Jack of Spades

by James Hankins

  “Well, I’m coming there to relieve you, make sure he doesn’t leave before my colleague shows up with the warrant. Then I’ll arrest him.”

  “Damn, I thought you said I might get a few nights’ work out of this.”

  “The word might also implies that you might not. Hang tight and don’t let that bastard sneak away. I’ll be there in fifty minutes. He even thinks about leaving his house, you call the local cops and tell them I told you to get them there and have them sit on Pendleton. Tell them he’s Galaxo. That’ll get their attention.”

  He closed his phone. When he’d hit the Massachusetts Pike a while back he’d cut his Crown Vic loose, so he was flying now, chewing up the Massachusetts miles. Half an hour later he checked in with Dunbar, who told him that, in a few minutes, he’d be ready to take the application to the judge on call for warrants. Four minutes went by and his phone rang again. Too soon for Dunbar to be calling back, but still, he said, “Gavin?”

  “It’s me, John. Olivia.”

  “Sorry, honey,” he said, forgetting again that he no longer had the right to use that pet name, “but I’m on a case right now. This isn’t a good time.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m on my way home from an evening showing, a real good property or I wouldn’t have agreed to show it at night. Anyway, David promised he’d wait for me at home tonight. I’m fed up with the way he’s been acting and I told him we were going to sit down tonight and talk about it.”

  “Did something else happen?”

  “Same things, but when I confronted him this morning he spoke to me in a way I just won’t tolerate anymore, not for even one more day. So I’m having a talk with him tonight and I thought you’d want to be there.”

  “You’re right, I do, Olivia. I just can’t. Not tonight.”

  “I understand. I really do. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t want to be here. I was just making sure you understood that I wasn’t excluding you. I simply don’t think this conversation can wait another day.”

  “I trust you. Do whatever you have to do. I’m behind you. Now, I have to go. Fill me in tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Six minutes later he pulled his car behind Artie Small’s. He got out, closed his door quietly, and knocked on Small’s passenger window. Small unlocked the car and Spader pulled open the door, noticing that the dome light didn’t turn on. He climbed inside and pulled the door shut quietly. Spader looked over at Small, who was wearing a pair of light earphones attached to a long-distance listening device that looked like a bullhorn, which he was pointing toward Pendleton’s house. Barry Manilow was singing “Weekend in New England” softly through the car’s speakers.

  “How can you listen to this stuff, Artie?” Spader asked.

  “Barry’s a genius. I can’t believe you can’t hear that. I can’t believe more people don’t get him.”

  “I sure as hell hope you can hear what’s going on in that house while you’ve got music on here in the car.”

  Small looked a little offended. “I’m a pro, John. I can hear just fine.”

  “Where are they?”

  “TV room off the hall. No windows so I can’t see what they’re doing in there, but I can actually hear them pretty well.”

  Spader nodded. “So, anything happening in there?”

  “Pendleton’s mother got him a bowl of ice cream a little while ago. Vanilla with a cherry. No chocolate syrup, which sounded a little strange to me. Now they’re watching the Game Show Network, I think. Sounds like The Hollywood Squares back when Paul Lynde was always the center square. Wanna listen?”

  “Anything to block out the radio.” Manilow had moved on to “Copacabana.” Spader took the headphones from Small and slipped them on. He heard “…that pregnant women are more attractive after they’ve had a baby,” then Paul Lynde’s voice saying, “Right after?” Spader listened to a studio full of laughter at that one, laughter that occurred several decades ago. The sound quality wasn’t the best, but Spader could hear well enough.

  “Mom, there’s gotta be something else on.” It was Pendleton’s voice.

  His mother said, “After this, you can watch whatever you want for half an hour. Then it’s my turn again. Why do we have this conversation every night?”

  After a brief pause, Pendleton said, “Whatever. I’m gonna get some ice water. You want a glass?”

  “No thanks. Want me to get it for you?”

  Immediately, Pendleton responded, “I can get it myself.”

  Spader saw a pair of binoculars on the seat between Small and him. He picked them up and trained them on the living room window. The lights were off in the room and Spader could see light, like from a television screen, flickering faintly in a doorway just down the hall. A moment later, a hunched form glided smoothly from the TV room, moving low. Pendleton in his wheelchair. He turned right, toward the back of the house, and Spader watched him wheel away toward the kitchen. Spader followed his movement until he disappeared from view. After a couple of minutes, Pendleton rolled back into sight, up the hall and back into the TV room.

  “I brought you a glass anyway,” he said.

  “You’re a good son.”

  Spader pulled the headphones from his ears and handed them to Small.

  “Exciting, huh?” Small asked. “Hey, I was thinking, John, if you ever decide to go private, get into my line of work, you could make a killing with that Jack of Spades thing. You know, once you clear this Galaxo thing and become a media darling again.”

  “Not you, too, Artie.”

  “No, really, think about it. Catchy name. You get your business card, put a little jack of spades up in the corner.”

  “I don’t think so.” Spader kept his eyes on the house.

  “No, wait, you actually use real playing cards! That’s it. You get a bunch of jacks of spades, put your name and number on them somewhere. It’s perfect. And you won’t even need to advertise. You’ll be all over the news again, a hero again. The timing would be perfect. You’ll make a mint. Hell, we could be partners.”

  Before Spader could respond, his cell phone vibrated. He looked at the caller ID. Dunbar. Must have finished the warrant application. He opened his phone.

  “Hey, Gavin. You done?”

  “Yeah, I’m done. I can read it to you, but first I gotta ask, when you looked at this picture Easterbrook’s daughter faxed us, it didn’t bother you?”

  “I didn’t look at it. Someone read me names off it. Why?”

  Dunbar sounded puzzled. “So you’re okay with Olivia being in this picture?”

  Cold fingers wrapped around Spader’s heart and began to squeeze. “Olivia?”

  “Yeah, she’s in the Camp Wiki-Wah-Nee picture, with Pendleton and all of Galaxo’s victims.”

  Oh, shit.

  “John? Hello? You still there?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  It could be a coincidence, but Spader knew it wasn’t.

  “Can you still hear me, John?” Dunbar asked.

  The cell phone shook in Spader’s hand. “I hear you, Gavin. Are you sure it’s her in the picture?”

  “Pretty sure. Her maiden name was Petrucci, right? She’s going by that again now, isn’t she?”

  Spader felt his breath catch in his throat. “Petrucci, yeah.”

  “Well she’s in this picture, then. It says ‘O. Petrucci’ underneath a face that looks a hell of a lot like a younger version of your wife’s. She looks to be about seventeen. I think she was a counselor. You didn’t know she worked at Camp Wiki-Wah-Nee?”

  “No,” Spader said. “She told me as a kid she went to Camp Wilderness or Wild Adventure or something like that, and I knew she was a counselor one summer. I just figured she worked at the same place she used to attend. Shit!”

  “Relax, John, there are a lot of other people in this picture. Galaxo can’t be going after all of them. He may not even have any idea who Olivia is anymore. She may have nothing to do with this.”


  He closed his eyes and images flashed through his mind. The picture from Olivia’s photo album, the one of her at camp as a kid. And Stanley Pendleton looking surprised when he first met Spader, which Spader had attributed to his face having been in the news relatively recently because of the Galaxo case or, a little less recently, the Eddie Rivers case. It seemed more likely now that Pendleton was surprised to see the husband of one of his future intended victims walk into his kitchen.

  “He knows her,” Spader said. “She’s on his list. I know it.”

  “John—”

  “I have to call Olivia. You get us that warrant. But know this—with or without a warrant, Pendleton’s going down tonight.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll get our warrant. You just sit tight until I do, make sure Pendleton doesn’t go anywhere.”

  Spader exhaled forcefully. “All right. Just hurry. I want this over with.”

  He ended the call and punched in Olivia’s home phone number. She’d said she was on her way there. Maybe she was home already. The phone rang five times and finally went to voice mail, which bothered him a little, though it probably shouldn’t have. It wasn’t really a big deal. She wasn’t in danger, not with Pendleton at home watching TV with his mother. Spader shouldn’t be worried. She probably just hadn’t arrived yet. He hung up and had just hit the speed dial button for her cell phone when it occurred to him, the reason he was disturbed. She’d said earlier that David would be waiting for her at home. If that was the case, he should have answered his call. He took a deep breath and waited as her cell phone rang. He tried to relax. Maybe David saw his cell number come up on caller ID and avoided his call, like he’d been doing since their altercation in Spader’s apartment the other day. Or he could have been in the bathroom, or had his stereo on too loud to hear the phone. There were a number of good reasons not to get too worried, chief among them the fact that Pendleton was inside his house right now. On the fourth ring, just before her voice mail would have answered his call, which would have driven him nuts, Olivia’s voice came on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Olivia, it’s me.”

  “John? I just got home this second. I’m walking in the front door right now. You going to be able to join us after all? I can wait for—David?” Her voice changed at the end there and Spader felt a cold, unpleasant tickle on the back of his neck. Then a sound carried over the line, an electrical sound, like a short circuit.

  “Olivia?”

  It sounded like the phone clattered onto the floor, followed by something much heavier hitting the hardwood. A moment later there was a fumbling on the line and he was disconnected.

  “What the hell?”

  Small looked over. “Everything okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Spader said as he hit the redial button. The phone rang several times until it was answered by her voice mail. “Shit!” He opened the car door and climbed out. “Call Gavin Dunbar at state police HQ, tell him to get some cops over to Olivia’s house right now. Staties, locals, anyone. If you don’t know the address, Gavin does. Olivia may be hurt. And I want cops here, too, right away. And tell Gavin I’m not waiting for a warrant.”

  He sprinted up the Pendletons’ driveway and bounded up the front steps. He wanted to get over to Olivia’s. Something was wrong. But Pendleton was here, so Spader was confused. He figured his best bet was to get cuffs on Pendleton now. The cops could go to Olivia’s and make sure everything was okay there. He pushed the doorbell three, four, five times. No answer. He tried again. No answer. He pounded on the door with his fist.

  “Open up. It’s the police.”

  Still no answer. His cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  “John, it’s Artie. There’s movement in the hall. Looks like the old lady is leaving the TV room.”

  Spader jammed the phone into his pocket and tried to turn the doorknob. It was locked. He reared his leg back and kicked at the spot to the left of the knob but the door was solid and it held. Finally, he pulled his gun from its holster, used the butt to break one of the small glass panes to the side of the door, and reached inside. He thumbed the deadbolt catch to the side, then turned the button on the end of the doorknob. He pulled his arm back out and opened the door. He went inside, gun drawn.

  “Nobody move. It’s the police.”

  He swept the foyer with his gun, then looked into the living room. No one there. He moved down the hall to the door to the TV room and peered around the corner. An empty wheelchair sat beside an empty couch. The TV was on. A tape recorder sat on an end table next to a woman’s brown wig and a document of some kind, a small stack of papers stapled together in the upper left-hand corner. It was folded open to a place about halfway through it. His eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings as he moved quickly to the recorder. He reached down, lowered the volume, pressed the play button, and listened as he kept his gun raised and ready.

  Pendleton’s voice came out of the tape recorder, as clear as if he were sitting right there in the room. “Mom, how about changing channels? This show’s putting me to sleep.” This was followed by a pause of six or eight seconds, then Pendleton’s voice came again. “Whatever you want. I don’t care.” Spader dropped his eyes to the document. It was a typed script. He read the words “WAIT TEN MINUTES, THEN PUSH PLAY,” then saw the word “Mom,” under which was typed, “Would you like to watch The Love Boat?” There was another pause on the tape, then Spader read Pendleton’s next line in the script while Pendleton’s voice on the recorder recited the same line. “Nah, keep this on. I like game shows.”

  Spader shut off the recorder. A snap-crack drifted in from the kitchen. He hurried out of the room, moving quietly, and approached the kitchen doorway. He quickly looked into the room, ready to pull his head back fast if he needed to. He didn’t. Louise Pendleton was standing at the sink. She was nearly bald, of course, her wig lying on the table in the living room. She ran the water and turned on the garbage disposal, which began to churn with a violent, crunching, cracking sound.

  “Show your hands,” Spader ordered.

  She shut off the garbage disposal, turned slowly, and looked Spader square in the eye. He looked quickly at her hands, checking them for weapons, but she was unarmed.

  “You may have damaged that tape, but you forgot the one in the recorder.” Spader said. “Is Stanley in the house?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I honestly don’t.”

  “But you know what he’s doing?”

  She hesitated, then said, “A little.”

  “And you don’t care? You don’t mind helping him?”

  She hesitated again, then said, “Not after what they all did to him, no.”

  He took out his handcuffs. She held out her wrists. He cuffed one, pulled her arm behind her back more gently than she deserved, and cuffed her other wrist.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where’s Stanley?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  He pushed her into a kitchen chair, his force a little more commensurate with her culpability this time, then leaned his face down close to hers. “If he’s after my wife, and if he’s hurt her, I’ll kill him. You understand me?”

  A man’s voice came from behind. “Everything okay?”

  Spader whirled, his gun raised. Artie Small stood in the doorway, his hands flying into the air.

  “Jesus,” Spader said.

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  Spader had to check out the rest of the house, make sure Pendleton wasn’t hiding somewhere. Or worse, getting ready to ambush them. But before Spader started his search, he had to try Olivia again. He dialed. When the phone rang for the fourth time, he was about to hang up when the call connected.

  “Olivia?” Spader said.

  “No,” came the voice over the line, the voice a mechanical, high-pitched, cartoon-alien
vibrato. It was a silly, comical voice. And that made it all the more terrible. It stopped Spader’s heart. “No, Detective Spader, it’s not Olivia. Seeing as you were on the line when I stunned her, you probably know that already.”

  “Pendleton, you sick fuck, if you hurt her, or my son, I’ll kill you. I swear to God.”

  “I’m sure you will. Probably wouldn’t shoot me in the shoulder or anything, right? You’re not the kind of man to make the same mistake twice, are you?”

  Spader blinked cold sweat from his eyes. “Pendleton, I’ve got your mother here. You hurt my family, I’ll kill her.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re too good a cop, too moral a man.”

  “You don’t want to test that theory.”

  “Besides, even if you did kill her, my mother’s told me many times that she’d die for me. Maybe it’s time she proved it.”

  “Pendleton,” Spader said, his voice almost a growl now, “don’t even think about—”

  Galaxo interrupted him, his creepy voice raking fingernails across the inside of Spader’s skull. “Wish I had time to let you say good-bye to your ex-wife,” he said, “and your son, of course, but you’ll have the police on their way here soon, if you don’t already, and I’ve got things to do before they arrive. You’ll just have to trust me to say good-bye for you.”

  “Pendleton!”

  The line went dead. Spader slapped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket. He looked at Pendleton’s mother. “Your son’s a dead man.” He turned to Small. “The cops on their way here and to Olivia’s?” Small nodded. “Okay, you wait here with her till they get here. Tell them you’re working with me. Make sure they don’t shoot you first.”

  “Good tip,” Small said. “What’re you gonna do?”

  Spader was already running for the door. Sirens were screaming not far away, getting closer by the second.

  “Whatever I have to,” he said as he flew out the door.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Spader punched the gas and screeched away from Pendleton’s house, leaving behind a good deal of tire rubber. He sailed through the neighborhood, blowing through two stop signs, then he was racing down Cabot Street. On the next street over, he knew, was the red-brick library where Pendleton read to little kids when the sick bastard wasn’t torturing people.