by Karen Rose
‘That’s some vacation,’ JD said with a shake of his head. ‘Wish I had two weeks to go off and party.’
‘Don’t we all,’ Herrigan said. ‘But he needed it. The doc works hard.’
JD frowned. ‘We’re going to catch . . . you know, from our boss if we come back empty-handed. Is there a Mrs Bennett? Could we maybe talk to her?’
Herrigan’s expression went dark. ‘Haven’t seen her in weeks.’
‘You don’t like her,’ JD said, his voice gone quietly conspiratorial.
Herrigan darted an apprehensive look Stevie’s way. ‘It’s not my place to say.’
Which, of course, said it all. JD was in the zone with this witness and Stevie knew the man would speak more freely if she weren’t there. She held up her phone. ‘I’m getting a call. Wait till I get back.’
She stepped away and put her phone to her ear, pretending to take a call when she was really listening to JD, who blew out a breath. ‘Sorry, man,’ he whispered. ‘She’s . . . you know how it is. But she’s senior and I gotta keep my nose clean.’
‘I know,’ Herrigan muttered. ‘Got one at home.’
‘So what about Mrs Bennett?’ JD clicked his tongue lasciviously. ‘I heard she was a looker.’
Stevie bit back a smile. JD had been a top narcotics detective, going undercover from time to time. He was almost too good at this.
‘Bennett don’t date the ugly ones,’ Herrigan whispered loudly.
‘I heard he . . . you know, supplemented her figure, if you know what I mean.’
Herrigan’s laugh was raunchy. ‘That he did. Not that she appreciated it. Bitch. She’s trying to take him for every cent he’s got. Luckily the doc had a pre-nup. I stopped her from going up last month when he wasn’t home. The doc had to get a court order keeping her out because she was stealing all the artwork he’d collected.’
‘She hasn’t tried to come up while he was on vacation?’
‘Not that I’ve seen.’
‘When did he leave?’
‘Let me think. Two weeks ago Sunday. I don’t normally work Sundays but I’d traded with one of the guys who had Orioles tickets. Third base line.’
‘Sweet. Wish I could take the time off for a game, but boss-lady over there won’t let me. So you saw the doctor in the afternoon?’
‘Yeah. I called him a cab.’
‘To the airport?’
Herrigan hesitated and Stevie turned enough so that she could see him from the corner of her eye, the phone still at her ear. He was frowning. ‘No. I can’t remember where, but it wasn’t to the airport.’
‘Did he tell you where he was going on vacation?’ JD asked.
‘No. Well, yes, but not me directly. He called the desk the next morning. I wasn’t on duty yet. Said he’d gone down to the Virgins and to make sure we stopped the paper and the mail. So we did.’
‘When you put him in the cab, did he have a suitcase?’
‘A briefcase. He must’ve come back for the suitcase when I was off duty.’ Herrigan straightened, his eyes narrowing suspiciously once again. ‘Why?’
JD smiled again, but Herrigan had caught on. ‘We’re just looking to talk to him.’
Stevie walked back to where the men stood. ‘Sorry that took so long.’
‘Not a problem,’ JD said, then took a card from his pocket and wrote his cell on the back. ‘Mr Herrigan, please call me if you see him or if you remember anything at all.’
Herrigan’s eyes widened at the ‘Homicide’ on JD’s card. ‘Is she dead? Mrs Bennett? ’Cause if she is, the doc did not do it. That woman had all kinds of men, bad ones. Any one of them coulda done it.’
JD’s brows lifted. ‘We could use some names, a place to start.’
‘Don’t know their names,’ Herrigan said, now surly. ‘She’d meet them down the street when she lived here and they’d go off to do God knows what. But I saw them.’
‘What about the wife’s name?’ JD asked.
‘Brandi, with an i,’ he said scornfully. ‘Signed for things with a little heart over the i. Was about as mature as a seventh-grader. Bitch.’
JD wrote it down. ‘If you see them again, call me. Thank you.’
Once they were in the car, Stevie nodded approvingly. ‘Good guess, that the wife had supplements.’
JD shrugged. ‘Thanks for the mammaries. It just made sense. Bennett must give that guy one hell of a Christmas bonus to inspire such loyalty.’ He pulled away from the curb, his hands tense on the wheel. ‘So do we talk to the wife or Dr Trask first?’
‘We know Lucy didn’t do this. Let’s head back to the morgue and see what she can add. I’d like any background we can get before we talk to the wife.’
Monday, May 3, 11.45 A.M.
A few hours’ sleep and a good cup of coffee were all he’d needed. Feeling downright chipper, he parked his Lexus near his dock, pulled out his cell phone and opened up Trakamatik’s website. The little blue dot blinked at the morgue, just where it was supposed to be, because that’s where Lucy Trask was.
He didn’t expect her to bolt today, but she would once the bodies began to stack up and she knew her jig was up. He imagined she’d turn tail and run when she realized she’d be found out for the liar she was and the crimes she’d committed, and he wanted to be able to find her when she did. Thanks to modern technology, that was as simple as the tracking device he’d slipped in the lining of her purse. It had been so easy. Women were completely careless with their handbags.
Which was good for him. He could log into the website from anywhere, on any computer. Or even his phone. For now, little Lucy was where she was supposed to be.
Locking his car, he paused at the end of his dock, taking a minute to admire his handiwork. He’d repaired the broken planks and cleared away the junk. The property was shaping up, if he did say so himself.
James Cannon had owned this place, but he hadn’t deserved it. He certainly hadn’t taken care of it.
Cannon’s name had been the first on the list provided by Malcolm Edwards, two months ago. Getting the list had been an amazing rush. Killing Malcolm and his wife . . . simply unforgettable. He’d psyched himself up for the Malcolm kill, and the high had lasted for days.
But when he’d taken James Cannon out on Malcolm’s boat to slit his throat, it was just . . . bleh. No finesse. No panache. And nobody to know what he’d done. He realized that some of the rush had been Malcolm’s horror in watching his wife die.
They deserved that horror. Every name on his list deserved it. So when he’d killed Cannon alone, it had been a shallow victory. Nothing to savor.
Except Cannon’s two properties. This place here on the water and Cannon’s upscale condo in downtown Baltimore. He’d use them until he was finished. Having a center of operations plus a cushy place to crash after a day of killing was a boon.
Cannon had certainly had an eye for real estate. Luckily he was a virtual recluse. He was cut off from his family. He had no friends. Nobody missed him. None of his neighbors even blinked when I told them I’d sublet his condo. He’d simply taken the key off Cannon’s body and moved himself in. No one asked where James was. No one cared.
Nobody around this place on the water asked either. He’d found the deed in Cannon’s drawer, and when he’d driven his Lexus out here to check it out, he’d been thrilled. It was a fish processing plant, or it might have been if Cannon had managed to finish what he’d started. Inside the plant were equipment and tools. Power saws and freezers. And the best part – a dock with a harbor deep enough for his boat.
He continued down the dock and jumped to the glossy deck. Gone were all traces of Malcolm Edwards and his wife. No one would ever know Carrie On had once been painted over the bow.
World, meet the Satisfaction. If anyone thought to look it up, the Satisfaction’s altered registration would come up obviously fake, but it wouldn’t come up as Malcolm Edwards’ boat, either.
Because it’s my boat. I have my own boat again. Finally. He t
hought of the boat they’d once had. The ’Vette, named for his mother. His father had loved that bucket of rust. So did I. They’d spent many a long day pulling crabs from the bay onto the deck of that old fishing tub. For some, crabbing was a diversion, a way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon. For his family, it had been their livelihood.
But it was all long gone. The ’Vette. The crabbing business. The family. All long gone. Because of Malcolm Edwards and James Cannon and Russell Bennett and all the others. They’d taken the heart of his family. They’d taken their fortune. They’d taken everything. He wanted them to pay.
And he’d found he wanted people to know what he’d done to each and every one of them. Slitting Cannon’s throat and dumping his body in the Bay had given him no satisfaction. Nobody had seen. Nobody would have cared if they had.
So he’d plotted and considered and reordered the names on his list. Russ Bennett had moved to the top and become his lab rat of sorts. He’d played out every twisted fantasy he’d ever had and it had been so good. So very good.
And the cherry on top – like Malcolm Edwards, Bennett had been loaded. Torturing their bank account IDs and passwords out of them had been mere child’s play. Transferring all their money to his own accounts, easier still.
Now their money belongs to me. He was racking up property and wealth faster than a kid playing Monopoly. And I’ll take care of it. I know what it’s like to go without. Because of them.
They weren’t using their money any longer. I might as well enjoy it. Besides, they owed me this, the life I should have had. The life he would have had.
The life Lucy Trask now does have, actually. For that alone, she’ll pay. Soon.
Now he had a different fish to fry. So to speak.
He went down the steps to the Satisfaction’s cabin and opened the head door. There she was, naked, tied, gagged, and perched on the toilet seat, just where he’d left her. Her eyes were wide and terrified. The barbiturate cocktail he’d used to knock her out had worn off. She was hyperventilating around the gag. Most excellent.
‘Hello there, Mrs Gordon,’ he said quietly. Her sixty-five year old face was tighter than a drum thanks to cosmetic surgery. ‘Do you remember me? No? That’s okay. I don’t think we’ve ever been formally introduced. But who I am isn’t nearly as important as who my sister was. And who your son is. And what he did twenty-one years ago.’
Her eyes flickered wildly and he knew Russ Bennett had told him the truth. Janet Gordon knew what had happened then. She’d kept it quiet all these years. Mostly.
Hatred boiled up from his gut. This woman didn’t deserve the air she breathed. He balled his hand into a fist, so wanting to smash the face she’d placed above everything else. Above everything right. But he controlled himself. In due time. She’d be sorry.
‘Russ Bennett told me all about you,’ he whispered harshly. ‘That you knew. That you blackmailed him into doing your little nips and tucks. I didn’t believe him at first. You know, the quality of information extracted through torture is typically pretty low.’
She shrank back against the head’s wall, her eyes filling with tears. She should have been pitiful, but the sight of her tears made his rage boil even higher.
‘I kept thinking, how could a woman – a mother – benefit from the suffering of an innocent girl? And how stupid were you to trust Bennett not to let the knife slip or give you a little too much anesthetic? But you did trust him and here you are, with your perky tits and your tucked tummy and your face stretched tighter than a trampoline.’ He grimaced. ‘Can you even blink?’
She blinked, but barely, sending tears streaking down her cheeks.
‘Oh, you poor, poor thing,’ he crooned. ‘How are you feeling? Terrible? Well, don’t worry. It’s about to get a whole lot worse. And when you’re dead? Your son will come running all the way from Colorado to ID your body. And then I’ll get my turn with him.’
‘No!’ she cried, the word muffled, but understandable.
‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘After all these years of living free, Ryan’s finally about to get what’s coming to him.’
‘No.’ She thrashed to get free and he simply watched, waiting until she tired. Within a few seconds her shoulders sagged, her chin dropping to her chest. He waited until she wearily lifted her eyes to him. He wanted to be sure she understood what was going to happen to her. He wanted to see the terror in her eyes.
He’d waited twenty-one years to see the terror in all their eyes. All the nights he’d lain in his bed, hearing his mother’s sobs, his parents’ angry words, his father’s drunken shouts. Because of what Janet Gordon’s son and his friends had done. And not done.
‘I killed Malcolm pretty mercifully, all in all, because he cooperated. Once I’d convinced him it was in his best interest, anyway. He gave me the list of names, all the people who watched and did nothing. Like your son. Ryan just stood and watched and never lifted a finger to stop it. But at least he’s had a lousy life too. Hasn’t he? Hasn’t he?’ he repeated viciously and she nodded, her body trembling.
‘Your son’s been in and out of jail, drugs, depression, can’t hold down a job. Russ Bennett, on the other hand, was rich and successful. That just didn’t seem fair to me. Does it seem fair to you?’ He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, hard. ‘Does it?’
Squeezing her eyes tightly closed, she shook her head.
He took the filleting knife from his pocket and unsheathed it. Pressed the tip under her chin, then tugged the gag from her mouth. ‘Does any of this seem fair to you?’
‘What . . .’ She trembled so violently he pulled the knife back a fraction of an inch. Don’t want her to cut her own throat, for God’s sake.
‘What what, Janet?’
She cringed, pressing back against the head’s wall. ‘What do you want from me?’
He leaned in so close he could smell her fear. ‘I want satisfaction.’
‘But I wasn’t even there!’ she cried. ‘I didn’t do anything!’
‘That’s exactly right. You. Didn’t. Do. Anything.’ He put the gag back in place and lifted her chin, studying her face. ‘I tried everything on Russ, everything I’ve always wanted to do to all of you but couldn’t, because I never knew who you were. Thanks to Malcolm, I now have the list. But thanks to Russ, I have you.’
And Lucy Trask, he thought. He’d altered his plan yet again when he’d heard everything Russ Bennett had to say. Bennett had been right about Janet Gordon. There had never been any doubt in his mind that what Bennett had said about Lucy was also true. She’d been a bully and a bitch, which went without saying as she was a Trask. She’d been a thief and even though she hadn’t raised her own hand, by her silence she was as guilty. And she’d profited. Just like Janet. As far as he was concerned, Janet was simply practice for Lucy.
And practice did make perfect.
He tilted Janet’s face, assessing. ‘Let’s see. Russ watched, so I gouged his eyes out. He said nothing, so I cut his tongue out. He never lifted a finger to help, so I cut off all of his fingers. And for fun I broke every bone in his face, and all his teeth, as was done to her.’ He smiled. ‘And the heart he claimed not to know about? I cut it out, too.’
His smile sharpened when she began to mewl in terror, tears now flowing steadily down her taut cheeks. ‘I don’t feel sorry for you, Janet, because my sister cried too. She begged. For mercy. For help. For somebody to do something. But your son did nothing. You did worse than nothing. At any time in twenty-one years you could have spoken, gotten justice. But instead, you profited.’
He squeezed her chin hard and she whimpered. ‘For this face. I will enjoy every moment of killing you.’
He shoved her away in contempt, sheathed his blade. ‘Quite frankly, I’m torn. I’d like to break every bone in your face, just like I did to Russ. On the other hand, I’ve got to leave a little something for your son to identify in the morgue.’
He backed out of the head, pausing outside the door. ‘I’ll be back later an
d we’ll take a little sail. I’ll take you up on deck, where I have more room to work. Cleanup’s easier up there too. I’ll take the gag off. And then you can scream all you want.’
Chapter Five
Monday, May 3, 12.05 P.M.
Dr Craig Mulhauser closed the conference room door. ‘Let’s get this done so we can get on with business,’ he said briskly. He was an older man who’d stood next to Lucy Trask like a bodyguard, making JD wonder what the two had been expecting.
She’d known Russ Bennett. How? And how well?
JD took the seat across from Trask. Mulhauser took the chair to her right with a protective air, while Stevie sat to her left. For a moment Trask ignored them all, studying her hands primly folded on the table. Then she looked up, resolutely. It was a face-the-executioner look, and JD got a bad feeling about what was to come.
‘Do we know if Russell Bennett is alive?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Stevie said. ‘It doesn’t look good. His receptionist said he wouldn’t be in the office today when I called, posing as a patient confirming an appointment. She said that all his appointments had been cancelled. We drove by his condo on our way here. Pretty fancy place. His doorman told us Bennett had been on vacation for the last two weeks.’
‘Herrigan,’ Trask said with distaste. ‘He keeps a good eye on the place for Russ.’
So she’d been to Bennett’s place. And she called the victim by his first name. JD sat back, watching her. ‘How did you know Dr Bennett?’
She drew a fortifying breath, her cheeks growing pink. ‘I dated him for a while.’
JD tamped down his irritation at the disclosure while Stevie’s eyes opened wide.
‘You dated him?’ Stevie asked. ‘While he was married?’
Trask’s face became redder. ‘Until I found out he was married. I hadn’t known. I never would have done that. I don’t date much, period, and never married men.’
JD exhaled silently, relieved. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So what happened?’
