Drop Dead Perfect

by Rick Murcer

  Ignoring the sense of pride her dad was experiencing was impossible, so she didn’t. As weird as it seemed at that moment, she breathed it in. What girl didn’t want her dad to be proud of her?

  She bowed her head and then touched his arm. “Great time to get sentimental, old man. I’m proud of you, too. We can talk later, okay? Now let’s go,” she said, feeling like her chest might burst.

  Flashlight in hand, Ellen Harper stepped through the faded door, Big Harv close behind.

  CHAPTER 48

  Brice’s eyes opened slowly. For the second time in six hours, he felt the effects of waking up after being forced into unconsciousness. This time was better. His eyes were heavy, and the semilit room was fuzzy, but he was awake and he remembered where he was and who had him, and he knew he wasn’t alone. Listening, he heard nothing.

  After a few minutes, he decided his captor wasn’t in the room. But the sick bastard loved being the center of attention far too much to let Brice awaken without incident. He wasn’t the strong, silent type.

  Stretching his neck, Brice looked over his right shoulder but couldn’t see the young woman sitting in the chair. He was sure she was the latest woman who’d been reported missing.

  Closing his eyes, he concentrated on focusing. When he opened them again, his vision was better. This time, when he looked over toward Rachel he saw her. Her head resting on her chest slowly rose and fell. Thank God she was alive, for now. But he knew she wouldn’t stay that way, and neither would he, if they didn’t get out, and soon.

  Concentrating on how he was bound, Brice tried to detect any weakness in his restraints. Duct tape was almost impossible to break. It had to be cut or torn. Pulling it apart was out of the question. He shifted and felt a stunning pain knife up his shoulder. He cried out but was stifled by the gag.

  Staying still, he waited for the physical pain to die down. He was now struck by a different kind of ache: he wouldn’t be able to free himself. The binding job was well thought out and with the pain in his shoulder, it was impossible to get out of it. Rachel was their only chance.

  As he glanced back at her, what little hope he had dissolved. She wouldn’t be getting loose anytime soon, even if she came to. This killer had wanted to make sure she stayed where he could find her.

  Once the pain had almost fully subsided, he rolled slowly back to his other side and heard his foot tap the floor. He moved his foot again and heard the same sound. He tried to tap it harder and the sound grew. His lost hope somewhat resurrected, he tapped with more effort. It was hardly the bell of Notre Dame, but maybe someone—anyone—would hear. He briefly wondered what the killer would do if he heard it, then dismissed it. The bastard was going to kill them anyway.

  Raising his foot again, he was about to bring it down when he heard the crack of what sounded like breaking wood. A moment later there was another, then silence.

  He began tapping louder, praying the sound meant someone was looking for them.

  “Why, Detective Rogers, whatever are you doing?”

  Brice froze. He knew that voice. They’d been found. He’d never felt such relief. He struggled to speak through the gag. He wanted to tell him to hurry, that the maniac could be back any moment.

  The man kneeled and touched Brice’s face wearing a crooked smile as he put his gun to Brice’s head. Brice’s heart turned to ice.

  “Don’t worry, Detective. You’ll get out of here soon enough. Just not the way you think.”

  CHAPTER 49

  The first thing Ellen noticed was how dry and dusty this end of the building was. She stifled a cough and continued shining her light as she worked her way down the short hallway. The light settled on a glass office. It had windows on three sides and butted up against the wooden wall. One of the grimy panes was cracked, another broken almost completely out of the frame. She couldn’t see the third side. She started for the office and stopped. None of the dust on the floor seemed to be disturbed; the rescue teams said they had searched the building. It was obvious they hadn’t been here.

  “Wait,” Big Harv said.

  “What?”

  “Let’s slow down for a second. I don’t see any tracks or signs that our people have been here.”

  “I was thinking that, too.”

  Big Harv pointed to her left. “Shine that light over there against that wall and work your way to the office window.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “We’ll know it when we see it, I hope.”

  Doing as she was instructed, she panned the area. The beam of light moved against the wall, revealing nothing except a few old wall hooks, a yellowed five-gallon pail, and the skeleton of a long-deceased rat.

  When the light reached the farthest dirtied, broken window of the office, Ellen turned to Big Harv.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s the point. There’s no outside windows, no exterior door, no opening of any kind,” he said.

  “There should be?”

  “I worked in buildings like this during the summers when I was a kid. The boss would never have an office where he couldn’t see what the hell was going on with his workers inside or outside.”

  “Maybe there’s a door or set of windows on the other side of the office.”

  “Let’s find out. Move slowly and be ready. If our people missed this section, what else didn’t they see?”

  Moving with more caution, they reached the far corner of the office. Ellen took one step around it and felt her knees grow weak. In front of another sealed door were three brown rats eating one of their own. The sounds of their gnawing were disturbing enough, but the smell was worse.

  “Shit. I hate rats,” said Big Harv.

  Ellen was ready to say something when she saw something behind the feasting rodents. A thin sliver of light visible from underneath the door demanded her attention.

  “I don’t like them either, but do you see that?”

  He followed her pointing finger, finally focusing on the bottom of the door.

  “Good eyes. Let’s go. Lead the way.”

  “Chickenshit,” she said.

  Walking slowly toward the feeding animals, she got within four feet of the rats. Two of them scurried away, but the third stood on its hind legs and bared its bloody teeth, trying to protect its cannibalistic meal.

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” said Ellen, aiming her gun at the rat.

  “I got it covered,” said Big Harv.

  She turned to him just as he swung the old pail over the rat and its dinner. He then slid it over a few feet from the door.

  “I hate them, but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to deal with them,” he said.

  Ellen didn’t answer. She’d already holstered her gun and was on her knees, looking at the faint light coming through the tiny crack of the door. She could see it wasn’t really a crack at all, but a hole that her new best friends had chewed through a two-inch-thick door. She shined the light directly on the area and noticed a quick reflection of light on metal.

  “Did you see that?” Ellen asked.

  “Yes. But . . . but what is it?” he stammered.

  She looked up at Big Harv and saw that he was sweating.

  “Are you all right?”

  He waved her off, like always. “Just warm in here. Answer the question.”

  She gave him another glance, then bent closer to the hole. “It looks like a coiled spring leading up the side of the door. It has a wire attached, I think. I don’t know. I can’t see more than that.”

  “A wire? What the hell does that mean?” asked Big Harv.

  “I don’t know for sure . . . Wait.”

  Ellen grabbed Big Harv’s arm.

  “Remember that case where that woman got caught in the automatic doors at that department store? The victim’s lawyer requested we re
create the technology that opened the door to see how reliable it was.”

  “Sort of,” said Big Harv, wiping his forehead.

  “I had to build an automatic door in the lab to replicate the one in the store, and it helped them win the case against the door company. It was only around ninety percent reliable.”

  “So?”

  “So that spring setup is a little different, but that wire leads to a sensor, I’m betting.”

  “Sensor? To open the door you mean? Aren’t those on the floor?”

  “Usually, but they don’t have to be,” said Ellen, moving closer to the door.

  Running the light slowly around the outside of the door frame, she saw nothing.

  She stepped back and crisscrossed both sides of the door with the flashlight. She stopped three feet from the floor on the left and noticed one of the wall boards was cleaner than the others.

  Reaching over cautiously, she touched the wood and instantly felt a subtle vibration massaging her fingertips. She pressed harder. Nothing. When she pushed with both hands, the door sprung open with a quick bark. She jumped back, clutching her chest.

  “Found it,” she said.

  “I’ll be damned,” said Big Harv.

  “I hope not,” said Ellen. “Let’s see what we have.”

  The open door revealed a dimly lit stairway leading down.

  She pulled her weapon again and moved through the door, Big Harv following.

  The thumping in her chest and head seemed to grow exponentially as they descended each step. It also became obvious that the area was growing brighter. The dank smell of the warehouse was gone; she could swear she detected the scent of vanilla incense or candles. The temperature was more comfortable. Her uneasiness grew. Someone had put a lot of effort and money into whatever this was.

  She gripped her Beretta tighter.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a small landing gave way to a larger foyer. She glanced back at Big Harv, who had just taken the last three steps gingerly. He put his hand on the wall, laboring to breathe, his face paler than thirty minutes earlier. It was impossible to hide her alarm.

  “Dad. What’s going on? And don’t wave me off,” she said.

  He met Ellen’s gaze, then reached into his pocket, removed a pill bottle, and took out two pills. He slid them under his tongue and then handed her the bottle.

  “Ticker’s not working so great. These help.”

  She read the prescription and shot him a look. “How long have you been taking these and why in hell didn’t you tell me?”

  Big Harv stood straight, took a deep breath, and shifted closer to her.

  “Ellie. Listen. You have to focus. I’m fine, and we can talk about this later.”

  “Dad—”

  “I said listen. I’ve seen this before. Around that corner is a room probably twenty-by-twenty. It was used as a bonus or panic room for some dumb-ass drug setup or maybe even gangbangers. That means Brice and the other women are probably in there and whoever did this to them is, too. If you don’t stay focused, we’re all in deep shit with no shovel, clear?”

  She tilted her head and gave him a half smile. “Clear. But if we get out of this alive, you’re going to wish you hadn’t. Is that clear?”

  “Fair enough.”

  He pulled his gun from his holster again and pointed with it.

  “I’ve tried three more times to text Sanchez and Dillon. Can’t get a signal. It’s just us unless you want to go back and get help,” he said.

  She shook her head. The idea of Brice being just around that corner hurt or dying, or dead, not to mention the women in danger, made her decision easy.

  “No. There’s no time. We both know that.”

  “Let’s get this done. You go high and left, I’ll go low and right.”

  There it was again, that proud-to-have-you-as-my-daughter look.

  Big Harv stepped around her and motioned with his left hand, and they burst around the corner and into the room.

  “Chicago PD. Raise your hands,” hollered Big Harv.

  The first thing she noticed was Brice lying in the middle of the floor, tapping his foot. Next to him was a young lady in a padded chair. Behind them were two people suspended on the wall. Both dead. She recognized Joannie Carmen, but there was a hood on the man.

  The whole situation looked like a scene from a movie set. It was surreal.

  She scanned the room again and then things went from surreal to downright bizarre. One of her paintings hung on the wall opposite where Joannie Carmen hung.

  How in God’s name did that get here?

  “Dad? Do you see that?”

  No response.

  “Dad?”

  Glancing in Big Harv’s direction, she saw that he was frozen in place, not moving a muscle.

  Looking just beyond him, Ellen saw why.

  A long-barreled pistol rested against his head.

  She recognized the gun before she saw the man holding it.

  “Hello, Ellie. Just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?” said her lab assistant, Steve Jansen.

  CHAPTER 50

  With the exception of a few segments during the last fourteen months, Ellen’s life had been firmly rooted in logic. Her profession was based on that which could be proven, and her personal life on that which could be measured. It had been her rock. More than Big Harv. More than Kate. More than her painting. Steve Jansen had been a huge help in that regard. Maybe more than he knew.

  To see him holding his weapon to Big Harv’s head was akin to meeting a true, living alien from another planet. It made no sense whatsoever.

  She did her best to recover from the out-of-body experience.

  “Steve. What the hell are you doing here? And get that gun away from my dad’s head. Are you nuts?”

  “My sanity is something we can discuss later, if you’re able. And I’m more than willing to tell you why I’m here, except right now I need you and the captain here to drop your weapons. I’d just feel safer that way, you know? And I’d hate to blow Big Harv’s head clean off before we were all ready.”

  Staring at her friend didn’t make the crazy go away. The man was out of his mind. Steve’s wide-eyed look confirmed it.

  “Don’t you dare drop that weapon,” gritted Big Harv. “He’s going to kill us both anyway.”

  “Well, isn’t that just noble? I’m not going to kill anyone, if you do what I say. If you don’t, well, let’s just say we’ll get a jump on the evening’s festivities.”

  “Ellie, do as I say,” said Big Harv.

  Raising her weapon, she aimed directly toward Steve’s head. This man wasn’t the Steve Jansen she’d known for the last two years.

  It was as if he’d flipped a switch and the drapery of deceit and lies had been thrown aside, allowing Steve’s true colors to shine through.

  The man’s body language told Ellen that he was totally capable of doing what he’d threatened. Still, aiming her gun at Steve’s head was disquieting for her. She thought she knew the man.

  “I think not, Steve. Just drop the gun and we’ll go from there. You need help.”

  Cocking his head to the right, Steve gave a quick sneer that sent a chill down Ellen’s back.

  He pressed the barrel into her dad’s temple, snatching his Glock from him with his other hand.

  “Need help, huh? This isn’t a game, Harper. You have no damn idea what’s going on here, do you?”

  “Suppose you tell me,” said Ellen evenly.

  “Oh, I will. But first, you need to drop that Beretta and kick it over here—now. I don’t have the patience for this. I will shoot this old bastard. And just in case you think I’m playing games, you won’t have any backup. I took care of those two blues guarding the back side of the parking lot. And, to further state my case, tho
se two hanging on the wall are just the latest in a long line of pleasures for me. Don’t test me with your father.”

  “You killed two innocent cops? You psycho. What the hell’s wrong with you?” said Ellen, her anger beginning to burn.

  “Psycho? No. I’m simply willing to do what’s necessary to get to the next step.”

  “Necessary?” Ellen asked. “You murdered two women and now a third, plus the man hanging there, and you thought that was okay? What about Brice and Rachel? Were you going to kill them, too?”

  He hesitated, and then answered her. “Let’s just say I’d do anything to help right my ship. Anything.”

  “Anything?” asked Ellen.

  Ellen’s mind bent in a direction it never had. She might not have been a mother herself, but she knew how fierce parental instinct was—it was like an almost-mystical command to protect the young.

  She’d seen it in Big Harv. But now it was at work in her, except the roles were reversed. She had her dad’s back.

  “Aren’t they proof enough? Drop the gun, Harper. Last request or I will scatter his brains all over those new boots of yours.”

  “No.”

  “What?” said Steve.

  “Good girl,” said Big Harv.

  The surprise on Steve’s face came and went, but Ellen had seen his eyes. The man didn’t want to die. If he followed through on shooting Big Harv, he knew Ellen would take him out. Steve had underestimated her.

  Advantage good guys.

  “You think I’m bluffing?” asked Steve.

  “I think you’re way into you, and dying isn’t on your agenda tonight.”

  “Yeah, well, losing your old man wasn’t on yours, either. I told you I’d do anything. Say good-bye to—”

  Ellen pulled the trigger and watched as Steve flew backward, landing on the wooden floor.

  There was a second report as Steve’s gun went off, the bullet whizzing just over Ellen’s head. Steve had missed. Ellen hadn’t.

  She rushed past Big Harv and held the Beretta on Steve, but the hole in his forehead said she didn’t need to.