Pausing for the light at 135th and Broadway, I glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw the grille of a familiar car in the distance. I picked up the conversation where I’d left it when we got into the car.
“Ritchie was in on it, too, wasn’t he? He must’ve been. You couldn’t have done it without him. You guys worked together for more than thirty years. You were that close.”
I kept my eyes on the road, but took my right hand off the steering wheel and held my index finger and thumb half an inch apart. My eyes flicked up at the rearview mirror. The grille was still back there.
“Keep your eyes on the road,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to have an accident, would we?”
I shrugged. “According to you, we’re dead women, anyway. An accident now would just take you with us.”
Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Please—” said Beth.
“I would, if I wanted to. But I don’t. Not anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
I forced my gaze away and trained it on a point up ahead. He didn’t need to know how many times I’d thought of ending it since Hamp’s death. He didn’t need to know anything about me.
“So why’d you kill him?” I asked.
A muscle moved in his jaw. Otherwise, he was as still and hard as stone. Behind him, the grille had disappeared. I’d been mistaken. There was no one back there. No one ahead. Just darkness and the devil behind me.
“Did Ritchie get cold feet?” I persisted. “Was he gonna gab? Or did you guys have a falling out over how to split the proceeds?”
“You’re mighty curious for a woman who’s about to die.”
“I risked my life for this information. I deserve to have it.”
“All right, then. Yeah, he chickened out. The sweetest deal we’d ever made and he was gonna mess it up.” He made a sound of disgust.
“Were you guys part of the original plan?”
“No, we figured it out. When I confronted them, they offered us a cut. Why not? But Ritchie wouldn’t have nothing to do with it.”
“He threatened to turn you in?”
“Nah. Me and Ritchie, we went way back. He said he wouldn’t.”
“Obviously, you didn’t believe him.”
Bellamy stared ahead. “Well, let’s just put it this way: he was a good cop.”
“Who knew too much. So you set him up. Did you pay that prisoner?”
“Didn’t have to. Just gave him the opportunity.”
“And then you shot him, too.”
“Yeah, just like any good cop would.”
He spoke without irony. He meant it. He was crazy and he was going to kill us. I should’ve been scared. Instead I was numb, so numb I couldn’t even feel my hands on the steering wheel. It was as if they belonged to somebody else. None of this seemed real. Not even the sound of my voice.
“So was it worth it? Betraying the badge, and all that?”
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
We were at 125th Street, sitting under the elevated tracks of the Broadway local. I debated the wisdom of taking instructions from a killer. Once we were at the dock, we’d be alone with him.
Of course, sitting in a car on an empty, icy street in the dead of the night, we were already pretty far from help. If I tried something—
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it. She’d be dead in a second. And you a second after.”
I turned the wheel, passing under the pylons and arches of interlaced steel of the Riverside Drive viaduct, and headed down toward the dock, the river and a darkness deeper than night.
Chapter 54
The Manhattanville dock was a popular point of departure for crossing the Hudson River to get to the Palisades Amusement Park. Folks referred to it as the “Fort Lee” Ferry Dock after the service that carried people across the water to Fort Lee, New Jersey. The pier was bustling during the day, but it was desolate at night. And right then, the only light came from the moon, gleaming fat and hazy in the black sky.
Bellamy pushed and shoved us to go ahead. He might not have needed his cane to walk, but he did have some kind of mobility problem. Propelled by fear of the gun at our backs, Beth and I stumbled forward, moving faster than Bellamy, leaving him a little ways behind.
“Hey, slow down!” he barked.
The tracks of the New York Central Railroad bisected the dock area. Beth tripped over a rail covered by snow. I caught her as she fell and saw a rusty railroad spike. It was short enough to conceal in my hand, and sharp enough to do damage. I scooped it up. Beth stared at me, terrified and shaking her head no. I put my finger to my lips.
“What’re you two up to?” Bellamy said, coming up behind us.
“N-nothing,” Beth said, dragging her gaze away from me.
Trudging through ankle-deep powder, we covered the last yards to the ferry terminal building in silence. It was a wide, squat structure. Dark now. A good place to do dark work.
“Is this where you brought Esther?” I asked.
He shot the lock off the door and pushed it open. “Get inside.”
“No!” Beth cried. “Oh, please no!”
It must’ve hit her that this was it. We had reached the killing ground. It wasn’t so much that she planted her feet as that she froze. She couldn’t go in. He put his hand to the flat of her back and shoved her inside. She stumbled forward and fell. I went in and helped her up, glancing around.
Moonlight filtered through soot-covered windows, giving just enough light to make out details. We were in the main ticketing area. A thin wood sign leaned against the near wall, waiting to be mounted. A large waiting room, full of long wood benches, was to the right.
We were just inside the doorway. Bellamy gave us each another push. Beth fell back a step, but this time she sprang back fighting. Driven by terror, she threw herself at him, pounded his chest with her fists and clawed his face with her nails. For some reason, he’d didn’t just shoot her. I guess he was too shocked at her sudden rebellion. Instead, he tried to get hold of her. But she kicked and screamed like the madwoman fear had made her.
I jumped on his back and drove in the spike. Hard. It went into his shoulder. It drew blood. But it didn’t stop him. All he did was grit his teeth and fling me away. I could’ve been a feather.
Beth broke free and bolted. She was out the door. Bellamy ran after her. He paused just outside the entryway, took quick aim and fired. There was a sharp scream and then nothing.
I grabbed the sign.
It was heavier than it looked, so I didn’t wield it as well as I wanted to. Still, I swung it with all my might. The sign caught Bellamy in his knees just as he got off his second shot. His legs buckled and he went down with a grunt.
I jumped past him to go after Beth, but he caught hold of my ankle and pulled me down. I kicked at him, but he managed to get on top of me. He got his hands on my throat. He must’ve lost the gun in the fall, because he was using both hands to strangle me. I tried to pry his hands away, but he was too strong for me. My right hand shot out and hit his nose with the base of my palm. It hurt him, but not enough. That man was a bear. He grabbed my right wrist and brought it down to my chest, and he leaned forward, so far forward I could feel his breath on my ear.
“You should’ve left it alone,” he whispered. “You should’ve let it be.”
I twisted around and sank my teeth into his left earlobe. He cried out, his left hand going to his bloodied ear. Then he slapped me. My left hand flailed around in the snow, searching for something, anything—and found the butt of his gun. He choked me, pressing down, putting his weight behind it. My fingers grabbed for purchase on the gun, slipped over it, then curled around it and took hold. He was suddenly aware that I had something in my hand. I could see it in his eyes. But it was too late. I turned the gun and fired.
The flash illuminated a face frozen in shock. He grabbed at his throat; blood bubbled out between his fingers. His eyes were horrified. Warm bloo
d spattered my face. His mouth parted as though he wanted to say something. But no words emerged—just an unintelligible grunt. Then he slumped down, heavy and still. I push his upper half off me and squirmed out from beneath his legs.
My hands and face, and the collar of my coat, were wet with his blood. My ears rang from the report. Trembling, I scrambled to my feet. For ten seconds, I stood bent over, my hands on my knees, catching my breath. Then I straightened up, the gun in my hand. Bellamy’s eyes were open, his features slack.
Beth and now Bellamy: They were gone and any information they’d had about Esther was gone with them. I had one chance left to find out what I needed to know.
Only one chance left to play it right.
Beth hadn’t managed to get far. She lay a few feet from the door, at the entrance to the pier. I ran to her and dropped down on my knees beside her.
Good God, she was alive. Hurt bad, but still breathing. The bullet had caught her in the thigh and clipped a main blood vessel. There was a lot of blood, but the cold and the snow were helping, making the blood pump slower. Even so, she needed help. Fast.
“Lanie?” a voice called in surprise.
I looked up to see the driver of the car with the familiar grille. “Sutton?”
He rushed the last few yards. “Are you all right? I was following you, but I lost you. I—”
Beth opened her eyes, saw him and moaned. Working her lips, she tried to talk. But I shushed her.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re going to be fine.”
He quickly assessed her condition and registered the gun in my hand. “You shot her?”
“Of course not.” I untied my scarf and cinched it around Beth’s thigh, improvising a tourniquet. “It was Bellamy. He’s back there.”
I jerked a thumb toward the ferry building. Sutton went to the terminal, stopping at the sight of Bellamy. I stood up, watching him, then glanced down at Beth. I needed to get help, but I couldn’t leave her. Not now.
He came back. The skin around his eyes was tight. He gestured toward the gun. “You’d better let me take that.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
He frowned. “C’mon, it’s dangerous for you to have that thing. You know that.” His frown melted into a reassuring smile. “I don’t know why you did it, but it must’ve been in self-defense, right? But you’re colored, and when a …”
“You don’t need to tell me what happens when a colored shoots a white, especially when the dead man’s an ex-cop.”
His smile lost some of its charm. “So give me the gun.”
“Why? Are you going to tell them you did it?”
“Something like that. Yeah.”
“Why? You don’t even know me.” I gave him a hard stare.
“Lanie, what’s the matter with you?”
“I’m curious. That’s all.”
“About what?”
“About why you were following us.”
He tried to play it off with a little shrug. “Well, I, uh …”
“Make it good, now.”
He didn’t answer, not that I expected him to.
“You know what else I’m wondering? Why you didn’t seem surprised when I said it was Bellamy who shot her. You didn’t even ask who he is. Why is that?”
“Well, I … I remember the name. That’s all. One of the cops working the heist had that name.”
“Yes, he did. Now, wouldn’t you want to know why a cop would shoot her down?”
Silence.
“Sutton, what were you hoping for? That Bellamy would kill me—and then you could kill him?”
Something moved in his eyes, something ugly. “Come on. Give me the gun.”
He took a step forward. I raised the gun and pointed it at him. He stopped. His face showed irritation, but no sign of fear.
I’d have to change that.
His gaze flickered from me to the gun and back, calculating.
“Don’t even try it,” I said.
“What’s going on, Lanie?”
“You’re surprised, aren’t you, to find me alive?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took another step forward and held out his hand. “Why don’t you just give it to me?”
I raised the gun an inch higher. “Don’t tempt me.”
His expression hardened. “Why would you want to shoot me?”
“I don’t want to. But I will if I have to. Now unbuckle your holster—don’t touch your gun—just unbuckle your belt and let slide on down to the ground.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
I cut him off. “Do it!”
He raised open palms. “Okay … okay.”
His hand went toward the gun. I pressed the trigger and snow powder exploded an inch away from his right toe. He started and then gave me an admiring nod. I raised my chin. Without further argument, he quickly unhitched the belt. He let it dangle in his right hand, and then slowly lowered the belt and holster to the ground, keeping the left hand in the air.
“Now what?”
“Kick it toward me.”
He nudged the belt aside with his foot.
“I said kick it!”
He kicked it. I was tempted to pick it up, but he would’ve lunged at me, so I gestured for him to move back. I was scared, but trying hard not to show it, and wondering how long I’d have to hold him before the police showed up—and wondering who they’d arrest—him or me—once they did.
“How’d you know?” he asked.
“Powell’s identification had to be made based on a file containing his description. That file had to be brought in. From Chicago. And that file was brought in by you.”
“So?”
“So when it left Chicago, it contained fingerprints. When it arrived, it didn’t. Somebody, somewhere, at some time lost those prints. And most likely that somebody was you.”
He thought about that, about what it meant. “Then you knew when you met me?”
“I was suspicious, yes. Then you fed me that line about Powell and Kelly being lovers. It was titillating, but it wasn’t really relevant.”
“You being a gossip columnist and all, I figured …”
“You thought I’d be distracted. Well, I was … for all of two seconds.”
I tried to hold the gun steady, with both hands, all the time wondering how many bullets I had left. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t leave him with Beth. I gestured with the gun and he fell back a step. Another realization hit me.
“You were the Remington Man.”
“The what?”
“That’s what you carried. A Remington. At the Goodfellowe heist. And it was a Remington that took Bobby Kelly’s face off.”
He showed grudging appreciation. “Guess I underestimated you.”
“I guess you did. You lied about meeting Carter. He had an appointment with you right before he was killed. And he kept it. Whatever he told you got him killed. Who did it? You or Powell?”
He smiled with false modesty.
“And Whitfield?” I asked.
Another smile of useless charm.
“And after I told Bellamy I still had doubts, you moved in to convince me, didn’t you?”
No response.
I cocked the hammer. “Answer me!”
He shoved his hands out. “All right, all right. What if I did?”
“What if I shot you, right here, right now? Just dropped you in your tracks?” I looked him dead in the eye. “You attacked me.”
“Well … yes. But,” he raised an index finger. “It proves I never meant to hurt you. I could’ve killed you then and there. Instead, I—”
“You needed me to write a story that would frame Whitfield.”
He gave an eloquent shrug.
“Who masterminded the caper?” I asked. “You or Powell?”
“What do you think?”
“That it was you. Powell just wasn’t that bright.”
“Powell was a small-time operator. When he marri
ed Mrs. Goodfellowe, he was planning on taking her for a few grand, then moving on. But it was like I told you, he started liking her and he decided to go straight.”
“And that’s what got him in trouble. It gave you time to find him.”
“When I did … well, I have to say, I was impressed with the setup.”
“You guys killed seven people: Bobby Kelly, Esther Todd, Mrs. Gray, the guard, Jack Ritchie, Sexton Whitfield, and Tillman Carter … and then Powell, too, of course. All those lives … destroyed. For greed.” I tilted my head. “Why Esther? With the others, I can sort of see what you were thinking—but Esther? What did she have to do with any of it?”
“Powell had his cover. I needed mine. Esther told Beth about her man troubles. Beth told Powell. He told me. The idea to kidnap Esther—make it look like she was part of it—it came to me, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Just like that, huh?”
“Yeah, just like that.”
My face felt hot with anger. It took all of my self-control not to press that trigger.
“So tell me pretty lady, what’re we gonna do now?”
“You’re going to tell me what you did with Esther.”
“You must be dreaming.”
He lunged and I pulled the trigger. The gun gave a loud click and nothing else. It was empty. For a hair’s breadth of a second, I was stunned. Then I chucked the pistol at him and he knocked it away. I turned to run and he dove after me. We wrestled on the pier. He had me pressed up against the low wooden guardrail, his hands around my throat. I tumbled backward over the railing and he went with me.
The fall on the ice knocked the wind out of both of us. But fear cleared my head fast. I scrambled to my feet and ran. The ice wasn’t smooth; it had a rough, almost pebbly surface, just barely enough to give traction. I turned around the corner of the terminal, hoping to reach the riverbank, but slipped and slid to a stop.
The Hudson glowed in the light of the full moon. Its surface was not completely frozen. Where we’d landed, the ice was hard and blue. But other areas were a mottled black and gray. Chunks of broken ice floated just below the surface. Some were as wide as a kitchen table, others as narrow and sharp as spears. I scanned the expanse, hoping for an unbroken stretch of blue ice to the water’s edge.
Goodfellowe House Page 29
