something. We’ve learned where all the Millers live. I’ll send you their address via e-mail.”

  “To what end? If you want me to put a man on each house, I’m going to need something concrete to justify it, Marty. We’re tapped out as it is. You know that. What do you have?”

  “What don’t I have? My family was abducted. I was threatened this morning. My wife was threatened. The Millers have been associated with this from the start.”

  “By name only. The Millers are royalty in this city. The chief is going to want to know if you have direct evidence that it was the Millers. You know that’s the question he’ll ask. I want to help you, buddy, but you know I can’t unless you can directly connect this to them. Can you?”

  He couldn’t. He hadn’t dealt with one Miller. Just Carr, who said he worked for the Millers. Otherwise, he had nothing. “I understand. I’ll be in touch if things change.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I appreciate your help.”

  He hung up the phone and looked at Jennifer. “I’m not waiting until morning.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “They’ve got my family. They’ve got a possible ID on Camille carrying a duffel bag and walking with a man who might be her assistant. Whatever’s going down is going down tonight.”

  He could see the concern on her face, but it wasn’t going to deter him this time.

  “Will Hines help you?”

  “If I need him, he’ll be there for me.”

  “So will I, whether you need me or not. If you’re going out there to do what I know you’re going to do, I’m going with you.”

  He was about to respond in the negative when his e-mail sounded with a high-pitched “ding.” He turned to his computer and saw that it was a message from Roz, his contact at the FBI. Earlier, he sent her the video footage of the man taking pictures of Kenneth Miller as he was being wheeled out of his house in a body bag. The footage was too blurry for them to see who it was. Roz was asked to render the footage to the highest quality she could provide. He opened the e-mail and downloaded the attachments, of which there were twenty-six images. In a note, Roz said to pay particular attention to photos twenty-one through twenty-six. He opened them and started to go through them with Jennifer.

  The first was of the man taking photos of Miller as he was being pulled from his house.

  “Recognize him?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t either.”

  More photos. Now, coming through the crowd was the man who was passed the cell phone. Each recognized him on sight.

  “That’s the guy you beat up in the limousine today.”

  “He looks better with his jaw intact. So, there’s one question answered. Carr’s people were on the scene.”

  They flicked through the other photos and watched him cut through the crowd. When they came to the twenty-first photo, they stopped. What Roz captured that neither could have seen without her, is that the man with the cell didn’t leave the scene with the cell.

  He slipped it to another man.

  Marty clicked through the photos. With red circles, Roz marked the moment the cell phone was handed off. The image was so clear, it was unmistakable who took the cell. Still, since Marty had only seen photos of the man and had never met him in person, he asked Jennifer if it was who he thought it was.

  “It is,” she said.

  “He took the phone.”

  She sat down in the chair beside him, stunned.

  “Obviously, he’s part of this,” she said.

  Marty clicked through to the last photo. Backed up, clicked through again. In the final photo, the man already had slipped the phone into his pants pocket. At this point, his body was turned just enough so his face was lit with sunlight.

  “I’ve never met him. There’s no question that’s him?”

  “None,” Jennifer said. “I’d know Eliot Baker anywhere. That’s him. That’s the son of a bitch I just got off the phone with. He’s working for Carr. Or Carr is working for him.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Marty said. “They’re either working for the Millers or for Pamela Decker.”

  He stood.

  “Time to find out.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Before they left, Marty printed off the photos Roz sent him and placed them in order on the desk as they shot out of the printer. “Did you call Baker at home?” he asked Jennifer. “Or is he one of those who stays at the office until midnight?”

  “Home,” Jennifer said.

  “Where does he live?”
r />   “West Seventy-Ninth.”

  “Nice neighborhood.”

  “Miller paid well.”

  “Or he was overcharged. What’s the exact address?”

  She told him. “Google map it. It’s amazing.”

  Marty brought it up on screen. “A double brownstone. And an expensive one. Which side is his?”

  “He owns the whole building, but he lives on the right.”

  He looked at her. “How do you know that?”

  “When Miller died, I needed a quote from Baker, so I called him and he said to come to his house. The building is a knock-out. Seven floors and a private elevator. It’s the sort of house in which you can’t help but comment on it, so I did. He said it was too large for just him and his wife, so he rents out the left side.”

  “You’re just filled with information.”

  “It’s what I do.”

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to take these photos to Eliot Baker and confront him with them. Then we’re going to threaten him with them until he comes clean. Whether he’s working for Carr or Carr is working for him is irrelevant. They’re one and the same to me. I just want the truth. Since he’s involved with Carr, he knows the man has my family and he knows where they are.”

  He turned around, slipped his hand into his duffel bag, and withdrew his gun and three clips. “Let’s find out.”

  * * *

  When they left the building, Marty did a quick surveillance of the area before moving forward to the street corner to snag a cab.

  The Chens’ apartment was located at Seventy-Second and Park Avenue. For the most part, it was a residential neighborhood and at this time of night, the streets were usually quiet, as they were now. He saw nothing that alarmed him. Just a young couple smoking cigarettes while holding hands as they walked up Seventy-Second. Farther down Park, an older woman was walking in their direction with bags in her hands. He spotted no one waiting in cars. It appeared that taking out the chip they implanted in his shoulder was a smart move.

  At least until they questioned why the chip—and thus he—wasn’t moving. That’s when he’d have an issue on his hand, but not if he finished this tonight.