Deception

by Randy Alcorn

  “None that deserved to live. You know the riffraff we deal with. They get the kids on dope. They’re responsible for half the crime in this city. These lousy judges won’t put them away. Even if they do, they get retirement at the state prison, compliments of the taxpayers. You know what they say—there’s no justice … just us.”

  64

  “I go into a case to help the ends of justice.… I claim the right to work in my own way and give my results at my own time—complete rather than in stages.”

  SHERLOCK HOLMES, THE VALLEY OF FEAR

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 24, 6:30 P.M.

  I DIDN’T KNOW where he was planning to take me. I wanted to get as much information as I could, in the unlikely hope that I’d be alive to deliver it. I twisted myself in the chair to try to look at his eyes.

  “You must have been squirming that night when you got the call to the other crime scene. You couldn’t turn it down.”

  “Right after Rodney called 911 from his old cell phone, before patrol got to Palatine’s, Sarge sent us to the other murder, where the guy murdered his wife’s boyfriend. After all that planning. That’s when we realized you’d get our case.”

  “Which changed everything,” I said. “Since you were sure you’d be investigating your own crime scene, you didn’t have to be as careful, did you? If your prints were somewhere, it just meant you’d been careless, left your gloves off. Hair follicle on the victim? Hey, you examined him. Your shoe print by the window? You’d say, ‘Sorry, my shoe covering came off.’ But once you realized you wouldn’t investigate your case, you must’ve wondered whether you left evidence. That’s why you came back to the scene wasn’t it? That whole episode with the ski masks.”

  Noel smiled. “Jack and I were a couple of blocks away. We figured we’d just sit and wait until patrol got there and called in the murder. Then we’d get our call and step in to solve the crime. When Sarge sent us to the other murder, Jack panicked.”

  “Why?”

  Noel laughed. “That old man prided himself on how careful he was. Even after he sent me back to the scene to double-check—when I’d already gone over everything and taken the wine bottle—an hour later, at the other murder scene, he realizes he left his reading glasses right on the professor’s desk!”

  “Those were Jack’s glasses?”

  I remembered using those glasses to read the confession on the computer screen. I, and the criminalists, had assumed they were the professor’s. No checks run for a stray hair or partial print? Donald was right—I was an idiot!

  “Was it Jack or Rodney wearing the other ski mask?”

  “Rodney. We had fun with it. He loved being chased. I told him they’d have to break off pursuit and get back to Palatine’s. But it gave me time to get the bottle.”

  “Where was Jack?”

  “By then, at the other crime scene. I met him there twenty minutes later. Rodney dropped me off a few blocks away.”

  Donald stood again, gazing through the blinds. I pictured him peering out Palatine’s broken window. “When they going to stop the basketball? Maybe I should just shoot them.”

  “Did you plant Brandon’s granola bar?”

  “You ID’d that? I was hoping you would.”

  “The 100 cc needle—was I supposed to suspect Tommi for that, since she uses a syringe for a medical condition?”

  “She does? No kidding. That’s great.” He laughed. “That was one of Melissa’s old needles. Sentimental value. Symbolism. I kept a little collection.”

  “Keep a collection for the other girlfriends you murdered?”

  He stared at me, looking so much like his mother that I changed the subject.

  “Whose idea was the wine?”

  “We always drank a glass of Riesling to celebrate bringing killers to justice. We figured, let’s bring our own bottle and do it on the spot.”

  “Jack and I used to make a toast when we brought someone to justice,” I said. “But we didn’t kill them.”

  “Saves time. In case you haven’t noticed, the other way isn’t working. The professor wasn’t in jail. Didn’t even lose his teaching job. Got awards instead.”

  “Did Palatine run for his bedroom and break the window trying to get out?”

  “He didn’t have the guts to do anything. I dragged him in there because I knew he and Melissa had been … intimate in that room. I wanted him to know why he was going to die. He took what belonged to me.”

  “How did Jack feel about it?”

  “He didn’t like me taking the pictures. But we thought we’d be back in an hour investigating, so he wasn’t that worried.”

  “You supplied the picture to Mike Button?”

  “They printed everything I wanted them to. My own picture in the Trib! I saved that clipping.”

  “Did you know Melissa’s picture was in that photo?”

  “Of course. Facedown. Didn’t think you’d figure that out, but congratulations. Too bad nobody’ll mention it at your funeral.”

  The funeral reference reinforced my need to buy extra time. Fortunately Noel enjoyed talking. He’d put a lot of work into this murder and wanted some credit.

  He gazed, face tense, at the basketball players.

  “What about Rosie O’Grady’s? While I was in the bathroom, you put chloralhydrate in my beer?”

  He grinned. “That was Rodney. He was sitting in a corner and knew you’d have to make a pit stop. So when you did, he walked by and dumped it in your beer. Easy. But it shouldn’t have lasted in your system. How’d they identify it as chloralhydrate?”

  “I took a sample.” Okay, I spilled it on my sleeve. “Got it tested.”

  “You were heads up enough to take a sample? How … maybe you’re not a complete moron. Not that it matters. They can’t trace it back to us anyway. Rodney had a gallon container of the stuff. Always buys in bulk. He poured it into the Columbia River and said five minutes later fish were floating.” He laughed loudly.

  “The security guard who woke me in Rosie’s parking lot … your brother?”

  “Yeah. He loves disguises. I collected some blood from the scene, to incriminate somebody, and when I called Rodney, he said you were passed out in your car. So we figured, perfect, why not put Phillips’s blood on your shirt? So I dropped by and gave it to him, and he poured it on you before he woke you up.”

  “Why’d he wake me and give me coffee?”

  “We didn’t want anybody finding you and giving you an alibi, swearing you were too far from the scene or too drunk to have done it.”

  “But why kill Phillips?”

  “I overheard him talking with Jack by our workstation. He said he was going to admit to you that he’d lied about his alibi. Jack said it was okay. Well, it wasn’t okay with me. You’d be asking why Jack was so willing to lie and maybe figure he wanted more alibi than Linda could give him. But then you’d ask, Why would Jack need it? Pretty soon you’d be thinking about me. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  He peered out the window again. “Come on, goofballs, give it up. We gotta go.”

  “Where you so eager to take me?”

  “I could kill you right here. Maybe I want to keep you alive. But remember, as we go to the car, I’ve got this gun with a silencer in my coat pocket and this knife.” He held it up, sharp and shiny. “You try anything, I won’t hesitate to kill you where you stand. If you cooperate, you may live. Choice is yours.”

  I didn’t think he was bluffing. I twisted my head around, trying to see Mulch.

  “Can I look at my dog?”

  “Say please.”

  “Please.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  If the recliner were half its weight, I could jump to my feet and swing the chair around and sideswipe him. I wanted to stomp him. After a minute’s silence, I composed myself.

  “I still don’t understand how Palatine’s window broke.”

  “We thought somebody’d call 911 when they heard the shots. But we were listening to police r
adio. Nothing. Jack said the insulation was too good. Maybe people just thought it was a backfire. He suggested I break the bedroom window. Soon as I did, lights go on in the neighborhood. But a few minutes later they go out. I’m standing there, lights out in the room so no one could see me, and I’m looking out this broken window at these witnesses. Left my shoe impression, huh? Thought of that later and removed a little glass, like you figured out. Think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? Anyway, I was assuming somebody’d call 911. Nobody did! It’s sad. Two gunshots and a broken window? It’s like people don’t watch out for their neighbors anymore.”

  “That must really bother a community-minded guy like you.”

  “We left through the back door. Jack’s car was three blocks away, by Wally’s Donuts.” He smiled.

  “We sat and listened to the scanner. Nobody was calling. Finally Jack said to have Rodney make the anonymous 911 call. When he used the word fishy, that wasn’t planned. Just a word we grew up using.”

  It had been so dark so long I couldn’t believe they were still shooting baskets.

  “Five minutes, boys, and I swear I’m going to start shootin’.”

  Just when I feared Donald’s fuse was going to break, he smirked and said, “How’d you like my spelling of judgement?”

  “You did that to point us to Doyle?”

  “Yeah. Adjusted the chair to point to Suda. Put the mouse on the left side since she’s left-handed. And Phillips is ambidextrous. Did you know that? And the Bible verse about the millstone? Made you think of Karl Baylor, didn’t I?”

  “Not really,” I lied, thinking he was too proud of himself. “But you don’t strike me as a Bible scholar.”

  “I went to Sunday school when my father was around. Hated it. Hated him. Sunday school never took for me.”

  “No kidding?”

  We’d been there thirty-five minutes. Twice he made calls on his cell phone, whispering.

  Donald had dumped the bird dog by now, probably smashed it. Presumably, he’d parked close enough to get to the old brownstone on foot. My cell phone had rung three times without an answer, Donald looking at it each time. Maybe some-body’d put two and two together and realize he’d come after me.

  Just then my cell rang again. Donald leaned to look at it. “Kendra? Your daughter? Maybe she’ll be the one to find your body.”

  An assault team could be in position outside. If so, they’d wait for the ball players to stop. If there was a shoot-out, they couldn’t risk innocents in the line of fire. But the delay had been in my favor. They’d had time to set up.

  Finally, the game stopped. A minute later it was completely quiet.

  Donald uncuffed me. I was tempted to try something, but I felt the muzzle pushing on the center of my back, heart level.

  “Put on your stupid raincoat. We’re going in your car.”

  I walked in front of him out the front door, ready to hit the ground to give the snipers a clean shot. I looked for signs of an assault team. As it should be, I couldn’t see them.

  He led me to the passenger seat and helped me in, looking at the vacant street. I was in the car. They’d get him as he walked to the driver’s side.

  Donald got in and pulled out of my driveway. Nothing.

  As we turned off 150th, he said, “Thought they’d jump me, didn’t you? You don’t know beans, Chandler. After I left the precinct, I took off your bird dog, went to a truck stop, and planted it on an eighteen-wheeler headed to Idaho. Talked to the driver myself. They’re tracing the bird dog, but they’re looking for my car, so they’ll think somehow I snuck by them in traffic. By the time they realize it’s on a truck, I figure it’ll be a couple more hours. They just think you’re home napping after a tough day. Too bad for you.”

  I thought now would be a good time for a dying alien to show up and offer me a chance to be Green Lantern.

  If no one was coming to the rescue, I’d have to wing it. If I waited too long, I’d be dead. But if I moved too soon, at the wrong time, I’d be dead too. I had to either create a distraction or wait for one. My options were limited. I needed at least one second of uncertainty.

  Donald put on a Bluetooth earpiece and punched a number on his cell phone, on his lap. His gun stayed in his left hand, butt sidled against his stomach, pointing at my left side.

  “On my way,” he said to someone. “You took care of him? Perfect. He’s checking in? Okay. Be there in ten.”

  65

  “I was forced to confess that I had at last met an antagonist who was my intellectual equal. My horror at his crimes was lost in my admiration of his skill.”

  SHERLOCK HOLMES, THE FINAL PROBLEM

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 24, 7:45 P.M.

  I SAT THERE IN THE FRONT SEAT of my own car, wrists bent like pretzels, contemplating my Baby Glock under the Kleenex in the glove box. I’ve got three Baby Glocks, the triplets, and I love them all. Now I wished I’d hidden one in the crack in the passenger side seat upholstery, the one place my hands could access. A guy could be handcuffed behind his back, in the passenger seat of his car. Why hadn’t I anticipated that?

  If only Baby was within reach, I could grab it, turn sideways toward the window, point it behind my back at Donald, and spray him with slugs. Preferably at a stoplight.

  Donald pulled into Dr. Alexander’s podiatry clinic, adjacent to his apartment complex. He didn’t know I’d put a bird dog on my car too. Just in case. Sergeant Seymour had rolled his eyes at me when I’d told him. Given that I was out of contact and my car was moving now, would it get their attention? If they traced it here, I hoped they’d realize we’d gone to Donald’s apartment.

  But why were we here? Donald was a fugitive. A cop or two would be posted at his apartment despite the decoy moving up the highway. He had to know that.

  “I’m going to uncuff you again. We’ll walk naturally to the apartments. There’s an inside hallway. We’ll pass people. Act like we’re old friends. Hey, we are old friends. Don’t forget I’ve got the gun and the knife if I need to keep it quiet. You say or do anything fishy, I won’t just kill you, I’ll kill them. Got it?”

  I was willing to risk my life, already up for grabs. But was I willing to risk the lives of bystanders? In conflicts like these, men without consciences have certain advantages.

  One step behind me, Donald talked cheerily when someone appeared in the hallway. “Hi, Jessica. How’s Stuart doing in school?”

  We walked toward his apartment, third on the right.

  Where were the cops? Who’d been on the other end of that phone call?

  If he hadn’t been a cop, I would have tried something right as we went through his door. But he was too focused, too alert. Maybe if I behaved, he wouldn’t put the cuffs back on. Maybe I’d get a chance.

  Donald shoved a chair in the center of his studio apartment. He told me to sit by the card table. I looked at the ace of spades lying there. I felt compelled to nudge it with my finger. Underneath it was a piece of scratch paper with one name: Ollie Chandler.

  I’d been compliant for the last half hour at my house and for the car ride and the walk into the apartment. Now that we were here, on his turf, Donald’s comfort level was instinctively higher. If I could maintain my low threat level, that would work to my advantage. The fact that he hadn’t handcuffed me was promising. I asked myself what Jack Bauer would do. I wished I had Chloe out there helping me with a notebook computer and a satellite.

  Donald produced two big duffel bags. One appeared already packed. He started packing the other. He spoke aloud as he went from closet to drawers. “Heavy jacket. Light jacket. Ammo. Candles. Matches. Scissors.”

  He must have further use for me. Not for ransom. The chief wouldn’t trade a bar of hotel soap for me. But as a hostage, I might have value. Or, and this seemed more likely, he had just the right burial place planned for me and wanted me to get there on my own two feet, making it a lot easier for him. Likely it was a favorite spot, where others were already buried, including the r
eal Noel Barrows.

  I felt those wet-footed spiders on my neck.

  I’d been close to death before. This time I could taste it. My conversations with Jake and Clarence came back to me. Whatever they had that I didn’t, it made them ready to die in a way I wasn’t. This was no time for soul-searching … but maybe it was the only time left.

  Donald opened every drawer, then looked around the room. He’d stuffed the duffel bag with warm waterproof clothes, a sleeping bag, even a small propane stove. He took a gigantic black trash bag from the closet and crammed it in the duffel. I hoped its function wasn’t what I thought it might be. He also had a white trash bag stuffed with something light. He opened the first duffel and stuffed it in.

  Donald spoke now, excitedly. “I’ve scoped out a half dozen places in the mountains where I could live for a year without being found. Once I grow a beard and put on glasses, when I come out for groceries nobody’ll notice. I worked in vice. I’ve seen a hundred fake IDs, and I’ve made three different ones, two for fallback.”

  He couldn’t stand not bragging about it.

  “Eventually I’ll come out of the woods and watch myself on America’s Most Wanted. By then my hair’ll be red. I’ll either be lean or bulked up, maybe as fat as you. Haven’t decided. Fat sounds more fun.”

  “What will you do, run Ferris wheels at carnivals?”

  Okay, it was random, but when you’re buying minutes of life, you take what little the gray cells give you.

  “I have a plan for that too. I’ve got this bag of cash, taken here and there on the street.” He pointed at the white bag. “Twenty-three thousand dollars, from drug dealers, pimps, and lowlifes. That’ll tide me over. Maybe someday I’ll set up an office, hang a shingle: Private Investigator.”

  “Why’d you call my house from Palatine’s?”

  “A little joke while waiting for the professor to die. I witnessed Melissa’s death. I didn’t want to miss his death. It was ten years to the minute. Not almost. Exactly.” He opened his fridge and began pulling stuff out.