The Appointment Killer

by Remington Kane

  “What’s that?”

  “This whole thing. William Davilla is dead, yes, and he died on the date predicted, but how could the perp have known that he would react the way he did? He could have been cooperative, or at least non-violent, the way Ronald Hines was.”

  Owens cocked his head. “You’re right. This can’t have been what they had planned as a mode of death, not unless they had primed him to go off the way he did. Maybe the killer befriended Davilla and discovered how close to the edge he was. They might have even supplied him with the weapon he used.”

  “If so, someone might have seen them together. We need to canvas the area and see if anyone spotted Davilla in the company of a stranger. We’ll start by interviewing his boss and coworkers.”

  The lab techs were moving into the room with their equipment. There were three of them, and one let out a curse as she realized they had left something behind in their vehicle. She was a large woman with short, sandy hair and a ruddy complexion. She called to her partners.

  “I’ll be back in a second, guys; we left the trajectory kit in the truck.”

  One of the men called back to her. “That was me, Kathy, sorry.”

  “No biggie, I’ll be right back.”

  As she left, Erica and Owens stepped out into the hall behind her. One of the remaining lab techs set a bag atop the bed. It contained a camera, a tripod, and two back-up battery packs. It wasn’t a heavy bag, but it contained enough weight to set off the pressure-sensitive switch connected to the explosive device beneath William Davilla’s mattress.

  There were fourteen people in the building when the bomb went off. The nine down below in the office were unharmed. It was a different story for the others. Erica and Owens were in the hallway, while the female tech had just started down the stairs.

  The blast caused a section of wall to collapse onto the parking lot. Flames could be seen within the ragged opening as the mattress and other items in the room caught fire, including the bodies of the two forensic techs who were inside the room. They were not the only casualties. The bomb had claimed four victims.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  STATEN ISLAND, NEW YORK, FRIDAY, JULY 19th

  Ted Marx was filming himself at the car wash when the blast went off.

  “I’m on the scene in Staten Island where the latest victim of The Appointment Killer, William Davilla, was killed by police, dying on the day predicted for him.”

  Marx startled and shook the camera as the explosion roared behind him, but he still managed to capture the blast and its immediate aftermath.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Are you seeing this, people? Something exploded inside the building. Oh man, I bet someone just died.”

  Marx was correct, and there was more than one fatality.

  The female forensic tech was four steps down from the landing when the explosion occurred. Erica had followed her out of the room and was at the top of the stairs, while Owens was two steps behind her.

  Owens was still in line with the doorway of the room where the blast went off and bits of shrapnel from the bomb struck him in the back. He also absorbed some of the energy of the blast and was hurled through the air. He flew over the woman on the stairs as if he’d been catapulted, slammed hard against the stairway’s left wall then dropped down into the small vestibule below.

  Erica had been knocked off her feet. She fell forward and collided with the forensic tech, which caused the two of them to go tumbling down the worn wooden steps together. While that was happening, the tech’s forehead slammed hard against a step, and Erica banged the back of her head on another stair.

  As the sound of the blast faded, the three of them lay in a heap near the door, unmoving. Blood spread in a widening pool beneath their limp forms; it was contributed to by each of them, as they had suffered many injuries.

  Marx slipped under the crime scene tape that had been strung up and began running toward the building while talking to his camera.

  “A bomb just went off, and I’m headed over to investigate. As you can see, it’s crazy here as people rush to help the victims of the blast.”

  Marx looked for Jason and saw that he had stayed behind the tape, as he should. He waved for his assistant to follow and Jason shook his head no.

  Three of the cops reached the door leading up to the apartment before Marx. He had paused to get a shot of the ragged hole in the side of the building. There was smoke drifting from it and the crackle of flames was audible even over the confused and panicked shouts of rescuers and survivors.

  A cop was bracing open the door that led to the staircase. Marx released a gasp of shock as he saw Erica, Owens, and the forensic tech lying in blood, so much blood.

  His voice had a somber quality to it as he spoke again. “I know two of these people, they’re FBI agents Novac and Owens. God, I hope they’re not dead, but man, it doesn’t look good.”

  The cop holding the door open took notice of Marx and shouted at him to stop filming. Before Marx could respond, two other cops grabbed him, with one ripping his phone out of his hand and flinging it toward the street.

  “Hey! Get your hands off me.”

  The cops were silent as they dragged Marx back toward the police line and shoved him head first under the tape. He lay sprawled facedown as one of the cops made him a promise.

  “If I see you again, you’re going to jail. Now get the hell out of here!”

  Jason recovered the phone, which looked no worse for wear, although it had stopped filming. The video Marx captured had been broadcast live and also sent to the cloud.

  Ted Marx stood up while brushing himself off as a trio of teenagers laughed at him.

  Jason handed his boss the phone. “We’d better leave, those cops weren’t fooling around.”

  “No, you stay and film while I go sit in the car. I’ll be editing the video I just got.” Marx grinned. “This is big, Jason, huge. I bet I’m the only one to get the explosion when it happened. Those reporters from TV were all interviewing the mayor when the blast went off.”

  “Did you see anything? Are there… are there people dead?”

  Marx nodded as a grim look came over him. “I think those two FBI agents might have bought it.”

  Erica was in a daze as two sets of strong arms lifted her up and settled her atop a gurney. Her head hurt, and she was confused, while blood dripped steadily from a cut on the back of her right hand.

  “What happened?”

  Erica’s question was answered by a female paramedic. “You were caught in an explosion; please lie still while I assess your injuries.”

  “Brad? Where’s Brad?”

  Her question was answered as she saw Owens being placed on a gurney beside her. He was unconscious, at least she hoped to God it was no more than that. Owens’ face and his shirt front were scarlet with blood, and a bone protruded from his left forearm. He had been placed atop the gurney to lie on his stomach, because several nails were embedded in his back.

  “Is he alive? Please tell me he’s alive!” Erica shouted. The paramedic had been checking Erica’s vital signs. She called to her partner, who was assessing Owens’ condition.

  “Marty, what’s the agent’s status?”

  “He’s alive, unconscious, bleeding from his scalp, and likely has internal injuries. We need to get him to the hospital immediately.”

  “Oh, thank God, he’s alive,” Erica said, then she saw a sight that made the breath catch in her throat. Several cops were frantically clearing rubble away. It was the section of the wall that had fallen. Four blue-clad legs were at the bottom of that pile. The victims were police officers; they had suffered fatal head injuries when the debris struck them.

  The female tech who had been in the hallway with Erica and Owens when the blast occurred had broken her right leg. She was still out cold from hitting her head. She survived the blast through a fluke of fate, something her husband and three young children would be forever grateful for.

  With the gash on her hand
seen to, Erica was loaded into an ambulance as Owens was placed inside another one. She lay on the gurney looking up at the paramedic, who had just shined a light in her eyes to check her pupils for signs of a concussion.

  “How many… how many died from the bomb?”

  “Four, two cops and two crime scene techs. You and your partner are fortunate to be alive.”

  Erica closed her eyes. Nine victims, including two police officers. She made a vow to herself that there would be no more. However, it was a condition outside her control, and already past preventing.

  Her phone sounded off, indicating that she had a text message. Apparently, the device had fared better than she had in the blast. Erica took it from her pocket and groaned as she read the message.

  A BODY HAS BEEN FOUND ON SITE AT THE CABIN WHERE KEITH PARDO WAS LOCATED. ID INSIDE PURSE IDENTIFIES HER AS MIRANDA MARX.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  STATEN ISLAND, NEW YORK, FRIDAY, JULY 19th

  Inside Staten Island University Hospital Erica was seated at Bradley Owens’ bedside, although the doctor assured her that he likely wouldn’t wake for hours. Along with the injuries the nails and gash on the scalp had given him, Owens had also broken his left forearm, damaged his right knee, and had a bruised kidney.

  The video Ted Marx shot of the explosion and its aftermath was all over the news, including in Washington, DC. Erica’s mother called her and sighed with relief when she answered. Ted Marx had made it sound like she and Owens had died. When Erica finally viewed the video, she really couldn’t blame him for reaching that conclusion.

  “I’m fine, Mom, but Brad broke an arm and needs to stay in the hospital for a few days.”

  “I’m catching a flight up there.”

  “No. I’m okay, really. I cut my right hand and hit my head, but I didn’t get concussed.”

  “Stay the night there in the hospital, honey, just in case.”

  “I am, as the doctor ordered, but I’m good, so don’t worry, okay?”

  “You know I always worry, and I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  “Have you heard from Angel? We tried getting him on the phone but he’s not answering.”

  “No, I haven’t spoken to him, and I’ve left a message. Anyway, I thought he’d be at the restaurant.”

  “He asked for the day off. He said he was finishing up a carpentry project for someone.”

  “Maybe he’s somewhere he can’t get a signal, or his battery died.”

  “That must be it. Are you certain you’re all right?”

  Erica laughed. “Yes, Mom, I’m good. You know you raised tough daughters.”

  “I did at that,” Carlotta said.

  After the call ended, Erica tried to reach Angel again without success. She hung up and fought in vain not to imagine him with Felicia Downing.

  Where is this suspicion and jealousy coming from? she thought, then understood what was fueling it. She had fallen in love with Angel.

  Her phone rang and when she answered she heard the voice of Supervisory Special Agent Chuck McVie.

  “I know you told me earlier that you were good and could stay on the case, but I think you should reconsider.”

  “No. I’m fine, Chuck. Besides, the time and energy it would take to bring other agents up to speed could be used to further the case.”

  “All right, it’s your call, but I’m sending you help.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “That kid, Troy Carson, unless you’d rather have someone with more experience.”

  “Troy will do fine; he’s sharp.”

  “The kid is all right, and he solved his last case and is just doing background checks. He’ll arrive in New York by morning. How’s Brad, any change?”

  “He’s still out, but it’s partly due to the drugs they’ve given him.”

  “I gotta tell you, Erica. Seeing that video Ted Marx made almost stopped my heart. Your mother must have fainted seeing you lying there all bloody like that.”

  “Mom wanted to come here, but I told her no.”

  “I’ll stop by the restaurant on the way home and assure her that you’re all right.”

  “Thank you, Chuck. That will make her feel better. I’ve already called Brad’s girls and spoken to them. They had seen the video too and were scared for their dad.”

  “What about that new girlfriend of his, Rhonda is it?”

  “Rhonda Wheeler, yes. When I spoke to her, she was on her way to the airport to catch a flight here.”

  “Brad will love waking up to see her there.”

  “Chuck.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to get whoever did this.”

  “I never doubted it, and you’ll have all the resources you’ll need.”

  “Thank you. Brad and I have a short list of suspects; now, I need to whittle it down to one.”

  “Keep me updated… and stay safe.”

  “I’ll do both.”

  Erica sat beside Owens’ bed inside his hospital room. She was wearing a hospital gown to replace her bloody blouse while still wearing her slacks. As she sat waiting for Owens to stir, she went over the details of the case in her mind.

  Miranda Marx being found dead was surprising; the location where her body had been discovered was astonishing. She had been found by accident. A local cop who was a K-9 officer visited the cabin to speak to his brother, who was a homicide detective. The detective had met with the man who owned the cabin to interview him and ask if he knew how Keith Pardo had come to be there. After the K-9 officer had let the dog out of the rear of his SUV, so the dog could pee and romp through the woods a bit, the dog began barking to gain their attention.

  The animal had found the shallow grave containing Miranda’s body. She’d been bludgeoned to death from behind. The coroner placed her time of death as having occurred late on Friday, July 12th, or early on Saturday, July 13th. A more accurate guess could be determined during the autopsy that was to follow.

  That timeframe was probably when the killer was setting up the trap with the toilet seat. Was Miranda simply a victim of the killer, or a partner that needed to be disposed of for some reason?

  Miranda’s death was being kept under wraps from all but her immediate family until Erica was out of the hospital and could interrogate Ted Marx again. She wanted to see his reaction when he learned his ex-wife was dead.

  Rhonda Wheeler arrived after visiting hours and called Erica for help getting permission to visit Owens. An exception was allowed, and Rhonda bent over Owens’ bed to kiss him gently on the lips. Like Sleeping Beauty, Owens awakened. He smiled up at Rhonda, looked about the room, then gave Erica a puzzled look.

  “What happened? Am I in the hospital?”

  “There was a bomb at the car wash, Brad. The doctors say you’re going to be all right.”

  Owens became aware of the pain in his left arm and stared dumbfounded at the cast.

  “I broke my arm?”

  “You did. You also cut your head, injured a knee, and bruised a kidney.”

  “What about you? Were you hurt?”

  Erica showed Owens the bandage on the back of her right hand.

  “This is as bad as it gets for me, other than a few bumps and bruises. I think by being behind me, you shielded me from the worst.”

  “Did anyone else get hurt?”

  “There are four dead, Brad, including two cops.”

  Owens cursed softly, then looked at his cast again.

  “This will keep me sidelined for a while.”

  “I’m just so glad you’re alive,” Rhonda said, as she kissed him again.

  Erica said, “We’ll talk more later,” and slipped out of the room to give them privacy. She was moving stiffly, and her right hip ached as she walked along.

  The hospital had assigned her a room across the hall from Owens. As she entered it, her phone vibrated. It was Angel.

  “Baby, are you all right?”

  “Yes, where
were you?”

  “I’m so sorry that I missed your message. I was at that house in the country I told you about. Their cell service sucks, and I was so busy that I didn’t check my phone for hours.”

  Erica was silent.

  “Erica?”

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re mad at me and I don’t blame you, just tell me that you’re all right.”

  “I have a cut on my hand and a headache. Brad broke an arm, suffered a serious laceration and has a bruised kidney.”

  “A freaking bomb; I can’t believe it. Listen, I’m flying up there. Where are you staying?”

  “No, Angel, you stay in DC. Really, I’m fine.”

  “But you’re pissed off at me because I didn’t call sooner, and I’m so sorry I was out of reach that way. It won’t happen again. I finished up the job out there today.”

  “Did it pay well?”

  When Angel answered, Erica heard a smile in his voice. “It paid really well. I’ll tell you all about it when you get home—when will that be?”

  “I’m not certain, but I hope soon.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to fly up there?”

  “Yes, I’ll be working, and we wouldn’t be able to spend much time together.”

  “Please be careful. Whoever it is you’re after plays rough.”

  “I play for keeps too, and this murderer will rot away in a cell for the rest of their life for what they’ve done.”

  “Speaking from experience, it’s not punishment enough. I hope they get the death penalty somehow.”

  “Angel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Nevermind, we’ll talk when I get home.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “It can wait.”

  “Be safe there, baby.”

  “I will.”

  When the call ended, Erica ran over it in her mind. Angel’s concern for her was sincere and she had no doubt that he would have flown to New York to be with her. If the man were cheating on her, would he do that?