Deception (A Miranda Murphy Thriller)

by Tim Kizer

  “Besides Gabi and me, who else knows your new cellphone number?”

  “No one. I’m not taking any chances. Why are you asking?”

  “They might have triangulated your cellphone.”

  “I thought only the government could do that.”

  “There are plenty of corrupt people in the government.”

  “That sounds encouraging.” Hackett cracked a weak smile.

  “When did you buy this cell?”

  “Two days after I lost the old one.”

  Miranda looked at the rear view mirror again. There was a dark blue Dodge Ram pickup truck with Rhode Island plates behind them. Miranda doubted the hitman’s partner would come in a pickup truck, but you couldn’t be too careful, right?

  “Is there a chance that someone has installed a tracking app on it?” she asked.

  “No, I’ve never let it out of my hands this whole time.”

  “Let’s take the battery out of the cell anyway, just in case.”

  “Okay.” Hackett pulled out his cellphone and opened the cover. As he lifted the battery, the phone slipped from his fingers and dropped in his lap. Hackett looked at his hands. “My hands are still shaking. Damn, that was some scary shit back there.” He turned his face to Miranda to check if she had gotten offended by the foul word. She appeared to not care.

  According to the GPS, the police department was only six minutes away.

  “Maybe they followed you?” Hackett said. “It’s not a big secret what car you drive, is it?”

  “You could be right.” Miranda had begun to have the same suspicions as Hackett. She had an idea of how the hitman could have pulled this off, but to confirm it, she would have to stop the car, which she believed was unsafe at this moment. She decided to do it in the parking lot of the police department in about five minutes.

  4.

  As soon as the Pawtucket PD cops took away the hitman, Miranda got hold of an undercarriage inspection mirror and checked the bottom of her car. Her guess proved correct, there indeed was a GPS tracking device on her car; it was attached underneath the rear bumper, a few inches away from the exhaust pipe. She examined the trunk and found no suspicious gadgets there. Hackett hadn’t participated in the search because Miranda had ordered him to stay inside the police department building in case the hitman had a sniper friend.

  Hoping for fingerprints, Miranda placed the tracker in a plastic bag and pocketed it. The best case scenario was that it had been the hitman’s accomplice who had put the device on the car and that the accomplice hadn’t had gloves on while doing that. This way, they would have one more person that could potentially spill the beans.

  Fearing that there could be a tracking device inside the car, Miranda planned to have her car scanned when she came back to Boston.

  After Pawtucket PD Detective James Acevedo took her statement, Miranda called Captain Webb and asked him to arrange police protection for Hackett. When she hung up, Detective Acevedo told her that the hitman had started talking.

  “His name is Ryan Braken,” said Acevedo. “He’s thirty one years old, he lives in Quincy, Massachusetts. He says he’s a self-employed entrepreneur.”

  “Did he tell you why he tried to kill Hackett?”

  “No. He’s waiting for his lawyer.”

  At half past four, escorted by two police cruisers, Miranda and Hackett headed back to Boston.

  The RF scanning of Miranda’s car revealed no other tracking devices.

  Later that day, the Boston PD crime lab informed Miranda that there were no fingerprints on the tracking device she had brought from Pawtucket. The tracker was commercially available and could not be traced to its purchaser.

  5.

  The next day, Miranda came across a new lead. She received it from her husband’s buddy Freddy Lopez, who dropped by to watch some sports and have a few beers, as he often did on weekends.

  “Who is it?” Freddy pointed at the beardless picture of Mister Paranoid, which lay on Miranda’s desk. “Is he a bank robber or something?”

  “Just a person of interest.”

  “You know, Miranda, he looks like the plastic surgeon that gives my wife her Botox shots. Have I told you Dianne started using Botox? This is really effective stuff. Works like magic. A lot of guys use it, too.”

  Miranda shook her head.

  “Dianne didn’t tell you? I thought she tells you everything. Or maybe Dianne wants to keep it secret, in which case I said too much. Don’t tell on me please.”

  “I don’t know, Freddy. Where’s my envelope?”

  “You’re killing me, Miranda.” He laughed.

  “What’s that surgeon’s name?”

  “I think his last name is Burton. I saw him a couple of times. Doctor Burton. I forget his first name.” Eddie brought the picture closer to his eyes. “Yes, this looks very much like Doctor Burton. What was his first name?” Eddie absorbed himself in thought.

  “Does he work in Boston?”

  “Yes, in the Back Bay area. Let me ask Dianne for his address.” Freddy rubbed his forehead. “What the hell is his first name? It’s at the tip of my tongue. Don’t you hate it when it happens?”

  Chapter 5.

  1.

  It was five past noon when Noah Burton—that was the full name of the surgeon Freddy had told her about (the guy’s resemblance to Mister Paranoid’s picture was very close, by the way)—left the professional building that housed his clinic and headed for the parking lot. Miranda thought it was probably his lunch time, and he was going to a diner or some such place.

  Miranda opened the door and set her left foot on the asphalt.

  After hearing about the surgeon looking like Mister Paranoid, she decided that the guy was worth having a chat with. What was the best way to meet Noah Burton? Send a cop to bring him in? Mister Paranoid was obviously afraid of something, and it was impossible to tell now how bad that something was. One could speculate that Mister Paranoid was being watched and that the people he feared were opposed to any contact between him and law enforcement agencies. In order not to jeopardize Burton’s life, Miranda rejected the idea of interviewing the surgeon at the station. Besides, people tended to feel more comfortable talking in their owns cars than in the police interrogation room.

  When the surgeon was half way to his Jaguar, Miranda started walking. They reached Burton’s car at the same time.

  “Mister Burton, I’m Detective Miranda Murphy. I need to talk to you,” Miranda said in a low voice. “You have nothing to worry about, I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “You’re with the police?” Burton almost whispered.

  “Yes. Get in the car, please. We’ll talk while you drive. It won’t take too long.”

  “What do you want from me? I have no time to talk with you.”

  “I think we’re beginning to draw attention.”

  Burton opened the driver’s door and silently climbed in behind the wheel. “Okay, get in.” He started the car.

  When the Jaguar pulled out of the parking lot, Miranda said, “We know you met Jeff Hackett. You told him his life was in danger. We’d like to know why.”

  “Who are ‘we’? The police?”

  “Yes. I can show you my badge if you want.”

  “I don't need to see your badge. I’ve never met any Jeff Hackett. I’ve never heard this name in my life.”

  “I can arrange your meeting with Jeff so you—”

  “I told you I don't know this man,” Burton interrupted her. “How many times should I repeat it to you? You must have confused me with someone else.”

  “I could ask Jeff to call you today.”

  “Do whatever you please, Detective. All I care about right now is my lunch. Where would you like to me drop you off?”

  2.

  At half past four, Miranda met Sam Hudson, the lead detective on Braken's case.

  “How is our friend doing?” Miranda asked. “Still not talking?”

  “He claims he does
n’t know Hackett,” Hudson said. “He says he was looking for the guy who’d slept with his girlfriend and entered the wrong house.”

  “Why did he bring the gun?”

  “He says he wanted to put some scare in that guy. By the way, that pistol was not used to kill Patrick Flynn, so he either didn’t shoot Flynn or threw the gun away.”

  “I bet he threw it away. I’d be surprised if he kept it. Where was Braken the day Flynn was murdered?”

  “He claims he was playing pool with his buddies.”

  “And I guess he has witnesses who can confirm that.”

  “Yes, he does. The good news is we have evidence that connects Braken to Flynn’s murder, so be ready to take him under your wing.”

  3.

  An hour later Miranda met Ryan Braken.

  “I guess you’ve already heard the charges against you,” she said to the hitman after introducing herself.

  “Yes, I have. And I’m maintaining my innocence.” Braken folded his arms on his chest. His face was placid and emotionless.

  “Just to refresh your memory—you tried to kill me and Jeff Hackett two days ago.”

  “That’s what your guys say.”

  “Can you tell me why you wanted to kill Hackett?”

  “As far as I remember I have the right to remain silent.”

  “You’re right. But you can’t get yourself a deal without talking, can you?”

  “I just want to get back to my cell.” Braken spoke in a calm voice as if they were chatting about the weather.

  “The body in Hackett’s house—should we thank you for it?”

  “I don’t have to answer your questions, okay? And one more thing: I want my lawyer right there.” Braken pointed at the chair next to his.

  “It’s not an interrogation, Ryan. I’m not recording this conversation, and nothing you say to me will be used against you. It’s just one private individual talking to another.”

  “Honestly, I don’t give a shit.” Braken giggled.

  “I see. You probably think you’ll get out of prison in seven or eight years, because, after all, you didn’t kill or injure anybody, and by some stroke of luck that could happen. And you probably expect your client to pay you big bucks for silence.”

  “What client? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The client. The customer. The guy who hired you to kill Jeff Hackett.”

  “Nobody hired me to kill anybody. I just wanted to scare that dude, okay?”

  “And I guess you’re aware that murder for hire is a federal offence. You’ll be lucky to get out in fifteen.”

  “You’re the expert here. But as I said, I wasn’t trying to kill anyone.”

  “I have to say you are a prudent person, Ryan. It’s not uncommon for a client to get rid of the hitman after the job is done.”

  “I’m not a hitman.”

  “And in order to avoid this terrible fate, you made a smart move—you recorded your conversations with the client.”

  Braken cracked a grin and shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Detective.”

  “I’m talking about the mp3 files we found on your laptop. Let me tell you their names: test1, test2, test3, and test4. I see you put little thought into naming them. By the way, thanks for not deleting these files from your machine.”

  Braken’s smile became a grimace as he watched Miranda open the notebook that sat to her left on the table.

  “Let me play you the juicy parts,” Miranda said, clicking the button.

  “Twenty five grand now, twenty five after you take care of Hackett,” a man’s voice sounded from the speakers.

  “Is he a cop?” It was Braken’s voice.

  “No, just some douchebag.”

  “What did he do to piss you off?”

  “Why do you care? Are you sure you’re up to the task?”

  “Consider him dead.”

  Miranda stopped the recording and started playing another one.

  “Why is this guy still alive? Maybe I should go to someone else?” It was the same man as on the first recording. “Looks like this job is too big for you.”

  “Don't worry. I’ll do as promised. That was just a small misunderstanding.”

  “It’s your last misunderstanding, Ryan. Do I make myself clear?”

  “You sure do. I’ll fix it, you have nothing to worry about, man."

  Miranda clicked the Stop button. “Now that we’ve established that you know Jeff Hackett and that you indeed were paid to kill him, I reckon it’s time for you to rethink your strategy.”

  Braken's face turned grey.

  “That’s bullshit. I don’t give a fuck about this crap. I didn’t record those.”

  “I think you do give a fuck, Ryan. And I have a very attractive offer for you. Give us the name of the person who hired you to kill Hackett, and I’ll convince the Feds to cut you a deal. You’ll serve some time, but it’ll be nowhere near the twenty years you’re pretty much guaranteed to do if you don’t cooperate. And speaking of the money you hope to squeeze out of the client for keeping your mouth shut—without these audio files, you have no deal. Something tells me that, besides this laptop, which now belongs to us, the online backup was the only other place you stored those files, and I’m happy to inform you that we’ve gotten hold of that, too.”

  After a few minutes of silent deliberation, Braken began to spill the beans. The name of the man who ordered a hit on Hackett was John Kieffer.

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  Braken nodded.

  “Why does he want Hackett dead?”

  “He never told me that.”

  “I guess it’ll be a waste of time to ask you if you dispatched Patrick Flynn.”

  “Yes, it will.”

  4.

  John Kieffer, who lived in New Haven, Connecticut, was out of town. According to his wife, he was on a business trip in Chicago. Unfortunately, the wife didn’t know the details of the trip. The local police immediately put Kieffer’s house under surveillance.

  When Miranda returned to her office, she learned the results of the voice analysis: Burton’s voice matched the voice of the man that had met Officer Ted Winslow at Appleton Bakery Café.

  As for Kieffer, he had still not come back from Chicago.

  At nine in the evening, Miranda called Noah Burton’s home number. The phone was answered by his wife. She said that Burton hadn’t been home since last night, that his cellphone was turned off.

  “None of his friends or relatives know where he is. If he doesn’t come home by tomorrow morning, I’m going to report him missing,” she said.

  5.

  “I don’t care what that criminal told you. You’re wasting your time with me.” It was the fourth time John Kieffer had uttered this phrase since their conversation had begun half an hour earlier. Apparently, he refused to realize the gravity of the situation.

  It was four hours ago when Miranda had been informed that John Kieffer had finally showed up at and that she could speak to him whenever she was ready. She had asked the New Haven cops to set up the rendezvous outside the walls of the police department, preferably in the open air.

  “I’d like to make this meeting very informal,” she said.

  They granted Miranda’s request and told her to come to Long Wharf Pier, which was located only a few minutes away from the New Haven PD building. She arrived there at half past six.

  “I have nothing more to say, Detective.”

  Miranda began to conspicuously play with her gun. A cool breeze smelling of seaweed came blowing from the ocean.

  “Let me predict the future, John,” she said, peering into Kieffer’s eyes. “Five minutes from now you’re going to suddenly pounce on me, snatch my gun, and shoot me in the forearm. I’ll fall down on the ground. You’ll run. And those two fellows will chase after you.” Miranda waved towards the cops standing fifty feet away. “They’ll shoot at you. And you know what I think? I think at leas
t one bullet will hit the target. And I have a premonition it will be a fatal wound. How do you like my prediction, John?”

  “Listen... Of course it’s possible that I could have a criminal among my acquaintances, but no one is guaranteed against that,” Kieffer replied. “That hitman is lying to you. I did not hire anybody to kill Jeff Hackett. Take me to the police station and talk to me there. But first, I need to call my lawyer.”

  “John, you should understand that I’m very serious about what I just said. If you think I was joking, you’re wrong.”

  “I have no opinion about it, Detective. I demand that you take me to the police station right now. Or the FBI office, whoever is in charge of this. I refuse to continue our conversation here.”

  “Tell me the truth.” Miranda took her gun off safety. “You must be afraid that the people you work for will make you pay for ratting them out?”

  “I’m not afraid of anybody, okay? I’ve got nothing to do with this crime.”

  “Well, you should be afraid of me. My prediction is your biggest problem right now. Will it come true or not?” Miranda put the barrel of his gun to his left forearm. “How long will my wound take to heal? Perhaps no more than a month. Too bad you won’t be able to bring me flowers to the hospital.”

  “Hold on, Detective. You can’t do that. That’s against the law. You’re going to lose your job along with those two cops. And go to jail, too.”

  “I think I should take a chance. For some reason, I’m feeling lucky. I’m generally a very lucky guy, you know.” Miranda smiled.

  Kieffer heaved a deep sigh and covered his face with his hands. “All right, I’ll tell you what I know. But it won’t help you. She’s going to get away with this. She’ll figure something out.”

  “Who will?”

  “My cousin, Monica Staggs. It was all her idea.”

  Miranda put the gun back on safety. Okay, he finally got confirmation that Monica Staggs was behind the hunt for Hackett.

  “Why does she want to kill Hackett?”

  “I don’t know. We never talked about it. She offered me a chance to make fifty thousand dollars, and I agreed. Most people would have agreed.”