DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2)

by Gregory Stenson

  Shadow was dead.

  Struggling for breath, she tried to walk normally, wondering why her legs would not move, she stumbled against the corridor wall, sliding her body along inch by inch. Her vision was fading in and out. She reached a restroom door. She leant against it, it opened too quickly and, despite grabbing the washbasin, she fell, face down onto the cold tiled floor.

  The elevator pinged as it reached the eighth floor and Stone stepped out into a dim, dank corridor. He looked at the room numbers on the office doors. They alternated, even one side, odd on the other. He was looking for number nine and counted down to the fifth door on the left.

  The light was on and the door was ajar.

  It was the only office that was lit up.

  Was he in there? ‘I’ve come this far,’ he thought, he decided to check it out anyway. He crept along the corridor and stopped outside the office of LOMAN’S IMPORT EXPORT and listened at the door. He could hear nothing. If someone was in there, there would be some sound, he thought.

  He called out, ‘Hello?’ No one answered. He stretched out his hand towards the doorknob and froze in shock when he heard someone shouting. His right foot moved forward and his shoe covered the small pool of blood by the door.

  ‘Hey. Mister. There’s no one in there. Nobody’s in at all ‘cept me.’ A janitor at the end of the corridor - a young man with spiky hair, a mop in his hand, and an mp3 player wired in to his ears – shouted out to Stone. ‘Say. How’d you get in?’ he asked, before Stone had a chance to speak. The young guy removed his ear buds.

  ‘The door down in the lobby...was open, hadn’t clicked shut. So I...’

  ‘Yeah...I’ve told maintenance ‘bout that a dozen times at least.’

  ‘Anyway don’t worry, I’m just leaving.’

  He couldn’t check out the room now, not with Spiky so close by, he made out that he was leaving.

  ‘Okay Mister...so long now.’

  Stone made his way back to the elevator irked at not getting into Shadow’s room. He left the building, walked across the parking lot and got back into the car. Mac was listening to a radio report, Stone caught the end of it as he slid into the front seat, ‘...the young girl, fourteen years old, an African-American, has been missing for several hours and her parents have said ‘This is not like her at all.’ Police are doing all they can...’

  ‘What’s that all about?’ referring to the radio report.

  ‘A missing girl. She’ll turn up. Teenagers are always pushing the boundaries.’ Mac was trying to make light of the report.

  ‘Since when were you an expert on teenage girls?’

  He didn’t answer, he changed the subject.

  ‘You were quick, what happened? I know you didn’t get the money cos I don't see it.’

  ‘Nothing, and you're right I didn’t get a chance to. Got right to the door and some janitor saw me and I had to leave it.’

  ‘We could come back after dark. He won’t be around then surely?’

  ‘We’ll do that. I didn’t see any security. Plenty of cameras though right above the entrance.’

  Stone and Mac exited the car park.

  ‘I’d say it was about time for lunch,’ said Mac.

  ‘It’s always lunch time to you.’

  They stopped by a sports bar on the way back where they could eat and catch up on the latest games.

  Tomasz Bielinski, the janitor, pushed the ear buds back into his ears and went back to work. He was swinging the mop back and forth across the corridor and singing along in time with the music. He saw something red out of the corner of his eye, but it was too late. Tomasz stopped, leant his arm on the mop and scratched his head; he had no idea what it was.

  He had just wiped away someone’s blood.

  Chapter 43

  Maloof was sitting behind a big shiny desk in his second floor office puffing away on a cigar when Scarface knocked on his door. He loved the view of the river from the window behind his desk. He could watch the shipments leave from the quayside by the warehouse two floors below. The office was sparsely furnished, with a desk and five chairs - that doubled as a conference table - a drinks cabinet, adorned with three crystal decanters containing whiskey, brandy and vodka, against one wall, and a long red comfortable lounger with a coffee table in front of it, against the opposite wall. His desk was pretty clear except for a laptop, some business newspapers and an iPhone lying at the side of the computer.

  ‘Come in.’

  Scarface opened the door, bowed as he approached the desk and said hello, ‘Aasalaamu-Aleikum’

  ‘Wa- Aleikum-Aassalaam’

  Maloof responded with hello back, in Arabic, and told him to sit down in one of the black leather swivel chairs on the other side of his desk.

  Abdul was a tall, handsome man with short cropped black hair; the scar on his face enhanced his aura of toughness but somehow did not detract from his good looks.

  The chair squeaked and groaned a little as he settled his large, athletic frame into it. He removed his gun from its holster, reached forward, removed the clip and laid it on the desk, sat back again and crossed his legs.

  Maloof was fastidious with his personal security; he trusted Abdul and Khaled implicitly. They were the only two out of his seven drivers and bodyguards that he allowed to bring weapons into his office. All the others had to leave their guns with his secretary before entering his room.

  ‘Abdul, we need to deal with this man once and for all. Whilst ever he’s around there’s a risk to Rachel, and we don't want whatever happened down in Trinidad to get in the way of what she has to do here. We cannot rely on Ramirez to do the job anymore. I’m told he’s been suspended and apparently he’s falling apart. I’ve got Fazeel watching his place and we’ll see about him when the time is right.’ Maloof stopped to puff on his cigar and then sat forwards and clasped his hands together. ‘I want it done. Don’t use guns or knives or anything that can be traced back to here. I want him wiped out so that they’ll need dental records to identify him. I’m sure you know what I mean.’

  ‘You have the address Sir?’

  ‘Yeah, Khaled finally tracked them down yesterday. Here’s the address.’

  Maloof handed Abdul a card with the details.

  ‘No problem Sir. When?’

  ‘As soon as possible, I’m flying to the Bahamas tomorrow morning to get the deal signed. Finish the business quickly and come over, I might need you.’

  Scarface had his instructions, he stood up to leave, collected his gun and said goodbye, ‘Ma’a Salaam.’

  The sports bar was busy but Stone and Mac found a table in the center of the room where they could see one of the large screens that were showing highlights of last night’s baseball game between the Red Sox and the Mets at Citi Field. Stone had been a Sox fan since university days and lamented the time he’d spent overseas when all he could do was snatch a report here, a video there, and seeing them live was near the top of his list before returning to the Caribbean.

  They feasted on burgers and fries whilst staring at the game although Mac had no idea about the rules of baseball. Stone promised to take him to the next Sox home match. Mac called for more beers and for the first time in days they had not spoken about the troubles that were blighting their lives.

  Their telepathic ability to know when and when not to talk about issues was intact. Although Stone was looking at the game his mind was on Laura who he had seen for just a few hours. He was determined not to disappoint her and be there at the prize giving ceremony the next day.

  Mac was happiest when he was eating; it was a serious business, as was his loyalty to Stone, which was reciprocated without question.

  The game commentators were analyzing the match statistics, Mac had finally stopped eating and they agreed to head back to the apartment. As they stood up to leave, a news bulletin cut into the analysis to announce the sudden and unexplained disappearance of a second young girl in as many hours.

  Chatter around the bar redu
ced down to a hush, people stopped eating and drinking in unison, there was clinking of knives, forks and glasses being set down, and waiters stood where they were to listen to the newscaster.

  This time Stone caught the whole report and shot a glance across to Mac when he heard that the girl was last seen on her way home from school. Any father would, his mind flashed to Laura. The girl was fourteen years of age and of Hispanic origin. The announcer went on to say that, according to the police spokesman, ‘It is too early to say whether the incident is related to that of Tameka Achebe, who has now been missing for approximately three hours.’

  Mac said, ‘More madness. Let’s hope we don't have a serial killer on the loose.’

  Stone didn’t want to contemplate the thought. He turned to leave the bar and muttered, ‘There’s some evil bastard somewhere.’

  They drove back to the apartment in silence.

  The report continued and on a screen behind the newsreader was a photo of the missing girl Sofia Perez in her school uniform. Next, there was a shot of her school building; the camera was panning across the name board. Then they showed a video clip of the girl’s mother standing by her doorstep, she had an apron around her waist and she was crying into her hands. A policeman and policewoman were standing beside the mother looking bewildered, not knowing what to say to her. The news reader concluded the report and the game analysts were back on screen. People started to talk again and returned to eating their meals.

  Within seconds the bar returned to normal.

  Chapter 44

  It suddenly dawned on Tomasz that there was something strange about there being a red patch on the floor outside the office. ‘Why was the door still open and the light on inside?’ He asked himself. He propped the mop up against the wall and pushed the door to Loman’s office just a few inches open with his hand, calling out as he did so, ’Hello? Is there anyone there?’

  He stretched his head around the door and began to call out again but the words never left his mouth. He jerked back in disbelief at what he had seen. He knocked over the mop, and he fell against the far wall of the corridor breathing hard, shaking his head from side to side as if to erase the vision from his mind. But he knew that he couldn’t.

  Mr. Loman, the new guy, who had only moved into the offices the previous week, was dead. Tomasz saw the spray of blood on the wall, and his lifeless body across the desk.

  He looked around up and down the corridor in fear that the killer was still around. And then it came to him, the man he saw leaving his office a few minutes ago, ‘...I’m leaving.’ the tall white man said. He saw him coming out of Mr. Loman’s office, he was sure.

  Tomasz fumbled around in his jacket pocket for his cell phone, he was so nervous his fingers lost grip and it dropped to the floor. He picked it up, flipped it open and dialed 911.

  The emergency service operator coached the details and the address out of Tomasz, who was stuttering and repeating himself over and over, and told him to stay where he was, and that officers would be with him shortly.

  Lt. Grolnick told internal affairs that he would handle the Ramirez suspension matter himself in order to minimize the fuss and out of respect for Ramirez’s previously honorable twenty five years, blemish free service.

  Ramirez wasn’t looking forward to the carpeting and wondered whether he was going to be canned permanently. He arrived early and must have finished a whole pack of smokes whilst waiting outside in the precinct staff car park at the rear of the building. Ten months he’d been clean, now he was dragging on a cigarette as if his life depended on it. He felt his cell phone vibrate and knew it was time to face the music. He walked up to Grolnick’s office with heavy legs and he was called in as soon as he had reached it. He sat opposite the Lieutenant who got up closed the door and sat back down.

  Grolnick hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words when Ramirez broke down and cradled his head between his hands, crying like a baby. The constant fear and pressure had finally gotten to him. He didn’t know why, and he was prepared to take the worst, but when Grolnick asked him how his wife and daughter was, he just folded.

  Grolnick went over to make sure his door was locked and buzzed through to the secretary to tell her, ‘No calls.’

  ‘Ramirez, what’s going on?’

  Ramirez couldn't speak, he was embarrassed at the outburst and tried to pull himself together. ‘Is it something to do with the family? Grolnick continued, waiting for him to recover, and he eventually began to speak.

  ‘I’ve been stupid Sir.’

  ‘How d’ya mean, what’s going on?’

  ‘I got involved with...’

  Grolnick thought he was going to say a woman. That he had been playing away from home.

  ‘Who is she Ramirez? Spit it out.’

  ‘No. it’s not a woman. It’s Maloof.’

  Grolnick screwed up his eyes and repeated the name to himself, ‘Maloof, Maloof’

  ‘Who’s Maloof?’

  Ramirez sat up and straightened his jacket to regain some composure. ‘He’s a big shot, and a bad guy. It all started by me doing him a favor, something small, a parking ticket, that’s all it was at first, but...’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘...I didn’t realize he was playing me. He offered me money. I refused. He gave me a gift, said I couldn't refuse it, I tried but...anyway, the favors got serious, and that’s when he started to put the squeeze on.’ Ramirez was feeling some sort of relief at letting it out. He knew he’d got caught up with something he couldn't control, and being a senior police officer should have known better than to get in bed with a man such as Maloof.

  He had to get it all out.

  ‘How serious is it?’

  ‘The Stone case...’ He began. ‘It came out of the blue, he must have been prepping me for the big one. I was told to meet him, to come alone, we met in a park. Then he laid it out, told me what he wanted and said if I didn’t...’ he almost lost it again and breathed a little heavy.

  ‘Okay Ramirez, I’m getting the picture. He threatened your daughter?’ Ramirez looked at Grolnik with pain written all across his face. He didn’t need to answer.

  ‘He said if I didn’t get Stone sent down for murder he’d kill Conchita. Had her photo and knew where she went to school, everything.’

  ‘So, that’s why you went overboard on the Randall case, then really stepped over the line trying to pin the Bloom hit on Stone?’

  Ramirez turned his head away in shame. He was sure the chop was coming any second and hung his head down in submission.

  ‘Ramirez. You’ve been stupid. I’ll agree with that. You need to tell me you never took money from this character.’

  ‘No. No, no I never did...’

  ‘Money can be traced, if you’ve accepted some gifts...’ he started. ‘I’ll overlook it this time, sounds like you’ve already been through enough. I should bust you down to detective, but you’re too good for that and we go back a long way.’ Ramirez looked at Grolnick and couldn’t believe he was being given another chance. ‘Listen. This stays in this room, you got me?’

  ‘Yes Sir.’

  ‘Not a word of this to anyone. You told anybody?’

  ‘Tamola.’

  ‘Jerry? He’s safe enough. He’ll never tell anyone. Shit, his wife don't even know his middle name. Have a word with him anyway. Ramirez, I want you to get back with Finch. Leave Maloof to me, give me his numbers and anything else you know about him. Meanwhile, we’ll make arrangements for Maria and Conchita to get protection round the clock. Okay?’

  Grolnick opened a drawer and took out Ramirez’s badge and gun. He slid them across the desk towards him. Ramirez took them; he didn’t know what to say. He held up three fingers and made the sign of the cross on his chest. He knew someone was looking out for him, he hadn’t figure Grolnick had been also.

  ‘Now get out of here,’ said Grolnick.

  Chapter 45

  From the building at the address that Maloof had given Scarface, to the ro
om on the other side of the road, was no more than twelve yards. He didn’t need binoculars; he was sitting patiently, not moving a muscle, staring through a two inch gap in the drapes. The window was directly opposite and at the same level as the rooms where he had moved around stealthily just half an hour before. He was trained to carry out such operations with meticulous detail, leaving no prints or evidence behind. The room would be precisely as it had been was left by the occupants, apart from one important addition that they would never suspect was there. He worked alone, always wore gloves and never left the scene until the job was complete. No loose ends.

  He was careful not to disturb the hotel room where he would keep an eye on the room opposite in the same way. He had a chair positioned in line with the gap in the drapes and a table pulled across next to him. On the table were a flask of coffee, his cell phone, which was on silent, and a pack of sandwiches to sustain him through the night if necessary. He brought them in a small black backpack which also sat on the table. He brought no other equipment with him. He removed his shoes as he entered the room and touched nothing he didn’t have to. The lights would remain off, night or day.

  To maintain his concentration during the long vigil he would, recite from memory, passages from the Koran. His only bad habit was that after eating, because of his fanaticism about his personal cleanliness, that he would clean his teeth with a toothpick and suck on it absentmindedly afterwards.

  He saw no movement in the rooms opposite and prepared for a long wait.

  By the time that Finch and Ramirez reached the office building in Brooklyn, they had settled their differences. Ramirez had apologized to Finch for his recent behavior and without giving away too much detail, explained to him that in the light of the circumstances Grolnick had given him another chance. He didn’t say what those circumstances were, just that lives had been put at risk and that that had affected his judgment. Finch accepted the situation; they shook hands and agreed to get back to normal. The matchstick was back and the tie was still where it usually was, hanging loose below Ramirez’s collar.