Termination Notice (Action Girl Thrillers)

by A. D. Phillips

  “I think we can safely call that a murder,” retorted Blake. He nodded toward the secretary. “Is there any evidence to suspect foul play in either case?”

  Vickers shook her head. She was one of only two forensics technicians present in the office. The other man dusted the suction disc for prints. So far, the crime scene had hardly been disturbed. The two bodies were in the same positions the killer had left them, and no numbered evidence tags had been placed. Lucy knelt down under the closed safe, gauging the distance from the glass doors to the desk.

  “Good to see someone has doubts,” Ron said from the window. He tested the handle, and found it to move easily. “Does this all seem awfully convenient to anybody else? A device like that… weird noosey thing, which this city worker just happened to have handy in case we called by his office. And let’s not forget the unsigned suicide note.”

  “Stranglers use wires,” Lucy said snappily. “And the device is consistent with the equipment missing from Taurus. We’re nineteen floors above ground. All the elevator doors were jammed. The only other way out is the stairwell, which we had covered. Dawson was trapped and he knew it. It was either get caught or kill himself.”

  A cellphone rang in Blake’s jacket. He took it out, and exited to the reception area to take the call in private.

  “You forgot to mention his computer,” Ron said. “And the conveniently deleted security videos.”

  “Also consistent with the killer’s MO.” Lucy slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. She walked over to the desk and touched the letter. “So is the termination notice. Intelligent and meticulous. He fits the profile.”

  “For such a smart guy, he let his secretary find out about him. Or so the bullshit story goes. Not to mention his suicide exonerates your boyfriend.”

  “Adrian has nothing to do with this,” Lucy said, calm but assertive. “Nor do my feelings for him. I’m simply looking at the evidence. Dawson was getting ready to run. He must have known we’d found the camera.”

  Blake returned with newly-found purpose in his stride. “The law firm sent us the override code.” He handed Vickers a tersely worded fax.

  Vickers put her equipment down on Dawson’s desk and walked to the wall safe. Lucy stood aside to let her type on the keypad. The biometric sensor light flashed green, and the titanium door lifted.

  Vickers passed the safe contents over. Ron and Blake crowded round the desk as Lucy laid the various items out. Besides Dawson’s possessions - passport, bearer bonds, and certificate - there was a tablet phone and nine, rough-edged scraps of paper. Lucy put the pieces together, starting with the corners. She soon matched up the torn edges.

  Blake impatiently grabbed the phone and accessed its memory. He gave Ron a boastful smirk and pointed to a video file titled Sophie-Pool. Blake tapped the start icon, and the strangler’s recording of Sophie’s murder played on the screen. Audio was crystal clear. Every choked cry and water splash could be heard clearly. The forensics technician winced as gasps became bubbly gargles.

  Blake stopped the playback and flashed the phone in Ron’s face. The video had paused at a moment with Sophie’s head dunked underwater. Still alive, she had one arm outstretched, reaching toward the unseen killer.

  “Remember her?” Blake taunted Ron. “I think this settles it, don’t you?”

  Lucy nodded in agreement, and completed the jigsaw puzzle. Now correctly assembled, the cashier’s check - and printed-on amount - were legible.

  “Thirty million,” Lucy said. “The money from the Taurus account.”

  Ron took the phone from Blake and closed the image. “You should listen to Doctor Vickers. Don’t trust modern technology. Or if that’s too much, try listening to your gut. Why would Dawson keep incriminating evidence around for us to find? He wiped the security video, but not his phone? That seem suspicious to any of you?”

  “It was in a locked safe.” Lucy’s patronising tone suggested she was tired of arguing.

  “We opened it. It’s easy to find a combination, or know someone who works at the security company. Forget who told me that. Think his name was Adrian.”

  “Dawson is our guy!” rapped Blake.

  “You said the same thing about Fitzroy,” Ron reminded him. “Be careful you’re right this time, before you call a press conference. One false accusation’s bad enough. Two… Well. You might not get that promotion you’re after.”

  Ron stomped out of Dawson’s office, ripped off his surgical gloves, and threw them in the secretary’s trashcan. He entered the stairwell without looking back. Heavy footsteps echoed before the slammed door silenced them.

  “He’ll come around.” Lucy’s voice was quiet, subdued by guilt. “He’s just worried about me. Covering all the bases.”

  “Guy’s a loose cannon,” Blake said scathingly. “A cocky, hotheaded know-it-all. Should never have put him in charge.”

  “I shouldn’t have been put in charge. If I’d been honest with you from the start, maybe we’d have solved this case sooner. And maybe that young girl over there…” Lucy looked mournfully at Lisa. “…would still be alive.”

  Blake placed a comforting hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “We got him now. That’s all that matters.” He put a fresh cigarette in his mouth. “But we made a mistake with Fitzroy. And we got five grieving families out there who’ll want answers.”

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably under Blake’s massaging grip. Her body stiffened as he continued.

  “Three of those victims died when Wallace was in charge. And he doesn’t have a personal connection to excuse his actions. Someone has to take the blame. He’s close to retirement anyway. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, Duvall. The woman who caught the Taurus Strangler, and proved the innocence of Adrian Pryce, a man who saved her life. It’s a happy ending. People like happy endings.”

  Lucy gripped Blake’s wrist, and pulled his hand off her shoulder. The shock at rejection was evident on his face.

  “Maybe you should step outside,” Lucy advised him, “before you contaminate the crime scene with all that foul air you’re breathing. Wallace is a damn fine detective. He saved my life, too. You so much as whisper a bad word about him, and I’ll be sure to mention this conversation to the press. If you don’t mind, sir, it’s been a very busy week.”

  Lucy marched off, leaving Blake alone with the forensics team. Vickers suppressed a smile.

  “I’m really worried about her,” she said. “Did that shoulder feel cold to you?”

  Blake hovered close by, blatantly unamused. “Sarcasm seems to spreading through the ranks. So does insubordination. I don’t like either.” He slapped his hand on Vickers’ shoulder, and squeezed it with none of the comfort he’d shown Lucy. “Cold enough, Doctor? I’ll be issuing a statement within the hour. This is an extremely high profile case, so things need to progress quickly and smoothly. The evidence file you normally take a week to prepare… I expect it on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

  ***

  Rain drizzled down the Frank & Bennett tower, adding a watery sheen to the windows. No dry patches remained on the front-facing side. Droplets of water mixed in the wailing wind. Merged streams diverted diagonally across the glass doors. The breeze subsided, but the rainfall remained constant and heavy.

  The law office building was cordoned off with metal barriers that stretched the width of the main street. News vans blocked the closest intersections, creating a backlog of traffic. Headlamps pierced the drizzle for hundreds of yards in either direction, and the police on guard duty looked in no mood to deal with gatecrashers. Wrapped up in transparent raincoats, most of the assault team still had their automatic weapons to hand, tough lady included.

  Only Kristina Malloy and two other TV reporters had been allowed through the cordon. She waited with her rivals on the pavement. The umbrella-covered microphone arm hadn’t shielded her from the rain. Damp hair stuck to her dripping-wet face and her coat was waterlogged, but she wasn’t budging from her prime broadcasting sp
ot.

  Excitement flared up, lights brightening Lucy’s face as she left the building. When she walked off without comment, the reporters returned to their patient waiting game. Lucy moved slowly past the police cars, seemingly unconcerned with the soaking she received. Her bulletproof vest protected her shirt, but her suit and trousers were drenched when she reached Adrian’s silver SUV. The vehicle was parked on a side street, passenger side covered by the awning of a corner grocery store. Wipers did a commendable job of clearing away raindrops, but condensation-covered windows obscured the interior. It was only when Adrian opened the door that Lucy saw him.

  “You’re late,” she teased, quick to shelter under the awning. “Thought you’d come straight here.”

  “Got a bit nervous about confronting a killer,” he said. “So I took a detour home. Decided I’d leave the dangerous stuff to you.”

  Lucy swung into the passenger seat, and shut the door. Water dripped off her trousers onto the floor mat. She brushed wet hair from her eyes. Her suit squelched as she made herself comfortable.

  “I always did like women of action,” Adrian noted.

  “Especially when they’re soaking wet, and you have to rescue them.”

  Lucy returned Adrian’s desiring stare, and sucked water from her lips. He reached out toward her knee. She did nothing to stop him.

  “I know a place where you can relax,” Adrian said. “Get out of those wet clothes. And I don’t mean your apartment. I’d rather not die from food poisoning.”

  Lucy chuckled as Adrian moved his fingers up to her face. He gently stroked the hair behind her ear.

  “Think I’ll skip the meal and go straight to the interesting part,” Lucy said. “As you said, I’m a woman of action.”

  Adrian grinned in anticipation. He started the SUV’s engine, and turned his attention to the road ahead.

  ***

  Vickers’ forensic laboratory matched her style. There were old-fashioned slide microscopes, storage trays, a well-organised file system complete with handwritten labels, and an adjoining dark room for film development. The computers and analysis machines were in a separate section of the windowless, grey-walled workspace, opposite stainless steel dissection tables. White lab coats hung over modern, plastic-legged chairs, suggesting the hi-tech equipment was used exclusively by assistants.

  Vickers stood alone in a central, well-lit section. She looked up from her wooden, classroom-style bench as the hinged doors squeaked open. Ron entered the lab and passed under an octagonal-framed analogue clock. The time was two minutes past twelve.

  “Visiting the morgue after midnight,” Vickers said. “Not something I’d usually do either.”

  “Blake got you working late?” Ron asked.

  “Just about to start.”

  Vickers already sounded exhausted. She gestured at bags piled on the bench. Collected evidence had been wrapped in plastic: Dawson’s satchel, assorted stationery, disconnected intercom, smashed computer mouse, steel cable and harness, and the incriminating items recovered from the safe. The two bodies had yet to arrive, but morgue freezers were open in readiness.

  “He read you the riot act, huh?” Ron surmised. “Sorry if I got you in trouble.”

  “Whenever you sweet talk me, it means you need something.”

  Ron walked around the bench, paying particular attention to the tablet phone. “Found anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Ask me in the morning when I’m done.” Vickers noticed Ron smoothing the plastic over the screen. “You still think Dawson was framed. There’s no evidence to suggest this was anything but a suicide. Go home, Ron. Get some rest. I don’t have that luxury.”

  “Did we find any prints on those?” Ron tapped the bagged computer mouse fragments and plastic cord. “Or the cable?”

  “No, we…” Vickers stopped to frown. “There were some smudged prints on the noose, but…”

  “Nothing on the rest of it,” Ron followed through. “Or the base. No gloves on the suspect, and yet no fingerprints. I’m not a forensics expert, so I could be wrong. But I’d call that curious.”

  Vickers stood up straight. “If the killer’s still out there… Where’s Lucy?”

  Ron pulled a fresh set of surgical gloves from a supply box. “Not safe. And too smitten to listen to my concerns.”

  “You think Pryce is the strangler.”

  Ron stretched the gloves over his hands, and stared gloomily at the evidence pile.

  Vickers leant over the bags to offer cautionary advice. “You don’t have any proof. Only suspicion. Blake won’t move on that.”

  “Blake’s too busy basking in the applause. And looking for scapegoats. Which means its up to us. No matter how smart a killer thinks he is, he always leaves a clue. We just have to find it.” Ron removed the tablet phone from its plastic bag. “Figured I’d start with this, given your aversion to computers.”

  “What if you’re wrong about Pryce?”

  Ron switched on the phone. The still video image reappeared, showing Sophie being held underwater.

  “I don’t think so,” Ron said pessimistically. “Pryce doesn’t know we suspect him. He thinks he got away clean, which buys us some time. But sooner or later, time runs out. Pryce will feel the urge to kill again, and next time it’ll be Lucy wearing his necktie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lieutenant Blake’s face dominated the television screen, summit of his bald head just below the top of the image. His cheeks were clean shaven, his tie straight, his lips wiped free of tobacco stains. He’d smartened up his appearance for the EXCLUSIVE WITH KRISTINA MALLOY - a title prominently stated across the caption banner. The news alert was being transmitted live from the lobby of Frank & Bennett. Except for Blake - and Kristina’s out-of-shot crew - the entrance hall was mostly empty. Only two police officers were on duty, posted by the elevators and stairwell.

  “Anything further to add, Lieutenant?” Kristina asked. She held her cordless microphone so close to Blake’s lips it obscured his stubble-free chin.

  “Only that the people of this great city can rest easy tonight,” Blake said. “We’ve all lived in fear, but thanks to the tireless dedication shown by our detectives, we were able to bring this case to a swift resolution. Our thoughts and prayers are with the victim’s families. Rest assured we will be looking into our policies and procedures, to ensure something on this scale doesn’t happen again.”

  “Have you been in contact with Taurus Studios since tonight’s events?”

  Blake shook his head and frowned in puzzlement. “Their president is aware of the situation. I can’t comment further until we’ve concluded our investigation.”

  Kristina pressed even closer, microphone base and smoothly-curved fingernails coming into view. “Is there any indication that Miles Dawson was influenced by the violence in Taurus’ games? Everything suggests he was a model citizen. What led him to commit five such brutal murders? Do you think Adrian Pryce should pull Crimson Shadow from the Christmas schedule as a mark of respect for the victims?”

  “We’re still looking into Dawson’s motive, but I would like to emphasise—”

  The television screen went dark. Adrian was reflected on the grey plastic, aiming a remote control from behind his living room futon.

  “Nothing interesting on,” he said. “But I’m sure she’ll keep pestering me.”

  Adrian discarded the remote on the cushion and turned to Lucy, who approached from the drinks cabinet with two full glasses of wine. She passed the light stand which doubled as a place to hang her wet suit and pistol holster. Lucy’s top shirt button was unfastened, her lower neck exposed between the open collar flaps.

  “She’ll stop soon enough,” Lucy said. “Now there’s only good news to report about you. All quiet out there. Just the two of us…” She offered Adrian a glass. “…alone in private.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink on duty.”

  “The case is closed. I’m not here on police business.”


  Adrian accepted Lucy’s offer. They drank together, watching each other above the glass rims. Adrian supped away until only a red stain remained. Lucy rose to his unspoken challenge, and finished her own wine a second later.

  Adrian took her empty glass and placed both on a table. “You never really believed I was innocent, did you? Not completely.”

  Lucy gave him a warm, disarming smile. “Of course I did,” she insisted. “Not sure about my partner. Ron doesn’t like to admit he’s wrong.”

  “Forget about him. This is between me and you. In video games, the hero always gets the girl.”

  “What about heroines?” Lucy stepped closer. Her breast tips touched Adrian’s chest. “Does it work in reverse? Tough girls like Crimson Shadow. Do they get the guy?”

  Lucy groped behind Adrian’s back. Her massaging hands moved down to his buttocks. Adrian jumped as Lucy squeezed. Her grip was firm, eyes sparkling with lust. Their lips touched briefly.

  “These days, stories have multiple endings,” Adrian said. “It’s usually left to the players to decide.”

  Lucy took the bait. The two lovers shared a water-testing kiss, then a long, passionate embrace. They fell together on the futon. Lucy split her legs to allow Adrian’s waist between. He unbuttoned her shirt, and pulled it away to expose an army-fatigued sports bra.

  All the prior confrontation, mistrust, and awkwardness melted away in an instant. Lucy and Adrian wanted each other. His trousers stiffened around the groin area. Lucy unbuckled his belt, and twisted the leather ends.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she said playfully.

  Adrian looked into Lucy’s mischievous eyes. “I’ve got plenty.”

  “So long as they don’t involve choking, we’re good.”

  Lucy pulled out the strap, held it over the sofa’s backrest, and let it drop. Adrian pressed her wrist into the sofa cushion and kissed it softly. He did the same with Lucy’s forearm, then the inside of her elbow, and repeated the action until he reached her neck.