“This is where he was hung?” Rule said.
I nodded.
He looked up toward the beams and then around at the walls.
“Jacob?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think I can do this.”
He reached for me as he fell, but my reaction was too late. Rule hit the floor hard and was out.
Forty-three
He wasn’t out long, just a few seconds. The shock of seeing the blood must have made his brain shut off, causing him to faint. Can’t say that I blamed him. As big and strong as Rule is, there’s nothing like seeing the spilled blood of your family and knowing that they died a horrific death.
We now sat at the kitchen table. He sipped on a glass of water in quiet. After he’d come to, I’d slowly helped him to his feet and let him lean on me as we made our way to the kitchen. I’d found a kitchen towel in one of the drawers and poured cold water over it from a pitcher in the fridge. Rule placed the wet towel over his head and then sipped on the water.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Jacob.”
“There’s not a book out that tells you how to handle something like this,” I said. “You’re doing all you can.”
Rule shook his head and then buried his face back into the towel. As men, we don’t like to cry in front of other people, but I moved close to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulder and squeezed him. The affection was enough for him to let out a wail of a cry. His crying caused me to cry. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it felt like forever. Two men, strong and tough in our own rights, were crying like children in need of our parents. At that moment, I truly believed we both wanted our parents to wrap their arms around us and comfort us.
At some point, we found the means to gather ourselves. We dried our faces with paper towels, but our eyes were bloodshot. Rule didn’t thank me for sitting with him and comforting him, and I didn’t expect a thanks. In his own way, he patted my shoulder and that was enough of a thanks.
“Let’s go to the safe,” Rule said.
I nodded, “Yeah, the safe. Almost forgot about it.”
Rule led me through the house and to the stairs. Along the wall were family pictures of the Rules, which I tried not to look at. I noticed that Rule did the same. We got to the top of the stairs, and Rule led me to the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
“We already checked in here,” I said, “we didn’t see a safe.”
“Where’s the last place you would look for a safe in a master bedroom?” Rule said.
We started walking to the master bathroom.
“I don’t know.”
The master bathroom was large and modern. The shower was one of those showers that had two entrances and was nicely tiled with earth-toned colors.
Rule walked toward the shower, and I had to make a joke and lighten up the situation.
“Looking to take a shower with me?”
He laughed, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
He stepped into the shower and motioned for me to follow. There was definitely enough room for the two of us and possibly even another person.
“Well?” he said.
I looked around. “Well, what?”
“You still don’t see it?”
I looked around the shower again, trying to see every part of it. I was getting ready to say “See what?” when my eyes finally fell on it. In the middle of the wall adjacent to the showerhead, a slot was made to hold the soap. In the slot was a bar of soap and a shampoo bottle. Behind the soap was a small lever similar in color with the tile that, at first glance, looked like a decorative piece.
I looked at Rule who had a smirk on his face.
“Who thinks to put a safe in a shower?” I said.
Rule shrugged, “Nobody would ever think to look here.”
“Have you ever opened it?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know what’s inside it?”
“Nope.”
“Who else has access to it?”
“Just me, far as I know. Dad said that, in case something ever happened, he wanted me to be able to get inside it.”
“Why would he say it like that?”
“I just took it as, you know, in case something ever happened naturally. I assumed that he just keeps his insurance information and maybe bank stuff in there.”
I looked around the shower again. “I don’t know, Rule, this seems like your dad was going out of his way to hide this thing. Most people put a safe in the closet or under their bed or in the attic. Not built into their showers.”
“He was security-conscious.”
“Guess so,” I said.
We became quiet for a moment. “Well, ready to see what’s in there?” Rule said.
“Yeah, let’s take a look.”
Rule grabbed the soap and shampoo bottle and placed them on the floor. He then reached in for the lever and pulled it back and then turned it upright. There was a click, and then Rule pulled back the safe, which was long and rectangular and about the size of a safety deposit box. On top of the box, near its front, was the fingerprint recognition button. Rule placed his thumb on the button, and then another click caused the top to unlatch.
He slowly opened the top. I felt butterflies in my stomach as I stood there anticipating what was inside. Could there be a tape? And if so, what was on it? I gulped hard as Rule opened the top. Inside the safe there wasn’t a videotape, but something else that caused this mystery to become even thicker.
“Passports?” I said.
Forty-four
We were back in the kitchen with the passports spread across a round wooden table. In all, there were seven passports—each with a different name but all maintaining the same face. Rule sat across from me, looking inquisitively at one of the passports.
“What does this mean?” Rule asked.
I wasn’t sure. Dennis Rule had seven different passports, and none with his name. All seven passports showed a younger image of Dennis from about fifteen years ago.
“Do you think my dad was some kind of a con artist?”
“No. Not your dad. He wasn’t like that.”
“Then why would he have all of these fake passports?”
“I’m just as stumped as you are, but we both know that your dad was a good man.”
I doubt my kind words helped Rule’s confusion at this time. Truth was, I’d immediately thought con artist too when I first saw the passports.
“Donald Brown,” Rule said as he tossed the passport back on the table. He grabbed another one and looked at the name. “James Sterling.” He tossed that one and grabbed another one. “David Kellner.” He repeated the process with the rest of them. “Eric Wright, Thomas Johnson, Stephen Williams, and Theodore Ripper.”
We were both quiet for a spell. I didn’t know what to say, and I assumed the same with Rule. After another minute, I stood up and paced the floor. I liked to do that when I was thinking. I don’t know why. Maybe it was being in motion instead of being stagnant that helped my mind in situations like this. Sometimes when I was alone, I paced back and forth while throwing punches in the air like I was a boxer preparing for a fight. The adrenaline helped get the thoughts flowing.
“So,” I said, “let’s look at what we know instead of what we don’t.”
Rule turned toward me and gave his attention.
“At some time the night before last, someone was in this house and killed your family. Witnesses saw a white Lexus in the driveway. At some other point, someone broke into your apartment and killed your friend.”
“Presumably looking for me.”
“We can presume, but now we’re just looking at the facts.”
Rule nodded in agreement.
“I was sucker punched when I went to your apartment and then followed by someone in a black Lincoln Navigator.”
I continued pacing back and forth.
“The driver of the black Lincoln, when pulled over, shot two cops and then was killed by an
unknown assailant. The man had cigarettes in the Lincoln from a popular Russian cigarette brand.”
“Then,” Rule said chiming in, “two men who we know have ties to the Russian Mafia were killed in front of your house.”
“Right. And then, while checking the bodies, we spot a white Lexus that runs from us once the driver knows we’ve seen him. Then, while you and the driver—who we know as Viktor Borovsky—fight, he asks you about a videotape.”
“I’d love to get my hands on that guy again,” Rule said.
“Well, we know that won’t be happening.”
I continued pacing back and forth.
“We know that Viktor has ties to the same Russian Mafia, and that he and three other men were seen on airport security entering the country together.”
“Then,” Rule interjected, “Betsy Miller gets killed by someone who looks like the Terminator.”
I nodded. “And finally, we find out your dad has seven different passports with seven different names.”
“Hidden in his safe, mind you,” Rule said.
“Right.”
“So, Detective, what does all of this mean?”
I stopped pacing and looked at Rule. “Russian Mafia, fake passports, an unknown videotape, and an entire family murdered; honestly, Rule, I think we’re in some deep shit.”
Rule nodded as if he’d known I was going to say that.
“Wasn’t there a time when your dad traveled a lot?”
“Yeah. Sometimes he had to go to clients’ sites and look at their business facilities in person.”
“Based on what we know so far, what if his travels weren’t for the firm? Maybe he was traveling for some other reason?”
“I don’t like where this is going, Jacob.”
“Neither do I, but we’ve got to look at this from all angles.”
Rule looked toward the passports and stared at them for a moment before letting out a loud sigh.
“How long has your dad been in business for himself?” I asked.
“Twenty-two years.”
“And before that?”
“He worked for a couple of brokerage firms, you know, gaining experience.”
“Was your dad ever in the military?”
Rule’s brows frowned, “Military? Why would you ask that? No, he’s never been in the military.”
I stopped pacing and sat in the seat across from Rule.
“Don’t you think it’s a little odd that someone who’s a business man with no military or security experience would build a safe in the oddest place in the house? Or have security cameras in the front of the house?”
“I’ll give you the safe, but plenty of people have security cameras in front of their houses.”
“Yes, but not everyone has fake passports hidden in an ultra-secretive safe.”
Now Rule stood up and paced back and forth. After a few seconds, he turned to me with his arms spread wide, “So what are we saying, Jacob, that my father has been hiding something? That he wasn’t who he said he was?”
“I don’t want to go that far, but I think we need to think outside of the box. Why would Russians be interested in you and your family?”
“I don’t know,” Rule said. Tension was starting to form in his voice.
I stood up and delicately said, “Rule, the way your father was killed, I believe he was the target. Not your mother and sisters.”
Rule’s eyes started to tear up.
“We need to search his past. Everywhere he went. Everyone he knew. See if we can find some kind of link to these Russians.”
Rule nodded and wiped his eyes.
“I’ll call my friend Jadyn over at the FBI. Maybe she can help with the passports.”
Rule nodded again.
I patted him on the shoulder and then took out my cell phone and dialed Jadyn’s number.
Forty-five
Crystal Winters had just finished closing a major deal she’d been working on for the past four months. One of the partners of her law firm let her lead the team that landed the deal to bring in one of the largest medical supplies manufacturers in the country as a client. The deal meant that the law firm handled all legal issues for the company, which would bring millions in attorney’s fees. Crystal was assured that if she landed the deal, she’d be on the fast track to making junior partner within two years. But while Crystal was in the midst of making the final negotiations, the only thing she could think about was that she hadn’t heard from her best friend, Andrea Kimbrel, in two days.
Andrea was excited because a man she’d been seeing over the Internet had finally come to the country. Crystal wasn’t much into Internet dating, but she understood that busy professionals like herself and Andrea oftentimes didn’t get out enough to meet men at the social scenes.
Crystal tried calling Andrea’s cell phone and house phone, but no one answered. She’d met the man that Andrea had been seeing the first day he arrived. He was bigger in person than he looked from his online profile. His name was Peter, from Russia. Both Crystal and Andrea thought Peter was an odd name for a Russian, but Peter told them that his parents were fond of the American culture and wanted him to be as American as possible. He and Andrea had similar values and were both coming off of bad relationships. He told Andrea that he finally wanted to settle down with the right woman since he was now in his mid-thirties.
It was lunchtime, and the deal ended earlier than expected, so Crystal headed out. She only worked six blocks away from her apartment community, the same apartment community where Andrea lived, so she figured she could go home and grab a quick bite and then also check up on Andrea. Andrea owned her own home-based Internet business selling nutritional supplements, so she was lucky enough to work from home. Crystal slipped off the high heels that made her closer to six feet tall than her five-nine frame, and put on walking shoes. Her long legs allowed her to cover ground rather quickly. The brisk walk up Connecticut Avenue took her fifteen minutes.
When she was close to her block, she noticed police cars had the entrance to her road blocked off. She’d been living there for two and a half years, and she’d never seen police cars even drive through her neighborhood. Suddenly, she thought of Andrea and the fact that she hadn’t answered her phone. Crystal had been so busy preparing for the proposal that she hadn’t gotten home until close to midnight for the past few days. Could this be about Andrea?
Her heart suddenly dropped to the pit of her stomach. Her legs felt shaky as she made her way to one of the officers standing near his squad car.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I live on this block. What happened?”
“There’s been a shooting.”
Crystal’s eyes went wide.
“Oh, God. Do you know where?”
The officer pointed to the first apartment building in front of them.
“Oh,” she let out a breath that calmed her nerves a little. It wasn’t Andrea’s building, she thought.
“Did the person . . . you know . . . die?”
“Afraid so, ma’am.”
She looked toward the building and then down the block to her building.
“Can I go home?” she asked.
The officer nodded. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. We’re still looking for the person who did this.”
“I will.”
“One of the detectives gave a description as a big guy with dark hair, resembling the Terminator.”
“Terminator?”
“That’s what he says.”
Crystal shrugged her shoulders as kind of an “oh well” gesture, then turned toward her building. She started walking but then suddenly stopped when the Terminator image settled into her brain. Andrea’s friend, Peter, was a big guy who, if put in the right kind of clothing, could look like the Terminator.
Crystal slowly turned around toward the officer, and her face must have looked ashen and confused because the officer said to her, “Ma’am, you okay?”
“Terminator?” she said again.
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The officer moved closer to her. “Yeah. Something you wanna tell me?”
Crystal’s eyes shifted to the officer, and then she turned her head and looked toward her building.
“I don’t know,” she said in a confused voice.
“Have you seen a man fitting that description?”
She hesitated and then finally said, “No, I don’t think so. It’s not every day that you see a Terminator walking the block.”
She turned and started walking fast toward her building. Her long legs allowed her to take big strides toward her apartment, which was good for her; however, she didn’t hear that the officer pulled on his radio and told one of the other officers to keep an eye out for her.
Forty-six
Alexey Gavronskii continued to look out the window. Police cars had started to dwindle, but there were still enough around that he knew would keep him in the apartment for the rest of the day. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cell phone, and dialed a familiar number. The phone rang three times like it usually did. If it rang a fourth, he knew to hang up because that meant his resources were up and he was left on his own.
“Hello,” a voice spoke in Russian.
“It’s Alexey,” he spoke back in Russian.
There was a pause and then another voice came on the line, a deeper and older voice. “Alexey, what have you found out?”
“She is dead. The detective and the son saw me.”
“What does this mean?”
“Nothing.”
Alexey continued looking out the window when he saw Andrea’s friend walking up the sidewalk.
“Alexey, bring the Rule son to me.”
Alexey momentarily looked away from the window, pulled the phone away from his ear, and looked at it.
“Bring him to you?” he said, putting the phone back to his ear.
“Bring him to me.”
Alexey wanted to ask why but knew that was forbidden. His eyes returned to the woman walking up the block. He watched as she pulled out a phone from her purse and hit a button.
The Game of Life or Death: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 3) Page 10
