by Sharon Sala
An hour later he was loaded and ready but continued to hang around the house, delaying the inevitable trip as long as he could. He kept thinking he was going to miss something important if he left, then reminded himself that if he were really needed, he would eventually be found.
Beth had cried until she was numb. Except for a throbbing headache, she felt nothing. She hadn’t moved since Detective Burroughs had set her down on the sofa other than to pull a blanket up around her shoulders. It wasn’t because she was cold so much as a subconscious effort to hide from what was going on. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sarah’s face and that blank, sightless expression—and the blood. Dear God, the blood.
Police were everywhere. The crew from the LAPD crime lab was still taking photos and fingerprints and bagging evidence, although the coroner had come and gone, taking what was left of Sarah Steinman to the morgue.
As Beth glanced toward the windows, she was shocked to see the faint rays of first light pushing over the horizon. A new day was about to dawn while she had yet to come to terms with the old one.
Startled by a flurry of activity at the doorway, she turned to look just as three men in dark suits entered the room. She saw Detective Burroughs glare, have a few words with them, then look her way. Her heart thumped hard against her chest as Burroughs started toward her with the three men at his heels. Something bad was happening.
“Beth, these men want to talk to you.”
Beth drew the blanket tighter beneath her chin as the tallest of the three men flashed a badge.
“Miss Venable, I’m Special Agent Ames with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. These men are Special Agent Burke and Special Agent Charles. We’d like to talk to you.”
Beth blinked. The FBI?
“About what?”
Ames sat down on the sofa beside her, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees in what she supposed was a move to try and put her at ease, but that was never going to happen—not here.
“You know the man you picked out of a photo lineup at the police station…the one who matched your sketch and who you said committed the murder in the apartment across the street?”
She nodded.
“His name is Ike Pappas. He’s the current head of a crime syndicate that reaches all the way to the other side of the country. The woman you saw him kill is his ex-wife, Lorena. We’ve been building a case against him—or trying to—for the past two years. Problem is, our witnesses keep recanting their statements or disappearing—or dying.”
Horror was rising within Beth in creeping increments. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse.
“Have you arrested him?”
“Not yet. The police are still working the evidence from the crime scene. Lorena was going to testify against him. The fact that she’s dead tells us he probably found out. And the fact that your friend is dead is obviously because he found out that there was a witness to the murder. With the intelligence he’s able to gather, it won’t take him long to find out he had the wrong woman killed.”
Her fingers curled into fists to keep them from trembling.
“But wouldn’t his fingerprints be all over the place? And his DNA must be on her. They were hitting each other before he cut her throat.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Pappas owns the building. He set his ex-wife up in the apartment and visits regularly. His DNA and fingerprints are all over the place with good reason.”
Beth’s heart was pounding so fast it was difficult to breathe. “Are you saying he’s going to get away with it?”
“Not if we can help it. Not if we can keep you safe until we go to court.”
Beth glanced toward Sarah’s bedroom. “And you’re sure that’s why Sarah was killed.”
“We think so.”
Too shocked to cry, she kept trying to make sense of Sarah’s death. “How did he find out about the phone call so fast?”
Ames glanced at Burroughs, who looked away.
“In this case, we believe someone from LAPD gave him a heads-up that there was a witness, so he did what he always does—eliminates the obstacles in his path. This is the first time that his information was faulty. Because the call that came in was from your friend and the crime was witnessed from this apartment, he made the assumption that she was also the witness. He and his informant don’t know about you. Yet.”
It was the “yet” that made the skin crawl on the back of Beth’s neck.
“What are you saying?”
Ames glanced again at Detective Burroughs, who was trying not to glare. Ames knew the LAPD was angry that the Feds were commandeering their case. It was a territorial thing that had nothing to do with Beth Venable’s situation. But the bottom line was that she had to be protected, and the FBI had the better chance of making that happen.
Ames turned his attention back to Beth.
“You’ve already agreed to testify, right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Then we need to put you in protective custody until the case goes to trial.”
Beth flinched. The blanket dropped from around her shoulders. “Because I’m next?”
“We know they’ll try to eliminate you once they realize they killed the wrong person. We can protect you.”
Her head was swimming. This couldn’t be happening. And all because of a gas leak on the other side of the city.
“For how long? I have a life. I have a job. I can’t just disappear. And doesn’t it take months, sometimes years, for a case to go to trial?”
“Time will mean nothing to you if you’re dead.”
Beth slumped against the arm of the sofa and covered her face. Swamped with guilt for causing Sarah’s death and fearing she would be next, she felt defeated.
“Ma’am?”
Beth made herself look up.
“You need to come with us.”
A thousand thoughts ran through her mind in the few seconds that she sat there, but she kept going back to the hole in Sarah’s forehead. There was no escape.
“I’ll get my things.”
It was just after 6:00 a.m. when the detectives pulled up to the gates of the Pappas estate and rang the bell. A few seconds passed, and then someone answered.
“The Pappas family is not receiving visitors this early.”
The detective pulled his badge and aimed it toward the security camera.
“LAPD. Open the gates.”
A few moments later the gates swung inward and the detectives drove through. The arrival of the police was beyond the staff’s area of responsibility. The housekeeper immediately rang Ike Pappas’s room.
Ike hadn’t been asleep more than a couple of hours, and hearing the phone ring was like fingernails on a chalkboard.
When he realized it was an in-house call, he was pissed.
“This better be good.”
“The LAPD is on their way to the house, sir. I thought you’d want to know.”
Ike shifted mental gears and apologized to his housekeeper. “Oh. Sorry for snapping at you, Beatrice. I’ll be right down.”
He rolled out of bed and made a quick trip to the bathroom before putting on a robe and house slippers, then headed down the stairs.
He met Adam coming up. He was wearing workout clothes and dripping with sweat.
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Beatrice just woke me. She said the police are on the way up the drive. On another note, you’re up early.”
“Working out, obviously,” Adam said, turning to follow his father back downstairs.
At that point the doorbell rang. The housekeeper appeared in the hall and went to answer.
The door opened. He watched a couple of detectives flash their badges as they walked in. He called out as he continued down the stairs,
“Thank you, Beatrice. I’ll take it from here. Make some coffee, please.”
She scurried away as Ike moved toward the detectives with his son at his heels. He’d had a lifet
ime of dealing with confrontations and had already prepared himself for this moment. He pulled the sash of his robe a little tighter as he crossed the foyer.
“What the hell, guys? Don’t you have enough to do without getting a man out of bed?”
One of the detectives stepped forward and flashed his badge again. “Detective Samson, Homicide. This is my partner, Detective Phillips.”
Ike frowned. “Homicide?”
“Yes, sir. We regret to inform you that your ex-wife, Lorena Pappas, was murdered in her apartment last night.”
Ike had practiced the look of shock that he forced onto his face, along with his gasp of disbelief.
“What the hell?” He turned to Adam, who’d gone white as a sheet, and pulled him into his arms. Ike morphed his true concern for Adam’s grief into a very passable imitation of rage. “What happened?”
“Someone entered her apartment and slit her throat.”
Adam groaned, then began to sob, clinging to Ike even tighter.
Ike kept his arms around Adam’s shoulders as he faced the cops. “Tell me you have the son of a bitch who did this.” When the detective hesitated, he pushed his anger up another notch. “Certainly you at least have a suspect! I own the damn building. Security is top-notch. He would have been caught on camera!”
“The security system was disabled, and the guard on duty is dead,” the detective said.
“Noooo,” Adam wailed, and pushed out of his father’s arms.
Ike saw the pain on his son’s face changing swiftly into rage. An involuntary shudder swept through him, knowing how close he was to having his carefully constructed world rip apart. It was time to point opinions in the right direction.
He ran a hand over his bald head, as if in frustration. “I’m sure you know I have enemies.”
Samson nodded, took a quick breath as if gearing up for the question, then blurted it out.
“We need to know where you and Adam were last night.”
Ike shifted from concern to indignation. “You ask such a question of us? What the fuck’s the matter with you people? We have no reason to want Lorena dead. I was on good terms with my ex, and Adam adores his mother.”
“It’s protocol, and you know it,” Samson said, and stood his ground.
Ike cursed softly, then shook his head as if trying to gain some control. “I had a late meeting. Got home around nine p.m. Then Adam and I had a late dinner together. We watched ESPN until after eleven, when I finally called it a day. Adam was still awake when I went upstairs.”
Adam’s eyes were red-rimmed and still swimming in tears, but his head was up and his shoulders back. When the detective turned to him, he pointed.
“Watch what you say to me,” he said. “Don’t you defile my mother’s name by insinuating that she would raise a child who would be capable of taking her life. She was a saint, you bastards. She was a saint!”
Ike continued to play a saddened man supporting his son’s grief at such a tragic time. He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder.
“Take it easy, son. They’re just doing their job.”
Adam was cursing and crying all over again, ignoring his father and still seething at the cops. “I loved my mother. She was everything to me. You don’t come in here and tell me she’s dead, and then tell me I need a fucking alibi for the time of her death! We were home last night! Both of us! All night! Now get the hell out of our house and go find who killed my mother or I’ll do it for you.”
The detectives had barely opened the door to leave when Adam slammed it shut behind them, then turned around. He was so angry he was shaking.
“Who did this? You have to have a suspicion. Who did you piss off who would be stupid enough to put a hit on Mom to get back at you?”
Ike frowned. “I know you’re hurting. I’m sick at heart myself, but everyone knew she was my ex. As crass as this will sound, killing her wouldn’t send any kind of a message to me. I have nothing invested in that relationship anymore, remember?”
Adam flinched. “What are you saying?”
“You tell me. Of the two of us, who had the most to lose with her death? Who have you pissed off?”
Adam reeled as if he’d been punched. His face paled, but he wasn’t his father’s son for nothing. He jabbed a finger in Ike’s chest, punctuating every word as he spoke.
“I don’t know. But I will find out who did this, and when I do, I will kill him myself.”
Ike shuddered slightly, then gathered himself. “Get dressed. I’ll call Moreno and have him find out when we can claim your mother’s body. There’s family to notify and services to plan.”
At the mention of the family lawyer, Adam spun on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.
Ike’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Adam was proving to be a formidable enemy. That was good. He was going to have to be tough to survive the family business.
As the day progressed, Ike moved with a sense of purpose, confident that the loose ends left behind after his deed had been tied up. But that only lasted until he got a call while he and Adam were at the mortuary picking out a coffin.
The undertaker was pointing out a hand-carved detail on a cherrywood casket when Ike’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then frowned.
“Sorry, but I need to take this. This casket is a nice choice, but ultimately it’s Adam’s decision.” He nodded at his son, then left the room with the phone at his ear.
“Yes?”
“There’s a problem.”
He recognized Pacheco’s voice. “Is your line secure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Talk to me.”
“There was another woman in the apartment last night. She was at the police station when I arrived. She was the real witness, and the Feds have her in protective custody.”
Ike’s gut knotted.
“Can you find her?”
“It might take a couple of days.”
“Do it as fast as you can and finish the job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ike cursed silently as he dropped the phone back in his pocket. An unforeseen hitch, and he didn’t like surprises.
Ryal made the furniture delivery but decided to stop off in Mount Sterling before he went home. He needed to go by the lumberyard and pick up some cherrywood to make a pair of end tables for another customer. Once there, he scanned the lumber racks until he found what he wanted, and marked the pieces, and was watching them being loaded into the bed of his pickup truck when his cell phone rang.
Even as he was pulling it out of his pocket he was wondering if this was it—if this would be the call that explained why he was so unsettled.
“Hello?”
“Ryal, it’s me, James. Hey, I stopped by your place and you were gone. By any chance are you in Mount Sterling?”
“Yes, what do you need?”
“A couple of bags of cattle cubes. My milk cow’s fresh, and you know Julie, she wants to milk her.”
Just the mention of his brother’s wife made him smile. She wasn’t the kind to waste anything, even time.
“You got it,” Ryal said.
“Thanks, big brother. I owe you.”
Ryal smiled. “How many times have I heard that? I should be home before four.”
“See you then,” James said, and disconnected.
Ryal pocketed his phone and went inside to pay.
Three days later
Beth was leafing through a magazine without seeing the text. There’d been a big fuss at the first safe house less than twenty-four hours after her arrival. It had prompted a sudden change of address after they’d received a tip that their location had been compromised. It unnerved her deeply and brought home the fact that she might never be safe again.
The enforced inactivity at the second safe house was driving her nuts. She wanted her laptop so she could work, but they’d confiscated both it and her cell phone with an explanation that she might be tempted to talk to friends, which could inadvertently reveal her loc
ation if someone were able to hack into her account.
Even though she’d assured them that she would keep her online mouth shut, it didn’t matter. They refused to trust her to keep her word.
The two agents on guard duty today were a man named Dewey and a woman named Andrea. They were playing poker at the kitchen table while waiting for a pizza delivery, and Andrea had just accused Dewey of cheating. Beth was still grieving for Sarah, as well as the life she’d carved out for herself and was in the process of losing, and was not amused by the agents or their squabbles. She glanced out the window, watching people going about their lives, and wondered what they would think if they knew she were here, hiding among them. The neighborhood seemed ordinary, close to shopping centers and schools, with a couple of churches not far away—the kind of place a family would choose to live. Would they be shocked by her presence, knowing it might put them at risk?
She thought about her parents’ sudden decision to move away from Rebel Ridge, how they’d turned away from everything they knew without a satisfactory explanation. Despite everything she said, and all the crying and begging, nothing had changed. They’d come to L.A.—a place as different from rural Kentucky as it could possibly be—and then lived in quiet exile. When Ryal had turned away from her, never making an effort to contact her, she’d turned her grief inward and lived a life of quiet sadness.
Then, four years ago, she and her parents had been broadsided by a drunk driver on their way to church. They had died instantly. She was still fading in and out of consciousness in the hospital when her dad’s brother, Will, came in from Kentucky and dealt with the business of shipping the bodies back home to be buried. She had brief memories of seeing him in her hospital room for days afterward. He was the one who broke the news to her about her parents’ deaths, and when she was finally released, Will was the one who took her home and helped her pack up what she wanted to keep and sell the rest, then move into a smaller apartment of her own.
