by K. A. Tucker
Staring at me.
Noah stands to his full height and levels the guy with his own stare, one full of warning.
But the man—I’m guessing in his late sixties—doesn’t seem the least bit fazed.
“He was here that first day we came, when Klein was here,” I whisper, my gaze drifting over the wiry, old black man. He’s wearing the same brown trousers and rumpled shirt that he was wearing that day as well.
And . . .
“Oh my God.” I restart the video from my phone.
He’s wearing basically the same thing as the mysterious man talking to my father was wearing.
“Noah . . . this man was there that night.” I hold my phone to the glass, to where the man can see it clearly.
Chocolate-brown eyes shift to the screen, watching for two . . . three . . . four beats, before drifting back to me. And then he nods ever so subtly, almost to himself, and vanishes into the darkness of the room.
I’m about to slam my fist on the door when it opens.
“Who are you?”
He inhales deeply through his nostrils. “My name is Isaac. And you are Gracie May Wilkes.”
Hearing my full name roll off the tongue of this man—a complete stranger—makes my stomach flip. “How do you know that?”
“Because your father told me.” He jerks his head, indicating that we should follow him.
With a look back at Noah, we trail the old man into the motel room. His apartment, it would seem, based on the everyday clutter. The standard furniture has been replaced with a twin bed in the corner, a worn brown Barcalounger across from a contrastingly new small flat-screen TV, and a small table with two chairs, currently housing stacks of newspapers. Magazines sit on a side table, and dirty dishes are piled neatly by the sink. The air is stale, a faint scent of body odor lingering.
“I wondered when you’d find your way here.” Isaac moves slowly as he clears the papers away to allow us a place to sit.
“You knew Abraham Wilkes?” Noah asks for me, because I can’t seem to form words.
“I talked to him here and there. He was comin’ here every day, lookin’ for someone—”
“Betsy.” I finally find my tongue. “He was looking for her.”
“Lookin’. But not findin’. He’d just missed her by a few days, if I recall.”
“She was staying here?”
“Yes, ma’am. She was here. And then she was gone. Kept an eye out for her, but . . . never saw hair nor hide of her again.”
“Did you take the video of the drug bust?”
“I did. Right from that very spot over there. But it seems you’ve already figured that out.” He sighs as he eases himself into his lounge chair. “I’d been having trouble with vandals bustin’ into that vending machine. I wanted to catch ’em red-handed and I needed one of those things to do it. What do you call them again? Those . . .” His hand waves aimlessly in front of himself, as if the answer is in the air.
“A camcorder?”
“Camcorder. Yes. Can’t keep up with all this technology.” He chuckles as my gaze roams the room again, to the flat screen, and the laptop on the corner desk. “That’s all my son’s doing. He brings this stuff over for me every once in a while. God only knows which trucks they fall out the back from, but I don’t ask questions anymore. Anyway, he brought one of those fancy new camcorders and set it up right over there, by the window. Stacked some books to get it the right height. Taught me how to turn it on before I went to bed, and that was that.
“Well, I was tinkering with it over dinner and I guess I set it to record earlier than usual. I went out to do a few last jobs for the day. That’s when I ran into your dad, out in the parking lot. And then the cavalry came in after that guy. Didn’t realize I’d caught the whole thing on tape until later that night when I went to turn it on, only to find it already running. And I sure didn’t realize exactly what I’d caught until I replayed it.” He waggles his brow. “So I did what I thought was right, and I gave the video to your dad, the next time he came ’round.”
“When was that?” Noah asks.
“A few days before he died.”
I share a glance with Noah. “Have you watched the news lately?”
Isaac leans forward, resting his bony elbows on his knees, leveling me with those wise eyes. “Girl, I’ve known your daddy was innocent from the night he died.”
Something in his tone makes my heart flip. “How?”
“Because he was set up.” He says it so matter-of-factly.
“And how do you know that?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Did you see someone do it?” Did Mantis scare him from speaking?
But Isaac says nothing, heaving himself out of his chair to mosey over to the corner of the room. Digging out a screwdriver from his tool belt, he eases himself down onto one knee and unfastens the air exchange panel from the wall. He reaches in and pulls out a jump drive.
“I did one better. I recorded someone doing it.”
CHAPTER 53
Officer Abraham Wilkes
May 3, 2003
“You the cop who’s been lookin’ for that girl?” The woman’s abrasive tone fills my ear.
“Yes, ma’am. Do you have information?”
“Saw her goin’ into Room 116 at The Lucky Nine tonight. About an hour ago. Better hurry if you want to catch her.” The line goes dead.
And my heart starts racing.
“Babe? It’s late. Who was that?” Dina calls from the living room.
It’s so tempting to finally tell her. But what if this caller is wrong? Or what if Betsy’s already gone? What if I’ve missed her again? Dina’s such an emotional woman, and she’s had an especially hard time of this whole thing. It would crush her, if I came home empty-handed.
“Work. I’ve gotta run out for a bit. I’ll be back soon.” It’s a twenty-minute drive out to The Lucky Nine from here. If Betsy’s just there for a client, and she’s already been there an hour . . . I’ve got to hurry.
I’m pulling my Colt .45 out of the safe when Dina comes into the office, hugging herself, a frown of disappointment marring her beautiful face. “Shouldn’t you be taking your police gun instead?”
“Not when I have this amazing holster that my lovely wife had made for me.” I force a smile as I fasten it. “I’m just going out to check on something. I won’t be long.”
Her frown hasn’t faded yet, though. “Why don’t you ever wear your uniform for these extra hours?”
“It’s better if I don’t.”
“Is it undercover work?”
“Something like that.” The lies are tasting worse each day. Fortunately, Dina hasn’t figured out yet that I’m feeding her bullshit.
I’ll come clean the second I’ve brought Betsy home to us.
I give her a kiss. “See you in a bit.”
* * *
The motel parking lot is especially quiet tonight, I note as I make my way along the sidewalk, eyeing the door numbers until I get to the last one in the block.
The lights are on inside.
My adrenaline races through my veins. A small voice in the back of my head keeps asking me if maybe I want to phone for police backup, but I push it aside. I just want to get Betsy away from this once and for all.
Pulling my badge and gun out, I rap my knuckles against the door.
Someone opens it.
I ignore protocol and push right in. “I’m looking for Betsy. Where is she?”
The guy inside, a lanky punk with sagging pants and gang tattoos decorating his skin, takes several steps backward. “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”
My gaze drifts over the bed, to where a small navy gym bag sits open, just wide enough to show me glimpses of the cocaine and weed parcels inside. Several bundles of cash sit piled over the tacky bedspread.
Shit. What the hell have I walked into?
The toilet flushes from inside the bathroom.
“Hands up, where I can see them!” I warn the gu
y standing in front of me. He complies without a word, as I wait for the person in the bathroom to emerge.
Mantis strolls out and comes to a dead stop. “Wilkes! What the hell are you doing here?”
“I got a tip that my sister-in-law was here. You?” I stare pointedly at the bed.
Mantis sighs. “Wilkes, this is Hernandez. An informant.” He gestures to the guy. “I’m working on a setup, and he’s the guy who’s gonna help me pull it off.” He juts his chin out. “Wanna stop pointing that fucking thing at me?”
I holster my gun. “So there was no blonde girl here in the past hour?”
“Blonde girl? There hasn’t been no one but this ugly asshole here all night,” Hernandez confirms, chuckling as he wanders over to the window to peek out. “Yo, how much longer? It’s not good for my cover, with you and him showin’ up at the door. Never know who’s watching.”
I turn to leave, my feet weighed down with disappointment.
“So, how are you gonna spend that money?” Mantis asks, humor in his rough voice. “Some jewelry for that pretty wife?”
“What money?” I spit out. “You talkin’ about the bag you left in my car last night? The bag you’re trying to buy me off with?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “I dropped that shit off with Marshall today. You want your money back, you’ll have to go and get it from her.”
He bares his stubby teeth in a sneer. “Yeah . . . I told him it’d be a waste of time. That you wouldn’t be shut up so easily.”
“Told who?”
“Who do you think? The guy that’s gonna make sure your whining goes nowhere.”
Realization sinks in. I should have known. The chief is the one who commissioned this brat pack. He’s the one who told Mantis to try and buy me off.
“And you know why he’s gonna cover for me?” Mantis lifts a bag of cocaine. “Because I get this shit off Austin’s streets, and that’s all Canning cares about. That’s all you should care about. Not some scumbag’s rights. As soon as they start dealing drugs to kids, they don’t get rights!”
I glance over to Hernandez, who’s watching with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. If he has any street smarts, he’s probably already figured out that there’s more going on here than whatever Mantis has roped him into.
“How old’s your little Gracie now? Six?” Mantis asks.
“Don’t you say my daughter’s name again. Ever,” I growl, charging at him.
He holds his hands up in the air in surrender, taking several steps back and around me, toward the door. “Relax. Just tryin’ to make a point. I’m getting this stuff off the streets for your daughter.”
“And I’m glad for that. But that doesn’t mean this stuff”—I sidestep around him to reach for a wad of cash, and hold it up—“should be lining your pockets.”
He gives a lazy shrug. “It was one time.”
“Bullshit.” The way he took that money—with smooth movements and such ease—he’s done it plenty. “Your mattress is probably lined with cash.”
“Funny, someone might say the same about you.”
“No, sir. I don’t think so.”
“You sure about that?” A wicked gleam shines in his beady eyes.
Wariness sinks in. “What have you done?”
“Where’s this proof that you’ve got?” he asks quietly, ignoring my question.
“Nowhere you’ll ever find it. What did you do, Mantis?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“What I needed to, to make sure no one ever believes a word you’ve said.”
The call . . . the drugs . . . the cash . . . Jesus Christ. This is a setup. Mantis is setting me up. I need to get out of here. I need to—
Unbearable pain rips through my chest, sending my body backward, into the wall. In the next second I’m on my knees. I manage to look up, to see Mantis aiming his gun at a shocked Hernandez. I didn’t even see him pull it out. When did he pull it out?
Hernandez is shouting something, but I can’t make out the words over the agony.
Another blast sounds, just as my face collides with the dirty, thin carpet. I can see Hernandez’s boots from beneath the bed.
And then I can see more of him, as his body hits the floor on the other side.
Everything begins to dim, as my lungs pull for air that won’t come, as the burning fire in my chest begins to dull.
My eyelids shutter.
Behind them, I see Gracie May’s big, beautiful green eyes.
I feel her tiny arms wrapping around my neck.
I hear her sweet laughter.
CHAPTER 54
Noah
Gracie and I huddle around Isaac’s laptop and watch as, twenty seconds after four gunshots go off, a single figure ducks out of Room 116. The person locks the door and smoothly strolls down the narrow path between the buildings, toward the parking lot.
Glancing ever so briefly at the room perpendicular to 116.
Not noticing the camcorder perched inside the motel room window.
The camera that captured his face beneath a baseball cap for that split second.
Long enough to identify him.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
Beside me, Gracie’s body is stiff with tension.
“I usually like to watch a little bit of late-night news,” Isaac says, from his chair. He didn’t bother to watch the video with us, which makes me think he’s watched it plenty. “But that night I was already in bed, and not fast enough getting out of it when those gunshots went off. Lucky for me. Otherwise I’d have been standing in that window. That fella and me would have met eye to eye. He’d have known that I had him pegged.”
“Why didn’t you give this video to the cops!” Gracie’s voice cracks with frustration.
“You just keep watching, there.” Isaac shifts the curtain to peer out at the parking lot.
She shakes her head with frustration, but refocuses her attention on the screen, as we wait.
Barely a minute later, we get our answer. The same SUV from the Lucky Nine drug bust—or something similar—speeds into the parking lot, lights flashing.
Mantis and Stapley jump out and move straight for Room 116 to kick in the door.
Two minutes later a police cruiser comes racing in. Stapley meets them at the threshold, holding them back with a raised hand and some words.
“Let me guess: that’s where he’s telling them that Canning has ordered that no one step inside,” I mutter. What a perfect cover for Mantis.
A second and third police cruiser roll in.
And suddenly the video cuts out.
“I wanted to see what my little camera had caught, so I went back a bit. When I saw your daddy walk into that room and not walk back out . . . I had a damn good idea about exactly what I’d caught.”
Gracie’s body was already tense by the time we watched Abe stroll up to 116 to push into the room, badge and gun in hand. Because Isaac’s recording started twenty-five minutes before, when Mantis appeared. We watched him hand cash and a phone to a hooker who’d ducked out of a room and was heading toward her car. She made a call.
A call, I’m betting, to Abe, on the phone found on Hernandez.
It’d take about twenty minutes to get to The Lucky Nine from Abe’s old house. Twenty-five by the time Abe said goodbye to Dina and collected his Colt .45 from his safe.
Mantis sent that hooker scurrying away at a fast pace, the fear in her face telling me his words were laced with sharp warning. And then Mantis, his hand laden with a small navy-blue gym bag, knocked on 116. Someone opened the door; Mantis went in and didn’t come out until after the gunshots were fired.
He was the only person who ever came out.
“I recognized that cop. He was the same one that night of the bust, tossin’ that bag into his car window. I gave your daddy that recording and he was gonna do something about it. I ain’t stupid. I could see what was goin’ on,” Isaac mutters. “And then that cop comes knockin’ on my door with a pad of paper, looking for witnesse
s?” He scoffs. “More like to shut up witnesses. I wasn’t about to give him that video. So I shook my head and said, ‘No, sir. I didn’t see a thing. Have yourself a good night, sir.’ I figured I’d wait for someone else to come around, someone I could trust, before I turned over that video.” He pauses. “No one else came.”
“But you knew my father was innocent and you sat on this for fourteen years?” Gracie cries out, tears in her eyes.
“And I also knew he was dead, and nothing would be bringing him back. Besides, I like my body not riddled with bullet holes, thank you very much.” Isaac says that with confidence, but he averts his gaze to the floor. I sense a hint of shame hiding beneath that exterior. “Like I said, I was waitin’ for the right person to come by, askin’. And you finally came.”
Gracie’s phone rings. Two seconds into her conversation, I can tell it’s Kristian on the other end. He’s here and he’s looking for us.
“We can take this, right?” I hold up the jump drive.
“You can take that. You can take the original DVD, too. I’ve got that one in a safety deposit box at the bank. You never can be too careful, ’specially around here.”
My eyes roam over the small room again. “So you’ve lived here for . . .”
“Goin’ on twenty years. What can I say? I lead a simple life. Do my own thing. People don’t bother me and I don’t bother them, and that’s how I like it.” A hard knock sounds on the door and Isaac lifts the curtain to peek past. His face twists with displeasure. “Well, there he is again.”
Gracie opens the door and Klein strolls in, closely followed by Tareen.
“I see you’ve met the owner of this fine establishment,” Klein says, giving Isaac a once-over.
My mouth drops open. Owner?
Klein shakes his head at the old man. “Don’t know nothing about nothing, hey?”
“I suddenly remembered somethin’.”
Klein jabs a finger toward Isaac, his aloof mask cracking to show irritation. “I’m going to nail you for obstruction of—”
“Kristian! Forget that!” Gracie snaps, smacking his arm to gain his attention. “He has a video of the night my father died. We have proof. We have Mantis!”