“Elevator on the left,” she called. “Room 312.”
I jabbed the button, then shoved my way into the empty car when it arrived. Heart pounding, I endured the snail-like pace of the climb and the absurdly happy elevator music until I got to the third floor.
The green-carpeted hallway was deserted, and the hum of the air conditioning was the only sound, but my mind was awash with what terrible things I was going to find in that observation room. Almost unconsciously, I reached up with one hand and patted my shoulder holster, reassuring myself that the weapon it held was still there and ready.
I reached the door to the observation room. Almost against my will, I grasped the metal knob with a sweaty hand, turned and pushed in. A strange green glow lit up the room’s interior, and the faint smell of rubbing alcohol wafted out. I was able to make out a pair of couches separated by a small, wooden end table. The table’s surface had a square receiver grill, and a set of buttons.
Both couches were oriented to face a set of moss-colored curtains that ran the entire length of the wall. Clinical, sterile-looking white light shone from behind the curtains. I stepped inside, and the door shut behind me with a click. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the form of a man sitting on the far couch.
Grayson Archer turned to address me. “You made it,” he said. “See, I was right. You’re not half as incompetent as McClatchy makes you out to be. Come, have a seat, Dayna. Plenty of room on the opposite couch here.”
I walked over but didn’t sit down. I felt jumpy, on alert for a hundred dirty tricks. “Where’s your senior consultant? Your buddy Harrison, I mean.”
“I can’t keep tabs on him all the time,” he admitted, and rubbed one of his silvery temples with a finger, as if it pained him. “Believe me, I wish I could. But don’t let that bother you. He’s quite lethal when he wants to be, but he’s not going to commit any more property damage for a while.”
“How thoughtful of you,” I said dryly, as I took a seat as far away from him as possible. “What am I doing here?”
His teeth glimmered in the dim light as he smiled. “You’re here, because I find it difficult to handle, shall we say, ‘delicate’ matters around your Police Chief.”
“Those delicate matters being?”
“The offer that I’m going to make you.”
One I’m sure that I can’t refuse, I thought. Archer reached over the armrest on the far side of his couch and pulled up a manila envelope. He placed it on the wooden table separating the couches like a round neutral zone.
I picked up the envelope, holding it by one corner as if it had been packed with live scorpions.
“What’s in here?” I asked.
Again with the disarming smile. “It’s part of the bargain. That envelope has all the information you need to close out your case to McClatchy’s satisfaction. You see, one of Crossbow’s operatives was able to record a confession from another one of the Gallitos’ enforcers. Both the confessor and the deceased, Jorge Cielo, had longstanding grudges against Lucas Sims over some disputed drug charges. They’d set up a shooting position in the apartment and were waiting for Sims to show himself. But even the best-laid plans can be ruined by the smallest things. On the morning of the shooting, another member of the Gallitos revealed that Cielo had been sleeping with the confessor’s girlfriend.”
I put the envelope down on the couch next to me and crossed my arms. “What a fascinating story.”
“The two men got into a fight, and Cielo was thrown out the window. Since the LAPD reacted so quickly, the confessor decided to sit tight. Unfortunately, Sims showed up at precisely the wrong time, and the assassination was carried out. McClatchy was never the real target.”
“And how do you explain away the sudden ‘disappearance’ of our shooter?”
“Sadly, it’s all very conventional. He said that he panicked when he heard the police coming up the stairs. He dropped the weapon and went out through the apartment’s front door. Once he realized that he’d left his gun behind, he tried to get back in, but it had locked behind him. So, he ran down the hall, used the emergency exit to get to the roof. Then he simply jumped to the next building over, and went to ground.”
“What about the two detectives’ claims that the gun was firing up until the moment they entered the room?”
“I read your report very carefully. The elevator was out, and they were out of breath by the time they’d run up all those stairs. Think about it. Even if you’re in good shape, after running up five flights, you’d be heaving for breath. Your heart would be pounding in your ears. Would they be able to tell down to the exact second that gunfire was coming from the room? I don’t think so!” Grayson Archer threw me a hearty grin. “So even without the stage magic angle, it was exactly as you pieced it together. I’m impressed, Dayna. You’re really quite the detective.”
I paused for a moment. My gun felt heavy at my side. I didn’t know if what I was about to say would put my life in danger, but I was prepared.
“Life is indeed stranger than fiction,” I agreed.
“Isn’t it? In fact, what you suggested–”
“No,” I said, as I cut him off. “What you just told me. That’s the fiction. What actually happened is a heck of a lot stranger. For starters, it surprised me when I found out the real target of the shooting.”
Archer let out a laugh. “You don’t really think it was Robert McClatchy, do you?”
“You’re half right. The target wasn’t McClatchy himself. It was his trust.”
The laugh stopped as quickly as it had begun. “Now I don’t follow you.”
“I think you will. You see, I know who’s responsible, both for killing Jorge Cielo and setting up the shooting that day.”
With that, I reached into one of my jacket’s side pockets. I fished out a small rectangle of thick paper stock and held it up. On it was stenciled a business logo, contact information, and title: Grayson Archer – President and Chief Executive Officer, Crossbow Consulting.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Grayson Archer’s brows knotted as he reassessed me. His face held a hint of surprise and worry. I’d just thrown a whole toolbox’s worth of monkey wrenches in whatever he’d been planning to put over on me.
“That’s...an interesting allegation that you’re peddling, Dayna,” he said carefully. “You have quite the speculative mind.”
I put his business card back in my pocket. “It’s not speculation, Archer. I’ve listened to what you’ve said, watched how you work. And I must admit, you’re awfully persuasive.”
“You’re polite in your accusations, I’ll give you credit for that.”
“Another compliment.” I made a move with my hand as if to brush it off. “And the first time we met, you maneuvered yourself to appear aligned with me against McClatchy. Even while your subordinate had left the room to set up his meeting with me in the parking garage.”
“He’s not–” Archer caught himself, and kept his voice under control. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s your modus operandi. You like to try and gain someone’s trust. That’s why you set up the shooting. You wanted to get close to McClatchy, and you’d probably already found out that he’s borderline psychotic and deeply paranoid.”
“If I operate the way you claim,” he pointed out, “then someone who’s paranoid would be a terrible client for me to pursue.”
“Only until you win them over,” I shot back. “I think you pegged McClatchy as the type that will trust someone completely...if they make it into his little ‘inner circle’. Your sales pitch planted the seed of how your firm could protect him. And you timed it to happen on the same morning that machine gun was set to fire on the front steps. Once McClatchy’s been shot at, and you’d pulled him to safety, then the deal was sealed on him trusting you. Even better, Bob’s competitor for the Police Chief’s job happened to die that day, in a way that wouldn’t cast a single bit of suspicion on him.”
“
That’s an interesting bit of insight. I suppose that I should be happy that you have absolutely nothing but speculation linking me to the shooting.”
“Nothing? Aw, I think you should know better,” I said wryly. “You did read my report carefully, correct?”
“You were there in McClatchy’s office when I did so.”
“Yes, and I was so grateful that you’d supported my ridiculous ‘stage magic’ idea that I almost missed something you said. When I suggested that fishing line could have been used, you agreed that it was possible. Because there was a smooth, polished brass underside to the window frame. That way, any line used wouldn’t be cut by a sharp edge.”
“I still hold to that opinion.”
“That’s funny. Because I never mentioned that detail in my report.”
Grayson Archer’s mouth snapped shut. “Surely...”
“There’s only one way to explain your knowledge. You’d been in the room used by the shooter before. And you looked it over very carefully before setting up for your little turkey shoot.”
Archer swallowed, looking just the tiniest bit unsure for a split second. Then the confident mask came back up.
“You’d have a tough time making any of that stand up in court.”
“Would I? I picked up two hairs from that room which didn’t match Jorge Cielo’s genetic profile. Or any of the other Gallitos. I wonder what would happen if I was able to match those hairs to a DNA sample from you. Or your employee, Damon Harrison?”
“You’d have to get a court order to test me, or Harrison. And that takes time.”
“It won’t take long. After the murder of an Assistant Police Chief, and the wounding of two more cops? There’s not a single judge in Los Angeles that wouldn’t fast track that paper for me.”
He shook his head. “Still not fast enough. I see that you’re a much better opponent than I gave you credit for, Dayna. But in the end, I still hold the high cards.”
Archer turned slightly away from me and thumbed one of the buttons on the table between the couches. With a soft rattle of plastic on metal, the mossy green curtains drew back and flooded the room with light. We looked out and down onto a white-tiled room, where a pair of technicians in green and blue medical gowns were busy prepping a set of electrodes and charging equipment.
Shelly lay on the metal table between the three medical personnel. She’d been strapped down with arm, leg, and even forehead restraints. Her eyes were hidden under a dark vision shield, and a padded mouth guard had been jammed between her teeth. Her chest heaved rapidly and sweat beaded on her forehead.
“I assume that you’re familiar with electroconvulsive therapy?” Archer asked, in an offhand way. “Electrical currents are passed through the skull, causing irreparable changes to brain chemistry. Most days, patients get very low doses of electricity, in order to reverse symptoms of mental illness. However, this isn’t one of those days.”
I watched in horror as a pair of ball-shaped electrodes were moistened with a shiny, sticky gel. Shelly squirmed as one of the technicians brushed her hair back from the sides of her face. Then she gave a muffled groan as she felt the cold clamminess of the gel as it was smeared across each of her temples.
“My understanding is that the gel is a critical component,” Archer said. “It helps conduct the electricity into the brain more efficiently.”
My voice shook. “Let her go. Now!”
Desperately, I went for my gun. My hand got as far as the middle of my chest before Archer had his own weapon out. The barrel of his handgun was long, and so close to my forehead that I had to cross my eyes to make it out.
“Put your hand down at your side,” he said, patiently. I did so, and he put his weapon away as well. “That was shortsighted. I’ve been shooting competitively since I was a child. Besides, even if you did manage to outdraw and kill me, how would you get past the hospital’s security guards? Did you even consider your next move?”
“My next move? I suppose that I’d have to improvise.” I shook my head. “I should have known. You’re fast, and in good shape. But are you strong and fast enough to throw someone like Cielo out a fifth-story window before he could even fight back? Maybe not, but Harrison sure is.”
“It might not be as hard as you think,” Archer said. “Not if Cielo’s services had been purchased in advance – and he thought that surveillance was all that someone wanted. One would just need the right moment to take someone off-guard to do the deed. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Quit with the game playing, Archer,” I said, affecting more sureness than I really felt. “Tell me what you want.”
“Then let’s talk about that offer I mentioned earlier. I’ll even start with the carrot for now, instead of the stick. If you accept my terms, then you get to take Shelly Richardson out of here. All the paperwork on Ms. Richardson’s psychiatric troubles shall be conveniently lost.”
Along with the incriminating paperwork with Bob’s name on it, I thought. Aloud, I said, “Okay. But Bob said that I’d have a price to pay. What is it?”
“It’s nothing particularly onerous. There’s three parts to it, actually. First, you must promise to take the evidence in the envelope I gave you and present it to McClatchy as the truth. Second, you must promise that you will stay on with the OME, for at least one-third time, until my client says otherwise.”
“Wait...McClatchy wants to keep me on the job...until he deems it fit to get rid of me?”
He shrugged. “Conveying that demand was the only way I could get him to turn the management of your case over to me. McClatchy believes that you’re an enemy to both him and his shadowy ‘Monseigneur’. Plus, he believes on keeping friends close. And his enemies closer.”
“Bob seems to be relying on the strength of my word an awful lot,” I remarked.
“Actually, he’s relying on me to ensure that your word is kept.” Archer’s lips curled a bit, as if savoring his next words. “And your word has to be your bond if you want to keep your honor. Is that not true, Dame Chrissie?”
I sat up straight and stared at him. “How in the world do you know about...”
He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the light. “There is one final part of the deal that you need to agree to. And it’s something easy.”
“Go on,” I said grimly, waiting for the axe to drop.
“I just want you to tell me everything,” Archer said, expansively. “About your friends. About what you’ve been planning. In short, I want you to tell me everything you know about Andeluvia.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ever since becoming acquainted with the world of Andeluvia, I’d been getting used to some pretty startling stuff.
Scary dream horses. Rock-imprisoned demons. Owls who wrote tax code. Even now, I was sharing my living space with a griffin, a centaur, a talking magical deer, and a fiery bird creature who could chug gasoline like soda pop.
But coming across someone else who knew about Andeluvia was more of a shock.
“So it wasn’t stage magic,” I said, half to myself. “It was real magic. That’s why you killed Cielo. Maybe he got you into that apartment, but you couldn’t have him witnessing real magic, could you?”
A shrug. “The man was a fool. He should have left when we told him.”
“You set up a spell that would activate the machine gun. To make it fire when everyone came out on those steps. You set it up to deactivate as soon as anyone from the LAPD got up to that room. What kind of magic did you use, Archer?”
In answer, he pressed a second button on the table and spoke into the receiver square. “Proceed as agreed upon.”
One of the technicians flipped a large red switch. A machine against the wall began to emit a pulsing, throbbing hum. Another technician touched the electrodes to Shelly’s temples. I heard a crack like a static shock.
A skin-rippling shriek burbled up through Shelly’s mouth guard.
If I couldn’t save my friend one way, I’d do it another. I ma
de a dash for the door. Archer didn’t try and stop me. And if he wanted to keep on playing this sadistic little game, he wasn’t about to shoot me.
The handle refused to turn. I twisted the knob desperately, but the door was locked. I put my shoulder to the door and rammed it, once, twice, three times. I looked back at Archer, my expression one of desperation and rage.
“Are you done with that little outburst?” he asked. “Sit back down, please.”
Shaking, I did so.
“It’s futile to try and stop what is happening,” he continued. “Unless, of course, you tell me all I want to know.”
Inside, my mind continued to race. I thought about lying, but it was obvious that Archer knew something about Andeluvia and its magic. If he caught me out, then Shelly would pay the consequences.
But it could be even worse if you spill your guts, my brain cautioned. What if this was the man who colluded with Raisah? What if he were the one who sent Holly to her death?
If so, then I’d be telling the enemy everything necessary to defeat us.
“You don’t seem convinced of the threat,” Archer said, ruefully. He pressed the button. “One more time.”
The electrodes were touched to Shelly’s temples again. This time her shriek was even louder, echoing off the ceiling.
Archer looked on coolly. “Make up your mind. Either give me what I want, or walk away from your friend. I would hurry, if I were you. At this rate, there might not be much of her left inside of that cooked brain.”
I didn’t have much of a choice. Either I gave the enemy everything, or I let Shelly’s mind be broken under this torture. There was simply no other way.
But there always is, my mind said, urgently.
My head came up with a jerk. Of course. I had a third option, if I could create one.
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