Connor burst into the room like some kind of action hero, and I wanted to wring his neck for not waiting and take him to bed for being so freaking attractive.
The petite man dropped the rope. But instead of surrendering, he slipped his gas mask on. With a sinking sensation, I realized he must’ve thrown down another gas concoction along with that rope.
Connor seemed unaffected so far. He was smart enough to hold his breath. But for how long?
The other guy wasn’t equipped to deal with a conscious opponent. He backed away, hands raised. Connor stalked forward to take him down, and I felt some of the tension ease out of me as the man behind the mask stayed submissive, arms safely over his head.
Until Connor doubled over from a knee to his groin.
To my horror, I watched the wrong man fall.
Panic flashed through me as Connor disappeared from view. The pain would’ve made him gasp, which would’ve made him inhale the gas. What if it did worse than knock someone out?
What if—
“Hell,” Etta said like she was contemplating a rat that needed killing. “This is why you need a backup partner.”
Her words seeped through my hysteria. The petite man picked up the rope again. Ropes were for tying. He wouldn’t need to tie someone up if they were dead. Right?
Unless—
No. I couldn’t afford to think that way. I wouldn’t.
“Okay,” I said, sucking in deep breaths and trying to force my brain out of its panicked loop onto a more useful train of thought. We had to take this bastard down so I could get to Connor. But how? I wouldn’t do Connor any good if I ended up passed out on the floor beside him. “We’re going to have to take this guy by surprise in case he has any more of those knockout bombs up his sleeve.”
Etta raised her Glock. “Or we could shoot him.”
“No!” I pushed her arm back down. Carefully. “Well… not except as a last resort.”
She sighed and slipped the weapon into her bag. “Your generation always wants to complicate things. Did you bring your Taser?”
“Yes.” I’d known this wasn’t going to go well.
“Good. Then I’ll go break a window in another part of the house. While Scrawny Scientist over there goes to investigate, you open one of the other windows and taser him when he comes back.”
“What if I can’t open one of them from the outside?”
“Break it.”
“But then he’ll know I’m there.”
“Sneak in through the front door and hide behind the couch then.”
“He’ll hear me. I don’t know which floorboards creak or hinges squeak or—”
“If he comes after you, I’ll shoot him.”
And we were back to the shooting. I tried to think. “Wait, what if we just ring the doorbell and taser him when he comes to answer it?”
“What if he doesn’t come to the door?”
“We’ll think up a plan B.”
“What if you miss? Or if he throws one of those chemical doodads down before you get the chance?”
I eyed her. “You can stand off to the side, out of range of the chemical doodads, and shoot him.”
She fingered her Glock and smiled. “That might just work.”
As the petite man writhed on the floor in front of me, I realized we should’ve discussed what to do if the plan worked.
The Taser charge would last thirty seconds. Time that Connor had always told me to use to run away. But I couldn’t run away on this occasion, and we had to secure the guy’s hands before he regained control over his muscles and let off another one of those knockout bombs.
I sprinted for the rope I’d seen him with, holding my breath as I entered the room and grabbed it off the floor. My instincts screamed at me to go to Connor’s still form, but I resisted and sprinted back again.
“Wait!” Etta shouted as I bent down to tie him. “Won’t you get shocked too?”
Crap. I didn’t know. “I have to risk it.”
If I failed, Etta could shoot him before he got a chance to attack. I braced myself and touched his arm. Nothing. The Taser charge finished a few seconds later. I grabbed his hands and yanked the rope around them. It was hard with my own shaking. Thank goodness Scrawny Scientist wasn’t recovering well. His limbs were weak and unresisting, the gas mask hanging ineffectually from his neck.
In the movies they always make it look easy to tie up a man. But I hadn’t tied up anything except my shoelaces in years, and it was harder than it looked. Etta was still standing at a distance, out of chemical range. I used my knee to hold down one end of the rope while I wound the other tightly around his wrists. I wasn’t sure how easy it would be for him to set off another nasty surprise, so I levered him over to get the rope around his back, strapping his wrists to his own body, before tying the knot away from his hands so he couldn’t undo it. I didn’t know any fancy knots, so I did the most basic one over and over again. Guess I should’ve been a Girl Scout after all.
Hoping it wouldn’t just unravel of its own accord, I yelled at Etta to watch him and sprinted back to Connor. He was propped up on one elbow, trying to sit up. Relief washed over me.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
I’ll admit it. I experienced a flash of satisfaction from asking him that question instead of the other way around for a change.
He grunted. “Where’s—?”
“Tied up by the front door.”
Onion Head moaned. After two doses of whatever our gas-wielding wacko had used, they were slower to wake up. But they’d be a problem when they did.
“I think we better tie these guys too,” I said reluctantly. If Connor wasn’t well enough to do the deed, it was going to be downright embarrassing with him watching on.
He pushed himself all the way upright. “I’ll deal with them. You better go ask that other one any questions you have before the police arrive. Based on this”—he gestured at the three of them felled on the floor—“I’m guessing he’s the chemist behind the operation. The one your victim was dealing with.”
Seeing that Connor was going to be okay, I took the reprieve gladly. Besides, Hunt wouldn’t let me near Scrawny Scientist once they had him in custody.
The ropes had remained intact, and he was looking more alert when I returned to the doorstep. Sirens sounded in the distance.
“Did you kill Michael Watts? Or arrange for him to be killed?” I asked.
“I’m gonna kill you, bitch,” he sneered.
At least now I didn’t feel bad about tasering him.
I positioned a knee over his groin. “Look, that’s my boyfriend you kneed in the crotch in there. I’m happy to return the favor if you don’t start talking.”
He tried to spit at me. Maybe if he hadn’t been tasered mere minutes ago it would have hit me in the face, but the soggy globule only made it half the height before landing harmlessly on his shirt.
Etta abandoned her chemical-safe distance and shoved her Glock in his face. “What were you saying?”
His face went red with rage, but he muttered the answer through clenched teeth. “I didn’t kill Michael. He was my friend.”
“Then why’d you let your thugs torture your friend’s wife?” I asked.
“I didn’t specify to torture her. That’s on them. I just told them to get the damn stash back so no one could follow it to me.”
I didn’t tell him they’d burned my apartment too. He’d probably be glad to hear it. Besides, the sirens’ wailing was growing louder and time was short. “Why did Watts agree to peddle poisons for you? What was in it for him?”
He looked at me like I was the dumbest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. “Money. Same as me.”
“He’s rich. Why would he need the money?”
He wriggled himself upright until Etta’s gun pressed to his forehead. “Why would he need the money? Are you kidding? You stupid women don’t know what it’s like for us. We’re expected to provide everything you ever desire, and you have n
o idea how stressful that is. Michael’s business wasn’t going well, and he needed to alleviate some of that stress. He was fond of doing that with girls who do as they’re told and don’t judge you for it.” He sneered at me. “Not like you self-entitled bitches. So he needed money that couldn’t be traced, and since everyone pays for poison in untraceable cash, it was perfect.”
“Until he was killed,” I pointed out.
Vehicles screeched to a stop, and car doors thudded, but I had what I needed from him. As loathsome as he was, he wasn’t Michael’s shooter.
“What were you going to do with your hired thugs?” I asked out of curiosity as a group of police ordered Etta to put her weapon down and all of us to raise our hands in the air. Scrawny Scientist was going to have trouble following that order.
“I don’t like loose ends,” he hissed at me, eyes full of hate.
The police officers streamed toward us. “Well,” I said. “The only loose end you need to deal with now is how you’re gonna stop your hired thugs from killing you in prison.”
Once we’d given our statements about a dozen times, the officers informed us we were free to go. Connor had been assessed by first responders and was looking pale but otherwise okay.
“So now that you’ve proven you can protect me physically,” he said, “does that mean I don’t have to share things of an emotional nature with you anymore?”
I glared at him. “Careful. If I can protect you, I might be able to hurt you too.” In contradiction to my threat, I couldn’t resist stepping forward and hugging him tightly. I’d been so scared for him.
He returned my embrace. “I’m glad you’re safe.” It was as if he stole the sentiment right out of my head. “But now that you are, I have work I need to catch up on. See you later tonight, okay?”
I would’ve loved to unwind with him, to spend time in his presence doing mundane things to reassure myself he was really unscathed. But he’d already given me an entire day out of his busy schedule and lost another recently to keep his mom company in the hospital. Reassuring myself would have to wait.
We kissed goodbye, sending heat sizzling all the way down to my toes. Then Etta and I trudged back to our cars and drove to Connor’s place in Beverly Hills. Etta to do a car swap, and me because it was my and Meow’s temporary home.
Etta’s eyes were burning with curiosity at the Tudor mansion. This afternoon was the first occasion she’d ever been on the property, and we hadn’t had time to do anything but switch cars and head straight to Nicole’s.
“Would you like to come in?” I asked after an internal tug of war. I wasn’t comfortable treating the house as my own, but it felt wrong to send her on her way without a drink to celebrate today’s victory.
A victory that sadly brought us no closer to clearing Mr. Black’s name.
Etta grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the front door. “You already know the answer to that.”
Mae was in the kitchen cooking dinner, Meow rubbing against her ankles. I was busting for the toilet, so I made introductions and then left them to get to know each other while I relieved myself. When I returned, Etta was telling Mae a highly embellished version of today’s events. Though when she got to the part with Scrawny Scientist, she didn’t need to embellish it much.
Mae took the recounting of her son’s lifeless body on the floor very well. Maybe because she already knew the happy ending. Or maybe because in her own life as a private investigator and having a military man as a husband she’d found some way of dealing with her loved ones being in danger.
That and Etta’s enthusiasm in the vivid retelling was contagious.
She was up to the bit where she’d been struggling to hold her gun steady while laughing at my inept efforts to tie a rope when her phone rang. The conversation was short, and when she disconnected, her expression was sober. “That was Abe. The police just found the murder weapon in his home.”
18
Etta floored it to the Blacks’ home, and we found them huddled around the small round dining table, looking shell-shocked.
“It’s not mine,” Mr. Black said.
Hallie and Joy answered in perfect sync. “We know.”
I had the distinct impression this same exchange had been stuck on repeat for a while.
The police had searched the Blacks’ residence after an anonymous tip and found what was most likely the murder weapon. It was unregistered, wiped clean, and the same caliber as the gun that had shot Michael Watts in the head. It was also the one piece of evidence the LAPD needed to wrap up their case as far as they were concerned. The sole reason Mr. Black wasn’t back in jail was they needed ballistics to confirm it first.
“I don’t even carry a gun,” Mr. Black said. “You know that, Ms. Avery.”
Somehow I’d overlooked that when I’d been running for my life and when I’d first heard the details of the case. But now that he mentioned it, I couldn’t remember seeing him with a gun. If he’d had a gun, he wouldn’t have been swayed by my Taser. If he’d had a gun, he wouldn’t have had to bother chasing me down the street. And even if he did have a gun, I couldn’t believe he’d be so stupid as to murder someone with it and then bring it to his family home. It was too convenient. All of a sudden, our assumption that Mr. Black had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time seemed incorrect.
Yes. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced Mr. Black had been set up to take the fall. And I was damned if I was going to let them get away with it.
The one positive side was it might help us narrow down our list of suspects.
“Where exactly did they find the gun?” I asked.
“Hidden in the bookshelf.”
“How possible would it be for someone to have snuck in and planted it without you noticing?”
Hallie answered. “Almost impossible, I’d think. I’ve been here all day, every day, and I know every groan and creak this house makes. I think I’d hear if there was an intruder. Unless we were asleep, but then the doors would’ve been locked.”
“We need a list of people who’ve visited you in the week since the murder.”
“We’ve had a few neighbors and friends drop off food, but aside from yourselves, there have only been three who came inside. Principal Gibson came after she heard Abe had been arrested to talk about how the other kids would react when the news got out and how to minimize the negative effect it would have on Joy. Mr. Bergström came over to fire Abe three days ago. And my best friend has come over a few times, but there’s no way it was her.”
We shared a pot of tea and caught them up on what we’d learned so far. Most of it had been a dead end, but the gun being planted gave us new leads.
“It has to be Bergström,” I told Etta on the way home. “He’s one of the few people who had the chance to plant the murder weapon. Plus he was the one who sent Mr. Black after Michael Watts in the first place, then denied it to the police. The only thing I’m not clear on is motive.”
“We also have the problem that we don’t have a scrap of evidence to support it.”
She was right. In fact, all the evidence pointed to Mr. Black. His DNA on the victim, a witness seeing him leaving the scene within the time-of-death window, and now the murder weapon found in his home. It would be an open-and-shut case in front of a jury unless we could prove someone else did it.
“So how do we track down some evidence and a motive?” I asked, my deductions about Bergström seeming a whole lot less groundbreaking now.
“By tracking the slimy bastard himself,” Etta muttered.
Remembering his gun and the armchair-man bodyguard, I had a bad feeling about that.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have any better suggestions.
Connor was still out working when I got home and gone again before I got up. It was New Year’s Eve, and the only proof of him having slept beside me was a sleep-muddled memory of being held in his arms. His side of the bed was neatly made, of course.
Would I get to see him
tonight? I felt bad that protecting me had put him so far behind that he couldn’t take New Year’s Eve off to spend with his mom. And me. Not that I didn’t have my own share of work for the day.
Mae and I shared chocolate croissants for breakfast.
“Are you as neat as Connor is?” I asked her after I’d caught her up on the Black case.
“No. He gets that from his father. He was an army man and liked his belongings organized just so. It’s about survival out there when a second of looking for something you misplaced could cost you everything, but it becomes a way of life.”
I nodded, immediately feeling bad for all the times I’d teased Connor about it—even if most of those times had been in my head.
“Don’t look so grim. I never stop missing Emmett, but I’ve had more than two decades to learn how to live with it. I like talking about him, you know? Remembering all those great years we shared.”
I let her words sink in. “In that case, Connor once mentioned that you met when you were paid to investigate him on a PI case. I’d love to hear the story if you feel like sharing.”
She beamed. “That’s one of my favorites. It was over forty years ago. We were both so young, in our early twenties. My grandfather was a cop, who got injured and became a PI rather than being relegated to desk duty. That’s how I got into it. So when this animal rights activist came in and asked him to gather evidence to help take down an exotic bird smuggler, Gramps took on the case. He tailed the main suspect and assigned me to follow Emmett. The client thought he might’ve been involved because he knew the head smuggler and had done a tour of duty in one of the countries the birds were being smuggled from, but Gramps figured it was a long shot.
“The first look I got at Emmett I was blown away. He was so handsome. I thought I’d landed the cushiest job in the world—staring at that face and body all day.” She laughed at herself. “Only Emmett caught on that he was being watched. Maybe I’d been getting closer than I should because I wanted a better view. Or maybe he was just smarter than your average surveillance subject. One day, I lost sight of him for a minute and was panicking, thinking I might’ve lost him right before the big exchange, when he knocked on my window. I must’ve jumped so high I hit my head on the roof. It was a cute little Fiat. Anyway, I rolled my window down since what else could I do? And he said, ‘How did I manage to get a pretty girl like you following me around?’ I almost died of embarrassment, but at the same time, a voice in my head was whooping about how he thought I was pretty. Out loud, I burbled something about not knowing what he was talking about and drove straight back to Gramps and told him I’d been sprung.
Eat, Pray, Die Mystery Box Set Page 58
