Christmas Cookie Murder #6

by Meier, Leslie

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Not if she could help it, she vowed to herself. She was going to get out of this. Nobody, especially a mealy-mouthed hypocrite like Tom Scott, was going to wreck her family’s Christmas. She glanced around frantically, looking for something, anything. The drug task force was supposed to be in the area. If only she could draw their attention somehow, anybody’s attention, maybe she could save herself. She needed time, and the only way she could think of getting it was by keeping him talking.

  “You sure had me fooled,” said Lucy. “I never would have picked you for Tucker’s murderer.”

  She was surprised to find her voice strong and steady. At that moment she wasn’t afraid of Tom Scott; she was disgusted by him. He had come into town under the banner of zero tolerance for drugs and alcohol, and he even had his wife passing out Mothers Against Drunk Driving pamphlets. While he was mouthing sticky sentiments about the tragedy of teen drunken driving deaths he was turning a blind eye on the drugs that were pouring into town and collecting kickbacks. Retirement fund. She snorted.

  “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you,” he said. “Tucker Whitney was a stupid bitch who got herself caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, same as you. Came snooping around here and the Rousseaus scared her off, so you know what she did? Actually called me up to report suspicious activity.”

  He gave a short, harsh laugh and stepped toward her. Lucy felt her courage disappear like dirty dishwater swirling down the drain. She was utterly defenseless, hands pinned behind her back. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t make her legs work. Horrified, she watched as he took another step closer.

  How many seconds did she have to live? Was he really going to put his hands around her neck and strangle her, like he did Tucker? She couldn’t let that happen.

  “I have to hand it to you,” she said, struggling to make the words come out of her dry mouth. “You’re pretty clever. You planted that gum wrapper, didn’t you?”

  “It was so easy,” Scott said, unable to resist telling her how he’d outsmarted everybody. “I knew I had to get rid of Tucker—she was starting to make a real pest of herself, calling the station and asking what I was going to do about the lobster pound. She even threatened to call the drug task force. Then I ran into Cummings at the coffee shop. He’d just left Tucker and he was real broken up. He couldn’t wait to tell me all about it. How he was going to give her up and go back to his wife, even if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. She’d been understanding, he said, actually encouraged him to do the right thing.”

  “From what I heard she didn’t really care for him,” said Lucy, hoping to keep Scott’s mind off the next item on his agenda. It was all she could think to do. Every second she could delay his assault was a small victory. Maybe the Rousseaus would come back. Maybe help would come.

  “Yeah, I heard that, too. But to hear him it was the love affair of the century. He was practically crying into his coffee, and popping those sticks of gum into his mouth one after the other. He finished the pack and left it on the counter. I figured it might come in handy and picked it up with a napkin.” He grinned evilly. “I was right. I called her up from a pay phone and asked if I could come over to her house to get a statement from her before she went to work. She was only too happy to cooperate.”

  “You even won a commendation from the state police for preventing contamination of the crime scene. That must have been icing on the cake.”

  “It just goes to show that if you do a really good job, people notice,” said Scott, practically patting himself on the back. “But you know what the best part was? It was the look in Tucker’s eyes when she realized that Officer Scott wasn’t her friend.”

  He was now standing above her, and Lucy felt his leather-gloved hands closing around her neck. She squirmed, trying to kick between his legs, but he just laughed and pressed her legs down with his. She tried to scream, but nothing was coming out, she couldn’t make a sound, she couldn’t catch her breath. Then it came, a popping sound, and everything went dark in the room.

  “What the fuck,” she heard him say, and he dropped his hands from her neck. She assumed he was moving toward the window, so she ran in the opposite direction, knocking something over as she dashed across the room and crashed into the big wooden desk. She felt her way around it, putting it between herself and Scott.

  She heard the door open and for a second saw Scott’s figure silhouetted against the dim dusky light outside, and then he disappeared.

  Her heart was pounding. This was her chance to escape and she had to take it. She ran to the door and cautiously opened it, intending to take a cautious peek to see if the coast was clear. Instead, she was suddenly blinded by an extremely bright light that was flooding the yard. She heard popping gunshots and ducked back inside.

  What with the spotlights and guns, it seemed to her that the entire compound was under attack. She got down as low as she could and scuttled awkwardly across the floor, diving under the desk. She landed hard on her shoulder; she couldn’t use her handcuffed hands to break the fall.

  There was the piercing squeal of an amplifier and then an authoritarian voice boomed out. “This is the state police. Drop your weapons. Put your hands on your heads. Walk to the lighted area.”

  Thank God, thought Lucy, who was only too happy to obey. She couldn’t put her hands on her head, but she could walk. She crawled out from under the desk, blinking her eyes against the light that was pouring in through the windows, and started toward the doorway, only to be immediately knocked off her feet. Scott had come back.

  “Get up,” he said, yanking her to her feet and holding her in front of him like a shield. “You’re my ticket out of here.”

  The pain in her shoulder was agonizing as she struggled against his grip.

  “Let her go.” Lucy recognized J.J.’s voice. She heard a thud and felt Scott’s body crumple behind her. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said.

  Lucy found herself in wholehearted agreement. “Me too,” she heard herself say. “Get me out of these handcuffs?”

  J.J. began going through Scott’s pockets, feeling for his keys while Lucy kept an eye on the door. It was quiet outside; the gunshots had stopped.

  “Got ’em!” exclaimed J.J. “Hold still,” he said, grasping her arm.

  She bit her lip, refusing to cry out with the pain. First one cuff and then the other loosened, and she moaned with relief. She cradled her arm against her chest, watching as J.J. clamped one cuff on Scott’s wrist and then, with a grunt, dragged his inert body to the corner, where he looped the other cuff around the gas pipe that fed the overhead heater.

  “That takes care of Dudley Doright,” he said, with a satisfied smirk. “Now, the heroic Jean-Jacques, having saved the lady in distress, gives himself up to the authorities. Ready?”

  “You bet,” said Lucy.

  J.J. took her hand and reached for the door, but before they could step out into the light they heard the staccato of machine-gun fire, and it suddenly went dark again.

  “What’s going on?” Lucy gripped his hand tighter as they ducked back into the shelter of the office.

  “Fatman.” J.J.’s voice was a moan. “He loves that Uzi. I never saw him without it.”

  “It couldn’t be,” whispered Lucy. “Nobody’d take on an entire SWAT team.”

  “Nobody but Fatman. They named him after the atom bomb. I heard nothing can stop him. He shot five or six cops last time they tried.”

  “What about Rusty and Claw? Where are they?”

  “On the boat. They’re gone.”

  Lucy was stunned. “You could’ve gone—why didn’t you?”

  She felt his breath on her cheek as he sighed.

  “I had enough. You know how all this started? We took out the boat and picked up one little package and brought it in. Never saw nobody. Just left it on top of a trash can in a highway rest area. That was gonna be it. Pay the bills, get a fresh start. But it don’t wor
k that way. Scott shows up. Somehow he knows all about it. He wants a cut, or he’ll turn us in. ’Ti-Russ gets ahold of some, he starts dealing, and then he starts using and he’s high all the time. Pretty soon we’ve got more dope than lobsters goin’ through here, and the weird thing is, we’re not gettin’ any richer. What’s worse, we’re scared all the time. Scared of the cops. Scared of Fatman and his friends.” He inched up the wall and looked out the window. “I wish I knew what was going on out there.”

  “Me too.” Lucy found herself giggling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just thinking about my family. They’re probably wondering where I am and why there’s no supper. They probably think I went Christmas shopping and forgot the time, or something like that. They’d never believe where I really am.”

  “I don’t believe it, and I’m here.” J.J. slumped against the wall beneath the window, next to her.

  Across the room, she heard Scott stirring.

  “He’ll get us all killed,” muttered J.J., standing up.

  He hadn’t taken a step when his body was thrown violently across the room, slamming onto the desk and then slipping to the floor. On her hands and knees Lucy crawled to him. Frantically, she felt for a pulse. Touching something warm and sticky she jerked her hand back, as if she’d touched fire. She clutched her hands together in front of her, they were icy. Her teeth were chattering, she realized. There was another burst of gunfire, and she crawled under the desk.

  She pulled her knees up against her chest and wrapped her trembling arms tight around them, hugging herself. She heard small, whimpering noises, and for a momemt she thought a kitten or puppy had somehow gotten trapped with her. She had actually started feeling around for the poor, frightened thing in order to comfort it when she realized she was making the noises herself. She pressed her lips tight together and concentrated on breathing, just breathing, one breath at a time.

  A loud crash made her jump, she felt as if her heart would leap out of her body. Then machine-gun fire was raking the room. It was so loud she involuntarily covered her ears with her hands and she smelled something like Fourth of July fireworks. The machine-gun staccato ended with a loud crack, and Lucy felt the floor shake as something heavy fell. Suddenly, there was a bright, white light.

  She could hear voices. They seemed to be coming from very far away.

  “She’s starting to come around.”

  “I want to interview her, before you take her away.”

  “I can’t let you do that…”

  Lucy stirred, rolling her head from side to side. She tried to raise herself up, but she couldn’t. She was wrapped up in something. Finally, it occurred to her that she could open her eyes.

  “Well, hello sunshine.”

  She blinked, recognizing Lieutenant Horowitz. “Wha’?” she asked.

  “You’re going to be OK.” Another person, this one in a blue uniform, came into view, leaning over her. “We’re taking you to the hospital to check you out, but right now it looks like you’ll be home for Christmas.”

  Lucy closed her eyes, only to hear Horowitz’s voice.

  “Mrs. Stone! I have some questions….”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Special Edition

  The Pennysaver

  Tinker’s Cove, Maine

  December 26th

  Two Killed in Drug Raid

  By Edward J. Stillings

  TINKER’S COVE—Two men were killed and a Tinker’s Cove police officer was wounded in a dramatic Christmas Eve shootout at a Cove Road lobster pound owned by Claude Rousseau, 63. The two dead men were identified as Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 42, of Tinker’s Cove and Raymond “Fatman” Norris, 23, of Boston, Mass. Tinker’s Cove Police Lt. Thomas Scott, 34, was wounded and remains in stable condition at Memorial Hospital in Portland. Also injured in the raid was Pennysaver reporter Lucy Stone, who was treated for a dislocated shoulder at Memorial Hospital and released.

  “From the evidence we have so far, it looks as if Norris shot the other two men with an Uzi machine gun,” said State Police Detective Lt. C.G. Horowitz. “Norris was killed by a SWAT team member.”

  A fourth man, Eduardo Reyes, 20, of Boston, Mass., was taken into custody and will most likely be arraigned on Monday. Charges against him have not yet been completely determined, but will include illegal possession of one or more firearms, said Horowitz.

  Horowitz said charges are also pending against Scott, who had been under surveillance for several months by the state police special crimes unit. Unit investigators allege that Scott accepted bribes and engaged in drug trafficking while he was acting chief of the Tinker’s Cove Police Department. Police are also investigating allegations that Scott murdered Tucker Whitney, 20, of Tinker’s Cove earlier this month.

  Horowitz said the drug task force was alerted when Norris and Reyes were spotted by a New Hampshire toll collector who noticed their unique automobile. “It was a Mercedes, top of the line, really loaded, and you don’t see a lot of those, at least not this time of year,” said Fred W. Smithers, a member of the Classic Car Club of Portsmouth, N.H.

  Drug task-force members monitored the pair’s progress, notifying the special crimes unit when they appeared headed for Tinker’s Cove.

  “When Scott, Norris, and Reyes all gathered at Rousseau’s Lobster Pound, we knew we had to act fast or lose them,” said State Police Capt. Willard Penfield, commander of the drug task force. “It was getting late in the day, and we were losing daylight. We decided to call in the SWAT team.”

  Tinker’s Cove residents watched in amazement as numerous state police vehicles sped through town, with sirens blaring, en route to the lobster pound. Crowd control became a problem for officials as curious onlookers, including a large group of teens who had been attending a pool party at the nearby home of TV star Norah Hemmings, gathered on Smith Heights Road. Hemmings was unavailable for comment.

  Charles Canaday, 41, who lives at 151 Smith Heights Road, said he was astonished to see SWAT team members in his backyard.

  “I was taking out the garbage and saw what I thought were soldiers, dressed in camouflage and carrying weapons, trotting down my driveway. For a minute I thought it was World War III,” said Canady.

  The SWAT team cordoned off the lobster pound and set up spotlights, which were immediately shot out by machine-gun fire from Norris.

  “We called for replacements, but we knew that was going to take a while, so we improvised with vehicle headlights and fired tear-gas canisters,” said Penfield. “Norris ran for cover and one of our snipers had a clear shot and took it. Once Norris went down, Reyes immediately surrendered.”

  Team members entered the lobster-pound office, where they found the wounded Scott manacled to a pipe with his own handcuffs. Stone was found, unconscious but otherwise apparently unharmed, beneath a large desk. Rousseau’s body was also found; both he and Scott appeared to have suffered wounds from machine-gun fire. Norris was killed by a single bullet to the head.

  Officials said that more indictments are expected as the investigation is still in its preliminary stages and will continue.

  “We’re especially interested in determining what role the Rousseau family played,” said Horowitz.

  Interviewed at home on Christmas Day, Stone insisted she was an innocent bystander caught in events beyond her control. “I was just picking up some lobsters for Christmas dinner,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  New Year’s Eve

  A week later, Lucy’s arm and shoulder were still strapped, so she was a passenger in the Subaru while Elizabeth drove. Even though she had a learner’s permit, Lucy hadn’t had much time to take her daughter driving, so she figured this was a good opportunity for her to get some practice.

  “You’re doing really great,” she said in an encouraging tone of voice as they crept along Main Street. “Now turn on your signal and turn here—I need to go to the post office.”

  Elizabeth signaled left and t
urned right, picking up speed and heading directly for the brick post-office building.

  “Brake!” shrieked Lucy, and the car lurched to a sudden stop, straddling two parking spaces.

  “Sorry about that,” said Elizabeth, who was checking her teeth in the rearview mirror. “I get them confused. Which is the gas?”

  “The one on the right,” said Lucy, opening the door. She wasn’t sure which was more dangerous: the shootout at the lobster pound or teaching her own daughter to drive.

  She reached back in the car for her purse and when she straightened up, smiled to see Sue leading her little group of day-care kids. They looked like peas in a pod, each child holding tight to a chunky, knotted rope. Bringing up the rear was a young woman Lucy didn’t recognize, pushing an oversize baby carriage stuffed with several snowsuited toddlers.

  “Hi!” Sue greeted her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Much better. I didn’t need any pain pills today.”

  “Kids, you know Mrs. Stone. Sometimes she helps us at the center.”

  “Hi, Justin. Harry. Emily. Matthew. Did you all have a nice Christmas?”

  The kids smiled and nodded, and Emily held out her hands to show off her new dragon mittens.

  “Granny made them,” she said, opening and closing the dragon’s mouth and revealing his hot pink tongue.

  “Very nice,” said Lucy.

  “And this is my new assistant, Casey Wilson,” said Sue, indicating a petite young woman who was adjusting Harry’s hat.

  “Hiya,” said Casey, giving Lucy a big smile.

  “I don’t see Will,” said Lucy. “What’s happening with him?”

  “Steffie’s gone home to her folks, in New Jersey.” Sue lowered her voice, mindful of the children. “I think she’s going to divorce Tom. They weren’t that happy, anyway. And now with all that’s happened, she’s definitely not sticking by her man.”