Last to die

by James Grippando

  Javier popped open a beer for himself, then took a seat on the opposite side of the counter. “So, what’s up?”

  “I’ve reconsidered Tatum’s offer.”

  He drank from the can, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What offer?”

  “Sally Fenning’s forty-six million.”

  “What about it?”

  He narrowed his eyes, ready to assess Javier’s reaction to his next line. “I’ve decided that I’m okay with a one-third cut.”

  “Yeah,” he said, scoffing. “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “So, you’re okay with it?”

  He took another drink, then belched. “Okay with what, dude?”

  “A three-way split instead of two-way?”

  He smiled quizzically. “You know something I don’t know?”

  Theo had come here feeling pretty confident about his bluff, but he was beginning to wonder if Javier really was his brother’s partner.

  “You playing dumb on me, Javier?”

  He chugged the rest of his beer and crushed the aluminum can in his fist. “Do I look like I’m playing dumb?”

  No, thought Theo, and that was the problem. He looked just plain dumb, and it was throwing a crimp into Jack’s plan. The whole idea had been for Theo to come here bluffing, trying to find out if Sally’s bodyguard was indeed Tatum’s partner. But if their theory was correct, Theo should have been making more headway with this blockhead.

  Unless he’s really playing it cool.

  The telephone rang. “Hold your thought,” said Javier. He pitched his empty can into the trash and started across the kitchen.

  Theo watched him reach for the phone, and he was suddenly uneasy about the way this plan of Jack’s was unfolding. What if Javier was just playing it cool? What if that was Tatum on the line, calling to tell him that Theo can’t be trusted-that Theo has to go?

  He took another quick and dirty look around the room, his pulse quickening as his gaze settled on the assortment of kitchen knives in the butcher block beside the stove.

  “Hello,” he heard Javier say into the telephone, and Theo wondered if the caller on the other end of the line was who he hoped it was, or who he feared it was.

  Fifty-eight

  The big question was what to do about Miguel Rios.

  Jack hadn’t been bluffing entirely in that final exchange in his office, when he’d warned Tatum that Sally’s ex-husband would be the first to know about Tatum’s apparent “two-way split” with a partner who was likely as dangerous as he was mysterious. Implicit in the threat, however, was the assumption that Jack would first have to come around to the view that breaching the attorney-client privilege was the ethical and proper thing to do. That, of course, was a huge assumption. The issue wasn’t whether his client (or former client, it didn’t make any difference) had killed in the past. Jack could never reveal that information, not even if he had a sworn confession, not without being disbarred. The question was whether Tatum was going to kill again in the future. Unless Theo hit a home run in his meeting with Javier, Jack wasn’t anywhere near close enough to establishing that his client was about to commit another murder and that the life of an innocent person was in imminent danger. Certainly he didn’t have the level of proof required for a criminal defense lawyer to take the extraordinary step of betraying his own client’s confidences.

  Still, morality played a role here. He at least wanted to meet with Miguel, if for no other reason than to make sure that one of Sally’s few remaining heirs had a healthy appreciation of just how much danger he was in.

  “You think I’m not shittin’ bricks already?” said Miguel.

  Jack was seated on the edge of the couch, watching Miguel pace across the rug. Miguel hadn’t been able to sit down since inviting Jack into his living room. He spoke fast and with an edge to his voice, and Jack could understand the nervousness.

  “I guess it doesn’t take a genius to know what’s going on,” said Jack.

  “Well, what is your client doing?”

  Jack wasn’t sure what to say. There wasn’t much he could say, but he did his best. “I no longer represent Tatum.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s all I can tell you.”

  Miguel finally stopped pacing. He looked Jack in the eye, seeming to sense that Jack was trying to convey more. And Jack was indeed sending a message. It was like at trial, when a criminal defense lawyer knew that his client was committing perjury. Some lawyers believed that the only ethical response of the lawyer was to stand aside and let the client tell his own story, no involvement by the lawyer. No lawyer could stand up and say, “My client is lying,” but the moment he clammed up and did nothing to elicit any further testimony from his own client, anyone who knew the rules knew exactly what was going on.

  Miguel was a cop, and Jack hoped he was savvy enough to pick up the similar drift he was casting across his living room.

  “Are you saying…”

  “I told you, that’s all I can say.”

  Miguel lowered himself against the arm of the couch, then bounced back up and started pacing again. “This is just great. First Rudsky. Then Meadows. Then Colletti. That leaves me in the running with Tatum Knight, who scared me from the first time I saw him. And this Alan Sirap, which is apparently an alias for Sally’s stalker. And need I remind you that I still think Sally’s stalker is the man who killed our daughter?”

  “You seem to have a pretty firm grasp of the picture.”

  “Better than you think. Have a listen to this.”

  He walked across the room to his stereo on the wall unit, then pulled a cassette tape from its plastic case. “I gave this to the police this morning. It’s a recording of a message I received on my answering machine.”

  “This morning?”

  “Yeah. It came around eight-thirty-eight thirty-two A.M. according to my machine.”

  Jack didn’t say anything, but he made a mental note that Tatum had been in the car with Theo en route to his office at that time. He wondered where Javier had been.

  Miguel kept talking as he adjusted the controls on the tape recorder. “I was in the shower when the call came, so the machine picked up. Scared the crap out of me when I listened to it. Called the cops right away. That’s why I took the day off. Detective Larsen wants me home to take the call in case he calls again.”

  “Was the voice at all familiar?”

  “Nah. It’s disguised. Here, have a listen.” He pushed the Play button, then stepped back from the stereo. The speakers hissed with silence, followed by a crackle or two, and then Miguel’s voice on tape.

  “Hi, this is Miguel. Leave a message at the tone.”

  There was a beep, then nothing. Jack glanced at Miguel, who seemed to signal with his eyes that it was coming. It took several moments, then finally the silence was broken.

  “You’re next, Miguel. But you knew that, right?”

  It chilled Jack to hear it, and he could only imagine how it had made Miguel feel. That Jack had heard the voice before made it all the more scary. It was the same mechanical, hollow-sounding voice from his own phone call, the lunatic on the line who’d told him that

  “Everyone must die.” But there was one big difference. He sounded much more agitated in Miguel’s message.

  “Don’t even think about dropping out of the game, asshole. It won’t help. Didn’t help Mason Rudsky, did it? It’s like I told Swyteck-every last one of you will die. And you know why? Because that’s what Sally wanted. She didn’t have the guts to say it, much less do it. But I know what she really wanted. She wanted to punish you. And now it’s up to me to give you bastards the punishment you deserve. Chew on that, Mikey. The surviving heir gets forty-six million dollars. Too fucking bad there won’t be any. None. No survivors.”

  The speakers hissed again, marking the end of the recording. Miguel switched off the cassette player. He seemed to be waiting for Jack to say something, but it hardly seemed necessary. It was just as Jack ha
d suspected. The killer saw himself as Sally’s protector and avenger. Money was not his motivation. He wanted justice for Sally, the sick kind of justice that was born only of a sick kind of love. The message was perfectly clear.

  Sally’s stalker was back-with a vengeance.

  Fifty-nine

  Txheo was able to overhear enough of the bodyguard’s telephone conversation in the kitchen to know that it wasn’t Tatum on the line. It was Kelsey, exactly according to plan.

  It wasn’t part of Jack’s overall strategy, however. This was something Theo had cooked up for Kelsey’s benefit on the way over to the Biscayne Guns amp; Ammo Shop. If there was one thing Theo hated more than anything, it was a thug who threatened children. Theo promised Kelsey that, with her help, he’d tried to find out if the bodyguard was the bastard who’d stuck the gun in her face and threatened her son. All she had to do was to call Javier while Theo was over there visiting and tell him she’s been thinking about him ever since they met that night at Club Vertigo. She’d have to tie him up for a good ten or fifteen minutes, lay it on pretty thick-how she thought it was really sweet and respectful the way he was trying not to look at her mouth throughout their conversation because of his addiction to porn, how it’s really tough to find a guy that thoughtful in Miami, especially one who’s even cuter than the Rock.

  “You really think so?” Javier said into the phone with a boyish grin.

  Theo had to get out of the room, not simply to keep himself from laughing out loud, but because it was part of the plan. He tapped Javier on the shoulder and said, “Bathroom?”

  Javier just waved, as if afraid that even a curt “Thatta-way” might break his rapport with Kelsey.

  Theo started down the hall, confident that Kelsey could keep this loser tied up forever in the futile hope of voice sex.

  Theo walked right past the bathroom and into lover boy’s bedroom. Kelsey had promised to beep him on his vibrating pager before she hung up with the bodyguard, which would give Theo time to get back to the kitchen before Javier could catch him snooping.

  He was looking for the gun. Kelsey wasn’t able to get a look at her attacker’s face, nor could she ID his voice, since he spoke with what sounded like a wad of cotton in his mouth. But that gun was right before her eyes-the gun that looked like the one she’d selected at the gun shop with Theo that morning, a short frame Smith amp; Wesson revolver with a polished nickel barrel.

  There was no way to know for certain where a gun owner might keep his weapon, but with a thug like Javier, a single guy with no kids in the house, it seemed reasonable to guess that he’d keep it someplace like a nightstand, well within reach if he were surprised in the middle of the night. It was a longshot, to be sure, but if Theo found any kind of weapon that remotely resembled a short frame Smith amp; Wesson, there would be hell to pay.

  The bedroom door was open, and Theo entered quietly. There were no draperies on the lone window, only mini-blinds, and the bands of morning sunlight streaming through the slats created a zebra-stripe effect across the floor, the dresser, and the unmade bed. It was a disorienting pattern, but Theo forced his eyes to adjust rather than switch on the lamp. With the door open, he could still hear Javier talking on the phone to Kelsey, which gave him extra comfort. He crossed the room, his footfalls muffled by the thick wall-to-wall carpet. He stepped around the empty pizza delivery box on the floor beside the bed, moved quickly to the nightstand, and opened the top drawer.

  He started at the sight of a cockroach staring back at him, but it scurried away in an instant. Inside the drawer was just a half-empty bag of potato chips, some loose coins, and the crumbled remnants of countless other snack foods that Javier didn’t seem to mind sharing with his six-legged friends. Theo closed the top drawer and opened the bottom one. It was cluttered with junk-a disposable camera and film, old magazines, videocassettes. But no gun.

  Theo went to the dresser. The top drawer was underwear and socks, as good a place as any to store a gun. But it wasn’t there. Not in the middle or bottom drawers, either.

  What the hell kind of a bodyguard has no gun?

  He turned and looked at the bed. It was unmade, so he could see the slightest separation between the mattress and the box spring. It would make sense, he realized-easily accessible to a man caught unawares while sleeping. He shoved his hand into the void, then stopped as his fingers touched the cold metal. Pay dirt.

  He grasped the handle and pulled out the gun, his heart thumping at the expected sight of a Smith amp; Wesson revolver with a polished nickel barrel. But it wasn’t the gun Kelsey had described. It was totally black, not even a revolver. Theo had seen enough guns to recognize it as a Glock 9mm pistol. Even Kelsey, someone completely unfamiliar with handguns, could easily distinguish between a nickel-plated revolver and a black pistol.

  Of course, no one said that this was the only gun in the house.

  Theo could still hear Javier talking in the kitchen. Kelsey was doing a nice job of keeping him occupied. He swept the room with his gaze and then decided to check the closet. He slid the mirrored door open, then stopped cold. He’d expected to see clothes hanging inside, but the entire closet was lined with shelves, floor to ceiling, and on each shelf was a row of videocassette cases arranged with the spine facing out. They looked identical, black plastic cases with a white label on the spine. Each label had only one word on it, and they were arranged in alphabetical order. Alicia. Amanda. Brittany. Two tapes for Caitlin. Four for Pauline. Hundreds of tapes, each with a woman’s name on it.

  Theo wasn’t sure what to make of it at first, but it soon dawned on him. Jack had told him about the camera bracket that he’d found in the attic at Sally’s old apartment. He scanned the rows of videocassettes, searching for a case with the name Sally on it. But the bottom shelf ended at “P.” The second half of the alphabet must have been stored somewhere else.

  The silent pager on his belt vibrated. It was the previously agreed-upon signal from Kelsey that she was running out of things to say to Javier and that their conversation would soon come to an end. He stuffed Javier’s pistol into his waistline, thinking he might need it. Then he grabbed one of the tapes at random and shoved it inside his jacket, just so that he could later test his theory. He quickly but quietly left the bedroom, hurried down the hall to the bathroom, and shut the door. He dialed Jack’s cell phone, eager to test his thinking.

  “It’s me,” said Theo.

  “What’s up?”

  He hesitated, as if giving himself a moment to absorb his own discovery. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure of it, but why else would a guy like Javier have a closet full of videocassette tapes with the name of a different woman on each one?

  “You want to give me odds?” asked Theo.

  “Odds on what?” said Jack.

  “I’ll take your five to my one that Sally Fenning’s stalker was able to get himself hired as her bodyguard.”

  Sixty

  Jack kept the telephone conversation short. Theo had laid out his findings quickly, and Jack was eager to put the question to Sally’s ex-husband: Could Javier-the man who became her bodyguard-have been her stalker, the man who murdered their daughter?

  Miguel sat on the edge of the couch, staring pensively into the steeple he’d formed at the bridge of his nose with his index fingers. Jack watched his expression tighten, his face grow redder.

  “Are you okay?” asked Jack.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said in a low, angry voice.

  “It’s still just a theory for now. But we know Sally was being stalked. We know that someone was probably videotaping her from the attic over her bedroom. And now we find a stash of videotapes in her bodyguard’s closet.”

  Miguel didn’t answer. He seemed to be taking it all in.

  Jack continued, “It fits with the message you got on your answering machine this morning, too.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “He was her bodyguard. Her protector in life. The guy who left that messa
ge seems to be playing the same role. Protecting her, avenging her death.”

  “Should we call the cops?”

  “Not yet. Theo wants to probe a little more, see if he can get Javier to cough up the tape with Sally’s name on it. We haven’t found it yet, but-”

  “And you never will,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What idiot would be stupid enough to keep that tape around this long, after all that’s happened?”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s like collecting trophies for some of these guys. They keep jewelry from their victims, snippets of hair, clothing, all sorts of things that a rational person would burn at the first opportunity. But that’s why I say we should let Theo press him a little more. You call the cops, I guarantee that tape will disappear.”

  He shook his head slowly and said, “How could she hire that creep as her bodyguard?”

  “She was fooled. She never saw her stalker. So when he came applying for a job as her bodyguard years later, she didn’t have any reason to make the connection.”

  He looked down, gnawing his lower lip. “I don’t believe that for a minute. No way Sally was fooled.”

  “Well, if she wasn’t fooled, then that would mean she knowingly hired the man who…”

  Miguel’s eyes were smoldering. “Now you get it, don’t you? Can you imagine being so cock crazy that you cover up for the guy who murdered your own daughter?”

  Jack took a half-step back. “That’s a pretty big leap you’re making. You’re saying she had a thing for her stalker?”

  “I didn’t say he started out as her stalker. He became her stalker. It’s like I thought all along. The guy started stalking her after she dumped him or cooled off the relationship or something like that. I knew that bitch was seeing someone. I always knew it.”