"Damn it." Banks swung out of his car and jogged over to the ambulance. He slowed down when Brown climbed out the back. "How's he--?" But the detective was already on the move, detouring around a clump of rescue workers toward Ellison's truck.
Banks paused, torn between following Brown to find out Ellison's condition, or going to see Sandburg. He shook his head in frustration and approached the ambulance's open back door.
Sandburg was sitting on the edge of the bench, the attendant applying a butterfly bandage to his forehead. He looked a little dazed, his cheek was bruised, his black turtleneck sweater had one arm ripped and there was a wide bandage on his upper arm.
"Hey, kid," Banks said softly. "How you doing?"
Sandburg slowly tracked to the new voice, his movements suggesting a concussion, at least. "Hi, Simon. Been better, I guess." The ambulance attendant tilted Sandburg's face back to him and continued working.
"Hey," Banks called, watching Sandburg's eyes flicker. "How's Jim?"
The young man shook his head, then closed his eyes as dizziness hit. "Don't know."
"I'll go see. Stay here, okay?"
"Stay in the truck. Got it." The confused eyes closed. "Simon? Where's Jim?"
"I'll find out." Banks headed over to the damaged Ford. It had been set upright by the fire crew apparently, a camera somewhere taking additional photos, while crew scurried around. The ambulance attendant was crouched down looking under the truck, but no one seemed to be in a rush to do anything. This did not bode well.
Rafe stood to one side, one hand over his eyes. As Banks approached, Rafe shook his head slowly, then turned and walked back toward the ambulance. "I'll tell the kid, Captain."
Banks grabbed his good arm as he passed. "Detective, thanks, but I'll handle it."
Rafe looked tired, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked back at the truck. "Sure. I'll see if there's anything I can do with the forensics specialist. They might need help."
"Let me know what their initial findings are. Anything to explain this."
"Yes, sir."
Banks watched his young detective walk away, then turned to Brown, who was crouched down beside the blue and white Ford, talking to someone who was partly under the truck.
Brown looked up as he approached. "Did you tell him, sir? Hairboy?"
"Not yet. I had to see for myself, first."
"I understand, sir." Brown looked back to the man under the truck. "So, what do the brakes look like?"
A camera flashed under the truck, followed by a muffled curse.
Brown tried to see what was happening. "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah." Jim Ellison slid out from under the truck. "Chuck didn't warn me he was taking the picture."
Banks froze halfway down to a crouch. "Jim?" he exclaimed, his voice breaking like Daryl's had not so long ago.
"Oh, hi, Simon. You should see this. The brakes have been tampered with." Ellison was blinking still from the camera flash, but he appeared to be fine, otherwise.
Banks closed his mouth once he realized it was hanging open in shock. "Jim? I thought you were dead," the captain growled, ignoring Brown's startled look.
"Not this time, sir, but my brakes were tampered with. Damn it," Ellison said, lying on his back but fiddling with a wrench in his hands.
"Are you okay? Any injuries?" Simon watched carefully, still alert, as he noticed his detective didn't get up right away.
"What? Oh, no, not really. We were both lucky. The truck went on its side, slowing it down, so by the time we hit the post, it was only going about 20 miles per hour." Ellison paused for a moment, his head tilted, obviously listening to his partner. "Blair got it a little worse than me, but nothing they're going to keep him for."
Banks sank all the way to the ground, his adrenaline used up. "So who did it? Who knew you were there?"
"I'm assuming Timothy, the butler wrote the note. And Emily Rothschild was at the house when we left. She didn't look like she was dressed for a charity event."
"How do you suggest we handle this? We've got no proof either was involved."
"But there is evidence in Rothschild's private office that she was at least aware of all the murders, even if there's no proof she did them."
"We need a warrant to check it, though. Your search was basically illegal, Jim. It wouldn't hold up in court."
"I know that." Ellison carefully got to his feet, stretching stiffening muscles. He took a few steps, then stopped, leaning against a black and white patrol car. "I have an idea, sir. Hear me out."
Banks nodded, still feeling a little shaky himself. "What do you have?"
"Emily Rothschild was trying to kill me tonight. I was one of her targets. So how about we let her think she succeeded and I'm either dead, or almost there. We'll set something up at the hospital, which leaves us free to investigate."
As Jim was speaking, a stretcher pulled up beside them. Banks glanced at it, then back to his detective.
"Captain, we're going to do a show for whoever is watching, letting them see me collapse suddenly and be taken away in the ambulance."
Ellison looked over to the ambulance, where Sandburg was being assisted out of the back. While his guide stumbled towards him, Ellison turned back to Banks, his eyes blazing. "I'm going to get her for this."
* * * * *
Rothschild Estate
Monday, 3:15 pm
"Blair, my dear boy, what happened to you?" Emily Rothschild drew the rather battered young man into her arms.
"Jim's been in an accident, Emily. It was awful. They don't know if he's going to make it." The tears didn't take much coaxing. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open.
"What happened?"
"We came here last night to check out your security system. Jim had an idea about-- Well, that doesn't matter. When we headed home, the truck went out of control, and we hit a light post. Jim's in intensive care. I was there all night, but I just had to get out of the hospital for a while. They said he wouldn't be waking up for a few more hours at least. Maybe never."
She was looking at him with so much compassion that Blair had to remind himself again that this woman had probably killed ten men and had attempted to kill one more. He clutched his backpack that held his cell phone.
"You have to believe he'll survive, dear."
He sighed dramatically. "I know. I didn't know where else to go, so I thought I'd come here and look at the statue. At least do something constructive, right?"
"Does anyone know you're here?"
"Yes, Captain Banks knows. I called him on my cell phone when I got here. I promised I'd only be a few minutes, then I'd drive back to the hospital. I just had to get away for a while."
"Let me get you some tea, then you can go down and look at the statue. I'm so sorry to hear about your friend."
* * * * *
Cascade PD
Monday, 4:00 pm
At the station, Ellison, Banks, Rafe, and Brown were still going over the names when Connor entered the office to hand her own case information to Banks.
"How's Sandy?" she asked quietly.
Ellison looked up. "He's okay. A little banged up."
"Where is he?"
He pushed down his irritation at her innocent question, but it still made him feel on the defensive, as though she felt he wasn't taking good care of his partner. Trouble was, there was a whole lot about Sandburg's whereabouts that he didn't agree with. "He's at Rothschild's. Sandburg's foolish idea -- which may I say I've gone on record saying I hate -- is that he needs to keep an eye on our hostess."
Banks looked up, frowning. "Come on, Jim. We've gone over this. It was a valid proposal. He's the best one to monitor her. He can drop the idea that you're not dead yet, and we'll see what she does. He phoned when he got there. She knows that I know where he is. She won't do anything."
"She's crazy," he retorted, trying to keep his temper, at least, under control.
"If she's killed a few times, why won't she kill
him?" Connor asked.
Banks glared at her. "Because serial killers like her only kill for some master plan of theirs. If she's not threatened in any way, she won't feel the need to kill again. Sandburg says she's got the whole rhyme now, so he's not in any danger. I'll be calling him in a few minutes, to check up on him. We've got code words set up."
Connor persisted. "What if she just puts a gun to his head and shoots him? How are you going to stop her from here? He's not armed, is he?"
Banks glanced quickly to over to Ellison who was rubbing his forehead. "Might I remind you both that this is Sandburg's decision? He feels he's safe, and I agreed with his reasoning. He has his cell phone in his backpack, which he promised to keep on him at all times. His purpose in going in is to let Rothschild know that Jim is still alive, which we hope will spur her to go to the hospital and finish him off. Regardless, Sandburg's going to be leaving there in," he glanced at his watch, "another ten minutes. We gave him one hour, no longer." Banks glared back at Connor. "End of subject."
Connor stared down at the new arrangement of photos, as the men continued to document their discovery. "Who are they?" she asked, pointing to two of the new photos.
"Two more deaths we've confirmed with our Black Widow. Bill O'Brien was a captain of a yacht found murdered in his stateroom. Rothschild was one of fifty people aboard that night. Happened about five years ago."
"And this other bloke?"
"Our 'Tinker'. Samuel Fedora was an artist, a metal sculptor. He died of acute alcohol poisoning ten years ago. She was one of his sponsors."
Connor walked around the table murmuring the rhyme and pointing to each picture in turn: "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Richman, Poorman, Beggerman, Thief."
"What kind of song is that, anyway?" Banks asked, irritated. "I've always thought it was just the titles of some mystery novels by Le Carre."
Connor shook her head. "It's a skipping rhyme called 'Who will I marry?' You come to the end of the first part of the song, then jump though the names until you trip up. Whoever you land on, is supposed to be the one you marry. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Richman, Poorman, Beggerman, Thief, Doctor, Lawyer.." Her voice trailed off as she looked at the last picture. "Who's this?"
"That's her first husband. He was a quarter Native American, so we figure he's the 'Indian Chief'."
"That's not how it goes. There's no Indian Chief in the rhyme."
Simon Banks didn't bother looking up. "Sandburg says it ends with 'Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief. We've got them all, Connor."
She persisted. "I haven't heard that version."
Jim Ellison slowly straightened, fighting off a wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with the bump on his head. "There's another version?" he asked her, his voice low.
"I guess. It says here her first husband was a store owner. That would make him a merchant, right?"
"And?"
"The rhyme I know ends with 'Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief. She might still be looking for someone."
Ellison's heart started beating faster. He knew this had been too easy. "She was asking about Native American furniture on Saturday night, then at the end of the meal told Sandburg not to bother."
"She could have been fishing for some links to Indian Chiefs," Banks said.
"There's another explanation for why she changed her mind." Ellison could feel the blood draining from his face, his skin feeling cold and clammy. "Simon, she thought my nickname for Sandburg was interesting. She asked me about it." The detective grabbed his jacket. "I called him, 'Chief', Simon. We've got to get him out of there now." Ellison took off running, Banks and the others racing after him.
"My car, Jim. She knows your truck," Banks yelled as they cleared the stairway and entered the garage.
Ellison turned mid-stride and headed for the captain's car. Once inside, he pulled out his cellphone and tried to call his partner, but the phone rang unanswered.
"Damn it, Sandburg. Pick up. Pick up."
* * * * *
Rothschild Estate
Monday, 4:30 pm
Sandburg rummaged through his backpack, trying to find the phone. It was in there somewhere, the ringing getting louder and louder. Finally, he got his hand around it, blinking when he saw the incoming call was from Jim. "Hello?"
"It's Jim. Don't respond to this question, but I need to know if Emily is there."
That didn't sound promising. "Oh, thanks for calling, Captain. Any news on Jim?" Blair smiled at Emily, crossing his fingers as though for good luck.
"I take it she's with you?" Ellison asked.
"No, I'm not alone. Thanks for asking. Emily is still with me, keeping me company. I'm still a little freaked out by the accident." He reached out and took her hand, and she squeezed it reassuringly. "I'm leaving soon, though."
"Okay. Listen carefully, Ch-- Blair. You need to stay calm, but we think that you're probably the next one on her list. "
That was so not what he wanted to hear. Blair tried not to look over at her again, but the room was starting to spin. He glanced down at his cup of tea, resting on the edge of the service tray. "Uh, maybe you better come and get me, Simon. I want -- I want to go see Jim now, okay? Please come and get me."
Jim said something, but he couldn't hear it. Instead Blair's head leaned toward the floor, somehow drawing his body with it. He was dimly aware of Emily Rothschild taking the phone from his clenching fingers as he slowly crumbled to the plush carpeting.
"You just relax, dear. We'll fix this mess up," she purred at him.
* * * * *
Cascade North Highway
Monday, 4:35 pm
In Banks' car, Ellison heard Rothschild's voice and quickly handed the phone to Simon.
"Hello?" Banks said loudly. "Sandburg, are you there? Hello, who is this?"
"It's Emily Rothschild. To whom am I speaking?"
"Simon Banks. I'm the captain of Major Crimes and Blair Sandburg's department head."
"Oh, Dr Sandburg just ran out the door, heading to his car. He seemed very upset about something. Is Detective Ellison okay?"
"Uh, he seems a bit better. They think he'll make it." Banks glanced over to Ellison and shrugged.
"Blair seemed upset, though. Extremely upset."
"I didn't have a chance to tell Sandburg that Jim was better. I had started to say that there was a change in Jim's prognosis when he interrupted and said he wanted to go the hospital. I'm concerned that he fears the worst."
"That would explain it. He seemed so distraught. I hope he doesn't do anything rash. He called out to me as he left saying he'd meet you at the hospital. He had to do something first."
"Do what?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't ask him. He didn't seem to be thinking very clearly."
"Do you think I should meet him at the hospital, then? How upset did he seem when he left?"
"Quite. He even left his backpack here, as well as his cell phone. I'm sorry, Captain Banks, I'm going to go to my car and see if I can find him. I'll get right back to you. I might be able to catch him. Just stay where you are and I'll call you. Is this number your office phone?"
"Yes," Simon lied. "He's gone already, you said?"
"Ran out of here in a panic. I''ll see if I can find him. I've got a meeting at seven that I have to be at, but that still gives me some time to look for him. I'll call you."
Banks heard the phone disconnect. "Damn. I was hoping to keep her on the line awhile longer."
"Sandburg was still there. I could hear his heartbeat. It was all wrong though. She's drugged him or something." Ellison hit the dash, frustrated as the car zoomed along the windy coastal highway.
"How long will it take to reach the estate?"
"Another twenty minutes." Ellison stared straight ahead, his jaw twitching. "She's going to kill him."
* * * * *
Rothschild Estate
Monday, 4:40 pm
Emily Rothschild disconnected the call and looked down to Sandburg, lying in a heap a
t her feat, his eyes wide open.
She smiled at him, running a hand along his cheek. "I'll just deal with you, then I've got an errand to run. I'm sorry you've taken all this so hard, my dear. Your friend's death and all. He will die. He's part of the overall plan."
Yeah, you crazy bitch. But my plan is that Jim gets here on time. He knows I haven't left. Blair tried to move, but whatever she had drugged him with was powerful.
With a strength born of madness, she hoisted him to her shoulder and walked from the room. He could see his phone lying on the carpet next to his backpack.
He tried to move but his limbs seemed to be ignoring him. Blair, from his upside down perch, noticed the butler following them down the hall. Maybe the butler would do something. Help him. He tried to call out, but his mouth wasn't working either. He wished now he hadn't refuse to wear the wire. At least they could be listening to him.
Timothy quickened his pace when he saw Sandburg's predicament, and his hopes soared. "Madam?" the butler asked.
"The door, please, Timothy."
"Certainly, Madam. Will you be needing the car?"
Sandburg's hopes were dashed. The butler was in on it. Just as crazy as she was.
"Yes, Timothy. Please follow me in the limo -- no, the Rolls. I have a meeting of the Board of Directors of the Cascade Public Library at 7:00 tonight. The Rolls is much more appropriate than the limo, don't you think? Would you get the gray garment bag from my room and bring it to the Rolls? We'll need to make a few stops on route, and I don't want to get my clothes mussed."
"I'll be with you shortly." Timothy took a few steps, then stopped. "I almost forgot, Madam." He reached into a deep pocket and handed her a pair of leather gloves. "You'll be needing these, I suspect."
"Quite right. Thank you, Timothy." Emily shifted her deadweight and walked outside.
It was beginning to rain again, big cold drops that pelted Blair through his thin jeans and shirt. There was a sudden movement and he opened his eyes to find himself on the grass alongside his Volvo.
"The beach, I think. Where they found Eugene." Emily put on her gloves, then opened the door to the Volvo and hoisted Sandburg into the passenger side. "There's no one around there at this time of day. It won't take us long." She went around and got in the driver's door, pausing to roll down the window and talk to Timothy as he exited the mansion with her garment bag. "Is the wig in the back of the Rolls?"
Black Widow Page 6
