The Appointment Killer

by Remington Kane

  Troy flipped open his laptop to begin working, as Erica massaged her neck. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  NEW YORK CITY, MONDAY, JULY 22nd

  Ted Marx looked hungover, and he was. He had also arrived ten minutes late. Ted Marx was alone, as he didn’t need Jason’s assistance getting around the city.

  Erica and Troy had spent Sunday going over the interviews with the suspects’ friends and neighbors. Nothing dramatic had jumped out at them, but they each had the facts of the case planted firmly in their minds.

  Erica was perplexed by the smile on Marx’s face. She had expected him to be angry about being called in again.

  “I’m so glad to see that you’re all right, honey. My heart skipped a beat when I saw you and your partner lying in a heap in that stairwell.”

  “You didn’t just see us, you filmed us, as a way to pump up the viewership of your channel.”

  “Yeah, I filmed it. It was news. That doesn’t mean I’m not glad to see that you’re all right.”

  “We’ll see how you feel about me once I’m done with you today.”

  Erica guided Marx to the same interrogation room where she had spoken to him once before. Troy was standing outside the room and Erica introduced them before entering.

  “You’re a little young to be a Fed, aren’t you?” Marx asked Troy.

  Troy smiled. “Like you, I started young.”

  Marx laughed. “Finally, a Fed with a sense of humor. You’re okay, kid. I wish honey here had your sense of humor.”

  “He’s Agent Carson to you, Marx, and I’m Agent Novac, not honey.”

  “Whoa, keep your voice down; I’ve got a headache.”

  “I’ll bet you do. Now, step in the room and we’ll get started.”

  Marx took a seat as Erica settled across from him. Hoping to get a reaction, she hit him with the news right away.

  “Your ex-wife, Miranda was found murdered.”

  Marx stared at her with a blank expression, then gave a slight shake of his head.

  “What did you just say?”

  “Miranda Marx is dead. Someone crushed her skull in with a heavy object.”

  “Miranda is really dead?”

  “Yes.”

  A smile crept onto Marx’s face, although it appeared that he was trying to fight it. He lost the battle, clapped his hands once, and grinned.

  “It’s over, it’s finally over.”

  “What’s over?”

  “The alimony payments; I don’t have to make them anymore. I married that witch when we were both eighteen and she’s been draining me dry ever since we divorced at twenty. Tell me, who do I have to thank for killing her?”

  “Right now, you’re my only suspect.”

  The smile left Marx’s face as he held up a hand. “No, no, no, no, you’ve got the wrong guy, honey. If I was going to kill her, I would have done it a long time ago.”

  “Maybe, or maybe since you’re on a roll killing your other victims you figured you’d toss her into the mix too.”

  “Other victims? Are you talking about these perverts that have been getting killed? You really think I’m the one doing that?”

  “There were eight television news crews out at the car wash yesterday, along with numerous people in the crowd with cameras. You were the only one to film the actual explosion. I’m thinking it’s because you knew it was imminent.”

  “I got lucky; I’ve always been lucky, and I don’t know a thing about making a bomb.”

  “Anyone with an internet connection could learn how, but let’s get back to the murder of your ex-wife. Where were you between the evening of Friday, July 12th until noon on Saturday, July 13th?”

  “That was sometime last week; you expect me to remember that far back?”

  “Strain your brain; your answer may keep you out of a jail cell.”

  Marx sighed, then sat back and pretended to think about it. He had visited Miranda during that period on Friday night. There was no way he was going to admit to that. After a few moments, he shrugged. “I guess I was home. I didn’t go out at night last week and my housekeeper—wait! My housekeeper, she can verify that I was home.”

  “I was told she doesn’t speak English, is that correct?”

  “She can’t speak a word of it, but she’ll tell you I was there.”

  “You two are lovers?”

  “No, I’m not banging her. She cooks and cleans and takes care of—she’s a housekeeper.”

  “Unless you spent the night with her, I don’t see how she can provide you with an alibi.”

  “That boy-toy of Miranda’s, Drew something or other. I bet he killed her for getting him into so much trouble.”

  “His name is Drew Corbin. During the time in question he was helping the police unravel an attempted assault. A woman named Heidi Dyer hired someone to beat Mr. Corbin with a baseball bat. Fortunately for Mr. Corbin, an off-duty police officer was nearby when the attempted assault took place. She cuffed the assailant and called for a patrol car. The man wanted to make a deal and named Miss Dyer as his employer. Drew Corbin met with her while wearing a hidden camera and captured her admitting to the crime. Heidi Dyer was charged with conspiracy to commit assault and battery.”

  “And you’re saying he was with the cops when Miranda was murdered?”

  “According to the timeframe the coroner gives for her death, yes.”

  Marx sat back in his seat and stared at Erica. “I didn’t kill Miranda.”

  “You don’t have an alibi for any of the murders. You were also present when one of the victims died. On top of that, you’re making money off these killings. I’m thinking a jury would be swayed toward your guilt.”

  Marx leaned forward with his hands joined together atop the table.

  “Honey, I mean Agent Novac, I didn’t kill anybody. Am I glad Miranda’s dead, yeah, I won’t deny that, but I’m not the whack job doing these murders.”

  Erica slid a piece of paper across the table toward Marx.

  “That’s a judicial warrant. It authorizes me to seize your cell phone. I’ll take it right now.”

  Marx straightened his posture. “You really think I’m guilty?”

  “I don’t know, but I will find out, and I’ll take that phone.”

  Marx hesitated a moment, then held out his cell phone. “I’m done talking without a lawyer.”

  “That’s fine, and you’re free to go, for now,” Erica said. She had an evidence bag ready and held it open for Marx to drop the phone into. You never know what DNA evidence might be found on the surface of a cell phone.

  Erica stood and opened the door. She forced herself to move easily, although she was still sore. She didn’t want to display any weakness in front of a suspect. Marx rose to his feet, looked at her with an expression that was part anger, part fear, and left the room.

  Troy had observed the conversation from outside the interview room, through the one-way mirror. He made a comment.

  “He’s got something to hide, but I’m not sure it’s murder.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He looked more worried about giving up his phone than he did about being accused of murder. It will be interesting to see what we find on there.”

  Erica handed the evidence bag with the cell phone to Troy. “Run that down to the lab, please. If there’s anything incriminating on it, inside or out, they’ll find it.”

  In front of the building, Marx hailed a cab. Once he was inside, he shoved a hundred-dollar bill at the driver.

  “You can keep that if you let me use your cell phone.”

  The cabbie was from Senegal. His English carried with it a thick French accent.

  “You don’t have a phone?”

  “No, that’s why I need to use yours. That’s a hundred dollars for a two-minute phone call.”

  The driver stared at him, then passed the phone back. Marx thanked him, gave him an address, then called his housekeeper. When she answered,
he spoke to her rapidly in Japanese.

  “Listen carefully, Hinata. I need you to get everything out of her room that points to her being there. Use a garbage bag if you have to but empty that room and head downstairs. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Make sure you get everything, and hurry. I think the police are on their way to search the apartment.”

  Hinata said she understood. Marx ended the call and was about to hand the phone back when he thought of something. He wanted to make another call but without his own phone, which had the number built in, he couldn’t recall it. Marx dialed 411 to connect to directory assistance and the cabbie spoke up.

  “You said one call.”

  “I’ll give you another hundred.”

  “It is a deal,” the man said.

  Marx was connected to the party he was trying to reach, and she answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Heather, it’s Ted, I need to see you.”

  “Ted, what’s going on? There are cops here getting ready to tow your car away?”

  “My car too? Damn, I should have thought of that.”

  “I’m at Jason’s apartment. They handed Jason a warrant that says they have a right to search it.”

  “I need to see you, Heather. It’s important.”

  “What about?”

  “I’ll explain when we meet. I’ll be at that coffee shop where I saw you and Jason together.”

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “In person, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes, and I’m bringing Jason.”

  “No, alone, it’s private.”

  “Okay, I’ll come alone; you’ve made me curious.”

  “Thank you, baby; I’ll see you soon.”

  Marx ended the call and handed the cabbie back his phone, along with another bill. The man smiled. And why shouldn’t he smile, Marx thought. His life wasn’t threatening to come apart.

  At Marx’s apartment building, Yamamoto Hinata was struggling to squeeze through the doorway and into the hall while burdened with four garbage bags which were stuffed. Once she got through, she hooked the door with her foot to get it to swing shut. There were two elevators that sat across from each other. One was making its way up from the lobby as the other was on the floor below. Hinata pressed the down button and waited.

  The elevator arrived from the floor below and she got on it. The doors of the elevator were closing when she heard the other one chime its arrival. Right before the doors shut on her elevator, she watched the opposite one open to reveal a number of uniformed police and federal agents in suits.

  Ted Marx hadn’t reached her a second too soon.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  NEW YORK CITY, MONDAY, JULY 22nd

  Heather arrived at the coffee shop with news. More cops had appeared at Jason’s apartment with a warrant to search it. She and Marx were seated together at one of the small tables toward the back, both had ordered coffee.

  “So, it’s not just me they’re looking at,” Marx said, with relief showing on his face.

  Heather held up her phone. “My roommate, Patty called as I was walking over here. They’re searching our apartment too. Do those agents really think I’m going around killing people and making bombs?”

  “They think it’s one of us, that’s for sure. But listen, I know a way you and I can cover each other.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need an alibi, Heather. The crazy bastard killing these perverts also murdered my ex-wife, and I don’t have an alibi for the time it happened.”

  “Which ex-wife?”

  “Miranda, the one who was running the scam to become part of the story. She’s dead.”

  “And you want me to lie to the FBI?”

  “You can say we were together. I’ll give you five thousand dollars in cash.”

  “Five thousand? Ted, if I got caught lying, they would lock me up for years.”

  “All right, ten grand, no twenty thousand dollars, okay?”

  Heather stared at Marx for several long moments as her eyes searched his face. He was sweaty, although the coffee shop had the AC on high.

  “Ted… did you kill that woman?”

  “Of course not. Heather, you know me. Was I ever violent with you?”

  “No, but we were only together for a few months; I don’t really know you that well.”

  “I didn’t kill Miranda, but that FBI cutie wants to pin it on me.”

  “Where were you when Miranda was killed?”

  “They’re saying she was done in late last Friday night or early Saturday morning. You know me, I’m a night owl, I was probably home watching a movie or editing a video.”

  “That late at night? How was I supposed to give you an alibi for then?”

  “You could say that you came over and we ended up spending the night together.”

  “They know I’m with Jason now. Even if I was willing, it wouldn’t work.”

  “Were you sleeping with him that night?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’ll take that as a no. Heather, I’m talking twenty grand here, and all you have to do is tell one little white lie.”

  Heather grabbed her purse and stood. “I’m going to pretend you never asked me to do this, okay? Goodbye, Ted.”

  Marx reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Does Jason know what you did?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t remember, do you? I’m not surprised, you were pretty drunk at the time.”

  Heather retook her seat, and Marx continued.

  “You told me about those therapy sessions you used to have with those other girls, and you mentioned that there was a kid named Jason that lived in the house where you had them. That Jason was Jason Warwick, right? Yeah, he told me that you two knew each other back then.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “That girl that killed herself, Lila. You said that Jason had a thing for her. What if I told him that you were at that train station when she supposedly killed herself?”

  “Supposedly? Lila did kill herself.”

  “Or maybe she had help, hmm? Maybe you gave her a nudge at the right moment.”

  “That’s a damn lie!”

  “Is it? I know you were there that day. You told me that yourself.”

  Heather’s face paled a shade as she said, “I did?”

  “You sure did, and you were drunk when you said it, and you told me other things too, about the other girls. You were making fun of all of them.”

  Heather wiped at her eyes. “I was at the train station that day, but I wasn’t there when Lila killed herself.”

  “You told me you saw her.”

  “I was home for a week, and we ran into each other after I left the train.”

  “And you said that she jumped a few minutes later.”

  Heather kept wiping her eyes, as the tears continued. “I heard about it that night.”

  “What did you say that drove her to leap in front of a train?”

  Heather shook her head while leaning forward. “I only said hello to her, and she didn’t even answer me. I wish I had talked to her, maybe, maybe I could have stopped her.”

  “You told me that you never liked her and that she was better off dead. You even laughed about it.”

  “Did I? Oh God, I was such a mess back then, but I swear I didn’t do more than say hello. It was autumn, and the temperature had dipped. I left New York without a jacket and I was cold and rushed to find a cab.”

  “Maybe Jason will believe that, and maybe he won’t. The cops in that town might be interested to hear about it too. They might want to reclassify her suicide as a murder.”

  “You’re trying to blackmail me into helping you?”

  “Call it what you want, and I’m still willing to give you the money.”

  “I did not cause Lila to jump in front of a train.”

  “And I didn�
��t kill Miranda.”

  Heather leaned away from him. “I’m beginning to wonder if you did.”

  Marx relaxed his posture and smiled. “Help me, Heather. Tell the cops that we were together that night. Jason doesn’t have to find out about it. He doesn’t have to know about you and Lila either. It’s win-win.”

  Heather grabbed her purse, stood, and rushed toward the door. Marx pounded the side of a fist against the tabletop, which brought him glances from the other patrons. After taking out a flask, he poured whiskey into the cup of coffee he hadn’t touched. As he sipped it, he wondered just how much Erica knew about him, and if she had uncovered his secret.

  At that moment, Erica and Troy were inside Marx’s apartment. The search had yielded nothing incriminating; however, there was something interesting.

  Troy looked about the room they were standing in and made an observation. “It looks like somebody tore through this room and cleaned out the drawers. They even removed pictures from the walls and emptied the bookcase.”

  Erica nodded. “It’s strange. I wonder what Marx is trying to hide.”

  Troy pointed down at the bed, which was small. “Does he have kids?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “That’s a child-sized bed… has he ever been suspected of being a child molester? If so, I didn’t see it in the file we have on him.”

  “There hasn’t been a hint of it,” Erica said, before motioning over one of the local agents helping out. His name was Steve Harper.

  “What’s up, Erica?”

  “Steve, I want this room processed, especially the bed, and have them rush the DNA results.”

  “All right, anything else?”

  “Do we have enough bodies to question the people in the building?”

  “We’ve spoken to the neighbors on this floor already.”

  “I want the whole building canvassed. Do we have enough people for that?”

  “If not, you’ll get them. This case became the priority when those two cops died on Staten Island.”

  “Good, then let’s make use of that. I want to know if Marx was ever seen with a child, male or female.”