by Gary Starta
Great! Clara’s tossing Alison off the wagon with both hands.
“How did it go, last night, Alison?”
“What do you care?”
Eliza guffawed and dropped into an easy chair. “Good for you, Alison. One for the home team. I was just wondering why you’re three sheets to the wind this early in the day, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well you quit us, so you can just keep on wondering. I have a question for you; did you make sure no one followed you back here from your own job last night? I don’t want to hear anything about it, but if you left any evidence at the scene, we don’t want you dragging us into it.”
“There’s no evidence to find, and no one followed me here, Alison. Get a grip for God’s sake.” Eliza flashed back to the limo. One second she was in it and the next she was out the door. Her clutch bag had her prints all over it, and the Fentanyl was still in the car. By now, the Silver Man was sure to know what happened.
Did I scratch Boyd’s face? It happened so fast I can’t remember! Skin cells are easy to leave behind; anyone who watches those forensic crime shows knows that.
Alison slurred her words, but her intense anger toward Eliza came from the heart. “You traitor! You came to me! You were going to help me and Clara. All you did was help yourself to a bag of drugs that turn people into raving killers!”
Shit. I forgot about that. Between that and my assignment last night, the two of them could ruin me if they want to, and they know it.
Eliza began to sweat, and when she did, she always came out swinging. “Listen, your only concern is to watch your own ass and keep that big trap of yours shut.”
Clara chose this moment to shock them both. “Hey, hey, we still have to stick together, don’t we? After all, if we lose our nerve now, someone’s liable to get caught.
“Let’s look at this thing logically; Alison here’s a drunk, and no one ever believes a drunk. However, she did commit a double murder last evening without benefit of the drug and has no excuse or alibi, as far as the police will see. She didn’t even know the victims. She may have had an excuse the first time, but not this time. That makes her just another killer sent up for life and forgotten.”
The room became absolutely silent. Alison stood staring at Clara.
“You’ve been using me the whole time! You, you…you’re worse than Eliza!”
“Hey!”
“At least she doesn’t pretend to be anything but an animal. You double-dealing, selfish whore! You only pretended to like me!” She put down her glass and buried her head in her hands.
Clara went on as if there had been no interruption from Alison. “And you, Eliza, you committed a murder last night also – or tried to. We may not know the details, but that doesn’t really matter. Since it didn’t take place directly after a Collective meeting, you have no possible way to blame the crime on having been drugged without your knowledge. Since you didn’t do your murder the night you did get dosed, you can’t prove you were ever at a Collective meeting, unless Michael talks, and we all know he won’t. That leaves her holding the bag for possession of the drug and murder or attempted murder, with no way to blame it on the Silver Man.”
Eliza wanted to hear the rest of it. “Go on. What about yourself, Clara? We know a thing or two about you, too, you know.”
“As for myself, well, I never heard of the Collective, and I never met either one of you - or Michael, for that matter. As I said, no one will believe Alison. She’d blame anyone to save herself. You? Don’t make me laugh. You were in Michael’s car. You’re up to your ugly ears in trouble, and you’ve been in trouble your whole life. No one will have any trouble believing me over you.
“Then there’s Abby. Abby was part of the Collective and was supposed to assassinate me. If Alison gets caught, they’ll assume she and Abby got into a fight over the killing of the security guard and that Alison decided to get rid of both of them in one shot. If the cops find out Abby had a grudge against me, they’ll be glad that Alison got to her before she got to me. Besides, of the three of us, I’m the only one with the right address and education. My uncle is a well-known defense attorney who hasn’t lost a case in forty years. I’m a prima ballerina with a prestigious dance company. Let’s face it; if anyone has the believability factor and the upper hand here, girls, it’s myself.”
Eliza lost her cookies right then and there. “You rotten…miserable…entitled…lying…manipulative, BITCH! God knows there’s no love lost between me and Alison, but what you did to her is worse than murder. She’s the only one of us who gave a shit about saving your sorry ass. I may have had to be tough and mean to survive in the neighborhood I grew up in, but you’re something straight out of hell; we should have let Abby have you.”
Clara laughed and made a deep curtsy. “I am a good actress, aren’t I? Perhaps I should take on Hollywood after my dancing career is over. Then there’s the book to write once you’re all locked away for life. Well, what do you say? Shall we drink a toast to the Unholy Trinity? After all, you may not have come from hell, but that’s just where you’re both going.”
Eliza was worried. This one was no dummy.
I have to be careful. I can’t underestimate Clara again. I’ll play along with her for now. Later on, when they’re both off guard, I’ll get rid of them. Them I’m home free. No witnesses, no evidence, no worries.
If Boyd didn’t survive, the only witness is the chauffer. He only saw me for a second, at best, and the only evidence are my prints on the evening bag I left there. The only other thing in it is the Fentanyl. Unless I get arrested, no one has my prints or photo on file anywhere. If he did survive, he’ll never come after me; he can’t afford a scandal now. They can’t connect me to the escort agency, and no one except the Silver Man knows my real name, address, or phone number. I paid for everything in cash and burned the dossier. Unless my picture gets into the news, no one will ever know about me. Except for the Silver Man, that is…
Alison looked up. “I don’t like the look on your face, Eliza. There’s something you haven’t told us. What is it?”
“I might have left a loose end.”
“God damn it! Can’t you do one single thing without screwing it up?! If you get caught, this time you’re on your own.”
Clara looked stunned. She’d never given Alison a second thought, but now she had to.
What do you know! She finally found her balls. Well, all right, then. I’ll play along for now, but I have to find a way to make sure they get caught. Soon.
Eliza was also surprised at Alison’s show of strength. “I thought it all through, Alison. There’s no way to connect me to the job last night. But there is something we have to do together. That hillbilly agent is a liability. I was in Michael’s car and she’s seen me and spoken to me at the hospital. She’s the only one who’d bother pursuing me if she thought I was in on it with him. There’s no choice. She has to go.”
Clara jumped out of her chair like she was sitting on hot coals. “Now, wait just a minute! That’s your fault and your problem. I’m done with both of you.”
Eliza was practically begging, now. She needed help, and Alison was still her best bet. “Alison, you know we have to do this. You’re in too deep. If there was any way Clara could’ve set you up and framed you for those two murders last night, you can bet she did, but you have no record and you had no connection to any of the victims, so unless they can get your prints or any other evidence from either scene, there’s no way they can tie you to the them. You didn’t, did you?”
“Of course not, you idiot. I was very careful.”
I hope…
“All right, then, listen to me; Clara will turn us in to save herself, and you know it. It’s only a matter of time, Allie, unless you do this one last thing with me!”
“Who gives a flying fuck about you, Eliza?! I’m sick of the sight of you. Getting rid of that F.B.I. agent won’t keep Clara from talking, anyway. We’d still be looking over our shoulders for the rest of o
ur lives. All I want to do is end this whole nightmare. I’m no killer. I want to confess; there are extenuating circumstances for me, but not for you.”
Eliza turned a cold smile towards Clara. “Clara can’t tell on us if she helps, can you, Clara? The way I see it, there’s only one way out of this for you; all three of us have to have enough on each other so that none of us is able to turn on the other two. Doing a job together will make sure of it.”
Alison trembled uncontrollably. “Look, all I did was protect Clara and myself from two killers; it was self-defense! And the first one was because I was drugged! If I do this thing now, Eliza, then I really am a killer, and I’m not. I’m not!”
“O.K., then you’ll go to prison knowing you’re not a killer, but you’ll still go. Is that what you want, dummy? God, Alison, for once in your life, face reality! No one is going to come to your rescue. You’re going to have to save yourself. That’s what the Silver Man meant. Killing to protect yourself is a natural instinct. There is no good or evil about it, Alison. I’m not evil. You’re not evil. Your only responsibility is to yourself.”
Eliza stuck a hand into the pocket of her jeans and fished out a business card she’d been holding onto…just in case. She slammed it down on the table. It belonged to Agent Deeprose.
Chapter Twenty Six
Agent Deeprose was still hanging around the crime lab hours later, waiting for answers.
Damn! Ah knew Ah shouldn’t’ve had that fourth cup of coffee. Ah’m so jumpy Ah could hit the ceilin’! Come on, Jill, come on…..time’s not on our side. The suspect could be long gone by now.
The wait was driving her crazy, and now she was driving Seacrest crazy, too. The handprint left on the edge of the fermentation vat turned out to match the partial found at Florio’s home, but since they failed to match any prints listed in the police and F.B.I. databases, the suspect remained unidentified.
All they knew so far was that both prints matched, definitely placing one suspect at both scenes. The evidence suggested that these were the suspect’s first crimes, but since the second murder was much sloppier than the first, it still made no sense to them.
Shania’s impatience broke Jill’s concentration. “Why don’t you get some food to go with that caffeine, Agent Deeprose? Waiting here for me to try to I.D. the bones won’t make the process go any faster, and frankly, you’re getting on my last nerve.” Then she smiled apologetically. “Look, it’s going to be a painstaking process, Shania. Go find something to do. I need to focus.” Seacrest turned back to her work.
Deeprose cleared her throat. “But Ah thought you might do that ‘Touch D.N.A’ test we talked about at the scene - the one where we can see if the cells on the handprint match the ones that belong to the girl Michael had in his car. Ah haven’t ruled her out as a person of interest yet.”
“I’m aware of that, but priority goes to identification of the bodies, or in this case, the bones. I’m sorry. When that’s done, I’ll talk to the deputy director about finding us more budget money for the D.N.A. testing equipment.” She stared into her microscope once more and forgot all about Shania.
Since Agent Carter was doing a last sweep of the Ginger Man crime scene, Deeprose decided to head over to the F.B.I. computer lab to do some in depth research on the Meese Corporation. It was probably what the deputy director would want, anyway.
She was swept forward by the crowd of people pushing their way onto the elevator and backwards by the crowd getting off. She felt the corners of her mouth rise.
You’d think getting’ to their next meetin’ was a matter of life and death!
While standing in front of the closed doors and waiting for the next ride, she began to read a text message on her cell phone. As she read on, her smile evaporated and her jaw dropped open. The message was from Eliza.
“That day in the hospital you said I should call you if I remembered anything else about Michael Santiago, the guy who pulled me into his car and tried to kidnap me. I assume he’s still in custody, but I’ve been receiving strange messages from a man who won’t identify himself. It can’t be Santiago if he’s in jail, so it’s got to be someone else. Maybe someone he knows. The man thinks I know something about that day that I haven’t told the police, and he wants to know what it is. I don’t know anything more than I already told you, Agent Deeprose. Who could it be? I’m scared to death, and I have nowhere else to turn. Please, please meet me at in front of a bar called the Whisky Trader at 71 West 55th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenue, as soon as you can. Make sure to come alone, and don’t tell anyone I contacted you. I don’t trust anyone but you - not even the people at your office. Please. I need to talk to you. Hurry!”
A list of options flooded her mind. She could contact Agent Carter for instructions, bring her phone to the cyber team to try to determine the authenticity of the text, or meet Eliza alone without notifying anyone. It didn’t take Deeprose long to make her decision. Carter was temporarily out of reach, and notifying Fischetti first was exactly what Carter told her not to do. Text analysis would take too long, and this opportunity might not be on the table for long. In the end, she left Carter a voice message saying she was on her way to Midtown for an appointment and would call him later.
It was certainly possible that Eliza was telling the truth, of course, but Deeprose really didn’t think so. She trusted her instincts; when they talked in her hospital room after capturing Michael, something about the set of Eliza’s jaw, her hard voice and dull eyes prompted Deeprose to appropriate Eliza’s used tissue to get a sample of her D.N.A.
I don’t believe that cock and bull story for a minute, but she knows something. She may even be the killer, or one of them, anyway. If she is one of multiple killers, and if the prints in our possession aren’t hers, there’s only one way to find out...…
***
Deeprose pulled up in front of the Whisky Trader and waited for Eliza to show up. Dusk was approaching, and the sky had turned steel grey, casting shadows of the gargantuan buildings on the pavement. Deeprose shivered, despite the warmth of her car. She turned up the collar of her coat and adjusted her red wool beret.
It’s too quiet around here.
She turned on the car radio and listened to the local traffic report. Several streets in the area were closed off due to a water main break.
That explains why it’s a ghost town around here. Ah wonder if it’s really true or if they just say that when any ol’ thing happens. Ah want to get this over with before it gets much darker.
All at once she didn’t like the feel of the whole thing.
Keep it cool, girl. You can certainly handle one young woman. Be ready for anythin’. Don’t take anythin’ at face value. Call for backup.
But she never got the chance.
***
A pair of headlights flashed behind Deeprose’s car and pulled up behind her. She didn’t want to spook Eliza, so she slid out from behind the steering wheel slowly and took her time shutting the door behind her. She kept one hand close to her holstered nine-millimeter Glock and waved to Eliza with the other. The windows of black Lincoln Town Car were tinted to such a degree that it was impossible to make out anything except the outline of a woman in the driver’s seat. She steadied herself, ready to assume a shooting stance.
Ah know Ah should have demanded we meet at H.Q., but Eliza would never have agreed to that; Ah gotta know the truth, one way or the other.
The driver’s door swung open, and Eliza hurried toward Deeprose. “God, it’s cold out! I’m sorry we had to meet out on the street like this, but this guy knows too much about me to be guessing. We can’t stay here. My phone’s being bugged for sure, and I think he may be watching me, too. Leave your car in the underground lot down the street, and I’ll take you somewhere he can’t find us.”
Deeprose knew that if Eliza’s phone was bugged, it was also being tracked, so whoever was calling Eliza would know where their meeting was taking place anyway. Eliza didn’t seem to know this. “Ah
think, in this case, it’d be safer for you to park your car and ride with me.”
“I can’t do that, Agent. What if those calls are coming from inside your own organization? I’m not even sure I can trust you, but I have to trust someone…”
Deeprose looked Eliza full in the face, mute. Deeprose had suspected Fischetti of ulterior motives in the beginning. She blinked a few times, shook it off, and gave Eliza the only answer she could. “Eliza, we don’t operate that way. We only have the authority to question y’all if we have suspicions. As far as Ah know, your association with Michael Santiago does not warrant suspicion. Or does it?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, Agent, but I’m not safe in your car if someone’s listening, and we can’t stand out here on the street, either. You can’t know for sure that someone inside the F.B.I. is not behind this, and I’m not getting into your car. Will you come with me or not?”
“O.K., Eliza, let’s go.”
Deeprose headed over to the passenger-side door of Eliza’s car.
The tension mounted with every mile they covered. “Pardon me for bein’ nosey, but where’d this car come from? Ah mean, y’all don’t have a job at the moment, right? Whadja use for money?”
“I raided the last of my savings when my aunt told me she was selling it.” She laughed. “The old bag had no idea what it was worth.”
Deeprose observed a gradual abandonment of the pose of the damsel-in-distress and the emergence of an attitude of pride mixed with slyness and craftiness. Eliza’s eyes darted from side to side as they drove along.
She’s makin’ sure we’re not being followed.
“Family’s important, Eliza. They come in real handy when the universe gives back to you what y’all put out there.”
Eliza rolled her eyes, and Deeprose saw her do it.
“Eliza, you don’t have to put on an act for me, an’ y’all can quit lyin’. Ah don’t really care where you got this car. All Ah care about is knowin’ what information you have concernin’ this case. What is it you think you know?”
