Every Breath You Take: A Novel (A Kristen Conner Mystery Book 2)

by M. K. Gilroy

I wonder if Grandpa or Jack ever knew it was him that set up Barbara . . . Mom . . . in business as a silent partner. Barbara didn’t know why but suspected it might be to spite Jack. Then when she tried to defend me for the first time in her life, he killed her.

  I thought I was smart but I obviously wasn’t smart enough to stay clear of him.

  So it ends here. The same place life started anew for me. Mom’s place.

  I wonder what he’ll have done to my bodyguard. He was okay. I don’t think I adequately prepared him for what was coming. I’ve got so much blood on my hands.

  She strained aganst her restraints. He had gone to another room. The two men were conferring quietly. She couldn’t hear the words, but she knew the details of how her life was to end were being analyzed.

  She tugged at the plastic holding her arms and legs again. Her movements only tighted them.

  76

  “NOW’S NOT A good time to talk, Derrick,” Bobby Durham said.

  “Dude . . . Bobby . . . this has got to stop. I’m not part of this anymore.”

  “Derrick, once you’re in, you’re committed. You don’t get to just change your mind and quit because things get tough.”

  “I never committed to Jack or Barbara being . . . to dying.”

  “After what Jack did to you, I’m not even sure what you’re saying.”

  “I loved Jack.”

  “I did too. Listen, Derrick, we’re on the same team. This mess is about over. I agree, none of the bad stuff was supposed to happen. Come see me tonight so we can talk all this through.”

  “Your house?”

  “No. I’m at Barbara’s.”

  “Really? Why Barbara’s?”

  “I have to be honest, Derrick. I had a lot of respect for Barbara. I miss her. I’m going through stuff to see if there’s anything we should save for Penny.”

  “You’re doing that? That’s nice, Bobby.”

  “Come over and help me. We’ll talk.”

  He’ll be over. He knows what happens to his old man’s company if I pull the plug on funding his latest merger. Not sure Derrick cares about his dad, but he does care about his inheritance.

  She commits suicide at her mom’s place. That works. Great story. A modern tragedy. Our family will take some hits, but people don’t come to us because of how nice we are, they come because Dad and I know how to make money for them.

  How do I fit Derrick into the picture?

  He did love Barbara. He never forgave Jack for what he did to her and him.

  Jack loved to tell people the story that Dad bought him a prostitute for his sixteenth birthday. What a lying weasel. Derrick fell for an older woman—so Jack made a move and slept with her and got her pregnant.

  Why? Who knows with Jack. Who knows. He was a cancer to his family and to society.

  I don’t want to hurt Derrick. I like him. I feel sorry for him. He does get emotional. I think he’ll fall in line when I remind him what Jack did to him . . . and remind him that I’ll bankrupt his old man and his future if he bucks me.

  • • •

  After flashing my badge and a little bullying, I finally get the security guard for the condo to open her door. I have a bad feeling what I’m going to find there. It’s empty. No bodies.

  Okay, as far as I know, Gary and Penny are alive. But where are they? How do I find them?

  A simple explanation is she skipped bail and paid Gary extra to drive her somewhere and keep his mouth shut.

  I look down. Don’t recognize the number. I pick up, praying it isn’t Czaka.

  “Conner.”

  “Kristen, it’s Derrick.”

  “Now’s not a good time to talk, Derrick,” I say.

  “You’re the second person to say that to me in the past ten minutes,” he says.

  Okay.

  “I think I’m ready to talk to you, Conner. Really talk. I know who killed Jack. I’m on my way to see him now.”

  “Talk to me, Derrick.”

  • • •

  I call Don and he finally picks up. I tell him to follow me to Barbara Ferguson’s—and to be armed and ready to use deadly force. I hang up before he can protest.

  “Konkade.”

  “This is Conner.”

  “Is the prodigal ready to come home?”

  “No time for chit-chat, Sergeant. What’s the status of Barbara Ferguson’s apartment? Do I have access?”

  “It’s a crime scene and last I heard you were an investigating officer on the case.”

  “So I can enter the premises completely legally?”

  “It needs to be logged.”

  “Can you do it for me?”

  “Sure. But what’s up, Kristen? You’se in a boatload of trouble. Is this going to get you deeper in the muck?”

  “All or nothing, Konkade.”

  “You need backup?”

  “I got Squires.”

  “I’ll send Martinez and Randall.”

  “Not Randall!”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Call the boss. He’ll update you.”

  “I’ve been trying. His answer goes straight into voice mail.”

  “He’s doing his job. And I’m doing mine.”

  “Okay. I’ll send Martinez and I’m on my way.”

  “No Randall.”

  “No Randall.”

  77

  “SHE WAS POPULAR when she was alive . . . she seems to be just as popular dead. Rest in peace,” the doorman says, doing the sign of the Cross over his chest.

  “So the others are already here?”

  “Just two, I think,” he answers.

  “Thank you, Frank,” I say looking at his name badge. Listen, one or two more police officers will be here in the next little while. Can you buzz them up when they get here?”

  “Sure.”

  “I need to head on up now.”

  “I’ll key you up.”

  “Speaking of keys, do you have an extra one to the apartment?”

  “I do, but I don’t mind going up and opening the door for you. But if you have a colleague already up there can’t you just knock on the door?”

  I don’t know who’s up there. I’m flying by the seat of my pants. What do I say now?

  “Based on a new lead, I know we’re running some new tests up there so I don’t want to disturb anything that’s in progress. And I don’t want to disturb you from keeping an eye on the lobby. So just give me the key to Ms. Ferguson’s unit and I’ll bring it back. Work for you?”

  “I’m really not supposed to.”

  “I’ll bring it back before I leave. Scouts’ honor,” I say, holding up two fingers and crossing my heart.

  I was never a Boy Scout so I’m not sure if it’s two fingers or three.

  “Just be sure you bring it back to me so I can sign it back in.”

  “Will do.”

  “And Detective?”

  “Yes, Frank?”

  “The press said a lot of horrible things about Ms. Ferguson. But she was always good to me and the others who work here. I hope you nail whoever killed her.”

  “I do too, Frank.”

  • • •

  Derrick told me he was on his way to meet Bobby Durham at Barbara’s place. He didn’t mention anyone else. Is he already here? Or someone else?

  I begin thinking through attack and defense strategies and tactics on my ride up the elevator. I know the layout of Ferguson’s condo very well. That helps. But it’s big. A lot of space to account for with Junior, a possible colleague, and maybe a hostage.

  Will Junior be armed? How about the other guy?

  I arrive on Ferguson’s floor and it sounds to me like the elevator bell rings louder than an air raid siren. I wonder if they could hear it in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

  I am thankful the tiled hallways—looks like marble—are striped by a long carpet runner. Red of course. I’m wearing a pair of Asics running shoes and could have kept my footsteps quiet anyway, but this makes a quiet app
roach even easier.

  I turn left out of the elevator, walk twenty feet to a corner and turn left. She’s in the large northeast corner unit.

  Forget the sound of footsteps, my heart is pounding so hard I think it is echoing off the walls down in the lobby. I wonder how far behind Squires and whoever Konkade gets moving is. Where are you boys?

  I get to Ferguson’s door. I can see a tiny full moon of light behind the peep hole. I press my eye and see exactly what I expect to see. Nothing but the distorted shapes of furniture in an empty room.

  I have drawn my Sig. If I end up using it everyone in a square mile will hear it. No one in the condo that is asleep will be once the explosive charge of a handgun sounds. I pause. It’s almost midnight but the sounds of the city are still wide awake. Tires squeal. Horns blare. Motors rev. The swoop-swoop-swoop of traffic on Lake Shore Drive is constant. I can feel the beat of music. Must be a club on this street. Might be my imagination but I hear what I think is the faint trace of voices and laughter.

  What awaits me behind the door?

  • • •

  “Where is Conner?”

  Randall glances at a phone app and his eyes go wide.

  “What?”

  “She’s here.”

  “She’s quite the pest,” Durham, Jr. says with a sigh. “I should have kept the Ajax crew here.”

  He looks at Penny and sets the syringe down.

  “I think we can handle this ourselves, Randall. Now is when you earn the big bucks.”

  • • •

  Can’t perch on the edge of the diving board forever. You have to jump.

  Time to go in and find what’s waiting for me. I raise the electronic key to the keypad over the door handle. A security chain will probably stop the door after five inches. I’m going put my legs, shoulder, and all 115 pounds of me into that gap and break it. I’ll keep my Sig Sauer held high and my head on a swivel. I will be ready to deal with what whatever awaits me. I’ll enter the living room, sprint to the dining room—with a tuck and roll if necessary—dive into the kitchen, zigzag into the sunroom, and finish my orbit in the back hall that leads into the bedrooms. The key will be to keep moving.

  The Lord shall preserve thy going out and coming from this time forth. I breathe a phrase from a Psalm I learned when I was a kid. I don’t know which one. But I know I need some preserving where I’m going to—particularly if I want to come out alive.

  I lift the card to the electronic pad. Before it gets there, the door opens. I’m standing face to face with Bob Randall. Both our jaws drop.

  “It’s about time you got here,” he says, quickly. “I’ve got them secured in the back room.”

  I’m disoriented. But not stupid. My gun is up and pointing at his chest at the same time his gun magically appears.

  “Drop the gun, Conner. Do not think I will hesitate to blow your brains out,” he says with a snarl.

  “Your trigger finger so much as twitches you are a dead man,” I snarl back.

  “Then how about my gun?” Junior asks. The barrel is pointed at my face. Yep, he’s armed. “Drop the weapon, Detective.”

  My mind runs through percentages and options. None of them favor me.

  “Now.”

  My only prayer is that he doesn’t have a silencer in his pocket and doesn’t want to wake up the whole building with a blast from his handgun. He’s got Baretta 9 mm. My old model. I actually still have one in my lock box at home.

  I see him tense and I immediately point the barrel of my Sig Sauer at the ground. I’ve watched cop dramas on TV so I know the routine. I remove my finger from the trigger and hold the weapon by the handle between my thumb and forefinger.

  Junior laughs.

  “If you would be so kind as to hand that to my colleague, carefully I would add, I would be most appreciative.”

  “How many pieces of silver did you get, Bob?” I ask as I hand him the gun.

  “Shut up, Conner,” he says. “Your schtick gets old real quick.”

  “Let’s go back where you can join an old friend and get more comfortable,” Junior says.

  “You know he’s tying up loose ends and you’ll soon be one of them,” I say to Randall.

  “Shut up, Conner,” he says.

  I knew quiet, unassuming Randall was dirty. But this dirty? Oh man, oh man.

  “I think Detective Randall can take care of himself,” Junior says. “Unlike others, which should be very obvious to you at this particular moment. That’s why I selected him for my team. You should have accepted my dad’s job offer. He was serious you know. I’m going to recommend Detective Randall instead. I think he might enjoy his pay raise and bonus.”

  I look behind me at Randall and he smiles. He gives me another poke in the back with his standard issue Glock. Where are Don and Martinez? Where is Konkade?

  So far, the only colleague I don’t want present is here.

  78

  DERRICK PULLED IN the covered entrance to Barbara’s condo. He turned off the engine, got out, and walked to the front door.

  He almost bumped into a big man turning the corner and running forward. He looked familiar.

  “Derrick?” Squires asked.

  “Yeah. Are you one of the detectives?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m here to make things right and then turn myself in. I killed Jack.”

  “You didn’t kill Jack, Derrick.”

  “Not literally. But I was responsible.”

  “What are you really doing here?”

  “Bobby wants to talk.”

  “You sure?”

  “No.”

  “Sit down in the lobby. We’ll take care of Bobby.”

  “I’m tired of being told to sit down and be quiet, Detective. I’m coming with you.”

  “Not a good idea, Derrick.”

  “Can you stop me?”

  “Let’s go. Stay behind me. Keep your mouth shut.”

  • • •

  The gun nudges me again. It wouldn’t surprise me if Randall scores better than I do on the firing range. Doesn’t take a whole lot. But I’m positive he hasn’t studied the tactical moves of capturing or being held captive to the degree I have. The three of us are walking into the sunroom where Penny is gagged and tied up on a chair in the middle of the room. She’s alive. But more importantly for the moment, we are in a single-file line. That basically neutralizes the second person’s weapon. Durham is a civilian and isn’t expected to know how to cover a captive, but Randall has gone through classes on basic coverage concepts and should know better.

  I take a second step into the room and slow down. He nudges me yet again.

  Bob, you may not like my schtick but you have poked me in the back with that Glock for the last time.

  When I feel him pull back the weapon I stomp on his instep with all my strength and weight. At the same time I snap my head back and catch him on the nose. I’ve thrown both elbows down and back in a blind attempt to hit the tops of his forearms as viciously as possible. His left was already down and I make no contact. But his right arm was up with the gun and I can feel my elbow drill into his ulna. Not sure I snapped it but I got it good.

  He roars in pain as he staggers back. But he keeps his senses and ignores his broken nose—no easy task—and begins to bring the Glock up to shoot me. Before he can reach firing position, I whirl and grab the wrist of his gun hand and push it back down. I hear bones grind and note with satisfaction that if his ulna wasn’t broken before, it is now.

  He is in trouble and knows it. I know his instinct will be to ignore the searing pain in his forearm to push up against my downward force. Things are moving in slow motion and I am fully ready for the move. What I’m not ready for is what Junior is up to behind Bob.

  I take my hat off to Bob. I know how bad the move hurts. But Bob launches his arm forward with his weight behind it. Instead of resisting I go with it and yank his arm over his head and out of shooting range in a nanosecond. I wrench it down
and back and pull it up tight behind his back, turning him face-to-face with a stunned Robert Durham, Jr. I taste bile at the sound of bones grinding another direction—and Randall buys me another second as he lets out an ear-splitting scream. The Glock clatters noisily to the floor and I’m levering Randall’s arm even further up his back to drive him straight into Durham. He is no longer fighting back and is actually bull rushing Junior with me.

  Durham’s eyes widen and he gets the gun up but we are knocking him backwards one staggered step at a time. The explosion from the barrel of his Baretta is deafening. I feel Randall’s body convulse but keep pushing forward to crowd Durham from getting a clean shot off at me. A 9mm gun is a killing machine, but thankfully the ammo gauge is just small enough to careen around inside Randall’s internal organs rather than come through his body and hit me.

  I told you he was going to tie you up as a loose end, Bob.

  I keep momentum going and push the three of us into the living room.

  Durham tries to get his gun around Randall’s dead body to shoot me, but I push Randall into him as he squeezes the trigger. The bullet misses me, but I am showered with shaved bone and brain matter from the side of Randall’s head.

  • • •

  Frank, Derrick, and Don rush out of the elevator. Don races ahead, his heels nearly sliding on the corner. Frank didn’t have another key to Barbara’s condo. Don didn’t care. He would blow the hinges off the door.

  A gunshot sounded at the end of the hall.

  Am I on time?

  • • •

  “Your call, Karl. But it’s your career, including your pension, on the line.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Commander. We go back way too long for that nonsense.”

  “Conner is an immature hothead.”

  “Yeah, but she gets the job done.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Go call Fergosi and then Doyle. Cover your butt. But you know in your heart of hearts, Conner did right.”

  • • •

  I can’t hold Randall’s body up anymore. It is getting heavier and my muscles are turning to jell-o. My heart is racing from the effort, but my adrenaline rush keeps me driving at Durham with Randall’s body as a shield. I’m gasping as we reach the center of the living room and tumble to floor. Durham falls flat on his back and his arm flies over his head, but he keeps hold of the Baretta and is immediately struggling to sit up and point the gun at me.