Final Price

by J. Gregory Smith

She slowed, but didn’t stop.

  “Make that seconds.” He cocked the gun.

  Now she stopped.

  “Hey, the light of reason! Drop the tongs and the gloves. Face the worktable. Don’t make me ask twice.” She obeyed, and a sense of control washed over his body.

  Tears ran down her face.

  “Hands behind your back; now bend over the table.” He took out a roll of tape and bound her hands.

  “Shamus, please, I can give you money.”

  “Do all you people go to victim school or something? Yesterday I wanted money. Thought that was clear by my tireless efforts to give you everything you asked for. Today, I just want to give you what you have coming.”

  “Please, what do you want?”

  Better.

  “Sit in this chair here so I can finish securing you.” He taped her legs to the chair legs.

  “There. Now, I have a gag if you get too vocal, but I have some questions.” He strode over to her porcelain collection. “Myrtle, do you have any idea what it feels like to put all your effort and talent into something and then have all the hard work vanish? Through no fault of your own?”

  She looked confused.

  “Allow me to demonstrate.” Shamus reached over to one of the custom shelves. “Here’s a nice piece. I see you want eighteen hundred dollars; worth every penny, I’m sure.” He lifted it one-handed and smashed the vase at her feet. “Whoops, all that hard work for nothing, huh?”

  “Shamus, please. Take them and sell them. Take anything you want, but please don’t hurt me.”

  “Take one, eh? There are so many to choose from. How about this one?” He selected another piece. “Nah, too boring.” He flung the vase over his shoulder. Myrtle yelped when it shattered.

  “How about a green one? No, that will clash with my rug.” Crash. One by one, he broke every piece on display. Myrtle was quiet, but the tears rolled down her face. Shamus wished he had a plastic jar to collect the watery tribute to his power. Instead, he pretended to be moved.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, Myrtle. You can always make more, just like I can always make more sales. We’re done. I need to gag you so I can leave.” She didn’t fight him, and he placed it in her mouth.

  Porcelain shards littered the area. He picked up a long piece with cruel, sharp edges.

  “There’s just one more thing.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Splitting Hairs

  Newark, Delaware, Marlo Honda, Wednesday morning

  Chang sat with Nelson in the cruiser. “We need to move fast. Soak up every impression.”

  “I’m not a Geiger counter. You can’t just wave me in front of suspects until my eyes light up and you have your man.” Nelson sounded irritated. Too bad. Chang would push Nelson and himself until Byrd stopped them or they caught the killer. He didn’t want to frighten their quarry, either. Nelson couldn’t scare a juvenile shoplifter, and sometimes people even relaxed around him.

  Chang opened the car door. “Time to go to work.”

  The polished floors and gleaming cars reflected the banks of fluorescent lights in the ceiling.

  A young man closed in on them. Male, Caucasian, medium height, brown hair. Not their man. “Good morning. Welcome to Marlo. I’m Scott. How may I help you gentlemen this morning?”

  “We’re here on business. May we see your manager?” Chang flashed his badge, and Scott disappeared.

  A short, energetic man strode from a back door and looked them over.

  “If you guys are from the Jehovah’s Witnesses, you should know I’m a practicing Buddhist.” He laughed enough for all three of them. Chang shook the offered hand and showed his credentials.

  “Terry Cassidy, but everyone calls me ‘Hop.’ You know, short for Hopalong Cassidy.” They walked to a glass-walled room, and he closed the door. “I assume you don’t need a car, so what can I do for you?”

  His smile looked puddle-deep.

  “Did you have a customer here named Heather Cleary?” No big reaction.

  “Any idea how many people we get through here? We’re the region’s volume leader.”

  “Congratulations. I’m sure you have a record of the sale. She came in last week and put a deposit on a car, and cancelled the deal.”

  “That happens. We don’t like it, but that’s life. Let me check the log.” He swung a monitor around and typed in quick bursts. “Here it is. Yes, Heather Cleary cancelled her purchase of a gold V6 Accord last Friday. Stated reason: bought a BMW. Well, looks like we didn’t lose that one over price. What do you want to know about her?”

  Was he serious? “Do you read the papers or watch the news?”

  “Mostly the sports pages. I need to stay upbeat. My ex-wife said I’m too focused.”

  Don’t they all?

  Chang tried to push away his dislike for the man and concentrate. “What do you know about the recent murders in the Wilmington area?”

  “The serial killings? Weird, huh? What does it have to do with Heather Cleary?”

  Chang stared at Hop’s face and tried to read past the phony veneer.

  “She was killed on Monday. Two days after she cancelled with your dealership.” He watched Nelson out of the corner of his eye.

  “Jesus! We don’t like it when a customer cancels, but we don’t send hit men after them.”

  Chang let the joke fall flat and watched the man squirm. “Can you tell me who the salesman was?”

  “Do I have to?” Cassidy looked down at his book. “I’d rather you kept my people out of this. I can find out what you need to know.”

  “We have to talk to him ourselves. We could get a warrant, but your guy is one of a long list of people we need to see today. Are we going to find something we don’t like?” Chang stood up and leaned over Cassidy. He put on his inscrutable expression.

  “No…” Cassidy shied away from Chang until he reached the edge of his desk. “It’s just that he’s our best salesman, but we hired him even though he had some blemishes on his record. He doesn’t like cops, and I don’t want you to throw him off his game. He sells a lot of cars.”

  A lie. Chang could see from Nelson’s body language that he didn’t believe Cassidy’s routine, either.

  “What’s his name, and is he in?”

  “Walt Kerry, and yes, he’s here. You can talk to him here, but try to keep it quiet. I don’t need to remind you this is a business.” He slipped out of his office.

  “Told you it was a business. Some detective you are,” Nelson said, looking up from his notes.

  “What’s he hiding?”

  “Dunno. Something. You’ll run checks on arrest records for both of them?”

  “Sure, but I don’t have time to waste on petty crimes.” Chang assumed that almost everybody had some scam or another going. Motion caught his attention. “Look at this guy.”

  Walt Kerry, in his mid-twenties, had an enormous power-lifter’s build. Larger than Chang’s poker buddy, Carl Hull. Kerry wore an aggressive expression, but what made Chang’s heart speed up was the closely cropped reddish hair.

  CHAPTER 43

  Whiff of Suspicion

  Hop introduced Kerry to Chang and Nelson. Kerry said it was nice to meet them—his first lie. Cassidy left them alone in his office.

  “What do you guys want with me?” Kerry looked at both of them. He did a double take when he saw Nelson.

  Nelson used a nonchalant tone of voice. “We’re doing routine follow-up; then we’ll get out of your hair.”

  Chang got the hair reference.

  “Follow-up of what? I haven’t done anything. Ask Hop. I work here all the time.”

  Defensive right away. What disturbed Kerry’s harmony?

  “What can you tell me about Heather Cleary?”

  “That bitch! We had a deal, and the stupid pothead backed out because she wanted a Beamer. She called me on Friday and wanted her damn deposit back. I should keep it. What’s she saying now?”

  Nelson jumped in before Chang cou
ld answer. “Not much. She’s dead. Didn’t you know?”

  Chang tried to disguise his annoyance at the interruption.

  “Huh? What did she do, wreck her new car? OD?”

  Nelson said what Chang was thinking. “Does anyone around here read the papers?”

  “Hop likes me to keep my mind clear. They’re mostly bullshit, anyway. I worry about my own problems and my job, that’s it. How’d she die?”

  Chang took back control and watched Kerry’s eyes dart around. “Murder, possibly connected to a series of killings in recent months. Does the name Midori ring a bell?”

  “Rick Midori? Yeah, I sold him an Insight.”

  “Have you heard from him lately?”

  “If he didn’t have any problems with the car, then he’s out of my life until he needs a new one. Wait, is he…?” Light dawned.

  “With his ancestors, yes.” Chang bore in. “What about the Hubberts, Patel, or Nguyens? Do you know them?”

  “Whoa!” Kerry stood up like he’d been hit with a cattle prod. He glared at Chang. “I see what you’re trying to do. You’re after that serial killer guy, and you think I’m involved? You got the wrong guy, Charlie.”

  Charlie Chang. Cute. So the guy wasn’t stupid.

  “You do know about the killer.” Chang overlooked the bluster. “I thought you didn’t read the papers.”

  “I don’t, but you’d have to be in a coma not to know something’s going on. This is a small town…Hey! Are you sniffing me?” He stared at Nelson.

  Nelson rocked away from Kerry. “No! Not exactly.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  “Got a piece of paper says I’m not.” Nelson stared at his notepad and began to scribble.

  “Sit down, Kerry. We need your help to clear up a couple coincidences.” Chang noticed Nelson had stopped watching. Why did he lose interest?

  “I know my rights, and if I don’t want to talk, you can’t make me. I won’t be railroaded into a jackpot.” He sat and gripped the sides of the chair.

  Perp slang. The guy must have a past.

  “Would you rather waste our time all the way down at headquarters? Confucius say: If sale fall at Marlo, will it make sound in Dover?”

  “Asshole. Fine, ask your fucking questions, then leave me alone.”

  “Okay, so you knew Heather and Rick Midori. What about the others? They all bought from here. What about the Hubberts?”

  “Got a picture?”

  Nelson pulled a folder out of a briefcase and slid the photo to Kerry.

  “Aren’t mine, but they look familiar. Big fatsos?”

  “That’s right.” Chang ruled out a charm-school alibi.

  “Ask around. It’s easy to remember the ones who were pains in the ass. These guys look like they might have been.” Kerry leaned back in his chair.

  “What about Mr. Patel or the Nguyens?” Nelson asked. Kerry barked a laugh.

  “We all have a stack of Patels. Nguyens, too. Let me guess, tough negotiators?” Kerry shook his head.

  “I don’t know,” Nelson said.

  “I do. You can show me a picture, but I doubt it would help; they all look…” Kerry looked at Chang and bit off his comment.

  Same to you, round-eye. “We have everything we need. If there’s anything else, we’ll be in touch.” Chang put out his hand, but Kerry ignored him.

  “Next time you want to hassle me like that, I’ll have a lawyer.” Kerry’s voice broke, and he wiped sweat off his lip. He opened the door and rushed out.

  Chang took a few deep breaths and felt his blood pressure drop.

  “That works?”

  “Shu says it’s good for me, but it’s even better for the people who get under my skin.”

  Cassidy returned, and Chang got a copy of the salesmen’s schedules from the last three months. On their way back to the car, Chang couldn’t see Kerry but was sure he was watching them.

  Chang waited until they were both in the car. “Who said you could take the lead during the interview?”

  Nelson jumped at the harsh tone. “Needed him stirred up so I could read him. What’s the paper for?”

  Chang let it drop. “We can use the schedules to see who sold Marlo cars to the victims. Sounds like they won’t all be by our friend.” He pulled out of the parking lot.

  Nelson leafed through the pages. “I wouldn’t bother.”

  “I thought you weren’t a Geiger counter.” Chang could feel the first gray threads of a headache take root at the base of his skull.

  “He’s not a good person. He lies and he’s got a mean streak. Scared too. It’s all over him. But he’s not our guy.” Nelson returned to his scribbles.

  “It all starts here. If not him, then who?” Chang knew better than to doubt Nelson’s instincts, but his own said they were on the right trail.

  Nelson smiled. “Kinda like porn at the Supreme Court—I’ll know it when I see it. Who’s next?”

  CHAPTER 44

  Mistaken Identity

  Chang wanted to bolt out of the restaurant. An upscale pizza place was a good idea, but he regretted the choice at the first sight of ferns and brass rails.

  Nelson got his usual vapor lock and ordered a plain cheese pie. Chang tried the pineapple and ham pizza at the breathless suggestion of the waiter. Guy knew his food despite the glitter makeup on his cheeks and frosted highlights on his bangs.

  Outside Chang dug into his pocket for his car keys. He looked up when the door opened and the waiter walked toward them. Something in his hand. A flash of red…Chang reached for the pistol under his jacket.

  The waiter pressed a silk ribbon into Nelson’s palm and closed his fingers over it. He looked at Chang and spoke in a soft voice.

  “I don’t want to intrude. Just wanted to say how much my friends and I admire your courage to go out in public.”

  “Excuse me?” Chang said.

  “Every day we’re closer to a cure. Stay strong.” The waiter winked at Nelson.

  “Okay.” Nelson stared at the AIDS awareness ribbon.

  Chang’s headache returned.

  In the car, Chang rubbed his eyes and waited for the light to change.

  “Why didn’t you tell that waiter you weren’t sick?”

  Nelson looked surprised. “What for? It made his day.”

  “Never mind.” Chang envied the waiter’s sense of accomplishment. He and Nelson had little new to show for their efforts. The frustration worked its way into his hands and fused them to the steering wheel.

  He picked up his notes from the arrest report they heard over the radio and waved them at Nelson. “We haven’t ruled out Kerry. The timeline is feasible; his day off is Tuesday, and they’re all off on Sundays. Lexus and BMW checked out, so unless the guy down the road at Patriot could have been at all the same places, we need to look hard at Kerry.”

  “But is a guy with a steroid bust and battery on his girlfriend our bad guy? Nope, though he may know more than he admits,” Nelson said, putting the pages aside.

  Chang turned into the parking lot for Patriot Motors. The large Honda logo sign towered above the sidewalk. A hugely overweight man rose from a desk positioned near the front door. Four hundred pounds, maybe more.

  “Welcome to Patriot Motors, I’m Avery Fitz. Are you gentlemen here on business, or may I assist you with a new car?”

  “What business would that be?”

  “If you’re not some sort of law enforcement, I’ll have to turn in my salesman card.” Avery looked over at Nelson. “You I’m not sure about, but your friend…I’ll bet a dinner I’m right. Believe me, that’s a bet you don’t want to lose.” He patted his stomach and grinned.

  “We need to speak to the manager.” Chang didn’t bother to take out his shield.

  “That’s Jake. Can I tell him what it’s regarding?”

  “Might be tough since you don’t know.”

  Avery shrugged and walked back to get the manager.

  They stood in the large glassed-in showr
oom. In his mind, Chang turned his impatience into a faceless blue figure he forced into a teak box with brass hinges.

  Jake approached the men, introduced himself, and led them into his office.

  “What’s up, guys?”

  “We’re looking into a recent death. It could be foul play. She came through here, bought a car.”

  “Do you mean the girl killed on Monday?”

  Chang nodded.

  “Yeah, she did buy a car, but she was supposed to pick it up last week, I think last Friday. Never showed.”

  “Did she call to cancel?”

  “I don’t think she asked for her deposit back. You can see if the salesman caught up with her. I’ll find out about a refund.” Jake picked up the phone. “Nope, we never got a request.” Jake paused.

  Nelson leaned forward in his seat. “Who was the salesman?”

  “Shamus Ryan, but he called in sick today.”

  “What day does Shamus normally have off?” Chang hoped to eliminate the guy.

  Jake gestured to a printed schedule. “Tuesdays. He came in yesterday for a while, though. Why?”

  Tuesdays? “Can I get a copy of that?” Chang pointed at the schedule. He tried to appear the bored cop he was a moment ago. His instincts twitched, colors in the room grew sharper.

  “Take this one.” Jake handed it to Chang.

  Chang’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself and took the call. His ears roared with blood when he returned. “We have to cut this short. Mr. Barlow, thanks for your time, and we’ll be back to speak to your salesman.”

  “I’ll fill you in while we roll.” Chang backed up the car and chirped the tires. “The killer’s on a sprint.” Chang hit the emergency lights without the siren and wove through traffic toward downtown and the on-ramp for 95 South.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Newark. I want to beat the press there. They’re going to have a field day with this one.” Chang whipped the car around a dump truck and punched the accelerator. He entered the ramp and was doing over eighty by the time he merged.