The Mentor

by Monticelli, Rita Carla Francesca

  “Excuse me a moment,” she said, then left the room.

  “So, Detective, how’s life?” Garnish asked mockingly.

  There was something in the man’s voice, but Eric couldn’t quite tell what it was.

  “As long as we’ve got time to kill while we wait for my lawyer, we might as well have a nice little chat!” Then he laughed.

  Shaw shook his head just a little, then opened the file. He took three photographs out and tossed them in front of Christopher.

  Garnish froze, tense, but did nothing else.

  “See any resemblance?” Shaw asked.

  Garnish’s face relaxed, his mouth widening into a smile. “You believe I should?” Now he was the one challenging Eric.

  “This family was massacred in 1994.” Eric pointed to the photographs he’d just tossed on the table. “Incredibly enough, each family member was killed in the exact same manner your friends were.”

  “Goodness gracious. Well. Looks like you’re perfectly right, officer.” He pretended to examine the photographs carefully, as if he were truly interested. “Except for the fact that these three losers, and I’m including my uncle in that list, weren’t my friends.”

  “You and I both know it was you.”

  “Detective, Detective,” said Christopher, taking him to task, “I’m perfectly familiar with your alternative methods, but I’m sure you’re not so skilled that you can pin murders committed twenty years ago on me.”

  “But I can connect you to the ones committed over the past couple of weeks,” Shaw said, staring Garnish dead in the eyes, though Christopher didn’t seem particularly bothered by his words. “Including the murder committed last night,” he added, tossing a photo of Daniel Pennington’s body on the table in front of the suspect.

  This time he got an immediate reaction. “What the hell’s this supposed to mean?”

  “All the murders were committed with the same weapon,” said Eric, pointing to each photo in turn. “All I need to do is connect you to one of them, and then you’re screwed.”

  Now Garnish seemed unsettled, agitated. “No.” He shook his head. “It can’t be.” He took a deep breath and met Shaw’s gaze. “I have an alibi,” he added, resolute. “Last night I was with Lorna Dillon, my girlfriend. All night long. She can confirm that.”

  “What about the night between Friday and Saturday? What about the night between last Monday and Tuesday? How about June 12 around five thirty?” Eric shot questions rapid fire, one after the other, raising his voice a little with each one.

  Garnish’s mouth began to tremble just a little. “I was with her, every night . . .”

  Yes, of course he was. Eric smiled. He could tell Garnish was cracking.

  Suddenly the door swung open.

  “We’re done here,” said a thirtysomething gentleman with an arrogant manner. He was dressed in an elegant, trendy suit and held a little leather briefcase in one hand. Unquestionably a lawyer. “I’m John Meyers, Mr. Garnish’s lawyer.”

  What a surprise.

  Christopher smiled at the sight of his savior.

  “If you cannot place my client at the scene of the crime, then I’m afraid you have no further reason to keep him here,” the suit said to Shaw.

  He was right. Up until now they’d been biding time in order to give the other officers a chance to conduct searches, but in reality they didn’t have the authority to keep Garnish in custody in the meantime. And without any proof, the crown prosecutor wouldn’t even accuse Garnish. Other prosecutors had attempted to bring Garnish to justice in the past—tried and failed. The current prosecutor wasn’t willing to waste time trying to bring him down again or make himself look ridiculous in the process.

  “Therefore, Mr. Garnish and I are leaving. Right now. Come along, Christopher.”

  Garnish leapt to his feet and rushed to his lawyer’s side. He was saved, but he still rubbed his fingers nervously across his stomach.

  Eric was furious and doing everything he could not to smack this insolent boy in the face. He hated defense lawyers, especially those that hung around with shady characters like Garnish.

  He looked at the two for a moment, then noticed Miriam standing out in the corridor behind them. She spread her arms and shrugged. She couldn’t do anything about it.

  The lawyer and his client disappeared into the hallway, followed by Detective Leroux.

  At that point Eric lost control, knocking all the photos and paperwork off the table with an enraged sweep of his hand. They flew all over the room, fluttering against the two-way mirror and down onto the floor.

  Turning around, he saw Adele standing at the door, staring at him with mild astonishment in her eyes.

  Shaw grunted with disappointment. “Fuck!” he yelled. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, leaning against the wall with one hand.

  Adele walked over and embraced him.

  That simple gesture slowly but surely calmed Eric down. He hugged her close and waited for his breathing to slow.

  Adele lifted her head and looked up at him. “You’ll see. It’s not over yet.”

  “You can bet on it,” he said. His frustration was dissipating. That was right, though. The bastard wouldn’t get away with it. He ran a hand over his hair. “You’re tired,” he said to her.

  “I’m okay,” murmured Adele.

  “No.” He pulled the keys to his car out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Go home. You shouldn’t even be here, not today. I’ll meet you there later.”

  Adele was clearly reluctant, but she took the keys anyway. “Okay.”

  Officer Gordon opened the door to the blue Volkswagen and sat down in the passenger seat. Now what?

  A tow truck had brought the car to the scientific investigations lab, and now he and Officer Smith were supposed to inspect it from end to end. A first scan hadn’t revealed anything. The car seemed clean, including the glove compartment, which held nothing more than the vehicle documents and a few old CDs.

  His colleague was going through the trunk, which was full of absurd items. Unlike the interior, which was practically immaculate, the trunk was stuffed with all sorts of things: work tools, snacks that seemed to have fossilized in their packaging, a rolled-up rug, paint cans and brushes, a bag full of jogging clothes. The bag, when opened, enveloped the criminologist with a foul wave of rotting sweat. The man, accustomed to handling much worse, coughed a little and fought back nausea.

  Inside the car, in the meantime, Gordon was already resigned. He would have to take this thing apart piece by piece. He got out and pushed the seat he’d been sitting in all the way back, then took out his flashlight and knelt over to take a look underneath.

  Nothing there.

  He got up and walked around the car, doing the same with the other seats. Each time he walked around the rear end of the vehicle, he took a look at the things that Smith was pulling out of the trunk and checking, one by one.

  Gordon opened a rear door and reached out for the lever that would bring the seats down. He found it and pulled, but the seats wouldn’t budge, so he put his little flashlight in his mouth and grabbed the seat with both hands, yanking on it. No use; it was stuck.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered, crouching down and using his flashlight to try and see what silly little bit of nothing was stuck in the tracks, preventing the seat from moving.

  And there it was.

  “I can’t believe it!” He reached out with one gloved hand and tried to touch the object, regretting he wasn’t limber like his younger colleagues.

  Finally he got ahold of it and pulled the object out. “Smith, I’ve got something,” he said. His colleague stuck his head around the back of the car and found Gordon holding up something metallic with two fingers. The nine-millimeter.

  “Fuck me too!” exclaimed Smith. “Look what I found hidden underneath the carpe
ting back here!” He was holding up one arm with a long black outfit draped over it, while his other hand held a small, dark metal cylinder. A silencer.

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  Eric turned around as soon as he heard Jane’s voice. She was holding a few pages of the file he’d tossed across the interrogation room.

  The woman bent down to pick up the other pages, then stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on what she now held in her hands. “What’s this? Where did you get this from?”

  Shaw flopped down into the chair, exhausted. At this point he might as well tell her everything.

  Detective Hall gathered up the other photos and spread them all out on the table, comparing the crimes. She raised a hand to her mouth, then turned to face her colleague and wait for an explanation.

  “It’s a case from twenty years ago,” Shaw said, no longer seeing the point in keeping it secret anymore. But he was still reluctant to dig into every little detail of what he had been up to.

  “Why didn’t you say something to me before?” asked Jane, blinking furiously and glancing back and forth from the pictures to Eric. They usually shared everything they knew about cases with each other, and it was normal that his behavior would confuse her.

  “I wasn’t sure about it,” he lied. “Not until I connected Garnish to the case.”

  “Is Garnish involved in these murders too?” She was barely able to contain her surprise.

  Eric shrugged. “There’s not enough proof to convict him. Back then he was interrogated because he worked at a nearby house, but there was no reason to think he was actually directly involved.”

  “But the Black Death cases are connected to him! This changes everything!” Jane couldn’t stop looking at the photographs.

  “Yes, in theory. But we need physical proof; otherwise our hands are tied.”

  Jane flopped down in the other chair as if Eric’s fatigue were contagious. “Something doesn’t add up,” she said, a perplexed furrow forming on her brow. “Okay, these crimes look a lot alike, but what does the murder of Daniel Pennington have to do with them?”

  Eric’s cell phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket to answer. “Shaw.”

  “Boss, Gordon here, from down at the garage,” said an excited voice on the line.

  As soon as the elevator doors opened, Eric came racing out and headed straight across the atrium. “Miriam!” he shouted as he went.

  She was standing just outside the entryway, watching Garnish walk across the well-lit courtyard toward the main gate, accompanied by his lawyer.

  Miriam’s head spun around quickly when she heard his tone of voice.

  “We found the weapon!” shouted Shaw, running toward her. “Stop him immediately!”

  Miriam looked confused for a fraction of a second, almost as if she needed a moment to absorb the meaning of his words. Then she turned back toward Garnish, pulling her gun from its holster with her right hand and pointing it across the courtyard. “Stop right there!” she yelled, running toward their suspect.

  Garnish’s expression was twisted by anger. The lawyer stepped aside immediately once the detective reached them, her gun aimed steadily at his client.

  “Hey, darling,” said Christopher, outwardly calm. “No need to get all worked up. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes moved to meet Eric’s, who was just now coming up behind Miriam. Then, with a swift, sudden movement, Garnish grabbed Miriam by her right wrist, yanking her between himself and Shaw.

  “No!” shouted Eric, pointing his own gun at Garnish.

  Garnish punched Miriam in the face, sending her reeling, and took advantage of her confusion by grabbing her gun and pulling the woman in close to use as a shield. He raised his right hand and drove the barrel of the pistol into her temple, hugging her close with his other arm.

  Eric groaned inwardly. That’s where he’d heard that voice. An image of the man who had attacked Adele the other night outside the pub began to take shape in his mind. He was holding Miriam the same way. The voice was the same voice.

  Even more enraged than before, Eric took two steps forward, pointing his gun threateningly at the criminal.

  “You sure you want to do this?” challenged Garnish. “You have to be sure you’re going to hit me and not her.” He put his head even closer to Detective Leroux’s, making her grimace. A line of blood threaded its way down her cheek from the corner of her mouth.

  There was shouting in the distance. Police officers were running toward them from all directions. Christopher glanced quickly left and right, evaluating his next move.

  “Give up. You know there’s no way out,” said Eric. In reality, he was afraid the criminal would drag Miriam out through the open gate, which was directly behind him, but unless Garnish happened to have a car parked and waiting for him just outside, he couldn’t possibly get very far.

  His lawyer had backpedaled and stood with his back against the fence, watching the scene unfold and doing everything he could to get involved as little as possible. He certainly didn’t seem willing to help his client break the law.

  The corners of Garnish’s mouth turned up. “I’ll kill the whole lot of you, one by one!” His tone was cold and resolute—the sound of a man who didn’t have anything left to lose. “And as for you,” he growled, pulling Miriam tighter and placing his mouth at her ear. “I’ll take care of you soon enough, my beautiful little Frenchie.”

  Suddenly Garnish shoved Miriam into Shaw, sending him stumbling and blocking his view.

  Eric grabbed her to keep her from falling, and by the time he looked up again, the criminal had already dashed out through the gate and was running across the street.

  Just then, the first pair of officers caught up with them. Miriam pulled away from Eric and took a gun from the first officer who reached them. Weapon in hand, she took off after their fugitive.

  “Not again!” Eric groaned, then reluctantly took off after her.

  Christopher had already reached the far side of the street and had a decent head start. Suddenly he spun around and fired a shot in their direction. Miriam and Eric ducked, slowing down.

  “Fils de chienne!” swore Miriam as a passerby threw herself to the ground, terrorized, and other pedestrians went running in all directions. She set off after Christopher even faster than before.

  Eric was struggling to keep up with her. Two chases in one day was at least one too many. Suddenly he realized they were near the St. James’s Park station. “If he gets down into the tube, we’ll lose him!”

  In fact, that was exactly what Christopher had in mind. He ran headlong into the first entrance to the station, disappearing from view, followed a moment later by Miriam.

  Eric made it to the entrance too, but when he was inside all he could see was an enormous crowd. He skidded to a stop and craned his neck, looking around for the other two. Finally he caught sight of Miriam, who was running up the stairs to the Circle line. “Police!” she cried, waving people out of the way.

  Eric jumped over the turnstiles, but as soon as he made it to the top of the stairs, he could see that Garnish was already down at the bottom, heading into the corridors. He decided to keep Miriam in sight while he elbowed his way through the crowd, trying to get downstairs as quickly as possible. They all kept running. His breath was getting shorter and shorter. He wasn’t even sure where he was, but sooner or later they’d reach a platform and that bastard would have nowhere left to run.

  There he was! Eric could see a train waiting beyond Garnish, its doors open. It was about to leave. He could hear the door alarms beeping.

  Miriam was ahead of him and had almost reached the closing door, but she was a split second too late and it closed. “No!” she shouted, pounding on the window while the passengers stared out at her, their mouths open in surprise. Garnish was standing among them, smiling and waving good-bye to her with one hand.

/>   Eric reached Miriam as the train was pulling away. She gave a deep growl of frustration, then spun around and kicked a trash can in anger, denting it.

  Shaw fell to his knees, struggling to breathe. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out what to do next. They’d lost their suspect. There was no way to tell where he was headed. He could get anywhere from here.

  Or could he? He needed to think . . .

  “Garnish has been watching us for a while,” Eric muttered, his voice choked.

  “What?” exclaimed Miriam, whirling around. Her face was bright red, and she couldn’t stand still—she was shaking her head, struggling with her usual tic.

  “I saw him outside the pub the night of Jane’s party,” Shaw said.

  Miriam stopped moving suddenly, all ears. He had her undivided attention.

  “This afternoon, just a few hours before I noticed him outside my building, I saw him following me.” He stopped and took a long, deep breath. His heart was finally slowing down a little. “Only I didn’t know it was him.”

  “Is he out to get us?” asked Miriam, incredulous. The weapon she was holding trembled with each muscle spasm. “Or just you?”

  Eric shook his head. “I don’t know.” Of course he knew that sooner or later his bad reputation among criminals might come home to roost, but he still found it hard to believe that this whole situation had resulted from his questionable tactics. For now, though, it was the only explanation that made any sense.

  Miriam froze, staring Eric straight in the eye. “He tried to attract your attention by copycatting murders committed twenty years ago.”

  Eric felt short of breath again. She had noticed the connection too. Of course she had. And she hadn’t had the courage to bring it up again either. Eric nodded. He’d thought it might be a personal message too. “This man is psychotic.” It was the only response he could muster.

  “But . . . what about the Pennington murder?” asked Miriam. Then her face lit up with understanding.

  Eric had come to the same conclusion. “You heard it too. He said that he’d kill us all.” He took in Miriam’s dumbfounded look for a few moments, but she didn’t say a thing.