by Dana Mentink
Tim pointed at the stairs. “Let’s try up there.”
Ivy trailed him up the steps, their combined weight making the wood groan in protest. The hallway opened up onto a series of rooms, ten in all. All of the doors were open. Tim poked his head into the first one. Ivy continued onto the second door.
She saw only the feet before the adrenaline took over. She immediately yelled for Tim as she ran to Cyril and checked his airway and pulse. By the time Tim careened into the room, Ivy had started compressions.
Tim carried on her efforts to find a pulse. “I think his neck is broken.”
He took over the compressions while Ivy called it in.
They continued, alternating breathing and compressions, until it was clear there was no more life left in Cyril Donovan.
Ivy sat back, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Tim groaned. “Oh, man. Is it possible he fell from something?”
“I don’t think so.” She’d seen plenty of death in her time with the fire department, but she’d never been so close to someone who’d just had their life taken in such a brutal manner. It sickened her, the colossal waste of a life, the cruelty of a powerful person over a weaker one. She held Cyril’s hand for a moment. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
Tim reached out a hand to her shoulder. “We should wait outside so we don’t disturb any more evidence.”
“No. I’m not leaving him alone here.”
Tim didn’t answer. Instead he sat down on the floor next to her, settling into the dust that swirled around the three of them.
They stayed another half hour before Detective Greenly arrived. His face was impassive, but his voice betrayed anger. “You should have waited for me.”
Tim nodded. “Probably, but we weren’t sure he was here at first. It could have been a wild-goose chase.”
When the coroner arrived to take Cyril’s body, Ivy stood, her knees cramped and shoulder aching. She stared at the space where he’d lain, alone. Cold waves seized her again.
Greenly walked them both downstairs, into the hot afternoon. “I was at the airport, doing some beating of the bushes. Seems Cyril did show up for his flight, but something spooked him and he took off just as the passengers started to board.”
Tim shook his head. “Too bad he couldn’t have made that flight.”
“Yeah. We wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Greenly listened to Tim’s recounting about the backpack again.
“Either he hid the thing somewhere after you spotted him or…” He stared at the ruined building jutting out against the blue sky.
It took a moment for the implication to sink into Ivy’s brain. “Or whoever murdered him took it.” For the first time she realized that the person who had choked the life out of Cyril might have been in the house at the same time they were.
She shivered, feeling the fear grip her insides.
Tim put an arm around her. “Are you done with us, Detective?”
“Sure, for now. By the way,” he added, “I’d watch my back if I were you.”
Ivy tried not to let the fear show as they walked back to the car.
Nick had taken the precaution of dismantling the backpack down to its nylon lining. Nothing. A pack of cards, a few dollars, a wadded-up sweatshirt and three candy bars. If he hadn’t killed the guy, Cyril would have talked eventually. They all did. Nick allowed himself a moment of self-recrimination. Then he returned to practical matters. The merchandise was probably gone anyway, reduced to ashes in the house fire. He knew the probability would not be enough to satisfy his boss.
Now he eased open the door and waited to face the music.
His boss stood at the workbench, the vise holding the specimen in place while he pushed the glass eyes into the face. The area around the shiny orbs was bare of feathers, leaving the duck with an eerie expression of wide-eyed panic as if he were trying to fly off the table.
“What do you think?” He moved aside so Nick could get the full effect.
Try as he might Nick could never see the sense in killing something and then taking painstaking efforts to make it look alive again. Dead was dead. He kept these opinions to himself.
“Cyril is dead.”
“How?”
“I was convincing him to tell me, and he refused. I lost control.”
“Unfortunate. Did the girl see you?”
“No.”
“Good. One dead body is enough trouble for now. The police are too close to my operations. I don’t want to risk any more exposure.”
Nick waited patiently. He knew it was not over.
The man’s tone was mild. “I am disappointed. I expected my property to be returned to me by now.”
“It probably burned up.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or he might have given it to someone. The kid, maybe. Or the girl.”
“Find Moe then, but don’t kill him unless you have to. You’ll have to put pressure on the girl, too.”
“I think she knows I’m watching her.”
“Yes. Maybe we’ll have to enlist someone to help you.”
Nick frowned and made to leave. “Who?”
“Someone close to her, someone who has good reason to cooperate. And, Nick…” He punched the eye into the duck’s head with an audible snap. “Let’s get this matter tidied up quickly, shall we?”
Tim drove Ivy back to her apartment, lost in thought. He could not shake the shock of finding Cyril dead. It was such a waste. He breathed a prayer and tried to shift his mind to another topic. “I keep thinking about that string of letters and numbers that Moe rattled off. I wonder if it’s somehow connected to whatever Cyril was hiding.”
“It sounded like random talk to me.”
“No, not random. He repeated it a couple times. His mother said he remembers things in sequence.”
“I don’t even recall what the string was.”
He pulled out his PDA and repeated Moe’s strange phrase. He took in her surprise. “I thought it might come in handy later.”
“Sometimes you scare me with that left-brain thing. Could it be some phone numbers?”
“Too many digits, and the letters don’t fit as names or addresses.”
“I can’t understand any of it. The whole thing is awful.”
His heart ached at the defeat painted on her face. “You look tired. Are you going to be okay here tonight?”
The conversation was interrupted when Ivy’s phone trilled. She answered it, and he could see a flush creep over her face. “Oh, hi. I’m busy right now.”
Tim tried not to listen, noting that she retreated to a far corner of her apartment to finish the conversation. Her occasional laugh sounded high-pitched, nervous. When she hung up, he bit down on the question that burned inside him. She volunteered the information instead.
“That was Antonio.”
Tim’s stomach clenched. “Oh. Signing up to help with the search?”
“No, he, er, wanted to ask me something.”
Tim took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice neutral. “Ivy, is Antonio looking to get back together with you?”
Her cheeks became infused with a deep pink. “I don’t know. He just misses the fun we had, I think.”
And do you want to go back to him? After he treated you like that? Tim wanted to scream the question along with some other choice remarks. Instead he cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I’d better be going. You sure you don’t want to go stay with your mom?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll lock the door, I promise. Greenly said he’s going to come check the apartment grounds after he’s done at the hotel.”
“I’m not convinced. I think…”
“Go, Tim.”
He read her determined expression and knew he wasn’t going to change her mind. He made a plan of his own. “All right.” He checked his watch. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay.” She walked him to the door. “Tim? It was some really good investigation work to find Cyril.�
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Though her comment pleased him, he could not summon up a smile. “I just wish I could have found him a few minutes sooner.”
Ivy heard a knock early the next morning.
She pulled on her ratty blue bathrobe and tiptoed to the door, squinting through the peephole.
Ivy yanked open the door. “Mitch?”
Her cousin looked tired, his dark eyes smudged underneath with shadows. “Hey, V. Did I wake you up?”
She looked at the clock. In truth she’d been awake, thinking about Moe and Cyril. “It’s seven thirty. That’s a little early for you, isn’t it?”
He shrugged. “I have an early shift today.” He walked into the small kitchenette and began to make a pot of coffee.
In spite of the hour, she was glad to see him. The night before had been so strange with her unfounded fear at her mother’s house and Antonio’s cheerful call. It was comforting to see her cousin’s familiar face. “So what brings you here? You’re not one to drop by unless there’s pizza.”
“What? Can’t I stop and check in on my favorite cousin? How’s the shoulder?”
“Sore.”
“Heard you found a dead guy yesterday.”
She shivered. “News travels fast.”
“Small town. You okay?”
“I guess so.”
He returned to the living room with two cups of coffee. “Weird that it was the guy who owned the house that collapsed on you. I guess what goes around comes around.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Why do you say that? Mitch, did you know Cyril?”
“Know him? Nah, not really. Ran into him a few times, I guess. I think he showed up at Charlie’s once while I was over there. Knocked on the door, offered to do some landscaping work.”
“Really? Did Charlie hire him?”
“Nah.” Mitch laughed. “You’ve seen Charlie’s place. The gardens are picture-perfect, not a leaf out of place. Anyway, I actually came by to ask you a favor.”
“What favor?”
“Well, since you aren’t supposed to be driving and all that, can I borrow your car? I’ve got a class in Portland tomorrow and I need some wheels.”
“Why don’t you take your bike?”
“Uh, I decided to sell it.”
Her mouth fell open. “You sold your motorcycle? You love that thing.”
He shrugged before taking a gulp of coffee. “No biggie. It needed some work done so I figured I’d unload it and buy something else, but I haven’t decided what yet. Maybe the Mercedes Charlie’s thinking of selling.” He ran a hand through his hair.
She looked at his tanned wrist. “Where’s your watch?” He’d made a point of showing off his Swiss precision watch to her when he’d bought it a few months ago.
“Must have forgotten to put it on.”
She put down her coffee and rounded on him. “Come on, Mitch. I’m not a fool. What is going on here? You sold your bike. You’ve been moody and irritable. What gives?”
His eyes flashed. “Nothing. I just came over here to borrow your car. If I wanted the third degree I could have gone home to my mother.”
“You’re my cousin and I care about you, so don’t bother with the indignation.” She tossed him the keys. “Take the car but at least tell me the truth. What is going on?”
He grabbed the keys and shot out of the sofa. “Nothing is going on, Ivy, and I wish you and everybody else would just leave me alone.” He slammed the door so hard a picture fell off the wall and crashed to the floor.
Before the echo died away it came to her.
She had a feeling she knew who had given Tim the black eye.
TWELVE
Ivy fixed Tim with a hard stare until he started to squirm. “Well? Are you going to tell me why Mitch punched you or not?”
“If you want to know, let’s go talk to him right now.” Tim grabbed his keys. “I’m off work and we might as well get this over with.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he hit you?”
“Because you’d want to know why.”
“I do want to know why.”
“Exactly.”
Tim remained infuriatingly silent as they drove across town. She knew by the hard set of his jaw that he wasn’t going to be badgered into telling her anything. He could be as stubborn as she. They pulled up at Mitch’s condo a few minutes after eleven.
The sound of breaking glass sent them running toward his front door. Ivy slammed the door open in time to see a dark-haired stranger whack Mitch’s head against the carpeted floor. She recognized the mob guy from the photo Greenly had shown them. Tim launched himself at the man and got him around the knees. He fell with a crash that shook the floor.
“Stop,” Mitch said.
Ivy dove on the man’s back to try to secure his hands. The three of them went around in a messy tangle of arms and legs. Ivy tried to hold on to the stranger’s ankles but he jerked away, kicking her in the shoulder.
She cried out in pain.
With a surge of strength the black-haired man shoved Tim away and ran toward the door. Tim scrambled to his feet to follow, but Mitch’s voice stopped them.
“Let him go.” Mitch struggled to his feet and flopped into a chair. “He won’t come back.”
Tim helped Ivy up and they stood there, panting, staring at Mitch.
He slouched in the chair, one hand pressed to the bump on his head, hair in disarray, shirt torn.
“Who is he?” Ivy managed at last. “Tell me what is going on here right now or I’m calling the cops.”
Mitch waved them onto the sofa. “He’s with some people in New York. Some people I borrowed money from.”
Ivy tried to find a comfortable position for her aching shoulder and steady her breathing. “Money for what?”
“To cover some debts.”
“What debts? You have a good job. Why did you need to borrow from a loan shark?”
He blinked and looked away.
Tim stared at the floor. “You need to tell her, man, or I will. I’m not going to lie to her.”
Mitch pressed his lips together.
Tim cleared his throat. “He’s been gambling, online.”
Ivy gasped. “What? Why? You have so many friends, so many social things. Why would you do that?”
“Aww, it’s no big thing, Ivy. A few of my buddies got me into online poker. It was just something new to do, at first, a way to pass the time. Then, well—” his gaze traveled to the floor “—I sorta got hooked on it.”
“How much do you owe, Mitch?”
“I’m not sure.”
She glowered at him. “Ballpark it for me.”
“Fifty thousand.”
Her gasp was loud in the still room. “You owe that guy fifty thousand dollars? Oh, Mitch.”
“Not anymore. I paid him off. He won’t be back. He just roughed me up a little to teach me a lesson.”
She folded her arms. “And just where did you get your hands on fifty thousand dollars?”
“I sold my watch and my bike.” His eyes were dull with sadness. “And I went to, um, a friend to borrow the rest. He said he’d give me time to pay it back.”
Ivy grimaced. “What friend?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now.”
“It’s not going to be done until you’ve paid it all back and quit gambling.”
Mitch snorted. “Well, your pal here took care of that.”
Ivy looked at Tim, whose cheeks pinked in little-boy fashion.
“I, er, sort of confiscated his computer.”
She looked at the desk, which was empty now, save the printer.
“I told him I’d give it back when he started attending some Gamblers Anonymous meetings or seeing a counselor, pastor, something.” Tim looked closely at Mitch. “It’s not a complete fix, is it? I mean, people can get online in many different ways. Have you been keeping away from it?”
Mitch leaped out of the chair. “Yes, Mother, I have. And don’t you have anything else to do bes
ides manage my life? Both of you?”
Tim smiled. “Not until you beat this thing.”
“Well, thanks for the help, but I’m over it. The New York people are paid off and I’ve got time to work on the other. I’m on track, guys, so you can just back off now.”
Tim cocked his head. “And this friend. He loaned you the money with no strings attached?”
Mitch glared at him. “Yes. Look, I’m done talking about it with both of you. Thanks for stopping by and all, but I’d really like you to leave.”
Ivy walked to the door in a state of shock. She’d barely followed Tim across the threshold when Mitch slammed the door behind them.
She turned on him. “I can’t believe it. How long have you known?”
Tim rubbed his face. “Not long. I knew something was going wrong with him, but I didn’t know for sure until I showed up on his doorstep one night and he was playing poker online. Then he started acting strange, missing get-togethers, backing out on things. He asked me to borrow money a few months back. He said it was for an investment. I think it was actually to cover some bills. When Greenly showed us the picture of the goon, I realized I’d seen him talking to Mitch a few days before. I put two and two together.”
Ivy tried to sort out the cacophony of feelings that raced through her. Mitch was a gambler, on the brink of financial ruin. And Tim had known all about it. “You should have told me.”
He sighed. “Maybe. I tried to help him the best way I could think of.”
“He’s my family and I should be the one taking care of him.”
“No,” he said, eyes burning. “You can’t save everyone, Ivy. Only God can do that.”
“That’s not true. He doesn’t save them. He lets people die and that’s why I do what I do.”
She could remember every second of the horror, the car that cut them off, the dizzy feeling as their truck flipped, skidding on its side until it crashed into the center divider. The flames that erupted from the engine. Ivy managed to crawl out through the passenger window, but her sister was jammed against the driver-side door.
She could still here Sadie’s voice, cracked and hoarse with pain. “Go get help.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
