Dead Reckoning

by Linda Castillo

  “Ah, Ms. Megason, how nice of you to join me this evening.”

  A groan was wrenched from her throat when she rolled onto her back. She looked up to see Jameson Rooks staring down at her, a cast-iron fire poker in his right hand.

  “And in the midst of an ice storm, no less,” he said. “Very impressive. You’re a real tour de force, aren’t you?”

  She maintained eye contact with him as she pushed herself to a sitting position. She did a quick mental inventory of her injuries. Her arm felt as if it were broken. She could already feel the skin tightening as it swelled. She could move her legs. That was good. Her head hurt, but she wasn’t dizzy. If she could get to the gun . . .

  “I knew you were going to be a problem the moment I laid eyes on you,” he said.

  “I’m glad I didn’t disappoint you.”

  “You have quite the reputation, you know.” One side of his mouth curved. “I’m afraid this time it’s going to cost you.”

  “Cost me what?”

  “Your life.”

  “The same way it cost Belinda Ferguson hers?”

  He tsked. “Come now. I couldn’t have her talking to a prosecutor, now, could I?”

  “I know what you did, Rooks. I documented everything. There’s no way in hell you’re going to get away with it, so why don’t you just give it up?” Not a smart thing to say considering he was hovering over her with a fire poker in his hand and murder in his eyes. But Kate had never been one to pull punches and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “What is it you think you know, Ms. Megason?”

  “I know you’re behind the murder of those two clerks in east Dallas.”

  “Really?” He looked amused. “Do you have proof?”

  “No, but it’s there. There’s a trail that leads right to you. You know it. I know it. It’s only a matter of time.”

  He looked at her, the way a father might look at a dense child. “I don’t think you’re in a position to do anything about it.”

  “Frank Matrone knows everything. He’s an ex-cop, Rooks. He hates corporate thugs like you. No matter what happens tonight, he’s going to come after you.”

  “Or maybe you’re just trying to save your life.”

  But Kate saw the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “Come on,” she said. “You’re a lawyer. Think this through. I’m a prosecutor. If you kill me, the full fury of the criminal justice system will come down on you so hard you won’t know what happened. Give it up now before things go too far. For God’s sake, you’ll probably get a deal. A good one.”

  He laughed, but it was an ugly sound. “I’m afraid things have already gone too far for deals, Ms. Megason.”

  Kate was sitting on the floor in the living room. Her back hurt, but she didn’t think she was badly injured. Her arm was broken, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use her left to get the gun. “It took me a while, but I think I’ve figured out how it works.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  “You buy life insurance policies on your hourly employees. Upon their death—murder in this case—five thousand goes to the family. Three hundred thousand goes to the corporation. How am I doing so far?”

  Something dark and unnerving flickered in his eyes. “You’ve drawn an interesting scenario, Ms. Megason. By all means continue.”

  Kate scanned the floor around her, but didn’t see the gun. Where the hell was the gun? “How much do you pay the thug to murder your own employees? Do you always make it look like a robbery gone bad? Or do you kill them in different ways?”

  “You get an A for effort.”

  “I think I should get an A plus because I’m right on the money, aren’t I?”

  He gave her that strange half smile again. “Your lack of vision disappoints me, Ms. Megason.”

  “What did I forget?”

  “The scope of the plan.” Intensity flashed in the depths of his gaze. “The ingenuity and talent it took to make it happen and pull it off.”

  The words sickened her, but Kate feigned interest. “I think you’re giving yourself too much credit.”

  His gaze went diamond hard. “I’m operating in twenty-eight states. I have invested in life insurance policies with seven underwriters. I own six franchises with more than four hundred stores among them. Not to mention all of those layers of subsidiaries to cushion any suspicions that might be raised.”

  “How many people have you murdered?”

  “In the last year?”

  “Since the beginning.”

  He shrugged and feigned concentration, but Kate could tell he was enjoying himself. “Including the two in Dallas a month ago, about twenty-two.”

  Kate considered herself a strong person, both mentally and physically. But to think the man standing before her had murdered twenty-two innocent people so his company could collect life insurance sickened her. “At three hundred thousand a pop, that’s quite a coup.”

  “Quite.”

  “Let me go, and I’ll make sure you get a deal.”

  “Kate.” His tone turned scolding. “You insult my intelligence.”

  “I know people,” she said, surprised by the emotion rising in her voice. “Judges. I know the DA personally.” The pain in her arm was wearing her down. The fear was taking hold. She could feel it leaching through her body, stealing her concentration, her calm.

  He looked around. “If you hadn’t been such a persistent little bitch, I wouldn’t be in this position and neither would you. Why couldn’t you just prosecute the case put before you and be done with it? Why did you have to keep digging?”

  Grimacing, she shifted slightly so she could turn her head, look behind her. Her heart began to pound when she spotted the gun on the floor in front of the hearth ten feet away. Trying to appear nonchalant, Kate jerked her gaze back to Rooks.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

  “I’m considering my options.”

  “I don’t think I can walk,” she lied, trying to buy time. “My legs are numb.”

  “In that case, I’ll kill you where you lie.”

  “And risk leaving DNA all over the place?”

  Amusement flashed in his eyes. “You think you’re so smart. So tough. I’m going to enjoy cutting you down to size.”

  Kate scrambled toward the gun on all fours. She heard Rooks behind her. His curse burning through the air. She saw movement in her peripheral vision. The black flash of the poker. She tried to get out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough and steel slammed into her broken arm.

  A scream of agony tore from her throat as she collapsed. A starburst of pain exploded in her brain. Her vision dimmed, and for an instant she feared she would black out.

  “Stupid bitch! See what you’ve done?”

  Vaguely she was aware of him crossing to the gun and picking it up. The pain came at her like a dangerous riptide, undulating and so powerful she feared it would pull her under. Kate tried to focus on what she could do to save herself, but the situation was bleak. She wasn’t going to be able to talk him down. The only options left were to make a run for it.

  Or kill him.

  As she lay there at the mercy of a madman, both options seemed as distant as the moon.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1:59 A.M.

  Frank should have been in his element. Hanging out with cops. Drinking bad coffee by the gallon. A dead body hanging from the top rail of a bunk just twenty feet away. Hurry up and wait. Just like the good old days.

  But tonight his mind wasn’t on the job. Just when he thought he’d gotten his focus, thoughts of Kate would creep into his mind. He would remember something she’d said or a certain way she’d looked at him. And everything he felt for her would come rushing back. He hadn’t intended to sleep with her. He hadn’t intended for a lot of things to happen. But like plenty of other areas of his life, things hadn’t worked out as planned.

  He’d just poured his third cup of coffee when the cell phone cli
pped to his belt chirped. “Matrone.”

  “This is Mike Shelley. What do you have?”

  “Detective thinks Ellis committed suicide.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Let me know when you do. I want a full report on my desk first thing in the morning.”

  Frank’s phone beeped, telling him he had an incoming call. “M.E. will be able to tell us more once he does an autopsy.”

  Mike grunted. “You think there’s anything to this, I want to know about it. All right?”

  “Got it.” Frank disconnected, then looked down at his phone, hating it that he’d been hoping for a message from Kate. He hit the code for voice mail.

  The noise and hustle of the jail faded to babble when he heard her voice. “This is Kate. Belinda Ferguson called and asked for a meet. She sounded scared. I’m at her place now. Frank, she claims to know something about the Bruton Ellis case. Says it’s part of an insurance scheme.” A pause. “Call me.”

  Cursing, he dialed Kate’s number from memory. Her voice mail picked up on the first ring, telling him she was on the phone. Or else her phone had been turned off . . .

  Frank got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Goddamn it,” he muttered and started toward the door. Someone called out his name, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back. Suddenly the death of Bruton Ellis didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was finding Kate.

  He dialed her number a second time as he jogged down the tiled corridor and out of the secure area. Once again he got her voice mail greeting. Growling, he punched the cell phone number of the cop who’d been assigned to protect her.

  Bruins picked up on the second ring.

  “Where the hell is Kate?” Frank snarled as he unlocked the truck and slid inside.

  “She’s at the convalescent home. Is there a problem?”

  “Get your ass in there and check on her.”

  “What?”

  “I think she went out the back door.”

  “Are you serious? Shit. Why would she do that?”

  Frank could feel his heart drumming against his ribs. “I need an address on Belinda Ferguson. Get it for me. Right now.”

  He heard keys being punched. A moment later Bruins came back on the line. “I got a Belinda Ferguson in Dallas.”

  “What’s the address?”

  “Highland Park—569 Lakeside.”

  Frank put the address to memory. “Find Kate, damn it. See if she’s inside. Check the back door. Call me back.”

  He disconnected, praying Officer Bruins found her inside.

  But Frank knew he wouldn’t.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 2:03 A.M.

  Kate wasn’t sure how badly she was injured. Her arm was by far the worst as far as pain. But the blow she’d taken to her temple was throbbing. She felt nauseated and dizzy and wondered if she’d sustained a concussion.

  She lay motionless on the cold tile, taking physical inventory of her injuries, trying to gather her wits and decide what to do next. She was aware of Rooks pacing a few feet away. He was cursing. Talking to himself. A madman . . .

  “Get up.”

  Kate struggled to a sitting position, and her head swam. Rooks was standing a few feet away. At some point he’d picked up her gun and had it trained at her chest. She looked around for her cell phone, but it was nowhere in sight.

  “Did you kill Belinda Ferguson?” she asked.

  That strange smile again. “Suicide, of course. She master-minded the entire scheme, you know. I would venture to say her conscience couldn’t stomach the killing.”

  Kate didn’t believe it for a second. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “You’re about to find out.” He pulled back the hammer on the gun. “Get up. If you make me ask you again, I’ll break your other arm.”

  Cradling her arm, Kate got to her knees, then slowly to her feet. The room gave a single wild dip and then leveled off.

  “We’re going to take a little ride. If you try anything, I’ll tie your wrists behind your back.” His eyes flicked to her broken arm. “The pain will be unbearable, I’m afraid.”

  Kate didn’t relish the thought. Already, the pain was like a sledgehammer slamming into her brain with every beat of her heart. But she knew the pain of a broken bone was not the worse of what she would face tonight if she went with him.

  She tensed when he started toward her. He smiled as he withdrew a kitchen towel from his pocket. It had been torn into two strips, the ends tied together. “Open your mouth.”

  He was going to gag her. Kate stared at him, her heart pounding. “Don’t,” she said.

  “Move and I’ll hurt you so bad you’ll wish you were dead.”

  She closed her eyes. Tears squeezed between her lashes as he forced the towel into her mouth, then secured the ends at the back of her head. “We don’t want to wake the neighbors, do we?”

  When he was finished, he motioned toward the back door. “Don’t touch anything. I’ve already wiped everything down. When the cops arrive, there will be no traces of either of us.”

  For an instant she considered making a mad dash, throwing herself through the French door, praying someone would hear. Before she could make her move, Rooks grasped her uninjured arm, opened the French door, and shoved her through it.

  The cold air felt good on her face and helped clear her head. At some point the sleet had turned to snow. A thin layer covered the flagstone and patio furniture. She wondered if the roads would be bad. If that would work to her advantage . . .

  He took her past the pool and gazebo toward the detached garage and opened the door. His Jaguar was parked next to Belinda’s Mercedes. Kate stared at the vehicle, recalling that Bruton Ellis had mentioned that the man he’d met with drove a Jaguar. Only no one had believed him . . .

  Rooks opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

  Fear tore through her with such violence that for a moment all she could do was stand there and shake. She knew if she got in that car, he would kill her.

  “Get in,” he repeated. “Now. Or I swear to Christ I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Her legs shook violently as she stepped toward the open door. In her peripheral vision she could see Rooks watching her closely, his expression wary. Keeping his distance.

  She set her left foot on the passenger-side floor and leaned forward as if she were going to get in. An instant before sliding onto the seat, Kate pushed back, slamming her body into Rooks. She heard him grunt. Felt the whoosh of his breath against her ear. He grabbed for her even as he reeled backward, but she twisted in midair and his fingers clawed air. The garage door rattled as he careened into it, and then she was running for her life.

  Around the Jag. Her boots slipping on concrete. Her hip brushing the hood. The front door to her right. Five feet away. She could hear Rooks behind her, cursing her, vowing to hurt her. Oh God. Oh God!

  Kate’s hand closed around the knob, twisted. The door opened, and she burst outside. Cold air on her face. Lurching into a sprint.

  In the next instant Rooks hooked his hand in the collar of her coat and yanked her back. The gag muffled her scream. She stumbled, nearly lost her footing and turned to him swinging. Her first punch went wide. The second caught him in the throat. He made a strangled sound. Then his hand whipped out like a snake. His fist slammed into her broken arm.

  Pain shocked her system. It was vivid and brutal and went through her like a thousand volts of electricity. She twisted away, but stumbled and went to her knees. She lashed out with her good arm, but her punch went wide. Before she could regroup, a second blow snapped her head back. She saw stars. Heard the roar of a freight train running through her head.

  Then she was lying on her side, her face pressed against concrete that smelled of engine oil and dust.

  You screwed up, Megason, she thought.

  And then the world faded to gray.

  THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 2:25 A.M. />
  Frank drove like a madman to Belinda Ferguson’s Highland Park home. The roads were treacherous and several times the truck fishtailed and nearly went into a spin. He parked at the curb, sprinted up the sidewalk and took the steps two at a time. He knew even before he hit the bell that no one was going to answer. He waited thirty seconds, then jogged to the rear of the property.

  He peered through the French doors. The house looked deserted, but he could see a dim light coming from inside. “Kate!” he shouted. “Kate!”

  On impulse he tried the door. Surprise shimmied through him when it opened. Drawing his pistol from its sheath, he stepped inside. “Kate! It’s Frank.”

  The house smelled of eucalyptus and heated air. Listening, his weapon ready in his hand, he slowly made his way to the kitchen.

  The light above the range was the only light. But it was plenty for him to see Belinda Ferguson lying in a large pool of blood. She was on her back, her arms and legs splayed. She was gripping a small, nickel plated revolver. Dead, he thought.

  “Jesus.” Holstering his weapon, Frank rushed to her and pressed his finger to her carotid. Her flesh was warm to the touch. The pulse was barely discernable.

  Quickly he tugged his cell from his belt and hit 911. “I need an ambulance. There’s been a shooting.” He identified himself and recited the address. “Notify the Dallas PD and the DA ASAP.”

  He snapped his phone closed and looked around, a new fear gripping him. “Kate!”

  A sound jerked his attention back to the woman lying on the floor. Her eyes were open and focused on him. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but all she managed was a gurgling sound.

  “An ambulance is on the way,” he said.

  She blinked once, slowly, and he got the impression that she’d understood him.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Megason . . .” she croaked.

  “Where is she?”

  She seemed to be having difficulty focusing. She opened her mouth again. He saw blood on her teeth. But she didn’t speak.

  Urgency pushed him. “Where, damn it?”

  Ferguson closed her eyes. Her body went slack. Frank cursed. He didn’t know what to do or where to look for Kate. He knew Belinda Ferguson had had a partner. Jameson Rooks. And he wondered if Rooks had had a hand in this.