by Jaime Maddox
Mac nodded, and Jess looked to her, trying desperately to focus her eyes. Midway into her first deep breath, an effort to regain her calm, Mac reached out and took her hand. “You okay?”
Jess nodded mutely, and Mac moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as she pressed her lips to Jess’s hair. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Jess. But we might find something in here to hurt him.”
Mac was right. Jess picked up Hawk’s lab coat and peeked into the breast pocket. Carefully, she removed three pens. From his left lower pocket, she pulled a stethoscope. From the right, she pulled a small glass vial, then held it up.
Her hand began to shake as she looked at Mac, not seeing her, but him. “It’s the sux.”
Mac knelt before her until she stopped shaking, then Jess nodded toward the bags on the table. “Open them.”
“Do you want to step back?”
Jess shook her head. She’d come this far, and it had been her idea in the first place. “No, I can do it.”
The toiletry bag held no surprises, and then Mac turned her attention to the briefcase. It had a three-number spinning combination lock. “If you get me a pick I can probably open it that way,” she said to Ernie.
“Why don’t you just drill it? How hard could it be? It’s just a little briefcase.”
“We could, but I don’t know what’s inside, and I’d rather preserve it if I can.”
Mac called her team, mostly to come and take photographs of the area, and while they waited, she began playing with the lock.
“Remember the game Mastermind? Where you guess the number?”
Jess nodded, suddenly excited. “It has only three digits. How hard can it be?”
Mac started with zero, zero, zero, and not surprisingly, the lock didn’t give. It took Mac fourteen minutes to key in all the numbers leading up to seven, eight, nine, but when she did, the lock snapped open.
“Got it,” she whispered. She reached for Jess’s hand and squeezed, then turned back to the case.
Placing the case on the flat surface of the table, she carefully examined the outside, then slowly lifted the lid. When it was open, Jess could hear her sigh of relief.
“What’s in it?” Jess asked, leaning closer to see.
“Not much. A couple of pens. His employment contract. But these briefcases sometimes have secret compartments. I’ll bet this one does.”
Jess watched as Mac ran her hands along the inside of the suitcase’s bottom, then the lid. Her hands suddenly stopped moving and she looked at Jess. “I think I found something.”
Mac turned her arm back and forth, then lifted it, and a gray-colored plastic plate slipped free, exposing another compartment within the top of the briefcase.
As Jess watched, Mac pulled out a small stack of papers from behind a net in the secret space.
“What is it?”
“Death certificates. Four of them are blank.” Mac looked up and Jess saw a strange look on her face. “Two of them are signed by Hawk, and they’re dated, and they have names on them. One of them is Christian Cooney.” She handed the papers to Jess. “The manner of death is homicide.”
Chapter Twenty
Turkey, with Gravy
Derek rang the doorbell beside Lucy’s front door and waited, flowers in hand and a smile on his face. Lucy’s invitation had been a surprise, and he still wasn’t sure of her motives. Sure, he’d wanted this invitation since they first met, but had she asked him to Thanksgiving dinner to make him happy, or to prove to her parents that she was doing well, or to satisfy their curiosity about the man with whom she was spending so much of her free time?
Answering the door was the tall man whom Derek had noticed that first day, the driver of the big Mercedes, Lucy’s father. She’d told him he was an accountant for a pharmaceutical company, and he acted the part of a successful professional. His sweater was thick and looked expensive, as did his cashmere pants and leather loafers. He greeted Derek with a booming voice and nearly crushed Derek’s fingers with his firm handshake.
“Hi, I’m Hal. You must be Derek. Happy Thanksgiving. Come in, come in,” he said, nearly pulling Derek off his feet. “No need for flowers, but come this way, and we’ll find them some water.”
Derek followed him down a hallway, through a sitting room, and into the kitchen. Lucy’s mother worked beside two other women, putting the finishing touches on their dinner.
“Sofia, an admirer brought you some flowers.”
Sofia looked up, and her eyes brightened when she saw the bouquet Derek had procured from Weis Markets just a few miles from the house. It was a last-minute idea, but from her expression, Derek knew it had been a good one.
After drying her hands, she accepted Derek’s gift and hugged him. “We’re so happy to have you here, Derek. Lucy speaks so highly of you and seems so happy since you’ve been dating.”
Derek was genuinely touched at the warm welcome and couldn’t help smiling. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
After a promise that dinner would be ready soon, Sofia chased them from the kitchen and into a two-story great room with a wall of glass facing the woods beyond. In the center of that wall, a fireplace was hard at work warming the room. A young woman and a man were already there, sitting on an oversized couch. He introduced them as Lucy’s sister and brother-in-law.
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asked Derek.
Derek had been busy since receiving his invitation, studying the Internet, learning about wine. He’d read that white was the best to serve with turkey, but what was he supposed to drink before the turkey? Shit, shit, shit. The last thing he wanted was to look stupid to Lucy’s dad.
“I was hoping to have a glass of wine with dinner, so I think I’ll pass for now.”
“Well, I’ll have this finished before dinner, so I’ll go ahead, if you don’t mind.”
Throwing a few cubes into a tall glass, her dad didn’t wait for Derek’s reply as he poured a hefty shot of vodka over the ice. He lifted the glass in Derek’s direction before putting it to his mouth. After tasting it, he sat down. “So, Lucy tells us you’re a paramedic and hoping to go to pharmacy school. How interesting! I work for a pharmaceutical company, you know.”
Derek swallowed hard. What the fuck was she thinking, throwing out lies like that? He’d taken a few classes in the paramedic program at the community college, but he didn’t really like school enough to stick it out. Then, he’d found his little niche and didn’t need any further education now. “Yes, she mentioned that.”
“Well, we all have to start somewhere, and no matter where that place is, the important thing is that you keep working toward your goals. That’s the key to success, Derek, constantly working toward your goals.”
“Stop lecturing, Dad. He’s here to relax.”
Lucy walked over to the chair where he was sitting, eased herself onto the armrest, and kissed his forehead. “Hi.”
Derek beamed, although he did wonder how he’d pull off the charade. Then it hit him. He already was a pharmacist. Lucy was a brat.
Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea, though, pharmacy school. He could use some of his money for it, and then he’d have access to all the pills he wanted. He’d own his own candy store.
They chatted about football, one of Derek’s least-favorite subjects, then travel, something he knew nothing about. Fortunately Lucy’s sister and her husband had no difficulty keeping up the conversation. Finally Sofia called them to dinner. “Hal, will you please call Mike? Maybe he forgot the time.”
Just then, the doorbell rang and Hal went to answer it. Lucy led them to the dining room, where a table was set for twelve. Three women and two men were already seated. Lucy introduced them as her grandmother, aunts, and uncles, then pulled out a chair and pushed Derek into it.
Trying to appear sophisticated was hard enough, and he felt totally out of place in the sport coat and tie. He appreciated Lucy’s playfulness and winked at her in solidarity. To his surprise, she leaned over and kissed h
im, right on the lips. It wasn’t a sweet, soft kiss, though. It was a loud, sloppy kiss, intended not to give pleasure but to gain attention. It seemed to work, and several people around the table cleared their throats, Lucy’s mother trying hard to hide the anger in her eyes with the fake smile on her face.
Saved from further embarrassment, Derek was relieved to hear the booming voice from the doorway. “Am I too late for pie?” someone asked.
He looked up to see Dr. Michael Ball, both arms extended and offering wine. Derek nearly fainted. What the hell?
“One of the wine magazines is raving about this, Sofia. It goes great with turkey.”
He walked around the table to hug Lucy’s mother, and this time her smile appeared genuine. Just as quickly he scanned the table, nodding politely as his eyes made the rounds. He stopped when he reached Derek.
“I think you know everyone, except Derek.”
Dr. Ball nodded and introduced himself. “Mike Ball, Derek. Nice to meet you.”
Clearing his throat, Derek smiled. “I actually already know you, Dr. Ball. I work for you.”
Ball laughed as he gracefully sat in a chair beside Lucy’s dad. “Well, then, why aren’t you working today?”
Everyone laughed, except Lucy, but they were saved from further banter as the food arrived. The two women Derek had seen in the kitchen went about the business of placing plates of salad before everyone and then politely retreated. Derek ate quietly but listened to the conversation around him. It seemed Dr. Ball was a neighbor, and his wife and children were at her mother’s house in New Jersey for the holiday. He was on call and hadn’t been able to accompany them. He didn’t seem upset about the separation.
Lucy’s brother-in-law was in his third year of law school, and they were living in an apartment, which was dreadful. They were already searching for houses close to their parents’. Her grandmother promised a nice donation for a down payment, when they managed to find their dream house, and the aunts and uncles offered advice about where to search for a “starter house.”
What would they think if they knew he’d grown up in an apartment, with a thousand square feet of space, with no father and a mother who spent her days sleeping off the night before? Closing his eyes, he shook off the thought. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He had a job, and he was making money. He would make something of himself, make himself worthy of people like this.
Between bites of food and sips of wine, Dr. Ball caught his eye. “Is that your Benz?”
Derek nodded.
“That’s some car. A real classic.”
Finally, something he could talk about. “Thank you. I really love it.”
“How long have you had it?”
The pseudo-lie was easy as he slipped into another role, where he wasn’t the poor kid. Besides, Tim was the closest thing to a father he’d ever had. “My dad bought it new, and I was the washer and waxer all these years, so he recently signed it over to me.”
“I’d like to see the inside of that. Maybe I’ll let you drive me home later.”
“You walked, Michael?” Sofia asked.
He winked. “I can’t risk a DUI.”
Everyone laughed, but Derek didn’t get the joke.
“I’d be happy to give you a lift, sir.”
The servers reappeared and removed their plates, replacing them with bowls of squash soup, followed by large trays of traditional Thanksgiving delights. After dinner and dessert, they left the dining room and split up, with most of the women heading in one direction and the men returning to the great room to watch football. Derek was thankful Lucy stayed with him, and they managed to sit and talk even while everyone else shouted at the television screen.
An hour or so later, Dr. Ball stood. “I’m ready for that ride, Derek,” he said.
Derek found his jacket and his keys, while Dr. Ball said his farewells. They met at the front door and he led the doctor down the stone pathway from the house to the driveway. Since he’d arrived last, the car was in back. “Nice,” Dr. Ball said as he walked around the car, admiring the exterior. He opened the passenger door and sat, then inspected the interior.
“Where to?” Derek asked.
“Just one house over. The way you came in.”
The development was so large Derek couldn’t see the house Dr. Ball mentioned, or any of the others. When he’d been stalking Lucy he drove through, but all he could catch were glimpses of color through the lines of trees in front of them. Dr. Ball’s house didn’t appear to him until he was a hundred yards into the driveway, and Derek couldn’t help commenting. “Wow. Some house.” It was even bigger than Lucy’s, two expansive stories with six garages. Three were attached, three set apart, in a building designed to look like a carriage house.
“Pull over there,” he said, pointing toward the detached garage. Derek parked where instructed and got out of the car, watching as Dr. Ball opened the door with a code punched into an electrical panel beside one of the doors. As the door rose, a classic Corvette appeared before him. It was painted red and wrapped in some sort of bubble wrap, but its shape was unmistakable.
“This is my baby, a 1976 Corvette,” he said, then chuckled. “One of them, anyway.” He walked a dozen feet to the next garage stall, where another car was shrouded in plastic. “This is my summer car. It’s a 2015 Porsche. I like how it handles on the country roads. Over there is an Aston Martin. The James Bond car.”
“Wow. You have some collection here.”
Dr. Ball didn’t answer but instead began walking back toward the house. “I have to do something with my money,” he said, and pressed the code for the other garage.
From somewhere deep inside Derek a seed of discontent sprouted, and it grew with each step he took, filling his belly, forcing the breath from his lungs. Before he could think about it, he reached for the knife he always carried in his pocket, and it was open and against Dr. Ball’s throat before he knew what he was doing.
“Where’s the money now?”
The doctor stood perfectly still, and even though he was two inches taller and many pounds heavier than Derek, he seemed frightened.
“Let’s not get carried away, Derek. Put the knife down and walk away.” His words were staccato, whispered.
“I want the safe, Doctor. Where is it?”
“Derek, I don’t have a safe! All my money comes in insurance checks. It’s all deposited in the bank.”
“Yeah? What about the cash you collect from your special patients?” His voice grew deeper, angrier. “What about the two thousand a week I pay you to do business in the parking lot? Do you deposit the cash, Doc? Do you report that to the IRS?”
“We have a nice deal going, Derek. Why ruin it?”
“I’m not ruining anything, Doc. We can still do business. I’m just taking a little bonus.”
“Okay, okay. I have a safe. It has some money in it. It’s all yours. Just take that knife away from my throat.”
“Walk,” Derek commanded him, and he did, slowly, leading Derek just a short distance to a large butler’s pantry.
“In there,” he said, pointing with his right hand.
“Open it,” Derek commanded as he grasped Ball’s left hand and pulled it up behind him, causing the doctor to flex forward.
Ball walked slowly toward a bifold door three-quarters of the way along the left wall of the closet. It collapsed to the right when the doctor pulled, exposing a black vault door. It reached the ceiling from the floor, and the combination dial was just about eye level. Dr. Ball was forced to bend to see the small numbers on the dial, alarming Derek. “Easy. This knife is sharp.”
“I got it. I just have to bend a little to see the lock, okay?”
“Move slowly.”
The doctor shifted, but Derek held his left arm tightly, wedging it farther up between his shoulder blades. The silence in the house was so deep he could hear the dial spinning, in between the spurts of breath the doctor sucked in. Then a loud click echoed across the pots and pans and
canned goods, and the door opened beneath the doctor’s hand.
Moving slowly, he stepped back, offering Derek a glimpse of the treasures inside. There were three shelves. The top held boxes that were the right size for jewelry and were labeled as such. Emerald necklace. Diamond teardrop earrings. Diamond tennis bracelet. The shelf below was also filled with boxes. “What’s in there?”
“Collector pieces of art. Drawings, paintings, statues.”
Fuck. He didn’t want jewelry or art. It was too hard to move, and he’d come here for cash. There had to be cash somewhere. “What’s on the bottom?” he asked.
“Look for yourself,” he said.
To do that, Derek would have to bend forward, around the doctor, compromising his position. “What the fuck’s there?” he asked again, as he pulled the doctor’s arm tighter.
Suddenly, the doctor leaned back and jammed his heel into Derek’s shin. The pain consumed him and he jerked back, the doctor’s arm wrenched from his grasp. As the knife slipped from his neck, Derek’s opportunity went with it.
With a rage that had brewed for twenty years, he overcame his pain and lunged forward, plunging the knife into the doctor’s neck. Taken by surprise, he turned, twisting the knife in his throat, and Derek heard a gush of air, a gurgling, as his trachea was lacerated through and through. Surprisingly, there was little blood, but the doctor dropped to his knees anyway, holding his neck, trying to piece back together with his hand the severed tissue that was bleeding, not just blood, but air, and life.
Stepping back, Derek pulled a roll of paper towels from a shelf and wiped his knife, then his hands. The wounds he’d inflicted were fatal, but he paid no attention to the doctor. Instead, he leaned forward and pulled out one of the bags from the closet floor. It was a shopping bag, with handles, the kind intended to promote recycling, filled with money. He found eight bags in the safe and carried them all to the edge of the closet before checking on the doctor.
The pool of blood beneath his head had grown to about a foot in diameter. Much of it seemed to be soaking into his thick, woolen sweater, which made Derek’s trek around the body much easier. His eyes were open but unfocused, and he was still but trying to breathe through the hole in his neck.
