“My wrist? Oh, just a sledding accident. Dom and I took a spill. He just sort of bounced into a drift. I got a sprain. Hurt like hell at first. It’s a little better now.”
“Where do you sled, which park?”
“No park. We have a nice hill on our property. Good for sledding in the winter and rolling down in the summer.”
“Rolling down?”
Dominic peeked around his mother’s hip. “I roll down the hill.”
Another puzzle. “How the heck do you roll down a hill?”
Chelsea shrugged. “You just lie down at the top of the hill and start rolling. You’ll have to come out and give it a try.”
“Come roll down my hill.” It was Dominic again. “You can meet Buster and Noah.”
“Who are they, your brothers?”
Chelsea laughed. “They’re a couple of old pit bulls we took in. We live in the country. Every once in a while, someone dumps a dog on our lane. What am I supposed to do, not feed them?”
Dominic held up both hands, his fingers spread. “We have this many dogs.”
“Ten?”
“Eight,” Chelsea said. “The last count I had.”
“Mommy, I got to go potty.”
Chelsea looked down at him. “You know where it is. You can go by yourself.”
He stomped one foot. “I want you to come.”
Chelsea sighed, took Dominic’s hand, and started toward the bathroom. Over her shoulder she said, “I’ll see you again, either in the store or at Tallulah’s. We’ll set something up.” Then mother and son disappeared.
Morgan considered staying and exchanging phone numbers. But after a moment she decided to quit while she was ahead.
*
When Lois Burnett returned her phone call, Celia Morning said she needed the job done as soon as possible. Ben Curry was stalking her and had broken into her house at least once. So she’d taken her children out of school, closed her house, and was currently staying out of town, at her mother’s home. Celia rushed on to explain that all three of her kids were sharing a guest bedroom, and she and Curry’s daughter were sleeping on a sectional couch in the basement family room. She’d tried to help the kids keep up with their homework, but after a couple of days of fighting them, she’d given up. In the end, their grandmother sat each of them down at the dining room table for an hour a day. Somehow they wouldn’t push her as far as they did their own mother.
Thinking that was more detail than necessary, Lois said, “Well, that’s quite a mess.”
“The bottom line is—I can’t go home until this guy is gone, and we’re all getting restless.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Lois said. “But I’ll need at least a week to watch his routine and decide on the best place to get him. Plus, it’s turned cold again. Well below zero.” She was thinking, but didn’t say, that if she had to take the shot from a roof, she’d suffer from the biting cold. She’d actually had frost form on her glasses in the past.
“If you can do it by Friday, I’ll throw in a bonus.”
Don’t let her rush you, Lois thought, but asked, “How much?”
“An extra ten thousand.”
Lois sighed. The additional money would help them get to Florida sooner. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “But I can’t promise. I have to consider several things, and if I’m not going to get caught, and neither one of us wants that, I can’t do it until I’m in the best position.”
“I understand. I’ll deposit the money when I hear from you. Is it the same account?”
“It is. Remember, cash only. No paper trail.”
“Right,” Celia said. “And if you call me on or before Friday, I’ll add an extra ten thousand.”
*
Monday morning, Lois passed through the portals of the Leland Apartments with ease. Although an intercom to call an apartment dweller was next to the door, she’d watched several people go in without buzzing. The lobby was long and narrow. A single elevator was out of order, so she started up the steps.
Ben Curry lived on the third floor, apartment D, toward the back. The corridors were dimly lit and smelled of cigarette smoke and curdled milk. After climbing the narrow winding stairs, Lois caught her breath. The floor was covered with a threadbare carpet, and wood creaked beneath it. Near Curry’s door, she stopped and listened. She could hear the television going. Then a toilet flushed. Someone was inside.
Quietly, she made her way back to the stairs and continued upward. On the fifth floor, the door to the roof had a sign tacked on it that read, Emergency Exit Only. Lois extracted a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. She turned the knob. A dark, narrow stairway ascended before her. At the top, light shone around the edges of a solid door with a shank and padlock. She patted her pants pockets and drew out a flat-head screwdriver. The shank was rusty, but the screws to its hinges were loose enough that she had the door open in minutes.
After the poorly lit building, the sun, almost directly overhead, caused her to squint. Cold wind stung her cheeks. The temperature had been three below zero the night before, but in the early afternoon it had warmed to the mid-teens. Making tracks in the unmarked snow, Lois trudged from side to side. The closest buildings weren’t as high as the Leland. Cover from their rooftops wouldn’t work. She could get him from below, but if Curry’s apartment was above her, he’d be able to see her. If he could see her, others probably could too. With the extra monetary incentive, she’d considered taking her shot in daylight. She walked to the back of the roof and looked down. Several feet below her a rickety fire escape was loosely tethered to the old building. She leaned out farther. Each apartment had a large window next to the unsteady contraption.
Behind Curry’s building was an abandoned, boarded-up warehouse. She studied the layout. A pigeon lit on a windowsill and then was gone. The warehouse was a better choice than the old apartment buildings next door. That is, if a window in the back of Curry’s apartment faced the warehouse. She’d have to go over there and break in. She’d need a flashlight and probably a crowbar, so she’d need to make a trip home.
Lois sighed and returned to the roof door, which was still open. She squeezed back through the opening and went to work putting the screws into the lock shanks again. This was harder than taking them off, and by the time she managed, despite the cold air seeping through from outside, sweat was running down her forehead. She sat on the steps for a few minutes to catch her breath. For the first time she noticed that snow had come over the top of her boots and her socks were wet.
Over a quarter of an hour had passed by the time she stood and trudged to the door that opened onto the fifth floor. She listened carefully, then pushed it open. Her wet boots left marks on the carpet, but they’d dry long before anyone started looking for a sniper. By the time she was in the lobby, she was feeling fairly confident that no one had seen her.
On the street a cold wind stung. As she approached the truck she noticed that the meter had expired. She dug in her coat pocket for the keys and approached the driver’s- side door. That’s when she saw the parking ticket.
*
All the meters were full, so Morgan Holiday backed the unmarked police car into a loading zone. Redick was out of the car and waiting as she shut off the engine. The cold didn’t seem to bother him. He didn’t pull his jacket closed or shove his hands in his pockets. He stood next to a security door rereading a description of Ben Curry.
The path to Curry was a strange one, zigzagging from Tia Johnson, to Ruby Burnett, to Chris Moon the drug dealer, to Eddie Meyer in Vice, to Phil Schmidt the Juvenile officer working on an Internet sting, who gave them Ben Curry. For the first time on the sniper killings, they might be doing more than treading water.
Pulling her stocking cap down over her ears, Morgan stood on the sidewalk and scanned the street and the building. Icicles, glistening in the sun, hung from a torn canvas awning. The sidewalk was an empty glaze of ice. Something bothered her. It had struck her as soon as she stepped out
of the car.
Morgan’s cell phone chirped. She dug it from her coat pocket, unfolded it, and put it to her ear. “Holiday here.”
“Is this Morgan Holiday?”
“It is.”
The voice at the other end was female, and she sounded nervous. If this was work-related, the call would have come over her radio. Morgan asked, “Who’s this?”
“It’s Belle Trees, Ms. Holiday, from Prairie Flower.” The phone crackled as Belle hesitated, then went on. “I have some bad news.”
“Hold on a minute, you’re breaking up.” Morgan tried the door to Ben Curry’s apartment building, and, when it came open, she stepped inside to the relative warmth and quiet of the lobby. “Are you there?”
“Yes, Ms. Holiday,” came Belle’s voice. “I’m here.”
Thanksgiving dinner was still fresh in Morgan’s mind as she asked, “Well, what’s happened now?”
“I’m afraid your mother has been injured. The executive administrator asked me to call you. You should come as soon as you can.”
“Is she all right?”
“All I can say is that the doctor is with her now.”
“I’m on my way.” Morgan folded the cell phone and dropped it into her pocket. She charged through the door and headed for the car.
Redick startled her by catching the sleeve of her coat and shouting, “What’s wrong?”
“That was the nursing home. It’s my mother. You can drop me off at the station, and I’ll take my car from there.”
“Nonsense. The station is several miles out of your way. I’ll just ride along.”
Morgan didn’t argue. She pulled the unmarked car out of the parking space, sped north, and took the turn at the next cross street. Screeching tires and a car horn startled her.
Redick was hanging on to the dash. “You want me to drive?”
“I’m fine.”
“At least turn on the lights and siren.”
“Right.”
Patches of snow and ice made the trip treacherous, but the flashing lights and siren kept most other motorists out of their way. It seemed like forever before they turned into the horseshoe drive at the Prairie Flower. An ambulance was parked under the awning. It was empty. Morgan remembered the night her mother escaped and the impossibility of getting an ambulance. She recalled the dispatcher saying, “If it’s a matter of life or death…”
Morgan didn’t remember getting out of the car or entering the building. Suddenly Belle Trees was next to her, guiding her toward the section of offices.
“Can I see her?”
Belle said, “Not now. The doctor is working on her. Mrs. Vaughan will be with you shortly. You and your friend can wait in her office.”
“What do you mean, working on her? How bad is she? What’s happened? I want to see my mother.”
Belle opened the door to a rather sterile office with salmon-colored walls. A couple of matching chairs faced a clean desk, and behind it a window overlooked the snowy landscape. “Have a seat here,” Belle said. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’d like some information,” Morgan said.
“I’ll get you some coffee.” Belle closed the door behind her.
Morgan’s anxiety was nearly unbearable. She’d forgotten Redick was there when he touched her shoulder and said, “Don’t cry.”
She looked at him angrily. “I’m not crying.” Fiery tears were stinging her eyes. “I’m just so fucking frustrated. How can they call me in and just stick me in here?”
Redick shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to me they can unless you let them.”
Morgan grabbed the edge of the desk and pushed herself to a standing position. Through the window and across the rolling back lawn she could see two evergreen trees decorated with Christmas lights, and beyond them was a frozen pond. The Prairie Flower Retirement Home was a beautiful place, but families probably appreciated that more than the residents.
Redick scooted the chair from behind her and took her arm. He pressed a tissue into her hand, led her to the door, and held it open for her. Belle Trees was approaching with a tray that held two coffee cups. “Wait,” she called to them. “Mrs. Vaughn will be right here.”
Morgan faced her. “I can’t do that, Belle.” Then she walked back toward the lobby.
Two paramedics were at the front desk filling out papers when Morgan approached. She dried her eyes and dug out her identification. Flashing her badge she said, “What we got here?”
They looked at her uncertainly, then at the badge. Finally the older one said, “You guys Homicide?”
Morgan nodded.
“Who called you?”
“The administrator gave instructions for us to be called.”
“Looks like a bad death to me, but you guys will have to investigate. I can’t get much out of them.”
“What do you mean?” Redick asked. “What kind of death?”
The younger one said, “Old lady froze to death.”
Morgan’s knees felt weak. She grabbed the counter for support and managed to ask, “How?”
The older paramedic pushed the bill of his navy ball cap back off his bald forehead. “Probably was an accident. They claim she escaped before—once got all the way across town. It was just too cold last night for a barefoot lady in her housecoat.”
“Three below,” the younger of the two said. “And with that wind…”
The older man handed Morgan a copy of his report. “You want to see her before we move her?”
“Where will you take her?” Redick asked.
“They’re contacting the family now. But if you say this is suspicious, we ain’t taking her anywhere until we’re told to.”
Suddenly there was a commotion around them. Belle Trees pointed the two homicide officers out to a red-faced woman whose name tag read Emily Vaughan. Apologetic and sympathetic expressions swam around Morgan’s head. “So sorry.” “Are you all right?” Morgan eyed four people, including the administrator, the DON, Belle Trees, and a large man in violet-colored scrubs, who was probably a nurse’s aide.
“I want to see my mother.”
Belle Trees was beside her. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
Morgan shook her off. She noticed the paramedics backing away and Redick following them, talking to them.
Morgan gritted her teeth. “Is she in her room?”
Belle Trees shook her head.
“Take me to her.”
Then Redick was beside her. “Come on. I found out where she is.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lois emerged from the little truck into the dark alleyway, leaving Sophie behind with the motor running. She pulled her coat round her and crept between the buildings where the stench of the dumpsters pierced the stinging cold. The case that held the M-16 and tripod seemed heavier than usual. By the time she entered the warehouse through a rusty door that wouldn’t completely close, her feet throbbed from the cold. The inside of the huge building was dark as pitch and not much warmer than outside.
The hulking, square structure had been used by a local bank. A national bank had bought out the locally owned bank several years before and streamlined operations, laying off three hundred of the four hundred employees. Since then it had merged twice with larger corporations. Lois couldn’t even remember who the original owners were. The front of the warehouse had been a garage, probably for parking messenger vans.
She swept her flashlight around the still, dark room. Rusted file cabinets and broken office furniture were randomly scattered in an area toward the rear. Four slabs of boxes that contained obsolete IBM cards were stacked against the back wall. Old forms littered an area where the floor was raised. Some forty years before, the bank’s computers had been on the first floor, with the systems staff in offices above. The computers as well as their support staff were long gone. The warehouse had been used for storage and eventually abandoned.
Lois located the dark stairway. Feeling her way, she slowly climbed four stories and was wind
ed by the time she found a window opposite the back of Ben Curry’s apartment. Her beam of light swept the filthy corridor. The doorway to the abandoned fourth-floor break room stood ajar. She had her choice of two windows: one directly across from Curry’s kitchen window, and the second if she had to shoot at an angle. Lois could see a dim light in the window that she assumed was Curry’s bathroom—probably a night-light.
Her flashlight beam illuminated only enough of the large room for her to find an old wooden table, push it beneath a window, and set up the tripod. Lois mounted the weapon, then settled in and waited. One minute the cold warehouse was dark, and the next, yellow light filtered through the small paned windows. Through a telephoto lens, she lined up the rifle. She could see Curry’s little kitchen with long shadows. On a counter next to the stove, a red pinpoint of light shone from the coffeemaker. At six thirty, according to her watch, that light turned green.
From one of the dark corners, Lois heard something stir. She didn’t like the idea of sharing the room with vermin, but it was temporary. After she made this shot, she would walk out of the warehouse and retire the M-16. This would be their last winter in Illinois, and remembering that made the cold room and the creature in the corner tolerable. She would earn the ten-thousand-dollar bonus, which would give them just enough to buy the motor home.
Lois shone the flashlight beam across the room. Several empty boxes were stacked haphazardly in the corner, but nothing moved.
Four stories below, the alley behind the warehouse connected with the alley that ran alongside Curry’s building, where Sophie was waiting with the motor running.
The light came on in Curry’s apartment, and someone started moving about the kitchen. Lois put her eye to the sight and saw the orange glow of Curry’s cigarette, his receding reddish hairline, and the whiskers on his chin. Then she heard a strange sound, like a commercial vehicle backing up. She glanced down and saw nothing. What kind of truck would be out this time of morning?
Retirement Plan Page 21
