“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t ought-a-be grabbing people. I’m not him and you got no right.”
“Like I said, sorry.”
Nick turned away to cut the young man off and went to the door that opened out into the main room hoping to see Ellen, maybe catch her eye. If Moby was here, he thought, it would be for Ellen and not for him because as far as Moby knew, Nick and the others were about an hour away, surrounding an empty hotel room.
He spotted her by the entrance. A couple, white haired and in their seventies, were standing a few feet inside the door greeting people coming in. Ellen was moving from place to place around them, in the background, one camera hung around her neck while holding another, pointing, framing, and shooting.
He knew this was what she loved, especially the faces and catching them in candid expression; lines and wrinkles and smiles and tears, the imprint of human experience. He could also see that she was lost in her work, totally into it. That won’t last long, he thought.
Somehow he had to get word to her. He had to tell her that killer and lover were both nearby. Let her make the call, run or stay, although he knew what her decision would be. She hated the idea of living in fear.
A young, dark haired server with quick, efficient movements and a friendly look came into the kitchen and conversed with one of the cooks, while a half dozen others, more, moved about banging, chopping, talking, and cursing.
Nick took out his notebook and wrote: I’m in the kitchen. Moby nearby. If you want to leave meet me here. Nick. He tore the page out and folded it in half.
He stopped the server on her way back into the main room. “Excuse me; I wonder if you’d do me a favor?”
“What can I do for you, sir.”
“My wife is the photographer. I need to get a message to her about a family matter, but I don’t want to walk in there while she’s working. Would you hand this note to her and she can read it when she gets a chance? Until then, I’ll just stand here and wait.”
“Well, I guess I can do that for you, sir.” She took the note from Nick’s hand.
“Thanks, I don’t mean to be such a bother but it’s really important.”
Her eyes searched Nick’s face, doubt was there, maybe, and then she said, “Not a problem. I’ll do it right away.”
He watched her cross the big hall, weaving among tables, stopping once to speak with a woman in a long blue dress holding the hand of a little girl similarly clothed, before handing the note to Ellen.
Ellen took the note, slipped it in one of her pockets without reading it, and went back to taking pictures. At the same time, the young man he’d grabbed earlier passed by him staring hard. Get over it, Nick thought.
He’d give her a few minutes and if she didn’t read it, he’d try again.
A guy with a thick, black moustache and wearing a dark suit entered the room. Nick watched him closely. Moby had light brown hair and was clean shaven when he’d last seen him. But still, he could have dyed his hair and pasted on a moustache. Nick looked for the bulge of a weapon, some giveaway expression, or telling body language, but saw none.
A woman of about fifty came in the door behind the mustached man, followed by an elderly, slightly hunched man with a cane. The woman stepped in line behind the man with the moustache, who was in turn behind a family of four engaged in conversation with the guests of honor. The elderly man moved off to one side, leaning on his cane, and took a seat at one of the nearby tables, apparently out of breath. A little girl, chasing a little boy, ran past giggling.
Behind Ellen, Nick could see one of the food servers, a male, was putting wine bottles on one of the tables. He was too short. It would be impossible to improvise that, so Nick quickly dismissed him as a threat.
More people came in the door and Nick saw the man with the moustache shake hands with the male half of the couple being honored and then hug his wife. It appeared by their interaction that they all knew one another so he was probably all right.
A thought bubbled to the surface. If he was right and Moby was here, how did Moby know this is where Ellen would be? He tried to recall if Ellen had told him how she had landed the job, but couldn’t, so she probably hadn’t mentioned it.
He saw the chef coming out of the big walk-in frig and watched him approach.
“You shouldn’t be in the food preparation area sir. It’s a health department rule,” the chef said.
Nick showed him his badge and asked, “The lady who hired you, I believe she is the daughter of the couple being honored, where is she?”
“Is there a problem?”
“It’s not about you or any of this; I just need to know who she is and where she is?”
“Do you want me to get her for you?”
Does this guy know how to answer a question Nick wondered? “Yeah, sure, but as long as you do it now and don’t tell her in front of other guests that a police officer wants to see her.”
“Don’t tell her in front of others, okay, I can do that. I’ll go find her.”
Nick went back to where he could see Ellen. The line of people waiting to be greeted was gone now and the anniversary pair was walking towards the head table. Ellen had moved over to a corner of the room where a small table was set up and was doing something to her equipment. After a few seconds, she must have remembered the note because she took it out of her pocket, read it, and looked around the room until her eyes met Nick’s. She shook her head no, just a little movement, indicating she wasn’t willing to leave and then, as if the content of his message finely sunk-in, she began scanning the room.
Nick looked, too, but his attention was drawn to the chef standing next to a woman, probably in her mid to late thirties, wearing a black dress with sequins on it. After a couple of seconds, the chef whispered in her ear, she said something to him in return, and he pointed to Nick. She put a hand on the chef’s forearm, said something more, and the chef walked back towards the kitchen.
Just then, another man, this one with collar length blond hair, crossed the room carrying a drink in each hand. As he did so he looked in Ellen’s direction and at the same time slowed his pace a little. He was about the right height for Moby but a little on the heavy side and his facial features didn’t seem right. But still …. As Nicked watched him, the blonde man changed directions and headed for Ellen.
The Chef stopped in front of Nick, blocking his view.
“She says she’ll be right with you.”
Nick moved the chef to one side with his hand and changed his position so he could regain his view of Ellen. Just as he did so, the man with blond hair made contact with her. There was a short conversation between the two of them, and the man turned and looked in the direction of where he was originally headed, with Ellen apparently following his gaze. He said something more to her and pointed with one of his drink laden hands. Ellen said something to him and the man departed. She glanced over at Nick and shook her head no, once. She went back to scanning the room while she re-slung a camera around her neck and picked-up the other.
Nick thanked the chef just as the woman in the black sequined dress approached and just as the band started playing Midnight Serenade.
“Now, what’s this all about? I’m told you’re a police officer.”
“Yes I am.” Nick showed her his badge. “And I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Questions, ask me questions? This is my parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. What could possibly be so important that you’d interrupt me at a time like this?”
“I’ll get to that but first, your photographer, how did you happen to select her for this job?”
“The photographer?” She swallowed. “What about her?”
Nick heard a slight tremor in her voice.
“I’m asking you how you picked Ellen to be your photographer.”
“Well, she’s supposed to be very good.”
The woman suddenly looked like she wanted to run.
“You didn’t answer my question,”
he said.
“Can’t we talk about this after the party? Do we have to do this right now?”
“Look lady, I don’t have time to play games here. How did you pick her to be your photographer out of all the other photographers in San Jose?”
“Okay, okay, I was going to call you people. It’s just that the first photographer we picked got in an accident and we needed someone fast. That was only a week ago, less. Then once we had her, there wasn’t time to find anyone else.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Why were you going to call us?”
“Because of him; the man in the news. When he suggested her, recommended her, we didn’t know about him, what he did. So you see, it was before they said he killed all those people. I would have never …”
“Hold on a minute, slow down. Just to make sure I know who you’re talking about, what’s this guy’s name, the one in the news?”
“Moby, but that’s not the name we knew him by. We knew him as Templeton, Roger Templeton.”
As she said this, she held her hand over her heart.
“Just a couple more questions. What did you tell Ellen about how you got her name?”
“Well, the phone book; I told her I got her name from the phone book. I’m sorry; I really was going to call you. Am I in trouble? Is this going to be in the papers? My parents …”
“No, you’re not going to be in trouble,” Nick said. “Why did you tell Ellen you got her from the phone book?”
“Oh, okay, ah, let me see. He asked me not to say he was the one who recommended her. It had something to do with how he uses another photographer for all his work and if the word got around that he recommended someone else it could cause problems. I got the impression that it could possibly cost him some money. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but he seemed serious about it and made me promise, so that’s what I did. Then later, when I saw all that stuff on the news, well I thought if I went to the police before the party, Ellen might back out and I’d have no one to take pictures.”
“Why did you go to Moby in the first place?”
“I had his card from a party I attended about a year ago. I needed someone fast, because of the accident you know, so I called him to see if he would recommend someone.”
Nick shook his head thinking. There is only one logical reason Moby would recommend Ellen. “Have you seen Moby today?”
“My God, no. Is he here?”
“I don’t know. Look, just go back to the party and don’t tell anyone. If he is here, let me know but do it quietly; that’s all you have to do.”
“It was all by phone. I never saw him in person. Is there going to be trouble, if he’s here that is? I mean this is my parent’s fiftieth anniversary; all these people.” She motioned with her hand to the room. “I don’t want there to be any trouble.”
You should have thought of that earlier, lady. “He may not even be here.” But he is.
“I hope not. Oh my God, this is terrible. I should have called you. And I was going to, too, right after. I just …you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The woman walked away, back towards the head table.
If she spots Moby, she’s going to screw things up, Nick thought, as he tried to regain a visual on Ellen.
At first he didn’t see her. She should be somewhere up near the head table or maybe out on the floor photographing people in groups, but she wasn’t there. He stepped out into the main room and stood behind a group of about six or seven people who were all hugging each other and slapping themselves on the back. Then he caught a glimpse.
She had her back to him and was just going through a single wide exit door with the elderly man Nick had earlier seen; the one with the cane. The only thing was that the elderly man was standing much straighter than before and didn’t have the cane.
Nick crossed the room at a run, threading his way through tables, getting looks of surprise as people scrambled to get out of his way. He heard someone behind him ask, “What’s his problem?” and someone else utter “Oh, my God” just as he hit the crash bar on the exit.
He snaked out his pistol and heard the door slam shut behind him. To his right, the building ran another fifty or sixty feet before it cornered. There was nobody in view in that direction. In front of him was part of the parking lot. If Ellen and Moby were there, they were ducked down behind a car. To his left, about twenty feet away was another corner, one that led to the back of the building, where the kitchen entrance was, and where a great many other cars were parked. On a hunch, he turned left.
As soon as he cleared the corner he saw them. They were walking from the building out into the parking lot with their backs to him. They were essentially side by side, but Moby had his left arm snugged tight around Ellen’s neck. To a casual observer it might appear there was nothing wrong; that they were perhaps husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend. A closer look, though, showed that Ellen was trying to pull away, but her bigger, heavier assailant was muscling her along.
Nick ran after them, angling his approach so he was coming directly at their back, and so he would have the best chance of getting close without being seen. He needed to get closer before he did anything. At this distance, if he had to shoot, his bullet would just as likely hit Ellen as Moby.
As Nick ran, he saw a man dressed in a western cut sports coat, probably a late arrival to the party, pass by the pair going in the opposite direction. The man looked at them and continued to stare as Ellen and Moby walked on by. Nick next saw the man look in his direction, stop, and side-shuffle behind a parked car where he half squatted down in an apparent attempt to put something solid between himself and the confrontation about to unfold.
All this movement and the man’s previous interest in Moby and Ellen must have caused Moby some concern because he turned around to look. It was at this moment that he spotted Nick coming up behind him.
With Nick still thirty yards away, Moby took his left arm from around Ellen’s neck, spun inward towards her and at the same time came up with a pistol in his right hand. With his left hand, he grabbed her elbow. This put Ellen essentially facing one way and Moby facing the other, towards Nick.
Nick saw Moby’s pistol come up but didn’t want to chance a shot of his own yet. Ellen was much too close for that, so he kept moving closer, trying to keep cars between him and Moby for protection.
Moby snapped off two quick shots at Nick, their sharp, harsh echo bouncing off the building and then fading out. Just as he did this, Ellen pulled away from him, throwing-off his point of aim and causing his bullets to go wide. Moby responded by yanking back hard on her arm, which he still gripped in his left hand, but he kept his focus on Nick as he did so. As Ellen was pulled back into him, she pepper sprayed Moby in the face. Most of the stream hit the side of his head, back near his ear, but enough splattered his face that he winced, swiped his eyes with the back of his gun hand, and pushed her away. She fell backwards to the ground, down, out of sight.
With Ellen out of the direct line of fire, Nick cranked-off two shots while still moving forward, but he didn’t see any noticeable reaction from Moby. He half expected that, though. You couldn’t be accurate while shooting and moving at the same time. He would have had a better chance of scoring a hit if he’d planted himself before squeezing the trigger.
Instead of immediately returning fire, Moby first pointed his pistol down at the ground towards Ellen, fired it once, and then quickly turned towards Nick and shot twice more, this time using a two hand grip. One of his bullets hit the car next to Nick; the other was dead center, 10X, on Nick’s chest.
Nick’s brain registered the impact and for a split second it came into his mind that Ellen was dead and he was dying. But he remembered the vest. He’d put it on while in the parking lot. Still, the impact was like a two handed lick with a ball peen hammer, right over his heart. It stopped him cold, dropped him to the ground, and left him searching for breath through the fog of pain.
He sc
ooted on his shoulder closer to the car he was laying next to and at first thought about staying there, protecting himself, using the car to his advantage. But thoughts of Ellen ragged on him. Moby had shot her; he had seen that with his own eyes. Maybe she was still alive, though.
He got his knees under him and popped up two, three feet from where he’d gone down, pistol out. Pain radiated across his entire chest; so much so that it was hard to keep his gun steady.
Moby was there, in the same place, but he was turned away, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe his face.
Nick fired twice and then twice more but had no confidence his shots would go home. He was breathing in short, half breaths. His point of aim was all over the place.
One of his bullets must have scored, though. Moby jerked and twisted clockwise at the same time arching his back. Nick saw him drop below the front end of a Toyota pick-up.
Nick, taking half-steps, followed his Glock’s muzzle forward. Reaching the truck, he went around the back end of it. Ellen should be somewhere nearby.
When he stepped into view he saw neither of them.
Ellen! Ellen!” he yelled.
“Here”
The voice was right next to him and sounded weak. In the distance, he heard sirens and also a car starting somewhere in the parking lot.
Keeping his pistol pointed in the general direction of where Moby should be, he bent down and looked under the truck. She was there, looking back at him, crazy eyed, breathing hard. There was a raw spot on the upper part of her forehead and some blood on one of her hands. A small canister of pepper spray lay on the ground nearby.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She didn’t answer him. She stared. Her chest heaved.
Nick looked up and saw a late model GMC Envoy accelerate out of the parking lot onto city streets. He caught a glimpse of Moby through the driver’s side window. The sirens sounded maybe a couple of minutes away.
Nick reached out and took Ellen’s hand but she pulled it away and started touching her face and chest.
“Come on Ellen. Come out from under, babe. It’s okay. He’s gone. It’s safe.”
Touched By Blood Page 25
