I squinted at the far wall and it hit me. Ed. Now that Eagleton was in custody, would Ed still have a guard? I would’ve collapsed if I hadn’t been sitting down. My fingers pushed the numbers of Corrigan’s phone as fast as they could. Voice mail. If the devil himself chased me, I couldn’t have made it out the door any speedier.
As in a miracle, every light was green. Ordinarily, I would spend five minutes or so trying to straighten my car in its parking space. This time, crooked would have to do. Rather than wait for the elevator, I dashed up the stairs to Ed’s floor and, panting, speed-walked down the corridor. A uniformed guard sat outside Ed’s room and my heart went back to its normal pace. I slouched against a wall, hands on knees to catch my breath.
My relief, though, was quickly shot through with worry. Where had Michael gone?
I swallowed my guilt for not stopping in to see Ed, but he’d understand. Back at my car, I tried to put the pieces together and formulate my strategy. First, something for my on-again-off-again headache. Leaning over to get some aspirin from my glove compartment, I spotted a man in the next parking lot row over. He flung his car door open like he wanted to rip it off, slid inside, gunned the engine, and sped away. It was Michael.
Adrenalin surged through me, preparing me for the chase. But what would I do if I caught him? Anyway, it was a moot point since that power surge my body felt didn’t extend to my car. It was, as Gino would say, ‘not in primo condition.’ It huffed, coughed, and finally started, but by then Michael was long gone.
I pounded in Corrigan’s number, thinking I needed to put him on speed dial. Damn. Voice mail again. The guy never answered his phone. “It’s Claire. Michael just tore out of Fairview Hospital’s parking lot. I can’t follow him but maybe you can.”
Then it hit me like a bucket of ice water. Was Ed still okay? What if Michael did something to him after I left? I ran back into the hospital, but this time took the elevator since one sat open, ready. A ride to the second floor never seemed so long. I pounded on the elevator button, whispering, “Come on. Come on.”
Tears of relief filled my eyes at the sight of that same cop still sitting placidly in front of Ed’s door. I couldn’t stop myself from showing him my identification and entering Ed’s room.
I stood at the head of Ed’s bed, careful not to disturb the wires and tubes everywhere. “Wake up please, Ed.” With a quick prayer for him to come out of the coma, I returned to my car.
To clear my mind, I leaned my head back against the headrest. Despite Corrigan’s certainty Eagleton did it, to me everything pointed to Michael. He had the opportunity, but his motive remained unclear.
Corrigan had left a voice message for me. “I’m not about to chase after someone because you think they’re up to no good. We’ve got the killer, remember? Anyway if your family issue is taken care of, please get back here and sign off on the assault charge. I’m waiting.”
I didn’t call him back.
My mind circled around and around, remembering my first meeting with Michael, then his confession about the letters, Mallorie’s death, and Ed’s attack. Even without knowing his motive, I’d bet my paltry bank account Michael was guilty.
Besides not knowing where he’d gone or what his motive was, another thing kept me uneasy. Dinner at my aunt’s. Michael could not be a guest. Imagining Aunt Lena asking the murderer to say grace made my heart sick. No matter how the scenario played out, that dinner wasn’t going to happen.
I called Aunt Lena to tell her Michael couldn’t make it after all and since it was just the three of us, I’d take her and Dad to dinner at 4:00. This way no one would be there if Michael showed up on his own. How to pay for this dinner was still a mystery, though.
Aunt Lena picked up on the second ring. “Claire, honey. Got someone on the other line. I’ll call you back.” She hung up before I could say a word. As if it were the phone’s fault, I squeezed and shook it in frustration, took a deep breath and tried my father. It went directly into voice mail. Doesn’t anyone answer their phones anymore? Not wanting to spook him telephonically, I didn’t leave a message. My only choice now was to call them both later.
I shifted in my car seat and made a decision, one I’d resisted. But the stakes were higher now. It was looking more like I’d have no choice in where my confrontation with Michael would happen. There might be nobody to come to my rescue, and my family was still at risk. Whatever could have set Michael off to kill Constance was still unknown, but now two people were dead and one was comatose. Despite my dread mixed with anxiety, I left to buy a gun.
In Ohio, I could buy a gun without a permit, so it was fairly easy to do. The harder part was learning how to shoot it. Gino did have a rule about guns: “Only pack heat if you plan to leave the other guy on ice.”
The gun shop owner pointed me in the direction of a shooting range where someone showed me what to do. Annie Oakley I wasn’t. My only hope was I’d never have to use the damn thing.
***
That evening I sat in my car and watched the solitary light that flickered upstairs in Michael’s house. Maybe he was in his study, busy destroying evidence. My nerves had me fumbling as I loaded my gun. I meant to bring back the truth.
I wished Ed was with me. Or Corrigan. That reminded me to put in another call to the detective. He’d probably yell at me, but from the things he’d said, he’d rather lecture me on staying alive. My call went straight to his voicemail. I kept my voice even. “It’s Claire, telling you I’m currently on a stake out at Michael’s.”
I’d been sitting in the dark for about five minutes when the upstairs light in the house went off. The front door opened and Michael stepped out, looked both ways, and went back in, closing the door behind him.
I ducked down fast and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t seen me. He was up to something, that much was clear. I called Corrigan again, but it went to voicemail just like before. “Help!” I yelled into the phone.
It was surprisingly warm outside, but I felt chilled down into my soul. With a deep, ragged breath, I patted the gun in my pocket. Waiting was getting awfully tiresome. Knocking on Michael’s door might shake things up. When he’d ask what I wanted, my gun would get him talking. Yeah. Sure. Or maybe Corrigan would arrive by then and stop Michael from wringing my neck for pulling a gun on him.
My thoughts continued along that path until Corrigan pulled up beside me and shone a flashlight in my eyes. “What the hell, DeNardo? Do I need to chain you to me to keep you out of trouble?”
Chained together someday may be fine, but not tonight. I hissed, “Michael is up to no good. Wait and see.”
Corrigan turned off the flashlight. “You should have come back to the station to sign the assault charge against Eagleton. But no. You’d rather make a nuisance of yourself out here.” He scowled. “I’m going to escort you home and stay there with you until you’re sound asleep. That’s the only way I can trust you to stay out of trouble.”
“But, he’s—”
“He’s home, minding his own business, like you should be. Let’s go.”
I put my car in gear and purposely drove ten miles under the speed limit all the way home. Corrigan loved to speed, so this was my petty revenge. It took about fifteen minutes extra to get there, and I was still fuming.
He opened my apartment door and followed me in. “Okay, Claire, we can watch TV together or play cards, or whatever. Your choice.”
“None of the above.” I sniffed and pulled a diet soda for myself and grudgingly grabbed another one, thrusting it at him. He accepted with a smile.
I crashed down on the sofa, arms crossed. He joined me, grabbed the remote, and chose a comedy. His laugh was mellow, masculine. Had I been less peeved, the sound would’ve have been pleasing.
As if to tease me, he scooted closer. Cozy, but it didn’t suit my mood. I snatched the remote and put the television on mute.
Wanting to have the height advantage, I stood. “How can you sit there, with Michael doing who-knows-w
hat? He’s already been at the hospital twice. He drugged me. And told me he wrote those threatening letters to his sister. He fooled me into thinking he didn’t kill Constance so I didn’t tell you about the letters.” I put my hands out in case he wanted to cuff me. “Now you could arrest me for withholding evidence. But it’s better than letting the real killer go loose.”
Corrigan’s face hardened. Had I gone too far with accepting arrest? What if he thought throwing me in jail was a good idea? Did my cousin, Anthony, handle criminal cases anymore?
His phone rang and he took his time answering. “Yeah, be right there.” After hanging up, he took my hands into his. “Got to go. Promise me you’ll stay here until I come back.”
A little alarm in my head told me this had to do with Constance’s murder. “What if you’re gone a long time, like until morning?” He took a deep breath, ready to say something, but I stopped him. “If what you’re about to do has anything to do with Constance, Ed, or Michael, shouldn’t you let me come along?” I watched his expression carefully to see if my suggestion had a chance.
It didn’t. Without saying a word, he threw on his sport coat and straightened his tie. “It’s police business.” I frowned, and he softened. “But if this pans out, I’ll come get you. So stay put.”
The set of his jaw told me arguing would be of no use. “Promise.” Besides, if I made him mad enough, he may not keep me informed.
“Lock the door behind me.” He rushed out and I did as he said. This would be a long night.
Like so much else in this case, I was wrong. Less than five minutes after Corrigan left, something slammed against my door. A wave of nausea hit me as I recalled the sound of Mallorie’s body slumped against my office door. This time though, the body could be Corrigan’s.
I grabbed my new gun in my unsteady hands and yelled, “Who is it?” No surprise that no one answered. My eye up to the peephole provided no clues either.
I dialed 911 with my free hand, then held the phone up to my ear. Not knowing if someone was lying in the hallway, hurt, I unlocked the door but left the chain in place; no sense taking chances.
The hairs on my neck were on high alert and would’ve run off if they could. The door creaked as I cracked it open to peek out.
An arm I didn’t see slammed the door furiously against my hand, ripping the chain lock off the door. My gun and phone went flying toward the bathroom hallway. Before I could react, someone barreled into me, shoving me further into the room. Without taking his eyes off me, he locked my door behind him.
“Hello, Claire.”
My feet felt glued to the floor and my knees quivered so hard they knocked together. I swallowed hard. “Michael.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Michael motioned toward my sofa. “Please, sit down.” The twelve-inch blade of the knife in his hand glinted off the ceiling light.
My legs felt fifty pounds each as I backed up. They finally hit the cushion, and I collapsed, my eyes frantically scanning the area for my gun.
He lowered himself into the chair that sat catty-corner from the sofa. “Hate to break in on you like this. But you gave me no choice.”
I dug my fingers into the sofa cushion to steady myself. “Why are you here?”
Michael leaned forward. He clucked his tongue and slowly shook his head, like he felt sorry for me. “I really liked you, Claire. Thought you felt the same for me.”
To move away from the knife, I sank back. “I do, Michael.” My voice sounded calm, but my insides rocked and rolled.
He waved the knife at me like it was a pointer. “No. You spied on me.” He paused for a moment. “I trusted you. Even told you I wrote the letters to Constance.” He almost pouted. “And you let me kiss you.”
I rubbed the palm of my hand over my cheek where his lips had been, wishing I could remove the top layer of skin. Fearful of making things worse, I turned my grimace into a weak smile. “You were right to trust me, Michael. But as a private detective I’ve got to be ever vigilant and questioning.”
He shook his head slowly, regret shadowing his face. “I tried to keep you safe. Pleaded with you to drop the case. Used my songs to warn you.” He rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “Even drugged you to get you out of harm’s way.”
“But, how could I have known the trouble you went to?” I put my hands together as if praying. “Please, Michael…”
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe Eagleton killed my sister. Do you?”
“Of course I do. You know, Corrigan is on his way here. Let’s continue this conversation another time.”
He shook his head and moved over to the sofa, sliding close enough to me his left thigh touched my right one. In an instant he twisted his torso, and grabbed me in a chokehold with one arm, holding the knife against my back with his other. “This is the last time.”
His weapon could enter my back with the least bit of struggle. Best to keep him talking. “If you kill me, the cops will know Eagleton is innocent.” My heart pounded so hard I felt the pressure in my temples.
“I’ve thought of that.” His voice took on a Vincent Price quality. “But it’d be different if you committed suicide.”
I whimpered. “You don’t want to do this.” Clearly he did.
“I am sorry.” He pulled me to my feet.
“Wait!” Stall. “At least tell me why you hired me and then killed your sister.” The knife shook in his hand, and I was terrified he’d cut me right then.
“I wanted her to know someone was watching her. So I hired you. I had to make sure she wouldn’t go back on our deal. Her death was an accident. I didn’t mean for her to die. If she just hadn’t reneged.”
Squirming and trying to loosen his grip on my arms didn’t work. “Deal? For money? But you’re already wealthy.”
He sniffed. “Was wealthy. Bad investments.”
“Biologic Solutions. Was the deal with them?”
“Smart girl. Yes.” Sounding like a kid tattling, he added, “Eagleton and Sean Lawrence were part of it too.” His voice grew sharp, resentful. “But Constance thought she was in love with Luther, and didn’t want to betray him. So she betrayed me instead.”
I wondered if rigor mortis would set in by the time Corrigan found me. “So what happened?”
“She’d already stolen the formula for a new youth-preserving drug. We were supposed to meet Bio Solutions and hand it over. We’d split the money.” He tightened his lock on my neck and I gasped. “But Constance hid the formula. She caught me tearing her office apart looking for it, and went after me. I pushed her out of the way and she fell.” His voice broke and the knife broke my skin. I closed my eyes and bit my lip hard.
Michael’s words were thick with emotion. “She hit her head on her desk corner. It was too late for me to do anything. She was already dead. I still needed the formula even more so I tore her office apart. It wasn’t there.”
He continued. “Mallorie saw everything. I couldn’t afford to keep paying that bitch. She got what she deserved.”
I wanted to rip this monster’s head off, but contained my rage. “And Ed?” I whispered in a hoarse voice.
“An unavoidable casualty.”
Fear made it hard to keep my mind from scattering. “Does it get easier each time?”
He spoke as if involved in a philosophical conversation, “You could say it does grow on you.”
“But you can’t keep killing people.”
He pulled me up. “You’re right. You’ll be the last. Assuming your friend, Ed, doesn’t wake up.” He maneuvered us toward the bathroom.
I teetered and almost lost my balance, but he held me up, increasing the pressure on my throat. I was lightheaded, but needed to keep it together. “The break-in at your home? Was that to throw suspicion off you?”
He exhaled loudly, annoyed. “Yes.” He yanked me back. “No more questions.”
“Please, Michael, don’t do this.”
“No choice.”
Now or n
ever. I pushed back into him as hard as I could. Occupied with maintaining his balance his knife drooped slightly. I stepped onto his foot and mashed my heel in.
He yelped in pain and the knife clattered to the floor. Able to break free, I dove for my gun, spun around and aimed it. This would’ve been a great time for Corrigan to get back. Didn’t happen.
Michael stared at the weapon and his face went from red to white. “You can’t shoot me.” He took a slight step toward me and I took one backwards.
The gun seemed to gain weight as I held it. When one hand waivered. I clutched it with both. “I will if I have to. Don’t make me, please.” Could I really? I didn’t want to find out. “We’re going back to the living room and calling the police.”
He didn’t move.
I readjusted the gun in my hands. “Let’s go.”
He placed one foot toward the living room. Instead of continuing in that direction, he lunged at me. His hand dug into mine as we struggled for the gun. A shot fired into the toilet tank. It exploded and water gushed everywhere.
We tussled for a moment. Then with a final yank, he wrestled the gun from me. As I let go, he stumbled back, lost his balance and conked his head on the counter. I snatched the gun from his limp hand and held it on him.
Breathless, I said, “Get up.”
No response. I nudged him with the toe of my shoe. No reaction.
Then I did the dumbest thing in the history of private investigatordom: I bent down to see if he was conscious.
His hand shot up and he grabbed for the gun, but I gave the weapon a tug using all my remaining strength. To keep possession, he wrapped his hand around the barrel. My finger was on the trigger and the gun went off once more. This time the bullet threw him back as it slammed into his chest.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blood everywhere. I yanked a towel off the bar and pushed it against his leaking wound then began rising to recover the 911 call. But he squeezed my wrist.
Plateful of Murder Page 18
