I'll Kill Her for You

by Steve Richer

  What she had witnessed instead was a bomb exploding, killing John.

  Instinctively, she looked around until she spotted Lawson. He was on the ground, baffled but seemingly unhurt. Good, that was her mission. She had been hired to keep him safe and he was. Now it was time for her secondary mission: to stop whoever was after him.

  She shook away the confusion and did her best to get back into the game. The person they were dealing with was sadistic. That meant he would want to stick around, to see how much the pain he inflicted on Lawson was effective.

  He had to be close by.

  She came around the corner of the housing project shielding her and started scanning the area. This was New York City, there could be millions of places for the person to hide and observe. But this was personal somehow. They would be within walking distance.

  She opened her coat and drew her Glock although she let it hang by her leg so she wouldn’t be too conspicuous. She jogged toward the park, her head on a swivel. Where was the killer?

  He would need to be high enough to see the scene, to make sure John and Lawson were in correct positions. He would also need to be just far enough to avoid getting hit by the blast.

  She came racing around the corner of 139th and stopped near the fiery wreck. She felt guilty about the heat being soothing. She looked up and saw movement on the fourth floor fire escape. A man up there was crouching.

  Logic told her that this could be just some random guy out for a smoke. Or maybe he was trying to get away from shrieking kids, celebrating Christmas in his own screwed up way. That said, that wasn’t it and she knew it.

  Someone hanging out on the fire escape randomly would have stood up after the explosion, panic seizing them. At best, they would’ve been filming the scene to put it on YouTube. But that’s not what he was doing. He was too calm, too serene. The explosion had been expected.

  This had to be the killer.

  Not even pausing to look at her employer again, she ran to the building and went inside. She was assaulted by the smell of urine and marijuana and it only spiked her adrenaline. She headed for the stairs and climbed up the steps two by two.

  “Move, please!” she shouted at a couple of teenagers playing handheld video games up ahead.

  Where was she now, second floor? Third? She gripped her gun tighter and hoped the tenants wouldn’t think she was after them. She reached a landing and down the hall she saw someone coming toward her. He was tall and had a stylish brown bomber jacket. It was him, it was the guy from the balcony.

  “Stop right there!” Bailey said, lifting her weapon.

  The man didn’t even blink. He drew a pistol of his own and squeezed off two rounds.

  “Ah…” she growled, taking cover behind the corner.

  There was another shot but it was just a way for him to cover his retreat. She had to retaliate. She peeked around the wall, raising her Glock but hoping not having to fire with all the civilians around. The guy was running away. Shit.

  She took off after him, no longer feeling her fatigue or nerves or even the headache she’d had since waking up this morning.

  “Stop now!”

  The man pointed his gun behind and fired without even aiming properly. The shot went wide but it made Bailey fire back impulsively. Her bullet flew over his head, taking off a chunk of cinderblock near the ceiling.

  The guy kept running until he found another staircase and she was hot on his heels. She started to struggle for breath but she pushed on. She had to.

  Her mind wandered to her first month in the Secret Service. She had been assigned to help investigate a counterfeiting ring. She had been so junior, so low on the totem pole that she didn’t do much more than bring coffee to the other agents and cross reference phone numbers in the surveillance log.

  But because she had been part of the case, she was allowed to tag along when it was time to make the arrest. Contrary to what is portrayed in popular culture, most arrests go without a hitch and that went double for counterfeiters. They were often more artists than criminals. No one had been expecting automatic weapons and pipe bombs.

  During the takedown at the man’s house in rural Virginia, two agents were shot in the arms and legs. Nobody had thought to involve a SWAT team. Just like that, Bailey was forced into action. She no longer had to stay in the car. She had to help bring down this perp.

  The pipe bombs were used for diversion and somehow she figured that out when none of the other agents did. The suspect was trying to make a run for it. So she rounded the house, traipsing through tall grass, and the guy had been genuinely surprised when she’d gotten the drop on him.

  Nobody had died that day because of her quick thinking. This had played in her favor when she had later requested a transfer to a protection detail. She had never served coffee again after that day.

  But now, running down the broken steps of this housing project, she couldn’t help thinking that bringing coffee would be a lot more fun on this Christmas Day. The guy was faster than she was and he had to know where he was going. She wasn’t sure if she was going to reach him. And if not, could she shoot him?

  There was a loud bang as a metal emergency door was pushed open. She saw the staircase become brighter up ahead around the corner. She tightened her grip on the pistol and held her breath as she made the last turn.

  The door was just closing. Was it a trap? The killer could very well be waiting for her on the other side, ready to shoot her in the head the moment she came out of the building. But she had to continue otherwise she risked losing her only lead.

  Carefully, she pressed the panic bar with her hips, rolled out, and did a sweeping motion – right to left – to head off any attack. There wasn’t any. She was in an alleyway and she saw the man in the bomber jacket running toward the street.

  “Stop!” she screamed.

  It was useless because she had no intention of discharging her weapon out here in public. She took off after him, her strength depleting faster than she wanted.

  The man turned to the left. What was that, West 138th Street? She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore. But she knew what she heard. A car was speeding up, the engine revving and getting louder.

  She finally left the snow-covered alley and reached the sidewalk. Farther down on her left, an old red car came to a halt. Her suspect got into the passenger side, never looking back at her, most likely so he wouldn’t show his face.

  Oh Jesus, she thought. They weren’t dealing with just one lunatic. They were some sort of organized team.

  Bailey tried to take a look at the license plate but she was too tired, her vision becoming blurry. She only saw that it was a New York plate. But she did see something else.

  Before getting into the car, he put his gun into his pocket. As he did so, something tumbled out. She had no idea what it was but the guy didn’t notice as the car took off. Could it be a fresh lead?

  Chapter 26

  “Get your hands up, sir!”

  It wasn’t much of a surprise when the two NYPD officers aimed their firearms at Lawson. He was expecting it. More troubling was that the two young cops were confused and didn’t quite know how to act which could very well end up in tragedy.

  Police cars had begun arriving within minutes of the bomb exploding. As far as everyone was concerned, this was another 9/11. Lawson’s first thoughts were on getting paramedics to help John but even from twenty yards away he could see the burning corpse inside what was left of the car.

  Lawson was devastated. His best friend was dead and ultimately it was because of him. Selfishly, he wondered how he would be able to cope with this. Best friends don’t come around every day. What had seemingly started as a prank he hadn’t taken seriously was now public homicide.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he said without much conviction. “I’m just an innocent bystander.”

  But he knew this was futile. It was also why he hadn’t run away after the explosion. Conceivably, he could have taken off but that woul
d have looked even more suspicious. Besides, the park was surrounded by buildings. Somebody was bound to have filmed the events.

  So he had decided to stay put and explain himself. John being killed changed things but he was still determined to tell the truth and have everything sorted out. He had noticed Bailey running around, presumably having seen who had done this. There was therefore a chance she could have evidence that would prove his innocence.

  Lawson wasn’t arrested at first. He was invited to sit in the back of the police car to wait for a detective and give his statement. But as soon as they punched his name into the computer, wheels began to spin in motion. He couldn’t hear the entire conversation but the situation was clear.

  Sure enough, he was driven south to the 19th precinct and marched into the same interrogation room. This time there was no pretense that he was only here for a statement. It became obvious when they cuffed him to the table.

  Detective Carolyn Munson felt bittersweet about all this. On the one hand, it was Christmas and she wanted to stay home, not disappoint her family by going to work. On the other hand, there was at last movement in this investigation which always gave her a thrill.

  And for once she hadn’t spilled any food on her shirt.

  “You need to be careful, Detective.”

  She was removing her coat at her desk when she heard a voice. She looked up and found Deputy Inspector McDiarmid coming toward her. Judging by his corduroys and Tommy Bahama shirt, he hadn’t expected to come to work today either.

  “Merry Christmas, Inspector.”

  He reached her desk and there was nothing merry about his face. “Are you acquainted with the situation?”

  “Just what I heard on the channel,” she said, putting her service pistol into her drawer. “There was a bomb, people called in a terrorist attack, but the respondings reported that the only witness was Lawson Winslow.”

  “That’s the gist of it. That boy is out of control.”

  “At first glance, sir, I believe you. But if he was involved in a bombing, wouldn’t he have left the scene?”

  “It’s hard to say what’s happening in these billionaires’ heads. Remember that DuPont heir, the Foxcatcher wrestling guy? Murderer. Or the wealthy antivirus software guy? Another goddamn murderer. Sometimes they lose their marbles, you know?”

  “They sure do.”

  The new voice belonged to Kwon who was crossing the bullpen toward them. Munson felt for him since he had a young daughter. His wife must have given him hell for leaving on Christmas Day.

  “We only have one chance to do this,” McDiarmid said, addressing both of them. “The Winslows are the richest people in the city. If we screw this up, we’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be the end of our careers, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We don’t have much evidence so we can’t let that backfire. Carolyn, this boy needs to confess. Do it by the book but make sure he confesses.”

  Lawson straightened up in his chair when the door opened and the two detectives came in. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Hello, Mr. Winslow,” the woman said. “Merry Christmas. It’s so unfortunate we have to meet on a day like today.”

  Kwon snorted. “What’s unfortunate is that he chose today to turn batshit crazy and blow up a car. Why did you kill your friend, Winslow?”

  “I’m innocent, I swear! Look, I’m gonna tell you everything.”

  “You are?”

  Detective Munson couldn’t hide how unexpected this was. She sat down across the table with her legal pad and case file while her partner remained standing, his hands on his hips.

  “I’m being blackmailed, okay? Somebody is trying to frame me. I know all the evidence is pointing at me but that’s how he planned it, okay? He wants to make me look guilty so I can be his puppet and do whatever he orders me to.”

  “You keep saying he. Who are we talking about?”

  “I don’t know,” Lawson said with a sad shrug. “I’ve been afraid, that’s why I didn’t tell you this sooner, but this shit is getting real. My best friend just got blown up in his car. It’s getting dangerous now and I think you should know the truth.”

  “You mean you want to keep lying to us?” Kwon said.

  “It started at the party, at my parents’ apartment. I got a text message as I got there. It was anonymous and the guy said something like who do you want me to kill for you? I thought it was a joke. Then I got other messages that night from the same guy, eventually telling me to check upstairs. That’s why I went to my old room. I saw the girl but I didn’t touch her, she was already dead.”

  “And those were text messages on your personal phone.”

  “Yes! Please check the phone records, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  Munson sighed as she opened her file. “We already checked your phone records, Mr. Winslow. For that entire day there are no text messages coming or going from your phone.”

  “What?! That’s impossible!”

  She patiently found a printout from the phone company and placed it in front of him. Lawson hurriedly scanned the left column and sure enough the date of the party was missing.

  The killer had thought of everything and Lawson felt the noose tighten around his neck.

  Chapter 27

  Munson was patient as she pointed out the absence of incriminating messages. “See?”

  “That can’t be. That fucker erased the records!”

  Kwon groaned. “So there is a mysterious killing wizard that can murder someone without leaving a trace, and on top of that they can hack into the phone company to erase the proof? Pretty convenient, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the truth! And the next day he had me go somewhere downtown, wanted me to smash a police car’s windows. He said if I didn’t do it the phone records would be revealed. I should have told you before but I was scared, okay? I’m being blackmailed.”

  “Right.”

  “Christ, it happened again today! Check my records for today. Like I said twenty times already, this guy called me, said I needed to grab a baseball bat taped under one of the park benches and hit my friend John with it. It’s after I refused that he went away and his car blew up. Check the goddamn records!”

  “Why are you doing all this, Mr. Winslow?” Munson said coolly. “Did you have a fight with Sue Parnell? Is that why you killed her?”

  “No! I didn’t kill her!”

  “And then John Tilley found out and you eliminated him too? Is that what happened?”

  Lawson threw his head back. He hadn’t been this close to tears in decades. “I didn’t do anything. Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Listen, if you tell the truth, if you confess to everything, then we can help you. I’ve seen this dozens of times in my career, Mr. Winslow. I’ve been doing this a long time and every time someone tells the truth, it makes everything easier for everyone. We can spare you and your family a public and shameful trial. We can make a deal. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I can’t confess to something I didn’t do.”

  He was screwed, Lawson thought. John had been his lawyer and now he was dead. There was no one to defend him. Desperate, he had called his father as soon as he’d been brought to the precinct several hours ago but all he’d gotten in return was noncommittal disappointment. That was so much like him, passive-aggressive to the core.

  Now he was out of options.

  “Just give us the truth, Mr. Winslow. Make it easy on yourself, please.”

  He wished he could. Hell, he was starting to wish he was actually guilty. Then he’d be able to admit everything and it would be over. But he was innocent!

  A sharp knock broke the silence and the door opened. A tired-looking officer was about to speak when a short, fat man in his fifties man entered. He was dressed in a flawless Brooks Brothers pinstripe suit.

  “Good afternoon, Merry Christmas. My name is Samuel Weibel and you are not to address my client without my pres
ence any longer.”

  “Your client?”

  “That’s correct,” the man said as he pulled a chair and sat next to Lawson. “My services have been retained and now it’s showtime.”

  The two detectives were awestruck. Even Lawson who didn’t keep up with current events knew who Samuel Weibel was. He happened to be the single most prominent criminal lawyer in New York. He defended the rich and the infamous on a regular basis and loved to be on camera.

  “My dad called you?” Lawson whispered into his ear, feeling sudden warmth at the fatherly gesture.

  “No but you owe a huge favor to Morris Jernigan because now he owes me big time. Christmas Day? Jesus Christ, kid.”

  “Your client was just about to confess,” Kwon said.

  “Eeeert, wrong answer! As far as I can tell, you guys have the square root of dick against my client. A girl was killed in his family’s place? Big deal. You have no proof, no witness, no motive, and oh, no murder weapon.”

  “What about John Tilley?” Munson began. “They’re picking up his pieces with a sponge in Harlem right now.”

  “And just because my client was in the vicinity he’s the perpetrator? You’re gonna have to do a little better than that, detectives.”

  “We could talk about Addie Burgess. Winslow was found kneeling over her dead body.”

  “Circumstantial. Listen, I get billed by the hour and usually I love dragging this out, it’s how I pay for my Bentley and my second wife’s new tits, but it’s Christmas and we all want to go home. Come on, kid. We’re getting out of here.”

  The door opened again and Lawson recognized Officer Boa entering, the cop who had taken his statement on the first night of this whole crazy adventure.

  “What is it?” Munson asked.

  “First of all, forensics reported that there was no baseball bats found under any of the benches in the park.”

  “Fuck,” Lawson whispered, the word coming out in the long hiss.

  “And…” the uniform said, distracted by the suspect.