by Karen Rose
Abe walked steadily closer. “If you’re calling the men who were standing guard outside, you’ll have to yell a hell of a lot louder. Let’s just say they’re out of the range of your voice.”
Kristen felt the change in Conti, his body stiffening in rage. “I’ll kill her. I swear I will.” Fighting panic, Kristen looked at Owen lying on the floor, clutching at his knee, then saw him pointedly look to his right. She followed his line of sight and nearly fainted in relief.
Barely visible through the boxes was Spinnelli, his gun steadily trained on Conti.
And me, she thought. Frantically she tried to think of a way to get away from Conti so that Abe and Spinnelli would have a clear shot.
Then Owen looked up and again Kristen followed his line of sight. To where Mia knelt on one of the metal racks, her hands poised on a box. Mia held up three fingers, then two. Her breath trapped in her chest, Kristen waited… waited… until one of the boxes thudded to the floor behind them with a crash. Startled, Conti faltered and Kristen lunged, kicking, squirming, scratching, biting, dropping, and rolling when he lost his grip. Three shots rang out in quick succession and Conti fell.
He wouldn’t be getting up again.
Then she was in Abe’s arms and he was rocking her. “Oh, God, oh, God,” he kept saying, his face buried in her hair. “I thought I’d lost you.”
He thought he’d have to watch another woman he loved killed before his eyes. A shudder ran through his body and he tightened his arms around her. Kristen ran her hands up and down his back. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Abe, I’m really fine.”
Her words gradually sank through his fear and Abe loosened his grip. He held her at arm’s length, his eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of abuse, closing his eyes in relief when there appeared to be none. “I wanted to kill Edwards for touching you.”
“It’s okay. He’s dead. Owen killed him.”
“I know. I was standing behind those boxes from the time you all came out of the stacks, watching the whole thing.” Abe shuddered again, knowing he’d never forget the sight of those bastards’ hands on her. “If you hadn’t stopped where you did, we couldn’t have gotten to you in time.”
Kristen twisted around to look at Owen, who lay silently observing, his face contorted in pain. “You stopped us here. You said you wouldn’t go any farther.”
Mia swung down from the metal rack. “He saw us at the loading bay door.” She looked at Owen, her expression unreadable. “You must have one hell of an eye.”
Kristen let out a breath. “You saved me. Owen …” Her face twisted pathetically. Her eyes filled with tears. “How could you do it? How could you kill all those people?”
He said nothing, just lay looking at her. “I can’t let you go,” she said brokenly, as if there weren’t three armed cops surrounding her who would allow her to do so if she wanted to.
“I know.” It was gritted from behind clenched teeth. “I couldn’t respect you if you did.” He struggled to sit up, then like lightning pulled a second Beretta from his other boot. “I also won’t go to prison. Good-bye, Kristen.”
“Owen, no.” In horror Kristen watched as he put the small gun under his chin. Abe pulled her around, crushing her face against his shoulder as a final shot rang out.
“Don’t look, honey,” Abe murmured against her hair. “Just don’t look.”
She wouldn’t. She’d seen more than enough.
Saturday, February 28, 6:15 P.M.
She shouldn’t be here. The thought echoed in Abe’s mind as he watched Kristen reading the note Owen had been writing just before being called to Conti’s warehouse. She should be at the hospital with Aidan and McIntyre, who were conscious but under observation. Kristen should be there, too, being treated for shock. But she’d refused to remain at the hospital, even with every Reagan begging or demanding she stay. Instead she’d insisted on accompanying him and Mia back here, to Owen’s house. Where this whole nightmare began.
Now she sat at Owen’s kitchen table, her face pale, her gloved hands trembling even though they were flattened against the tabletop. He trembled himself and felt no shame in doing so. He’d nearly lost her today. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the sight of Conti’s hands on her, his gun to her head. But she was alive. Unhurt. Physically, anyway. Who knew how long it would take for the emotional scars to heal? Almost being killed by Conti. Finding out a man she’d trusted was a cold-blooded murderer. Seeing him put a .38 under his chin and hearing him take his own life.
He felt Mia’s hand on his back. “She’s all right,” she murmured from his side.
“I know. It’s just …” Helplessly he let the thought trail away and Mia patted his back.
“I know. Come and see what Jack’s found. She’ll be fine by herself for a few minutes.”
Reluctantly he let Mia guide him into a back bedroom where Jack sat at a computer.
“What did you find?” Abe asked and Jack looked over his shoulder, his expression grim.
“Kristen’s database,” Jack said. “How the hell did Madden get this on his computer?”
“He stole it,” Kristen said from behind them, her voice flat. She gently pushed past Abe, Owen’s notebook in her hand. “He put something in my tea one evening when I was there for dinner, made me fall asleep.” Her lips twisted. “I remember waking up, thinking I must have been more tired than I thought. I hadn’t slept well for a few nights. I remember my first thought when I woke up was my laptop, where was my laptop? Then I realized it was in the bag at my feet, right where I’d put it, that Owen was watching over me and wouldn’t let anyone steal my computer while I was asleep.” She handed Abe the notebook. “It’s all in here. He copied my database while I was asleep. It would have been right after New Year’s.”
Yet another betrayal. “I’m sorry, Kristen,” he said softly and she swallowed hard.
“He used me to murder all those people,” she whispered harshly.
“You were as much a victim as anyone else in this whole nightmare,” Mia insisted.
Kristen’s chuckle was mirthless. “Tell that to the families of all the people Owen murdered. I think they’d see it differently.” She lifted her eyes to the wall behind the computer where several framed certificates hung. His Chicago certificates were all for volunteer work with the developmentally disabled. He’d taught woodworking and stone carving and metal shop at the local community center where Leah had socialized. His Pittsburgh certificates were for outstanding service during his thirty-year career as a police officer. A single medal hung in the middle of all the certificates. Owen’s Purple Heart. He’d been wounded serving as a Marine in Vietnam in 1965.
“I still can’t believe it,” Kristen said, her voice nearly toneless. “I can’t believe he was a cop. I still can’t believe he killed all those people. But he did. And he said he’d do it again.”
Mia took the notebook from Abe’s hands, scanned the final letter. “Well, at least he told us almost everything before he was interrupted. All the pieces are starting to fit.”
“What pieces?” Spinnelli asked from the doorway. He, too, looked grim. “What’s in the notebook?”
“A letter to Kristen,” Abe answered. Kristen was still numbly staring at the certificates on the wall. “He explained a number of things, like the fact he was born Robert Henry Barnett but he changed his name in the early sixties due to some ‘unpleasantness’ in his family.”
“That was right about the time of the murder of the boy who stabbed Colin Barnett to death,” Mia said. “The hat-maker, Miss Keene, said she’d always wondered if Robert came back to avenge his brother’s death. It makes sense that he did.”
“He was a Marine in ’Nam,” Spinnelli said, then his eyes settled on the Purple Heart on the wall. “But I guess you figured that out already.”
“How did you know?” Abe asked, still watching Kristen who still stared at the wall.
“We got a match on the prints from Kaplan’s garage.” Spinnelli stepped up to
the wall to examine the certificates. “Owen Madden got an honorable discharge from the Marines after one tour in ’Nam, came back to the States where he got a job as a cop. Commendations out the yingyang. He retired five years ago and bought a cop bar in downtown Pittsburgh. I called his old CO, who said about three years ago he up and left with no explanation. One day the bar was open, the next there was a FOR SALE sign in the window.”
“He’d found out about Leah,” Kristen said quietly. She turned away from the wall, her expression carefully reserved. It was her way of holding on to the last thread of her control, and Abe couldn’t fault her for it. “Leah’s mother was dying of cancer and was afraid of who would care for Leah when she was gone. She hired a private investigator to track Owen down. Apparently he’d come to Chicago twenty-three years before and met Leah’s mother. He was only here for a week or so, but in that time he met Leah’s mother. They had a short affair, but when the week was over, he had to go back to Pittsburgh.”
“Twenty-three years ago,” Mia mused. “He was back in Chicago for the funeral of his parents and sister, Iris Anne. Remember, Miss Keene thought she saw him, but he never acknowledged her when she called his name.”
“That makes sense,” Kristen agreed dully. “Apparently Leah’s mother got pregnant, but she didn’t know where to find Owen. He never planned to come back to Chicago. She finally found him right before she died. Leah had already been through the trial and was starting to sink into depression. Her mother was afraid of what would happen when she was gone.”
“Well, he got involved in his daughter’s life way too late,” Spinnelli said tightly, looking at the certificates recognizing Owen’s volunteer activities. “How did you meet him, Kristen?”
Kristen shrugged. “Pure chance. I was upset over a case I’d just had to plead down and I’d gone for a walk to clear my head. I walked into Owen’s diner and we started to talk. I never had any clue he was Leah’s father. I never had any clue he’d been a cop.”
She said it like she thought she should have. “Why would you?” Abe asked reasonably. “He ran a diner, served food. Why would you think he was a retired cop?”
Kristen shook her head. “I know up here that I couldn’t have known.” She tapped her head. “But knowing it down deep is something entirely different. Anyway, apparently Leah got more and more depressed until Owen moved her to an apartment away from the city to give her a change of scenery. To keep her from having to walk the same streets that she’d been walking the day she was raped. He got her a place up in Lake County, not too far from the Worth property you found.”
“But it was too late,” Mia added. “Leah ended up committing suicide.”
“The trauma we were looking for,” Spinnelli said.
“How is the little girl?” Kristen asked. “Kaplan’s daughter? She’s been weighing on my mind all day.”
Spinnelli clenched his jaw. “From what they can get out of her, she didn’t see her father killed. They don’t think she saw his body, just Madden. He was bloody and crazy. That’s what she keeps saying. Bloody and crazy.”
“She’s traumatized for life,” Kristen murmured, guilt blatantly obvious on her face.
“It is not your fault,” Abe said firmly.
“How did he know about his uncle, Paul Worth?” Spinnelli asked.
Kristen shrugged. “He didn’t get that far. He stopped while he was writing about how he drugged me and copied my database from my hard drive. He must have gotten a call from Zoe Richardson, because that’s who he was looking for when he came into the warehouse.”
Spinnelli’s expression became even grimmer, his bushy mustache bunching as he frowned. “He may have gotten a call from someone saying she was Richardson, but it wasn’t Richardson.”
Kristen closed her eyes. “She’s dead.”
Spinnelli hesitated. “Yes.”
“How?” Kristen asked.
Spinnelli exchanged a glance with Abe that spoke volumes. This was not something Kristen needed to know. At the prolonged silence Kristen opened her eyes. “Tell me.”
“Conti killed her, Kristen. That’s all you need to know.”
Kristen’s eyes flashed. “How did she die? Dammit, Marc, I have a right to know.”
Spinnelli sighed. “She suffocated.”
Mia frowned. “Suffocated? But—”
“Jack, are you done here?” Spinnelli interrupted. “Because I need to schedule a press conference and I’ll need a summary of everything you’ve found. Kristen, there was a stack of books on Madden’s nightstand. He stuck a sticky note with your name on the top of the stack. Poetry, I think. Keats and Browning. Mia, will you take Kristen to look through them?”
Kristen regarded him steadily. “It doesn’t matter if you tell me or not, Marc. Sooner or later one of the reporters will find out and all I’ll have to do is watch the ten o’clock news.” She left the room, Mia at her heels. When they were gone, Spinnelli sighed again.
“When news broke that both Edwards and Conti were dead, we got an anonymous tip that if we stopped them from burying Angelo Conti, we’d find a missing person. Luckily the ground is so soggy from the thaw that they couldn’t get the diggers out to the burial plot.”
Abe grimaced as Spinnelli’s meaning hit home. “No.”
Spinnelli nodded. “Yes. Kristen’s right. This will be all over the news sooner or later. I’ll leave it up to you how you tell her. Now, get her out of here and get back to your family. How is your brother?”
Abe checked his watch. “They should be letting him go home any minute. I’m taking Kristen home.”
“Not to her house,” Spinnelli cautioned. “We’ll need to get someone to clean up her living room. There’s blood all over the wallpaper.”
Blue stripes. Fighting a shudder Abe visualized the scene Mia and Spinnelli had found, the dead body in her living room, the blood streaking the blue-striped wallpaper. Visualized Kristen shooting the man who’d intruded into her home. Who’d put his hands on her. And even through the horror, was fiercely proud that she’d acted with such precise calm. She hadn’t been able to fight her attacker ten years ago. Today, she’d more than made up for it.
“No,” Abe said, his voice unsteady. “I won’t take her to her house. I’ll take her to my parents’. Everyone will be there.” He turned to go when Spinnelli’s hand closed over his shoulder.
“I was proud of you today, Abe. You waited for us at the warehouse instead of charging in to save the day yourself. You did the right thing.”
And how hard it had been to sit there, hearing the seconds tick away in his mind, knowing Conti had Kristen, that he might be killing her at that very moment. But it had been the right thing to do. He never could have saved her alone. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Spinnelli gave him one of those long hard looks that once again made Abe feel as if the man was looking straight into his soul. “You’re welcome.”
Saturday, February 28, 7:30 P.M.
The noise was such a welcome relief that Kristen felt tears sting her eyes. By unspoken mutual consent, she and Abe had not returned to her house, instead coming to the only place it made sense to come. Abe opened the door to Becca’s kitchen from the laundry room and it was like she’d come home. Sean and Ruth’s kids chased each other across the kitchen, Becca was watching QVC and Annie was peeling potatoes. Rachel sat at the kitchen table, working on what appeared to be algebra. The television in the living room was blaring some sports event, accompanied by the outraged shouts of Reagan men.
With a tearful cry, Rachel leaped from the table and rushed Kristen, nearly knocking her down with the ferocity of her embrace. Kristen hugged her close, rocking her gently. Rachel hadn’t been at the hospital when she and Abe had gone to see Aidan. Kristen understood the girl needed the reassurance that she was indeed unharmed. Perhaps Kristen needed the reassurance as well. She swallowed hard and drew Rachel’s head against her shoulder.
“It’s all right now, honey. I promise. It’s all over.
”
“I was so scared,” Rachel whispered, trembling. “When they said you were missing, I…”
“I was scared, too.” She could admit that now, now that everything was over. She’d seen four men die this afternoon, one at her own hand. Somehow the reality that she’d killed a man in her own living room hadn’t yet sunk in. She supposed it would in time. For now, she held on tight to Rachel. “But you, honey, you helped save my life. Detective Mitchell told me how you recognized Owen from my office. Without you, they wouldn’t have known who he was. You helped them find Aidan, so they could get him to the hospital.”
Rachel pulled back, her lips curving in a faltering smile even as tears streaked her cheeks. “I did, didn’t I? He owes me big time.”
Kristen cupped Rachel’s cheek, wiping the girl’s tears away with her thumb. “Yes, he does. And so do I. Thank you, Rachel.”
“You’re all right?” she asked anxiously. “Really all right? You’re not lying or anything?”
Kristen’s lips twitched. “I’m not lying. I’m really okay. Better now that I’m here with you.”
Rachel tilted her head to one side, studying her. “Aidan said you shot some guy and killed him.”
Kristen drew a breath. “Yes, I did.”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Good. He deserved it.”
“Rachel, I don’t think Kristen really wants to talk about that right now,” Becca said. She put her own arms around Kristen and brought her close. “We were so worried,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re back here where you belong.” She pressed a kiss to the top of Kristen’s head, then pulled away, briskly moving about her kitchen. “Abe, make yourself useful. Take that pie into your brother. He’s resting on the sofa in the living room.”
Abe frowned. “Aidan gets pie? That’s not fair.”
“He has a concussion. Of course it’s fair.” She put the plate of pie in Abe’s hands. “And don’t be sneaking any on the way. Go on, now. Those boys,” she clucked after him. “Kristen, we have a house full of people tonight. If you feel up to it, there’s lettuce and salad makings in the fridge. I could use your help, too.”
