by Nick James
“Bobby? Bobby, are you all right?” Emily called from the bedroom.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Lindgren groaned again from the bottom of the staircase, splayed out on the floor.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Emily asked stepping out of the bedroom. Still half asleep, she ran her hand through her hair then stood in the doorway rubbing her eyes, naked and looking confused.
“You’ve got a visitor downstairs.”
“What?” she screamed wide eyed.
“He’s not going to cause a problem. Put something on, you probably know him.”
“Know him?”
“Put a robe on, Emily. I’ll see you downstairs.” Something suddenly crashed and shattered in the downstairs hallway. “I’ll see you down there,” Bobby said turning on the hallway light. “And put something on.”
Chapter Ten
He sat on the staircase, four steps up from Lindgren lying on the floor. Shattered glass from a cut glass flower vase covered the floor around him. Lindgren just stared back with a look on his face that suggested he knew he was royally screwed. With the light on, Bobby stared at the black makeup smeared across Lindgren’s face and what looked like surgical gloves covering his hands, blood flowed from his nose and ran down toward his chin. “You absolute idiot.”
Bobby casually kept his pistol pointed at him, although given the odd angle of the right leg Lindgren didn’t look like he was going anywhere. He winced from pain, and half growled, “Oh, God! For Christ’s sake, just shoot me and end this whole dreadful affair before it gets any worse.” He suddenly looked past Bobby and up to the top of the staircase.
Bobby turned to glance over his shoulder just as Emily took her first tentative step down the stairs. She held onto the railing as she carefully took the first step, then focused on Lindgren sprawled out across the floor and hurried down the stairs, letting the red silk dressing gown fly open, exposing herself.
“Wait a minute,” Bobby said standing and thrusting an arm out to stop her. “There’s glass all over the floor down there. Go get something on your feet, I’ll watch him. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Greg, what in the hell? Are you, are you all right?”
“You know this idiot?” Bobby asked.
“Well, I, sort of, we…”
“Better go up and get some shoes on, maybe call 911 while you’re up there.”
Lindgren gave a groan as Emily climbed back up the stairs. She stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced at him once more, then shook her head disgustedly and hurried to her bedroom.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” Bobby asked, then couldn’t help but smile.
“God, my leg, I think it’s broken,” Lindgren groaned.
“There’s no think about it, asshole. You break in here and then tumble back down the steps. What the hell were you going to do, climb in bed with us?”
“God my leg, my leg. Oh, Jesus that hurts.”
“You got bigger problems then that leg. What? That’s the way you get your women? You a rapist or something?”
“No, it’s not like that. Listen, let me just warn you…”
Emily suddenly hurried back down the stairs. She still wore the little red silk robe, but now it was cinched tightly around her waist. She’d added a pair of grey sweat pants and some brown leather slippers with thick wool lining. She held a phone up and was talking into it. “No, it looks like he might have hurt his leg, I think.”
Lindgren groaned again.
“Tell them it’s broken, Emily. He broke his leg in the fall. Can you move your arms?”
Lindgren nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Yes,” she said then gave the emergency dispatcher her address and hung up.
“They’re on the way. He said not to move him.”
“Oh God, no,” Lindgren groaned.
“Not much we can do with that leg the way it is,” Bobby said.
“Greg, you fucking idiot,” Emily half shouted. She ran a hand through her hair as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “What in the hell were you thinking?”
“Let me just get dressed for our guests. Emily, you might want to put your front porch light on, they’ll be here in the next few minutes,” Bobby said then slowly and deliberately made his way up the steps and down the hall to her bedroom. He slipped the pistol back in the pocket of his blazer, then put on his trousers and t-shirt. He pulled his socks on and slipped into his shoes.
A loud screech erupted from the first floor and he hurried out to the top of the staircase. Emily had hold of both Lindgren’s arms, attempting to pull him onto the thick oriental rug. “Don’t please, stop, stop, stop,” Lindgren cried.
“Emily, I think that’s what they meant by don’t try to move him,” Bobby said calmly making his way down the stairs.
“I was just trying to get him in a more comfortable position, I…”
“What part of don’t move him do you not understand?”
She let go of his arms. Lindgren groaned and seemed to wince with the pain. Bobby noticed the surgical gloves were gone. A siren could be heard in the distance and flashing lights were reflected in the pane of glass above the front door just a moment later. She ran to the front door, unlocked it, then glared back at Lindgren and shouted, “God damn you, Greg.”
As the paramedics carried a gurney up the front steps, Lindgren looked at Emily and said, “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to get your computer. I didn’t know he was here. I wasn’t going to hurt you, wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”
“You have no idea how sorry you’re going to be.”
Chapter Eleven
It took about twenty minutes for the paramedics to load Lindgren onto a gurney and wheel him out to the ambulance. By this time two police officers had arrived. They’d taken Lindgren’s personal information and were still talking to Emily in the kitchen when Bobby followed the paramedics out to the ambulance. “What hospital are you guys taking him to?”
“He’ll be at Regions. By the look of that leg it’ll be at least a day, maybe two. Course the cops might have an interest.”
“He’s a friend, she won’t be pressing charges.”
“What kind of friend breaks into your house?”
“You’d have to ask her.”
The police were still asking questions when Bobby rejoined them in the kitchen. “And you say he was a guest in your house?” the cop with the notebook asked, not for the first time. His tone implied there was more to her answer than he was being told.
“Yes, we had dinner, Greg had gone upstairs to use the bathroom.”
“Instead of the one down here.”
“I guess I was in it at the time.”
“He must have been about ready to leave. I mean it looks like the two of you were getting ready for bed. He’s got his night makeup on. You’re sure you don’t want to consider charges?”
“No, that’s the last thing I want to do.”
The cop looked over at Bobby. “Sir?”
“Not my home, I was just here for dinner. I’ve never seen the gentleman dressed in black with the makeup on his face before.” Emily gave him a quick glance, but didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” he said implying just about everything he’d heard was a lie. “If you’re not going to press charges, I guess there’s really nothing left for us to do.”
His partner handed a business card to Emily. “If you’d like to reconsider charges or if you have any questions, here’s a number you can call.”
They walked the cops to the front door, Emily thanking and apologizing all the way. She watched them walk down the steps and climb into their squad car before she gave a final wave, then closed the door and locked it.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink, something strong, very strong. God, what a mess,” Emily said.
“Nothing for me, I’m fine, Emily.”
“I can’t fucking believe it, how crazy was that?” she said wa
lking into the kitchen. “I mean I haven’t seen him since forever. We used to date, I’m talking years ago. I thought he was married. I don’t know, maybe…”
“How did he get in here, Emily? I mean just for starters I almost shot him. He was at the top of the stairs, on second floor.”
“I know, I know…”
“Did you give him a key?”
“He might have had one from before, I don’t know, he…”
“From before? Emily, we just had the stupid locks changed. Remember, I had Earl come over here. That was just a couple of weeks ago. Have you been seeing this guy since then? I mean he seemed to know his way around in the dark pretty damn well.”
“Well, he was here, I mean before I met you. I never ask you about who you dated?”
“I guess I’ve never had the women I dated try to break in during the middle of the night. How did he get in here?”
“I don’t know, Bobby. Okay? I said I don’t fucking know,” she shouted then took a coffee mug out of the cabinet and filled it halfway up from a bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter.
“But you knew him, had something going with him, at least at one time.”
“At one time, yeah, I guess.”
He nodded, then walked out of the kitchen and upstairs. He put his shirt on, buttoned it, but didn’t bother to tuck it in. He was tempted to open her safe and take whatever cash she had in there, then decided against it. Thinking wouldn’t it be more interesting to see how she dealt with Lindgren and this whole situation.
He went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Emily was in the process of refilling her mug. “I’m going to head home. You need to get that glass cleaned up around the staircase. I intend to be back here for dinner tonight, that will give you time to get your story straight.”
“Do you have to go?”
“Have to? No, I don’t have to, Emily, but I’m going to. I’m not sure what you’re up to, and to tell you the truth, most of it is your business, your private business and I’m fine with that. Your relationships before we met are frankly none of my business. I honestly don’t care. That said, I’m not fine with some moron breaking in here and me coming close to almost killing him, or worse, I’m not here and he kills you.”
“Bobby, I didn’t…”
“I’m coming back tonight for dinner and we’ll discuss this rationally, no yelling, no tears. We’re both adults. But we can’t have a repeat.”
“I had no idea. I mean he, well, it’s been such a long time since…”
“Don’t say anything you’re going to regret. I’ll see you tonight, seven-thirty.”
“Will you sleep with me?’
He stepped forward, tore open her silk dressing gown and squeezed her breasts, hard. She grimaced, eventually giving a short groan which made him squeeze even harder. “I plan to fuck your brains out,” he said, then let go, turned, walked out of the kitchen and out the front door.
Chapter Twelve
He phoned Morris Montcreff just before ten. “Yes,” Moncreff answered, then proceeded to crunch something that Bobby presumed might be crispy bacon. After his early morning get together with the police, paramedics, Lindgren, and Emily he was not in the best frame of mind to grovel.
“Calling with a progress report on Noah Denton. Unfortunately, there’s no real progress. He appears frail and is usually asleep when I’m there.”
“The damn medication they’ve got him on.”
“Possibly. To be honest he doesn’t appear to be doing all that well. He…”
“What about that fire at your rental property? Have you heard anything from the insurance people?” Montcreff asked, changing the subject, proceeding to crunch something again.
“My initial inquiries were stonewalled and now they’re hanging their hats on the arson suspicion.”
“Arson? Where in the hell did they hear that?”
“News reports for one. The police were here yesterday and…”
“What the hell did they want?”
“They wanted to contact Camila Morales, my tenant,” Bobby said hoping to remind Montcreff that he was responsible for putting her in touch with him in the first place.
“You’ve had contact with her?”
“No, I haven’t,” Bobby said, making note of the question. “Like I told the police, I don’t know how to get in touch with her.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No, nothing. For all I know she could be back in Mexico right now. The police did tell me one thing.”
“Oh?”
“Just that they had found two bodies in the rubble. I’m guessing someone who was overcome by smoke, possibly Camila herself, it’s just too soon to tell.”
“It’s not her,” Montcreff said sounding very sure of himself. Bobby took that to mean the bodies recovered probably worked for Montcreff, or at least did at one time. “You hear anything else on Noah Denton I want to know, immediately.”
“I do have a question.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you aware of a developer by the name of Gregory Lindgren.”
“Lindgren, yes. Fairly successful, was doing a number of retail outlets, shopping malls around the country. He really made a killing up in North Dakota, that oil boom. Bastard was building and selling apartments as fast as he could. He’s one of the lucky ones, he got in on the ground floor and then, just before things started to cool down, he got the hell out. Why do you ask?”
Bobby had a vision of Lindgren on the floor of Emily’s front hall, dressed in black and groaning with his broken leg. “No particular reason. His name came up in conversation I think in relation to projects out in Williston, if I recall.”
“Smart guy and damn lucky. That’s a good combination.”
“Yes it is,” he said, thinking ‘until your luck runs out.
“Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to return to my breakfast.”
“Thank you for…” Montcreff had already hung up.
He pulled the business card out of a desk drawer, wondered for a moment about making the call, then dialed the number.
After four rings he was dumped into the message center. “Doctor Antonnini, this is Bobby Custer. Please call me.”
His phone rang about five minutes later. “Hello, Bobby…”
“Custer, Doctor Antonnini. Were you able to delete that bitches file?”
“No, not yet, but…”
“Then why in the hell did you call?”
“I expect to be able to do so very shortly. I’d like to meet with you privately for a few moments before I proceed.”
“Meet with me? What about? Money?”
“No sir, no money. I want you to understand the risk I’m…”
“God damn it, I understand the damn risk. You think I don’t? That woman has threatened and blackmailed me month after month with no damned end in sight and I have…”
“Believe me, I understand. Just what in the hell do you think I’ve been going through?”
“All right, all right. Of course, but not here, not my office.”
“And I certainly don’t want to meet in my office. If we could just get together somewhere, it shouldn’t take more than five minutes. Would the library work, the central one downtown?”
“Across from the Landmark Center?”
“Yes, you just name the time, Doctor.”
“I could meet you there at noon.”
“That will work. I’ll be just outside the front door facing the park, at noon.”
Chapter Thirteen
Just to be on the safe side he arrived ten minutes early and waited at the foot of the steps leading into the Central Library. Rice Park, just across the street was barely a half block square with large oak trees and sidewalks from the four corners intersecting in the middle where a large fountain flowed with the statute of an Indian maiden in the center. Antonnini strolled around the corner at exactly a minute before noon and seemed to pick up his pace when he spotted Bobby.
“Perfect timing,” Bobby said and smiled.
“I just want this whole sordid affair over and done with.”
“Let’s take a walk around the park.”
“Not inside the library?” Antonnini asked suddenly sounding wary.
“They have cameras in there.”
“Oh, yeah, sure of course. What was I thinking?”
They crossed the street then turned at the corner. The walk around the entire park wouldn’t take more than five minutes. “I think it best if I don’t give you specifics,” Bobby began. “The less you know the better. I’ll be able to gain access to her computer over the next forty-eight hours. I intend to delete any and everything pertaining to both you and me.”
“She going out of town? Probably another fuck-fest with some other poor unsuspecting fool. God, knows I’ve learned my lesson. I never let the bitches take my picture anymore.”
I’m sure your wife appreciates that fact. “I’m not sure where she’s off to. I’m just letting you know that’s the window I’ve got to work with, forty-eight hours, beginning tonight. And I meant what I said earlier, I don’t want any payment, I don’t want any money from you.”
“That sounds just fine to me. Like I told you the day we met, two weeks of luxury living down in Florida anytime you get the urge. Hell, two weeks? You pull this little caper off, you can take an entire month. God knows you’ll have earned it, I don’t know about you, but I just want to be finished with this whole damn mess. Believe me, I’ve learned. Be careful and like I said, no more pictures,” he said and laughed at that last bit.
“Gee, Florida. I just might take you up on that. There is one thing you could help me with.”
“Oh?”
“I happen to know a patient of yours, he’s in extremely poor health, declining every day.”
“Patient of mine?”
“You’re one of many caring for him, you’ve done everything you can, his problems are far beyond a hip or knee replacement. Old age, seventy plus years of the life style, heart attacks, probably a dozen complications I’m not even aware of. Poor soul is virtually comatose.”
