Set in Stone

by David James Warren

  “Burke?” I manage and the guy with the defib patches looks up, then makes room for my best friend to crouch next to me. “What in the devil are you doing here?”

  We’re on the stern of a large vessel, the deck slick and wet. Burke is wearing a stripped expression and puts his hand on my shoulder. “You scared us to death.”

  Us. He looks up, and so do I.

  Eve is standing in the dim glow of light, her hands over her mouth, shaking.

  Us.

  “Eve—”

  “You promised me!” She clamps her hands over her mouth again, probably so that nothing terrible releases. She’s shaking her head, horror in her eyes.

  I’m not completely guilty, but you saw my intent. I push myself up, feeling a shooting pain deep in my sternum.

  Ah. CPR. That’s nice.

  “What happened?”

  “Before or after you broke your promise to me,” Eve snaps.

  I look at her, then to Burke. “What happened?”

  “Eve figured out where you might have been taken, and we followed the EPIRB signal on the life jacket.”

  That was me, thank you.

  “We saw you in the water right before you went down for the last time. You can thank the Coast Guard guys for pulling you out of the drink and saving your life.”

  He motions at the guys in wetsuits. I give them a nod.

  But it’s a hollow victory without Leo. I shake my head. “He hit me from behind, tied me up. Got me out on the boat. I can’t believe he got away, again.”

  Burke gives a tiny shake of his head. “We got him, Rem. Leo Fitzgerald is alive and handcuffed, and secured in quarters.”

  I take a breath. “What?”

  “Yeah. While these guys were saving your life, we took a boarding team and caught up to Fitzgerald before he could get away.”

  “You got him.”

  “He’s not going anywhere, pal.”

  I press my hand to my face, feeling a little like Eve. Overwhelmed, and in disbelief.

  We got him.

  We got him!

  The Coast Guard guys have given us space, and now I try and get up, but my body is shaking.

  Eve crouches beside me and puts her arms around me, helping.

  We fall as the boat picks up speed, but that’s okay. I hold her, and for a long moment we shake together.

  “I’m only forgiving you because you decided to live,” Eve says. I meet her eyes, and she’s not kidding.

  “Okay,” I say and kiss her.

  My heartbeat is thundering, my body jiggering and I can’t help but feel like somehow, I missed the climax of this epic story.

  Whatever. Leo is in custody. The nightmare is over.

  I lean away. “How did Burke get here?”

  “He called me shortly after you did, and I told him what you were doing. He got on a plane.”

  I look at Burke, and he lifts a shoulder. “I know you.”

  Apparently.

  “I checked in with Eve after I landed, and when she said she hadn’t heard from you—”

  “I was busy.”

  “I called you five times.”

  “I was probably napping in the back of Leo’s boat.”

  At this, Eve leans back and looks at my head. “Oh, Rem. You have a wicked goose-egg.”

  “And my brain is still trying to punch its way out of my skull.”

  I’ve scared her. “Just kidding.”

  “Hardly.” Her mouth is tight.

  “We drove out to the marina,” Burke continues, “but Leo’s boat was gone. That’s when Eve did some sleuthing.”

  “It wasn’t hard. I tracked the boat on Marine Traffic, and saw him heading out to sea, and I had a hunch.”

  I grin at her. “Really.”

  “An educated guess. Nothing that involves body parts.”

  “Mmmhmm,” I say.

  “We saw you go overboard, and that’s when the Coast Guard guys suited up,” Burke says. “We probably need to get back into the gym.” He grins.

  “Anytime, bro.”

  Eve climbs off me, and I find my feet, grabbing onto the rail.

  “You okay?”

  “Woozy.”

  “We’re getting your skull x-rayed when we get to shore.”

  “I’m fine. I want to talk to Leo.”

  “No. Let’s just let both of you cool off a bit.” Burke says. He throws a towel at me, and I wrap up in it.

  I sit on a bench next to Eve, the wind whipping around me, and stare into the darkness.

  The sea at night is wild and mysterious, the moon tipping the wave peaks in silver, stars falling into the horizon. I can’t help but think about what lies beneath, and how easily I might be, right now, lost.

  As it is, I have too many questions stirring in my head to sit in quiet triumph.

  “He is our mysterious bomb-maker,” I say to Eve.

  She’s leaning against me and now sits up. “What?”

  “Yeah. He confessed to making the bombs that took out the two coffee shops.”

  Her mouth opens.

  “It’s makes sense, right? Because before, the killings had stopped—and he was there, so maybe he got blown up.”

  She stares at me, a deep frown etched into her brow. It takes me a moment to realize I’ve just spoken my time travel history aloud.

  “What did you say?” she says slowly, and glances at the bump on my head. I’m hoping she thinks it’s the concussion talking.

  I swallow and reach for another subject. “He kept talking about this guy named Johnny. I think it might have been his accomplice.”

  “What accomplice? You think the Jackson killings were done by two people?”

  “No. It’s just, he didn’t sound completely irrational.”

  “Most psychopaths don’t. That’s what makes them so terrifying. They’re not overtly crazy. And we’ve already established that the Jackson killer is organized. He finds his prey and hunts them down. Leaves them with a twenty-dollar bill, marking his kill.”

  “Then what was this? He beat me over the head and was going to drop me into the sea.”

  “Panic?” Burke says, standing against a pole not far away. “You always say every murderer makes a mistake.”

  I look away. I don’t know what has me rattled. “Everything fits, right? Leo’s military background, his tattoo, his DNA on Lauren and Gretchen.”

  “Did he say anything about the twenties he leaves?”

  I shake my head. Bad idea. I wince and put my hand to it, as if to hold my brains in place.

  “The smell they talk about—maybe it’s because he wears the same clothes for every attack. You know, a sort of disguise,” Burke says. “We searched his truck and found soiled clothing in his bag. Smelled pretty rank.”

  “That could just be from a week on the road,” Eve says suddenly, and I frown at her.

  “What? I’m just saying, we need more than smelly clothes to connect him. Especially since he’s been living in Florida for over a decade. I need to connect the murders, and the time of death with his routes, see if I can establish his presence in Minnesota.”

  Yeah, that’s bothering me, too.

  And, “He said that Johnny had killed someone named Julia. I’ve been thinking through the victims—do you remember a Julia?”

  Eve shakes her head, looks at Burke. He’s frowning. “No.”

  “So, does that make thirty-nine?” I ask.

  “Maybe one of the victims went by a different name.”

  “Funny that he even knew their names, right? I mean—do you remember the people who wait on you in a restaurant? Or a bar?”

  “Maybe I do if I’m going to kill them,” Burke says.

  We’re nearing shore, the lights of the city pricking against the darkness.

  “There’s something his mother said—did I mention she has dementia? And Leo visits her every week. She kept calling me Johnny.”

  “You think this Johnny is a real guy?” Eve says.


  “She said that Johnny made Lenny—that’s our guy—cry. And when I asked him, he said Johnny killed Julia.”

  Silence from my cohorts.

  The boat is slowing.

  “When did he kill her?”

  “I don’t know. Could be one of the victims in the yard. Or…someone else?” The dock is coming into view. Good. I need to get my legs back on solid ground. “She said Johnny joined the military because Leo did. Leo’s an only child, otherwise I would have thought it was a sibling. But what if Leo had a real friend named Johnny? Maybe he got killed over in Desert Storm?”

  We’re pulling up to the dock.

  “Maybe we should check if there’s a Johnny in his platoon,” Eve says.

  “Let’s find out. Might be helpful for questioning. Maybe help us sort truth from fiction.”

  “And he’s wearing a ring,” Eve says. “Didn’t Meggie Fox mention that?”

  She’s observant, and it’s just another thing I love about her.

  “Could be a class ring. Maybe high school?” Burke says.

  “I’ll take a look at it.” Eve writes it down in her phone.

  I’m standing in the back when I spot police on the dock, waiting to take Leo into custody. I glance at Burke. “And we need to extradite him back to Minnesota.”

  “Already have the paperwork,” he says. “But it’s not going to be easy. He shot a cop.”

  “We need to get him on a plane, pronto,” I say and Burke nods.

  A couple of Coast Guard guys bring Leo out from below deck, and he spots me.

  His eyes are dark, his mouth tight. “How many lives do you have?” he says as he comes up on deck.

  “I’ve lost count,” I say, meeting his eyes. “But yours is done.”

  Leo spits at me as they wrestle him off the boat. Burke follows behind, probably to fight with the bureaucrats.

  “I’d feel much better if we got your head looked at,” Eve says.

  She’s not going to find anything but relief there.

  We got the Jackson killer.

  The nightmare is over.

  17

  I want my own bed. In my own house. With my own car.

  I want my own life back.

  These are my thoughts as I roll over and stare at the popcorn ceiling in Eve’s old bedroom at the Mulligan house.

  I’ve slept like the dead for the last fourteen hours after getting X-rayed in Miami (no skull fracture) and hopping a plane with a cuffed and angry Leo Fitzgerald in tow. (He owes us his life after we extradited him from the Miami police who were thirsty for blood.) We arrived at the Mulligans late in the evening, and I went straight to bed.

  After being jacked up on adrenaline for that long, I dropped like a stone. I’m groggy, strung out, achy and still in glorious disbelief.

  We got him.

  The Jackson killer.

  Eve isn’t in the bed next to me, and a look out the window says the morning has come and gone. The sun is high, the lake a deep blue, and it’s a good day to be alive.

  I’m debating my next move—coffee, sleep or tracking down Eve—when my cell phone vibrates on the bedside stand. I pick it up.

  Shelby.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be nursing a baby or something?”

  “I would be if Mayor Vega didn’t keep harassing me. What’s the deal? According to her she’s called you no less than eight hundred and thirty-seven times.”

  I look at my phone. “Eleven.”

  “Close enough. Answer her, for Pete’s sake.”

  “I got back late and had my phone on Do Not Disturb.”

  “You’re the chief of police. You’re not supposed to be going on field trips to Miami.”

  “Hey. I brought in the Jackson killer.” Sort of. I mean, I had help, but let me enjoy the moment.

  “Kudos to you on that. I’ll bet that’s what the mayor is going to say too.”

  I’ll bet not, how about you? But I don’t say that to Shelby.

  “I’m sure. Right after she lays into me for the news article—”

  “Which saved a life.”

  I prop my arm over my eyes. My head still throbs, thank you, Leo.

  “I think she just wants an update, and so do I, really. Have we gotten a ballistics report back on Zeke’s shooting? Does it match any of the Malakov weapons?”

  “Don’t you have lackeys for this?”

  “You’re my lackey. Find out something.”

  Sheesh, I liked her better as a pharmaceuticals rep. “Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”

  “Answer your ding-dang phone, or I’m sending Burke over there.”

  “Go change a diaper or something.”

  She hangs up on me.

  I sit up, then push to my feet and look out the window. This is my life. And maybe Ashley is gone forever—and I’m still not quite able to breathe through that thought—but at least one nightmare is over.

  And I’m the chief of police. Whattya know.

  I take a shower, down a few acetaminophens and head downstairs. The kitchen is empty, but I spot Danny in his office, on his computer. He looks up at me. “Rembrandt.”

  I walk over. “Do you know where Eve is?”

  “She left a couple hours ago. Said to tell you to go back to bed.”

  “She’s not the boss of me,” I say, and Danny raises an eyebrow because we both know she is.

  “Sams said that he scheduled a moving company to empty your house. He wants you and Eve to go over and take out anything else you want before they put things in storage. He wants to start tearing down the burned half by the end of the week.”

  “I’ll tell Eve.” I lean against the door frame. “He knows how to get stuff done.”

  Danny smiles. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy too. I got information back from your near hit and run.”

  It’s Ramses Vega, I feel it in my bones. Or, that could just be just the anger talking.

  “The plates are stolen, but I did manage to get a picture of the car from a local bank on the corner of Highway 7 and Minnetonka Boulevard. They have shots of their parking lot, and the highway, and I did the math and—”

  “How long have you been retired?”

  “Not long enough. Look.” He hands me a printed picture of the man in the car. I can’t make out a clear image. The man is wearing a baseball cap, a long sleeve shirt, but he looks white, and maybe middle-aged.

  “Not a great help.”

  “No, but we’ll get him.”

  I hand him back the photo. “It doesn’t look like Ramses Vega.”

  “I interviewed Vega personally. He has an alibi and corroboration. He was checking in with his parole officer.”

  Of course he was. “Thanks, Danny.”

  “We’ll get him, Rem. It’s only a matter of time.” He gives me a smile.

  It feels good to have Danny Mulligan in my corner. Like another victory.

  I raid the fridge, and settle on a banana, then call Zeke. His phone goes to voicemail. “Hey. It’s Rembrandt. Just checking on you. I was hoping to talk to you about the shooting. Call me back.”

  Then I dial Eve.

  “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Calm down, Florence.” She doesn’t laugh. “Listen, Mayor Vega has called me a couple trillion times and I need answers before she calls me back.”

  “What kind of answers?”

  “Did we get a ballistics report back on Zeke?”

  “Just a second.” She puts me on hold and I walk out to the porch, sit on the steps and watch the waves. The lake is calm today, no dark thunderheads overhead, no stiff wind from the east.

  It just might be a beautiful night, too. My gaze goes to the dock.

  “Yes. The bullet came from a Beretta M9.”

  “Really? A 9mm? Huh.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I did some reading on Malakov’s gang, their weapon of choice is a .45 ACP.”

  “So, not Malakov’s crew.”

  I finish off the banan
a. “I’m going to talk to Zeke, see if we can get any more information out of him about the driver, the car—”

  “Rem—”

  “If you want, you can meet me at the hospital.”

  Silence. “Fine. And then I’m taking you home.”

  “It’s going to be a pretty night out. Warm. Perfect for skinny—”

  “I’m hanging up now.” And she does.

  I smile. Because this is my life.

  I call an Uber, then get up and go back inside, throw away the banana peel, say goodbye to Danny and am waiting outside when the car pulls up.

  I need to score some new wheels, so I scroll through my phone looking at cars as my driver turns on the radio.

  He gets a five-star review for his selection; 38 Special comes on with “Back Where You Belong.”

  We pull up to Methodist Hospital and I know my way to Zeke’s room.

  Eve is already there, talking with Zeke, and a man with a face I now recognize, Gene Latsky. He wears a white jacket over his dress pants, a tie, and he’s got his hands shoved into his pockets, also laughing.

  “What did I miss?” I ask.

  “I was telling them about eating conch fritters in Miami,” Eve says.

  I give her a look.

  “Yeah, that’s the face.” She’s grinning. And reaches out for my hand.

  “How are you, Zeke?” He looks significantly better, his face less drawn.

  “Ready to go home. Frankie’s picking me up in an hour or so. I’ll be at Burke and Shelby’s party tonight.”

  I nod because I’m sure Eve knows about it. I’m in safe hands.

  “I just wanted to check in with him before he took off,” Gene says. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks, then.”

  Zeke nods and Gene shakes his hand, then looks at me. “Eve said you took a pretty good whack on the old noggin.”

  “It was worth every bolt of pain.” I give him a grim smile. “We caught the Jackson killer.”

  His eyes widen. “Really?”

  “Yep. Remember that guy from the bar so many years ago?”

  “Lenny?”

  “Yeah. His real name is Leo Fitzgerald. He was holed up in Florida. Worked as a trucker—he’d swing by here on his routes and…well, yeah, we got him.”

  “I’m still putting together his timeline, corroborating his routes with the murders,” Eve says. “I’ll have the report done tomorrow, definitely before his arraignment.”