by M. L. Harris
She needed a bargaining chip.
So, she spied on him, and her efforts paid off when she overheard him discussing a business arrangement with an associate: A public official had refused a bribe, and he was “eliminated”.
Greta had gathered enough evidence to bury Brody Weston.
She then told her lawyer to place the damning evidence in a safe deposit box, and if Greta happened to meet a premature death, the lawyer was to expose the evidence to the authorities.
Indeed, Brody was stuck with Greta.
Back in the kitchen, she sat before a computer, going online and conducting searches on Brody’s deceased business partners.
Several links popped up.
Greta studied a grainy image on her screen.
She decided to download the photo and began enlarging it. From the corner of her eye, she saw Aiden coming. Used to his poking around in her private affairs, she clicked the Minimize button, closing the window. In its place appeared a page she had opened previously: a recipe for roasted duck.
“What are you doing now?” he said, his air of self-importance on display.
“Oh… I didn’t see you come in. I thought I’d make roasted duck tonight. Doesn’t this look delicious?” she asked, pointing at the screen.
He gave her a dismissive look and disappeared. Greta then reopened the page she was viewing before Aiden’s interruption. She finished the enlarging process, and the screen filled with Jack’s image.
A flood of emotions began to carry her away.
I can’t just sit here and do nothing. But if I interfere, Brody will kill me.
She became deeply conflicted and terrified.
Eventually, though, her resolve stiffened.
And Greta made a promise to herself.
I’m going to learn more about this house.
Chapter
43
I fight back tears and try not to turn into a puddle as the taxi rolls along the freeway. Inside my pocket I feel my cell vibrating. I look at the phone, and it’s a text message, from Jack!
I read it.
“Oh my God,” I blurt out.
Feeling tremendous relief, I know Jack wrote the text because it contains our secret word, and only Jack and I know about it.
GERONIMO
“He’s alive!” I say excitedly.
Brody would have no way of knowing the secret word. Now what should I do?
Detective Gower! I need to see her.
I call Emily and she’s really upset with me for bailing from the zoo and chasing after Brody Weston. After some verbal sparring we agree to meet and she is coming alone.
“Bayfront Park,” I tell the driver and he takes off.
“Right.”
When we reach the park he drops me at a pedestrian plaza, its focal point a shallow pool of water and a fountain at its center. I am absorbing my surroundings when, from behind me, I hear a female voice.
“Nice to see you, Maggie.”
I turn.
“Emily!” I reply with a sheepish grin. “Are you gonna cuff me?”
“Not yet. I want to hear what you have to say first.”
“Okay, here goes,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Jack is being held prisoner at Brody Weston’s estate.”
She frowns, and then, “Come on Maggie. Seriously?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious about anything.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“At the zoo… I saw Brody approach Ivan, the killer.”
I give Emily a recap of the events which brought us to this point.
“You’re walking a tightrope, Maggie. I’ve seen the surveillance videos from the zoo. Okay, Brody Weston was there. But going to the zoo is hardly a crime.”
“I guess not,” I reply, dejected.
“The Chief wants me to take you into custody.”
“Then why don’t you?”
She shrugs her shoulders, saying, “Not enough evidence. At least not for the D.A., that is.”
I remove my cell phone from a pocket, showing her Jack’s text message and explaining about our secret word.
GERONIMO
“Interesting,” she says, looking at the message.
She pauses for a moment, thinking.
“The three people murdered at the hotel,” she says. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“Hey, that was self-defense, plain and simple. They tried to kill me.”
“And why would they want to do that?”
“Alright, alright,” I reply, palms in the air. “When Jack called me before the crash he gave me the license number of a sedan that was following them. Like you said, Jack’s phone was being tapped, so Brody knew we had to be…”
“Silenced?”
“Right.”
I watch Emily, her gaze drawn to a pair of tourists as she mulls this over.
“There must be something we can do,” I plead. “You can search Brody’s estate!”
She raises an eyebrow, and says, “Maggie, there isn’t a chance in hell of getting a warrant, not with what we’ve got. And besides, Brody Weston is a prominent member of the community.”
“He is also a murderer.”
With a skeptical look she replies, “Prove it.”
“Are you telling me he’s going to get away with hiring Ivan to kill three people?”
“No. I’m not saying that. Listen, I need to check on something. If I asked you to wait here for, like, twenty minutes, can I depend on you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Just sit tight, and don’t cause any trouble.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
I watch as Emily disappears into an unmarked police car, merging into evening traffic.
As I turn back to the fountain I see a woman, sitting in one of two portable chairs, gesturing to the empty one and asking me if I’d like to join her to watch the sunset.
I manage a smile.
“Thanks.”
Sinking deeper into the chair, I begin to think. Emily had been direct, but I agree with her. Something else is required before securing a warrant to search Brody’s house.
As the sun slips below the horizon, I drift toward sleep. Drained and exhausted from ceaseless anxiety, my body relaxes.
The weariness is beginning to dissipate, sort of.
Chapter
44
I emerge from a light sleep and feel a gentle nudge on my arm. As I look up I see the friendly stranger who earlier had offered me a chair. A drizzle is settling over Bayshore Park and rain droplets are falling.
“Thanks again,” I tell her.
I stand near the water basin, watching her scurry from the park alongside everybody else.
Suddenly, I feel a presence behind me.
As I turn, empty black eyes stare back at me.
Stricken by panic and fear, I see a gun, pointed at me.
“You been a lotta trouble, bitch,” Ivan says. “Brody’s gonna be glad to hear you’s dead.”
In a rush of adrenaline, and instinct, I shift my body to one side, thrusting the palm of my hand into his face. But his reflexes are quick and he deflects the blow.
The gun fires, the bullet whizzing by my head.
I clench my fist, ready to strike him in the throat when his body suddenly jolts backward. The impact of a bullet spins him around, and I gasp as he collapses into the water basin.
He lies on his back, his lungs convulsing as he fights for air.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Emily, running toward me.
She reaches into the basin, pulling Ivan from the fountain with both hands. His body slumps against the fountain, a bullet in his shoulder.
She turns to me, asking, “You okay?”
Still in shock, I manage to say, “I guess so… but, how did you know?”
“Just a hunch. I thought this creep might be following me to get to you.”
My heart beats a thousand times a minute.
“It’s a goo
d thing you trust your instincts.”
She retrieves Ivan’s gun from the fountain and calls for an ambulance and backup. A few minutes later they arrive on the scene. Ivan’s bloodied, tattooed body is laid on a stretcher and a loud siren pierces the cool night air as the ambulance takes off down the street.
I turn to Emily.
“I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
She shakes her head, giving me a disapproving look.
“Should’ve called me sooner. A lot sooner.”
“I wish I had.”
Emily places her arm on my shoulder.
“Come on, girl. We’ll talk it over on the way to the hospital.”
Chapter
45
Detective Emily Gower and I arrived at San Francisco General just as Ivan is being rolled out of surgery and wheeled into his hospital room. As we emerge from the elevator, several police officers mingle in the hallway. As we approach, Emily informs them that the case is hers and she’s in charge.
“Have a seat, Maggie,” she tells me.
Then, she disappears into Ivan’s room and while none of the police officers follow her in, I hear one of them saying to another, “She’s got guts. I’ll give her that.”
“Can’t argue,” replies the second officer. “Would you wanna be in there alone with him?”
“Hell no, busted shoulder or not.”
Inside the hospital room, Emily leans against a wall, folding her arms across her chest and staring into Ivan’s eyes.
He stares right back at her and says, “Lucky shot, bitch.”
Emily just grins.
“The only reason you’re still alive is because I need something.”
“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“As we speak, a confession is being prepared, for the murders: Hunter, Gupta and Ross.”
“Them names don’t mean shit to me.”
“Really?”
“Never heard of ‘em.”
“I’ll try to refresh your memory. Does the name Rhonda Flemings ring any bells?”
Ivan flinches, ever so slightly.
“You know, the teenage girl you molested last week?”
“Y’all are bluffin’. Ain’t got nothin’ on me.”
Emily gives him a smoldering look.
“Ah… Ivan. You could not be more wrong. We’ve got a witness. She’s agreed to testify. Got you dead to rights.”
“Bullshit.”
She shakes her head, saying, “Not this time. You’re going back inside. That I can guarantee. You tried to kill Maggie Croft because she was getting too close. I’m confident there’s enough DNA to tie you to the other murders… now that we’ve found our hit man.”
“Just exactly what do ya want?”
“A signed confession to the murders. Including your acknowledgement that Brody Weston hired you.”
“I ain’t movin’ an inch till I get me a lawyer.”
Emily grins again, telling him, “There isn’t a lawyer on earth who can save your ass if I put the finger on you.”
“Whatta you sayin’?”
“It’s like this: most of the inmates up at San Quentin could care less about some young billionaires getting murdered. But a child molester? They’ll kill you for that.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Like hell. You won’t last a week if my snitch rats you out. “
Ivan looks away, mumbling to himself, “Friggin’ bitch.”
Emily steps over to the door and opens it. When she turns back to Ivan, I hear her parting words.
“I’ll expect your signature on that confession.”
Chapter
46
The main level of the Weston residence was completely dark, except for the miniature wall sconces casting dim rays of light. An eerie stillness filled the air as Greta sneaked across the kitchen floor tiles.
The silence was broken when a light came on behind her.
She turned and saw Aiden, standing there.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his tone accusatory, condescending.
“I’m getting out of here,” she told him.
“You are going nowhere.”
“Don’t try to stop me.”
As he advanced toward her, Greta pulled a gun from her pocket and pointed it at him.
“I’m warning you. Step back!”
He ignored her command.
“You stupid fool,” she said.
With a nasty disdain he peered down on her.
He looked at the gun, saying, “You haven’t the guts to use it.”
As she slammed the butt of the gun into the side of his neck, he collapsed to the floor, looking up at her.
She now looked down on him.
“That’s one way,” she replied, hovering over him. “Want to see another?”
With the gun she motioned to their apartment above the kitchen. “Get your snooty ass up those stairs.”
He struggled to his feet, and asked, “How did you …?”
“…get Jack Fisher’s gun out of the safe? You’ve underestimated me. The combination’s on the underside of a drawer in your bedside table. Took me all of twenty minutes to find it. You can’t remember things so you write them down.”
As Aiden reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom, Greta waved the gun toward a large closet.
“Get in there.”
After he stepped inside she closed the door behind him. From under the bed she grabbed a hammer and a wedge. Placing the wedge under the door she raised the hammer, delivering several blows and jamming the door shut.
“You won’t get away with this,” he shouted from inside the closet.
Raising the volume on the TV, she drowned out his voice.
Have a nice life, Greta thought as she scrambled back down the stairs.
According to her plan, she had one hour to herself before sunrise. Moving under a veil of darkness she bolted through a garden on the side of the house.
Stopping at a halfway point, she retrieved a plank and a ladder which she had hidden earlier.
Suddenly Greta noticed a guard heading toward her.
Hoping to conceal herself along a hedgerow, she held her breath under a moonless sky. He drew closer still, his shoes crunching on the gravel pathway.
He stopped, and her heart skipped a beat.
Lighting a cigarette, he lingered there, just ten feet away.
For Greta, the seconds felt like hours.
Finally, he moved on.
Whew. That was close.
Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the plank and ladder.
She scurried across the lawn and coming to the perimeter wall, held the plank along one side of a pressure sensor. Gently she eased it to the opposite side, creating a footbridge for crossing a security strip at the estate’s boundary.
Safely across, she set the ladder against the wall, climbing up and dropping to the ground on the other side.
She found herself in a canyon, heavily-wooded.
Greta had never stepped foot on this land, having only a compass and a flashlight to guide her out to the main road.
Trudging through the underbrush, her flashlight cut the darkness, branches crackling underfoot.
Eventually the noise caught the attention of somebody nearby. At first, the noises sounded like a deer or another type of animal. Crouching in the brush and waiting, somebody was peering through binoculars and saw Greta, coming closer.
A gun was removed from a shoulder holster, and when Greta brushed aside a large branch, a person suddenly appeared.
Greta froze.
To her great relief, the gun was returned to its holster.
“Let me guess. You’re escaping from the Weston estate.”
Greta nodded.
“Detective Emily Gower. And you must be…”
“Greta,” she managed to say.
“Have you seen Jack Fisher?”
“Um… not since yest
erday.”
Only a moment earlier, everything seemed lost. Now Greta found herself in the protection of the police.
Actually, it was a coincidence: Emily had just finished checking out the perimeter of the Weston estate when she crossed paths with Greta.
“Follow me,” Emily told her.
Greta followed her through the thick brush for a few hundred yards before Emily’s unmarked car came into view.
As Emily got behind the wheel, Greta climbed into the passenger seat.
A few minutes later, when the car passed the entrance to Brody Weston’s estate, Greta became uncomfortable.
Emily put a reassuring hand on her arm.
“It’s okay now. You’re safe.”
They crested a hill in the road, and a beautiful sunrise appeared on the horizon. Greta soaked it all in, the sun’s warming rays hinting at a newfound freedom.
Chapter
47
Servants at the Weston estate began the new day by gathering in the kitchen to receive their duties. However, on this morning, Aiden was a no-show. The housekeeper told the others to stay in the kitchen while she went to look for him.
Climbing the stairs to Aiden’s apartment she heard a television blaring away on high volume.
She knocked on the door.
No response.
Then, she slowly entered.
Once inside, she heard pleas for help coming from the closet. Noticing that the door had been wedged shut, she fetched a hammer and removed the wedge.
Angry and disheveled, Aiden hurried down the stairs.
Brody, already in the kitchen, confronted him.
“What the hell is going on?” he snarled.
Dutifully, Aiden gave an account of Greta’s early-morning escape.
Irritated, Brody told him, “You let her get the better of you.”
Eyes cast downward, Aiden replied, “Yes sir.”
Brody summoned a guard who brought Aiden down to the cellar. On the main level of the house, Brody walked along a wide hallway and into the library, a room covered in mahogany paneling and distinguished by a row of French doors, framing a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean in the distance.
He sat behind a carved antique desk, alone with his thoughts.
