Sami caught a glimpse of Simon’s face as he tried to wedge his body through the small opening. She held her weapon in its ready position. Two more steps.
The front door was solid wood, so Al could not force it open without making a great deal of noise. But if he chose to enter the house by crawling through a window, Simon might see him and take retaliatory measures. Al would be vulnerable. He had no choice but to burst through the front door. The element of surprise was always an advantage. The compelling question: Who would surprise whom? He removed his Glock 9mm from its holster and clicked off the safety. Standing back about three feet, he raised his right foot and kicked the door just below the doorknob.
Simon couldn’t quite fit his body through the opened door, so he leaned against it one last time and pushed with his shoulder. As he stumbled into the room, his eyes scanned from left to right looking for Sami and Angelina.
Sami was unable to get a clean shot to the base of Simon’s skull, so her only option was to drive the weapon hard into the side of his head. She planted her feet, took aim, and with all her might thrust forward.
Something flickered in Simon’s peripheral vision. He turned his head quickly and felt something smash into his face.
Sami aimed for his temple, hoping a severe blow would knock him unconscious. When the wood smashed into his lips, his forehead snapped forward and his chin lay against his chest. Blood immediately spurted from his mouth, and his arms flailed like a giant eagle unable to fly. Simon’s eyes rolled back as his body wobbled. During this harried moment, Sami, realizing that one blow wasn’t enough, cocked her weapon, and prepared to strike him again.
The door stood strong. It took Al five hefty kicks before the door jamb ruptured and the oak door swung open. Holding his weapon with his arms extended in front of him, gripping it tightly with two hands, he slowly moved into the living room, careful of blind corners, resting his index finger on the trigger. He listened for signs that the house was occupied but heard nothing but the muffled sound of the barking dog. He crept from room to room until he reached a closed door. Carefully, he twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door.
What Al saw when the door swung open sucked the air from his lungs. In the center of the room stood a six-foot-tall statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, mounted atop a marble pedestal. Lit candles—a dozen or so, three inches in diameter and more than a foot tall—surrounded the base of the statue. In front of the statue was a small crescent-shaped table covered with a red velvet cloth. On the table were three large glass jars that looked like pickle or mayonnaise containers.
Al walked toward the table to get a better look. Inside each jar an irregularly shaped object floated in some kind of clear liquid, but Al couldn’t quite make out what they were. Six steps into the room, Al stood stone still.
Inside the three jars, floating in formaldehyde, were the perfectly preserved hearts of Jessica Connelly, Linda Cassidy, and Molly Singer. The hearts Simon had cut from their chests and offered to Jesus as tokens of his good deeds.
Al charged out of the room, stunned beyond anything he could imagine.
Drenched with sweat, Al tiptoed into the kitchen and discovered an open door with steps leading to the basement. Before easing down the stairs, he listened carefully and heard something, but did not know what. Musty air enveloped his face. The old stairs creaked with each step down and Al grimaced with anxiety. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he stopped and tuned his ears toward the sound.
Simon blinked the tears from his eyes and saw Sami standing a few feet away, holding a long piece of wood. All he could think about was charging toward her and tearing her throat out with his bare hands. Rage gushed through his body, yet he still maintained control. His mouth filled with warm blood that dripped off his chin and soaked the front of his white shirt. He fixed his eyes on Sami’s face and moved toward her.
Sami vaulted forward with her weapon and tried to jam the butt end square into Simon’s nose. But Simon, more agile than she thought, and not nearly as incapacitated, reacted swiftly. With a quick Bruce Lee–like defensive action, he blocked the blow with his forearm, hitting the side of the makeshift weapon with a circular motion, then snatched it with his hand. Sami tried to tighten her grip, but Simon yanked it out of her hands.
Simon grinned broadly and his teeth were as red as V-8 juice. He took a step toward her.
“Where’s Angelina?”
Sami backed against the wall.
“I’ll find her, Sami. And when I do, you can watch me tear her rib cage open and cut her little fucking heart out.”
With the grace and speed of a big cat, Simon leaped toward Sami and drove the wooden weapon into her stomach. With the wind knocked out of her, she doubled over and fell on the floor, unable to breathe.
“Ange-leena. Come out, come out wherever you are.” Simon inched toward the kitchen.
Al heard a man’s voice coming from the other side of the basement. He rushed across the concrete floor and found the partially opened door. He held his head near the opening and listened.
“Ange-leena, it’s time to come out. Your mommy has a present for you.”
For a moment, Al froze. He pressed his palm against the center of the door and gave it a slight push. Something prevented it from opening further. He could squeeze through the opening but not without a little effort and a slight delay. If Simon had a gun, he could easily pump a few rounds in Al’s face before he could even begin to defend himself. He listened for Sami’s voice but heard nothing.
Sami couldn’t move. Gulps of air came sporadically. Simon had not merely knocked the wind out of her, he had further injured her back. She felt almost paralyzed lying on the floor. Pain shot from her lower back, across her buttocks, and settled behind her right thigh. Her toes tingled. The makeshift back brace offered no relief. Simon approached the kitchen, dangerously close to where Angelina hid. Sami prayed that Angelina stayed put until she could figure out what to do. But what could she do? With every ounce of strength left in her beaten body, Sami tried to get up. On one knee, as if she were genuflecting, she planted her foot and attempted to stand, but her legs went numb and she fell to the floor.
“Simon, I beg you, please don’t hurt my daughter!”
With wild eyes and a demonic grin, he laughed out loud.
Al didn’t know exactly what was happening on the other side of the door but knew he had no choice but to squeeze through the small opening and take his chances. He took two quick breaths, exhaled to make his body as lean as possible, and eased through the door. He saw Simon walking away, his back facing Al. Sami lay on the floor to Al’s right. He knew she’d been injured, but to what extent he wasn’t sure. That she lay on the floor alive filled him with a wave of relief.
Their eyes met, and Al could see Sami’s painful grimace erased by a thankful smile.
Closing one eye and aiming his weapon at Simon, Al shouted, “Put your hands over your head and freeze!”
With grace and a fluid motion, Simon pivoted and fixed his stare on Al. “Congratulations, detective.”
Al waved the pistol. “You’ve got five seconds to lock your fingers together and put your hands behind your head.”
Simon grinned hideously, blood still seeping from the corner of his mouth.
From out of nowhere, Angelina appeared. She looked at Al, glanced at her mother—now sitting on the floor—and froze. She stood inches from Simon, partially hidden behind him. Al took his eyes off Simon for a split second and Simon took full advantage. He crouched down and with one quick motion grabbed Angelina’s arm and yanked her in front of him. He locked his arms around her waist and stood. Simon’s face and torso were now strategically shielded by Angelina.
“It seems we have a standoff, detective.” Simon gently stroked Angelina’s hair. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Put her down,” Al ordered.
“Angelina and I are going to play a little game.” Simon cupped his hand around the side of her neck, inching his
fingers toward her throat.
Angelina began to fidget.
“There, there,” Simon said, “everything’s going to be just fine.”
“In less than ten minutes,” Al said, “a dozen cops are going to storm through that door.”
“Great. They can join the festivities.”
Still in excruciating pain, Sami found enough strength to stand. She extended her arms toward Angelina. “Come to Mommy.”
Simon tightened his grip on the squirmy two-year-old. “Angelina’s staying with Simon. Right, my little princess?”
Angelina twisted like a worm on a fishhook and started to moan.
Sami no longer operated with all of her faculties or a rational mind. Her actions were motivated by sheer primal instincts. Risky? Extremely. Insane? Perhaps. She was driven by the purest form of survival. With little effort Simon could snap her neck in an instant, but Sami knew that Angelina hated to be restrained, and no matter how powerful Simon might be, when Angelina threw a temper tantrum, she was a handful. Maybe Angelina could distract Simon just long enough for Al to get a clean shot. “Come to Mommy,” Sami repeated.
Angelina, now screaming, flailed her arms and legs. Simon was losing his grip. With one quick motion, Angelina’s body stiffened, she arched her back, straightened her legs, and the back of her head smacked Simon square in the nose. She slipped out of his arms and like a little gymnast landed square on her feet and charged toward her mother with outstretched arms.
Simon covered his face with both hands, moaning in agony. Blood dripped from both nostrils. Al moved toward him and pressed the gun against his temple.
“On the floor, you piece of shit.”
Without protest, Simon lay facedown on the cold concrete and Al secured his wrists with handcuffs. Sami and Angelina were locked in an embrace. Angelina still whimpered but no longer cried with purpose. Sami let go of Angelina and leaned against the wall.
Her eyes welling with tears, Sami could barely speak. “You’re…my hero…Al.”
“All in a day’s work.” His eyes were teary. “You all right?”
“I need a back transplant, but other than that I think I’m okay.” Sami stepped toward Al and stood only inches away.
Al had his arms around her in an instant, completely forgetting about Sami’s back.
“Easy there, cowboy.”
Feeling the contours of her body firmly pressed against him, Al closed his eyes and savored the moment. He tried to say something clever, but the words hung in his throat. He wanted to hold Sami for the rest of his life.
“Have you been drinking, Al?”
How could she know this? Surely the smell of alcohol wasn’t still be on his breath. “I guess we need to talk about that.”
“Yeah, we do.”
They stood silent for a few minutes.
Now tears were streaming down Sami’s cheeks. She whispered in his ear. “Thank you, partner.”
Al let go of Sami and they stood face-to-face. It seemed as if they quietly stared at each other for an eternity. For an instant, Al forgot about Simon and Angelina and moved toward Sami. She inched toward him. He saw an invitation in her eyes, a sparkle he’d never seen before.
Angelina tugged on Sami’s skirt. “I don’t like this place, Mommy. Can we go to Grandma’s for dinner?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
Sami glanced at Simon, still lying on the concrete floor. Again the anger welled in her gut. “Take Angelina upstairs and call my mom. Tell her we’re okay.”
“And leave you here with—”
“I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
He handed her his weapon. “Just in case.”
Reluctantly, Al grabbed Angelina’s hand and disappeared behind the steel door. Sami gave them enough time to get upstairs. She limped toward Simon and carefully squatted next to him. He lay on his stomach, watching her, a defiant grin plastered on his sweaty face.
“This is far from being over, little lady.”
“Indeed. It’s just beginning.” She grabbed a handful of his thick hair and yanked his head back. “I want you to know that I’ll be in that fucking courtroom every glorious day. And when the jury reads the verdict, ‘guilty as charged,’ I’m going to jump up in the air, hooting and hollering.”
“God will protect me, sinner.”
“Seems to me that he’s already abandoned you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re lying on your belly like the snake you are, and in a few minutes a whole bunch of cops are going to haul your ass to jail.”
“The Lord will free me.”
“Free you? Ha! You’re going to spend the rest of your life in a ten-by-ten cage—unless of course they fry your ass or shoot you up with a lethal injection. For your remaining years—whatever they might be—you’re going to live in a cage like a wild animal. And you know what else, Simon? Even hardened criminals have a code of ethics, and they don’t like rapists or men who hurt children. They’re just going to love that tight ass of yours. There’s no place to hide in that concrete hell.”
Sami doubled up her fist and cocked her arm. Oh, how she wanted to feel her knuckles collide with his face. But Sami stopped herself.
He lay silent. The defiant grin replaced by grim eyes.
“Rot in hell, you son of a bitch!”
TWENTY-SIX
Captain Davison insisted that Sami take enough time off work to both physically and mentally recuperate. She didn’t argue. For three days she could barely get out of bed. During her hiatus she carefully considered whether or not to resign. This decision posed much anguish for Sami. Money, of course, was a primary concern. How would she live? Obligation to her father’s dying wish was another issue. Quite to Sami’s relief, Josephine Rizzo not only supported Sami but suggested that she sell her home and move in with her so Sami could go back to school. If there was some truth to the cliché that good can come from evil, Sami’s life-threatening ordeal paved a new roadway to her mother’s heart. Things were not the way they should be between mother and daughter, at least not the way Sami saw it. However, something positive was happening, and for the first time in her life, Sami actually enjoyed spending time with Josephine Rizzo.
After six visits with Doctor Alvarez, chiropractor extraordinaire, Sami began to feel like a human again. He gave her a series of home exercises and instructed her to perform them religiously. She didn’t know if her back would ever be one hundred percent, but at least she had resumed normal activities without feeling gut-wrenching pain.
The nightmares hadn’t yet stopped; the horrific image of lying on a wooden cross and feeling Simon drive spikes through her wrists persisted. She didn’t expect that pleasant dreams would replace them soon. She thought seriously about seeking therapy. Al, in his own lovable fashion, told her, “People who go to shrinks ought to have their heads examined.” But after they stopped laughing, he lobbied hard for her to seek counseling. “Just to clear the cobwebs,” he’d said.
Two weeks after Al’s heroic rescue, Sami was sitting in her living room watching TV, when she heard the doorbell. Expecting it to be Al, who had stopped by to see her every day, she opened the door without first looking through the security lens.
“Are you Samantha Rizzo?” The well-dressed young man smiled warmly. He wore a stylish gray suit and carried a brown leather briefcase. His white shirt was crisply pressed and stark white. Sami guessed that either he wished to sell her something or was a Jehovah Witness looking for converts.
“Can I help you?”
He handed her a business card. “May I come in?”
She studied the card. “I’m really not interested in life insurance.”
“I’m not here to sell you any.”
Still wary from her ordeal, Sami was not about to let in a total stranger, no matter how innocent he looked. “What’s this all about?”
“You’re not going to let me come inside?”
“With all due respect, no.”
; “Were you aware, Ms. Rizzo, that you are named beneficiary in a life insurance policy?”
“Pardon me?”
He squatted, set his briefcase on the step, and flipped it open. After fumbling through a stack of papers, he handed her an official-looking form. “Just sign your name where indicated and you should receive a check in about ten days.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“You were married to a Thomas DiSalvo, right?”
Tommy? Al had told her about his covert investigation into Tommy’s death. She wasn’t shocked when she learned that the supposed gambling debt had been a ploy to get money from her. That Tommy had been murdered by a drug dealer did not erase all her guilt or angst, but it served to alleviate much of it.
“I was,” Sami whispered.
“Well, Mr. DiSalvo belonged to the Laborer’s Union and all members are entitled to life insurance. It’s part of their overall benefit’s package.”
“But Tommy and I have been divorced for years.”
“Makes no difference. You’re named as sole beneficiary.”
Sami gawked at the young man. “This is unbelievable.”
He handed her a pen. “Would you mind signing the release forms?”
Now Sami felt like a paranoid idiot refusing to let the young man into her home. She stepped to the side and motioned with her arm. “Why don’t you have a seat in the living room.”
He picked up his briefcase, stepped inside, and sat on the sofa. He handed the release forms to Sami.
Sami read the fine print and stopped cold at paragraph nine. “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars?”
“That’s correct, Ms. Rizzo.”
The check arrived certified mail five days after the pleasant young man from North Pacific Life Insurance informed Sami of her windfall. In a way, Sami felt uneasy profiting from Tommy’s death, but the money would also benefit her daughter. Not that it would make up for Tommy’s gross incompetence as a father, but Sami had already spoken to a financial advisor and arranged for a chunk of money to be invested in a trust fund for Angelina.
They Never Die Quietly Page 29
