Sullivan's Law

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

“False alarm,” Hank told her. “Armstrong seems like a decent guy, other than the fact that he let Metroix rot in prison for twenty-three years to save his own neck. When we showed up at the house, he knew it was time to throw in the towel. He has a wife and three kids. He wanted to save his family the embarrassment of a trial.”

  Carolyn took a sip of her tea. “What about Chief Harrison?”

  “As far as Armstrong knows,” the detective went on, “Harrison is dead. He claims he hasn’t talked to the man since Metroix’s conviction. Houston, however, called him as soon as word got back to him that you were asking questions. Then when he found out Metroix had been paroled, he panicked.”

  Carolyn couldn’t wait to tell Daniel. “Then Houston must have hired Fast Eddie to kill Metroix.”

  “Armstrong doesn’t know,” Hank stated. “He knows Houston is loaded, that those golf stores rake in a fortune. Armstrong earns a comfortable living selling commercial real estate, but he isn’t rolling in money like his former football buddy.”

  “Did they arrest him?”

  “His attorney is trying to cut a deal with the DA. No jail time would be a disgrace, if you ask me, even if the guy was only a witness who failed to come forward, which isn’t the case. But this is an old crime. We have his statement. Without some type of solid evidence, which I’m not certain we can produce, the DA could refuse to prosecute. They’re certain Houston is going to claim Armstrong was responsible.”

  “Did you call Arline Shoeffel?”

  “Not yet,” Hank said. “As soon as the DA makes a decision, we can arrest Houston. Even then, there’s no telling what charges they may file. And at this point, we’re only dealing with the original crime. I’ve already argued with Thomas. They won’t even consider an attempted murder for hire charge with what we have now.”

  Carolyn stood and started pacing. “That’s bullshit,” she said. “It’s all right there. Just because the evidence is circumstantial doesn’t mean it won’t pass muster with a jury. I’ve seen people convicted on far less. No matter how high they set the bail, Houston has the funds to post it. This man has made our lives a living hell. I’ll call Arline myself.”

  “Calm down,” the detective said. “You’re overstepping your boundaries. The solution is obvious. We have to pick up either Downly or his partner. Since we know there’s two of them, we’ll play one against the other. Someone needs to go on record as to whether or not Houston put out a contract on Metroix. We may be dealing with two separate crimes here. Think about it.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Carolyn told him. “Are you trying to say that Harrison or someone else hired these men to kill Daniel, that they went after me only because I got in the way? Houston’s motive has been firmly established. I was almost killed in an explosion. My son was kidnapped. A police officer was shot. Nolan Houston should be brought in immediately and held without bail.”

  “I know you’re attending law school,” Hank said. “I also know you’re wasting your time calling Judge Shoeffel. The more serious the crime, the more evidence is required to obtain a conviction. You take Houston to trial and lose, the game is over. Wait it out and he’ll fumble the ball again just like he did on the football field. Don’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you? This man’s prominence is another factor.”

  “I see,” Carolyn said, fuming. “Because Nolan Houston’s got money, we have to tap-dance around him. In the meantime, I have to hold my breath that these men he hired don’t finish the job. Why don’t you listen to me for a change, Hank?”

  “If the DA jumps the gun on this, Houston will walk,” he said, raising his voice. “Want to know who’s representing Armstrong? Clarence Walters, only the most prominent criminal attorney in Los Angeles.”

  “We may never catch Downly and his partner,” she said. “You’ve told me that a dozen times. Houston has no reason to cancel the contract. Both Daniel and I are material witnesses as to the attempted murder for hire. The only reason he’d have to call off his dogs is if we turn this over to the media and put him in the spotlight.”

  “I’m exhausted,” Hank said. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Fine,” Carolyn said, clicking the off button on the phone.

  The two men were crouched on the left side of the garage. “What if the garage is alarmed?”

  “Nobody alarms their garage,” Fast Eddie told him, his eyes scanning the street. “Are you sure there wasn’t a dog in the backyard?”

  “Yeah,” Percy said. “Looks like there’s only a few lights on. One upstairs and another one in what looks like the downstairs bathroom. I’m almost certain they’re asleep.”

  “Almost doesn’t cut it,” Eddie told him. “Stay where you are. If you hear or see any movement inside the house, come and get me.”

  He circled to the front and tried to open the garage door. Damn, he thought. The house was so old, he hadn’t expected them to have an automatic garage door opener. Real security freaks even had bolts, making it almost impossible to get in. That’s one of the reasons he’d selected the last house he’d used. Damn house was a piece of junk, but whoever had lived there had wanted to make certain no one got inside.

  He tapped along the wood, then decided to use his fingers. The door was divided into four-by-four-foot panels. Finding a ragged edge, he pulled his screwdriver out of his back pocket. The house must be worth some bucks, he thought, probably because of the land. The structure itself wasn’t in good shape. The owner must have forgotten to have it inspected for termites. Either that, or he’d fallen for a con. Eddie had worked for an exterminating company the year before. Some of them had their men walk around with a spray can filled with water. They even charged more by telling the customers that the chemicals they used were odor free. It was a dynamite job for a burglar. He’d hit every house he’d serviced. He was digging into the rotting wood when Percy stepped up beside him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Percy said. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “I should shoot you,” Eddie whispered. “I’m trying to get in, idiot. If they have an alarm, we have to disable it. What did you think I was doing? You’re supposed to be covering me. Get back where you belong.”

  He couldn’t afford to make any noise, so it took Eddie almost an hour to dig out a hole big enough for him to crawl through. Patience and persistence, he thought, using another tool to pick the lock on a gray metal utility box. Once he had it open, he used a penlight to examine what was inside. The box contained the controls to the alarm as well as the phone lines. Most security systems were set up to automatically seize the phone line and dial the alarm company when activated. Using his pliers, he cut through the wires. He tried to find the breaker box to turn off the electricity. He decided it must be inside the house somewhere, more than likely in a closet or utility room on the ground floor. He was ready to fetch Percy and enter the residence when he heard someone groaning inside. A few minutes later, he heard what he thought was the toilet flush. He turned the knob on the door leading into the house. Finding it locked, he placed his head flush against the door. The footsteps were getting louder. That meant someone was walking toward him. He quickly slithered back through the opening in the garage door.

  Carolyn was disappointed. What she’d thought had been the news they’d been waiting to hear was only a beginning. Nolan Houston was a powerful man, as Hank had pointed out. She remembered Liam Anderson as a teenage boy. After he had tried to force her to have sex with him, he’d ended up whimpering like a baby. From what she’d seen the other day, she was worried he couldn’t stand up to Houston. And if Armstrong had a prominent attorney, reason told her Houston would hire the best criminal defense team in the country. She decided to wait and see what happened over the next few days.

  It was almost eleven and both the children were already in their rooms with their doors closed. Carolyn stripped off her clothes and ran a hot bath. While she was soaking, she heard a noise outside her window. Hoping the
wind had blown over a trash can, she got out of the tub and threw on her robe. Walking over to the window, she peered out between a crack in the blinds.

  Not seeing anything amiss in the yard, Carolyn turned around when a gunshot blasted through the window.

  Shards of glass flew through the air. She prostrated herself on the floor when another shot rang out. Adrenaline coursed through her body.

  Carolyn frantically crawled over to the nightstand to retrieve her gun before she remembered that she’d left her purse in the kitchen. She heard noises downstairs on the first floor—the sound of glass breaking.

  They were inside the house!

  Rushing to the closet, she yanked down the ladder leading to the attic, scampered up, found the strap on the duffel bag and hurled it onto the floor. Once she’d climbed back down, she reached inside the bag, pulling out two additional 9 millimeters similar to the one she’d given Metroix. Both guns were called a C-9 Comp; however, one was outfitted with a pressure-pad-activated red laser that would allow shots to be placed on target without having the sights. The other had what was referred to as a white light flashlight instead of a red laser, which enabled the shooter to positively identify the object or person they were shooting.

  Shoving the gun with the white light feature in the left pocket of her robe, she placed the one with the red laser in her right. Disengaging the safeties on both firearms, she heard Rebecca screaming from the other room. She picked up the AK-47 assault rifle, resting it on her shoulder as she ran toward the children’s bedrooms.

  The light in the bathroom went off. She checked the switch in the hallway. The killers had turned off the electricity. She met John in the hallway. “Stay with Rebecca,” she whispered, placing the 9mm in his hand. “The gun is ready to fire. It has a flashlight device on it so you can see who you’re shooting. Get in the closet. Crack the door so you can see. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe. Whatever you do, don’t point the gun at your sister.”

  John flung the door to his sister’s room open, set the gun down on the dresser for fear it would go off, then swept Rebecca up in his arms and deposited her in the closet. Returning for the gun, he reentered the closet, making his sister curl up in the corner. He then positioned himself on the floor, his hands shaking as he aimed the gun through a small opening in the closet door.

  “Call the cops,” John said, panting.

  “No time,” his mother told him. “Don’t move until I give you the okay. I have to go downstairs. If you have to fire the gun, make sure you know who it is you’re shooting.”

  Carolyn’s body was soaked in perspiration. She’d now placed a loaded gun in the hands of a schizophrenic as well as a teenager. She was terrified that everyone would start shooting at once. Flattening herself against the wall, she moved slowly toward the stairway. Several more shots rang out on the first floor. Rebecca began crying again, then suddenly stopped. John must have shut her up. She was terrified that Daniel and Isobel had been killed. She had to remain calm. If she panicked, they would massacre her children.

  With the drapes closed, the house was a dungeon of darkness. She wished she’d taken the other gun with the flashlight instead of giving it to John. The house was too quiet. The killers were listening, trying to determine where their victims were hiding.

  Carolyn felt the parquet floor under her feet. Every step she took would lead them to her. Should she remain where she was? They couldn’t get up the stairs without her seeing them. She would kill them before they reached the children.

  The minutes ticked off inside her head. She wiped the sweat off her face with the edge of her robe. What if they grew tired of waiting and began firing through the ceiling? Depending on what type of weapons they had, they might hit Rebecca or John.

  Carolyn depressed the pad on the laser, pointing it down the hallway. The beam of red light wasn’t strong enough to illuminate more than a small round circle. She had to take action. She had to know who was alive or dead. “Daniel,” she shouted.

  “I shot a man,” he answered, his voice echoing throughout the house. “I can’t find Isobel.”

  “Is the man dead?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Shoot him again.”

  A few moments later, Daniel called out to her. “He’s not breathing.”

  “Where’s Isobel?”

  “Not in her room.”

  Carolyn realized the surviving intruder wouldn’t go after Daniel as he knew he was armed. She bent down and placed the assault rifle on the floor. The gun felt cumbersome and was designed to be used in tactical situations at greater distances. She needed to be more agile, since it appeared that Isobel had either somehow escaped, was dead in another part of the house, or was being held as a hostage. Bringing the Pasadena police in without explicit knowledge of what they were walking into could end up in disaster.

  Before descending the stairs, Carolyn tried to determine the location of the other intruder. Since Daniel had shot his partner, she assumed his was the first room they had entered. Daniel must have checked Isobel’s room already, then returned to the guest room to make certain the man he’d shot was dead. She assumed he’d remained there. That meant the surviving suspect was either in the kitchen, the bathroom, or the living room. Logic told her he was lying in wait for her in the living room, the only place where he could see her coming down the stairs.

  Carolyn felt as if she were teetering on the edge of a twenty-story building. Descending the stairs would be suicide. She dropped to the ground and crept to the opposite side of the stairway. She couldn’t afford to communicate with Daniel again. Her voice would guide them to her.

  They’d reached a standoff.

  The killer couldn’t come up the stairs for the same reason Carolyn could not go down them. As long as she remained where she was, she held the advantage. He wouldn’t wait forever. Any second, she expected him to start firing through the ceiling.

  She had two choices.

  The window in Paul’s office had an aluminum awning that slanted downward toward the yard. If she crawled out the window, she could slide down the awning and enter through the rear of the house, taking the suspect by surprise. All she would have to worry about with this plan was that Daniel might panic and shoot her when she came through the back door. He had her gun, and the probation department did not supply their officers with weapons with lasers and flashlights.

  Her only option was to go down the stairs.

  She remembered that the upstairs hall had a narrow carpet called a runner. Feeling around with her toes, she found the edge. Squatting down, she quietly grabbed the end of it, rolled it into a ball, then unfurled it down the stairs. She waited, fully expecting to hear gunfire. When nothing happened, she positioned herself on her stomach, the gun in her outstretched hands.

  Carolyn inched her way down the wooden staircase, the carpet underneath her buffering the sound. She removed her finger from the pad that activated the laser. Darkness was now her best defense.

  Time seemed suspended. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she crawled across the floor, then flattened herself on the wall outside the living room. Only a few feet away, she heard the sound of muffled breathing. She began to perspire even more profusely. She couldn’t understand why the suspect didn’t announce that he had a hostage, unless he was using poor Isobel as a human shield to deflect bullets. She prayed for God to help her, making the sign of the cross over her chest. She wasn’t a marksman, and her familiarity with firearms was limited.

  Carolyn couldn’t wait any longer. For all she knew, there could have been more than two intruders. Isobel might already be dead and the men were positioned on opposite sides of the room. If this was the case, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She couldn’t shoot at two targets simultaneously.

  Her decision made, she placed one foot forward for balance. When nothing happened, she depressed the pad on the laser and pointed it toward the living room. She was about to open fire when a pinpoint of red light ill
uminated a portion of Isobel’s face. Moving the gun around, she saw the housekeeper sitting on top of a body, her nightclothes soaked in blood.

  Isobel raised her hands over her head and cried out, “Sweet Jesus, don’t shoot me!”

  Sweat had dripped down into Carolyn’s eyes. She blinked several times, trying to focus. “Are you injured?”

  “I’m alive,” the woman answered. “I’m not so certain about this guy. I think I killed him.”

  Isobel was close to the front of the house. Carolyn moved the gun from side to side, searching for another possible intruder. Ninety percent sure no one else was in the room, she rushed over and yanked the drapes open. The light from the street allowed her to see a person with long hair lying face-down on the floor. When she saw the fancy silver tennis shoes, she knew she was looking at David Reynolds. She dropped down beside him and put her finger on his neck to check for a pulse.

  “He’s got a heartbeat,” Carolyn said. “Did you shoot him? Where’s the gun?”

  Isobel lifted her right arm, displaying a bloody butcher knife. “I stabbed the sucker,” she said. “Since they killed my Otis, I always sleep with a knife under the mattress. The bastard got me around the neck and dragged me in here. He didn’t see the knife in my hand.”

  “Stay here,” Carolyn told her, seeing a gun a few feet away on the floor. “I’m going to call the police and an ambulance.”

  Isobel jerked her head around. “I’m not going to no hospital. Nothing wrong with me.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but the man you stabbed needs medical treatment.”

  “I’ve been sick as a dog all day,” Isobel said. “Man come in my room in the middle of the night wanting to kill me deserves to be stabbed. I should sit on this rotten piece of meat until he bleeds to death.”

  Carolyn’s stomach was still churning. She bent over, fearful she was going to throw up. When the nausea subsided, she straightened up. “Why didn’t you let us know you were alive, Isobel?”

  “I’m not stupid,” the woman told her. “Could have been five murdering thugs in here for all I know. I got mine, then decided if the others wanted to kill me, they’d have to find me.”