Imperfect Contract

by Brickman, Gregg E.

  A wave of relief spread over Ray's face when I appeared from around the side of the house. "You had me worried. When I didn't see you, I thought you'd gone inside."

  I hurried over to him and slipped into his arms, accepting his kiss, feeling safe and protected. "No, I'm worried about Sunshine, so I decided to speed things up and check around the back."

  "You could have been attacked again. Did you think of that?" He released me from his hug and pushed me away, glaring, waiting for an answer.

  "I . . . well, no. I didn't believe someone was still here."

  He stuck out his hand. "Give me the key, please?"

  "Sure." I handed it to him. "I'm capable of opening the door."

  "You are. Too bad you didn't set the burglar alarm." He stomped toward the house. "I want to go in first."

  "Why are you so sure about the alarm?" I hurried after him, my shorter legs struggling to keep up with his long stride.

  "Did you set it?" He turned to me, waiting for an answer.

  "No, probably not." I shrugged my shoulders and scrunched my face. "The bathroom window is open and the screen is off. If the system was set, it would have worked."

  "Alarms don't do any good if you don't set them." The whiskers along the side of his goatee twitched, and the muscles in his cheeks twitched, too. He was pissed. He stuck the key in the lock and flung open the door. "Stay here," he said, raising his arm to stop my following.

  I stood in the open doorway and watched him check the rooms. "Can I come in?"

  "Yes. There's no sign anyone has been here." He stood in the middle of the Florida room with the dog in his arms. "He's fine," he said, rubbing Sunshine's head. "Look around and see if you notice anything amiss."

  All the rooms, my closets, my jewelry box appeared intact. Everything seemed fine until I opened the door to the garage. Suitcases littered the floor, the top of the freezer swept clean.

  Ray joined me in front of the open door. "That's twice someone disturbed your luggage. Strange, very strange."

  "Unless someone is looking for the suitcase Van gave me to store."

  He looked at me, eyebrows raised, eyes round. "You're not making a lot of sense."

  I pulled the door shut and faced him. "The intruder might be Craig Vanderbilt."

  "Why?"

  "Maybe he realized I'm involved in Van's escape plan. Her luggage is in my car. I haven't bothered to bring it into the house."

  "Do you think there is something in it he wants?"

  "Wouldn't think so. I took a blouse to cover myself the other day at the police station. There was clothing and personal items, nothing else."

  "We'd better bring it in. Maybe he wants to snatch it to make sure she can't take off again?"

  "That would be just like him." Ray used my key to open the patio door.

  "Stay here and don't be touching everything. I'd like to get the place dusted for prints again. We need to stop whoever's doing this."

  I stood in the middle of the hall, feeling out of place and helpless, while Ray went into the backyard with the dog. He was rechecking what I already checked, and it made me mad. I was a competent adult, after all.

  About a minute later, he appeared with a vinyl glove hooked over a pen. "We seem to be establishing a pattern here."

  I handed him a brown-paper lunch bag.

  He secured the glove, then retrieved my keys from his shirt pocket. "You said Vanessa's suitcase is in your trunk."

  "Along with my groceries and ice cream." I stuck out my tongue. "Give me my keys."

  "Stay here." He strode out the front door.

  I ran after him, opening the door as Craig Vanderbilt took a swing at Ray. The trunk gaped on my Mini, and the suitcase sat open on the ground, the contents scattered. It appeared Craig opened it, and Ray caught him in the act.

  Ray ducked as a right hook sailed over his head. He came up and planted a punch into Craig's abdomen.

  Craig bent over.

  Ray threw a jab, connecting to his jaw.

  Craig stiffened and fell back a step, carried by the force of the strike, but he maintained his footing.

  Ray evaded Craig's counterpunch, blocking with his forearm and throwing a strike of his own.

  Ray was muscular and fought like a boxer, though he had some martial arts training. His blows were calculated and quick, relying more on offense than defense.

  Craig appeared more interested in beating defenseless women than big, strong homicide detectives, but he was fast on his feet. He yelled something indecipherable. Ray stood back a step expecting, I imagine, that the incident was over.

  With a split second's leeway, Craig bolted across the neighbor's yard, turning on the speed of an Olympic sprinter.

  Ray stayed with him for about twenty-five feet. He's strong, not fast.

  I ran into the yard in time to see Craig round the corner of the neighbor's house with Ray in hot pursuit, the distance between them increasing, then I hurried into the house and called 9-1-1. It was possible Craig was armed.

  I returned to the yard and waited with the late afternoon sun baking into my back. Ray reappeared in a couple of minutes without Craig in tow.

  36

  Ray and I sat next to each other on my kitchen stools. Ray looked flushed and short of breath from his pursuit of Craig Vanderbilt. I gave him a tall glass of ice water.

  "Thanks for calling it in." He wiped his brow. "I need to do more running with my workouts. Makes me feel like I'm out of shape."

  "Craig's a sprinter. Vanessa told me about medals he won in college. At one time, he aspired to the Olympics, before he morphed into a scumbag." I rubbed Ray's leg. "Besides, you said you chased him for almost eight blocks before losing him. That's good considering he's so quick."

  "I need to find out if the uniforms caught him," Ray said. He tapped a number into his cell phone. While he waited, he said, "We can't prove he burglarized the house, and I only caught him rifling through the suitcase, but there are laws against attacking a cop. We can pick him up on that. What I'd really like to know is what he was looking for and if he found it. It couldn't have been the whole suitcase he was after. He'd have just grabbed it and taken off."

  I waited while he talked to Lewis, who had followed the patrol cars into the area.

  He said, "Vanderbilt's gone. He's probably two cities south by now."

  "Damn. Do you think Craig is behind the last break-in?"

  "Same M.O., and Jamel Hutchinson has an alibi."

  I nodded.

  "Hutchinson also has one for when you were hit on the head."

  "Maybe it was Craig then, too. Vanessa gave me the suitcase before that. Seems logical."

  "I want to see what's in that suitcase besides personal items. You don't stop a woman from leaving you by stealing her clothes." He shook his head. "He's a wife beater and a stalker, but I don't think he's stupid."

  "He's not."

  Ray hefted the huge suitcase and set it on my dining room table. He flipped open the locks and laid the top across the table as I rushed to remove the centerpiece. I watched as he unfolded the first piece of clothing, shook it gently, then felt the seams and hems. He handed it to me.

  Piece by piece we went through the suitcase. I refolded the items in Vanessa's manner, or as close as I could. "Let's stop a minute and look at those photographs."

  "Where?"

  I pointed to the pocket on the side of the suitcase. "They were between the blouses when I borrowed one the other day." I picked up the envelope and opened it. "I stuck it here on the side so they wouldn't get lost." After glancing at the first few, I handed them to Ray. "These are from the day Van signed her real estate contract."

  There were also prints of the front of the realty office, the townhouse Vanessa contracted to buy, and Vanessa herself.

  "Same stuff." I gave the remainder of the pile to him.

  Ray flipped through the prints. Most of them were doubles. Then he stopped short and held up a print of Barry for me to see.

>   "That's a good snapshot of him, though I never saw him healthy," I said.

  The photograph showed Barry Hutchinson standing next to his desk looking fit and trim. He wore a dapper three-piece suit, bright red and blue tie, and a crisp white shirt. Looking at the image of him in the glow of health, I understood better why he never had trouble getting women.

  "It's also the picture we found in Michael O'Ryan's car. We knew there was a picture because Jones mentioned it. But we missed it during the first search. He stuck it under the lining in the glove compartment."

  "Michael O'Ryan? As in one of the shooters?" I was incredulous.

  "You have the characters right."

  I dropped into one of my dining room chairs. I couldn't believe it. "It all fits. But I can't believe Vanessa would be capable of murder. My God. I thought I knew her."

  "Let's not get carried away. It could have been Craig all along and not Vanessa."

  I shrugged. "Van's been so hateful about Barry Hutchinson, insistent that Amelia was the killer, giving us all those details about their fighting. She went on and on." I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was thinking.

  "Don't jump to conclusions. There are many possible explanations. We need to step away and look at the whole scenario."

  "For example?"

  Ray began. "Let's keep in mind Vanessa had cause to be angry with the Hutchinsons. From what you've told me and she confirmed, they jerked her around with her contract and took advantage of her situation."

  "Right. Just because she was angry with them doesn't mean she's guilty of murder."

  "Now, her husband—what could his motives have been?" he asked.

  "Trying to prevent Vanessa from getting her home. Seems far-fetched."

  "Or maybe jealousy about the Hutchinsons' connection with her."

  "Protectiveness." I held up a finger. "Maybe he thought he was the only one with the right to abuse his woman. Or maybe he was trying to retrieve the pictures for her. Doing her a favor."

  "That has a ring to it." Ray flipped through the photographs for the third time. He removed the negatives from the envelope, held them by the edges, raised them to the light, angling them so I could see. "All of the prints came from the same camera and were shot in sequence." He tapped the stack of prints on the counter. "Vanessa is in some of them. I wonder who took the pictures."

  "Connie went along. She told me Vanessa was so delighted she wanted to commemorate the contract."

  "Where was Craig at the time?" he asked.

  "I had the notion he was still out of town. Now, I'm really not sure. Vanessa may have been involved with him for some time. She wouldn't have told us. She knew we wouldn't approve."

  Ray slipped the cell phone off his belt. "I'm going to turn the heat up a bit on Vanderbilt."

  "Vanessa?"

  "No, Craig. Then we'll go to the hospital and have a talk with Vanessa."

  "I'll call the hospital and make sure she's there." I went to use the kitchen phone as I heard Ray ask for Detective Lewis. I dialed the number for the direct line to Five Northeast. The unit secretary told me Vanessa left the hospital with Craig a few minutes earlier. Another surprise.

  "Did she look like she was leaving with him willingly?" I asked the secretary.

  "She looked troubled. He had his hand on her elbow and was pushing her along."

  "Did you overhear anything?"

  "Just him saying something like, 'How could you give those to her?'"

  I ended the call. The photographs, I thought. I tapped Ray on the shoulder. "Vanessa's gone with Craig."

  He broadened the subject of the search to include Vanessa.

  Ray slipped the picture envelope into his shirt pocket and headed into my bedroom. "I'm going to recheck the locks in this place, then I'm going to work. You stay here and keep everything locked tight, and set the damned alarm."

  "I'm going along. She's my friend, and I'm the one that's being harassed." I stood in front of him, glaring into his eyes, the stubborn Irish portion of my blood boiling. "You're not leaving me here."

  "Okay, Sophi." He raised a hand in surrender. "No use arguing with you."

  He finished checking the locks, and I returned Sunshine to his crate, giving him his treat.

  "I'm ready." I called from the front door. "I think we should check Vanessa's apartment first. I even have the keys so we can get in without breaking and entering." I held them up, jingling them.

  37

  We climbed into the Honda and roared from the cul-de-sac, then turned south on Coral Ridge, weaving through traffic as Ray shifted gears, extracting the best performance from the powerful V-tech engine.

  When we pulled into a parking space in front of Vanessa's apartment, I knew we guessed right. The same unidentified car sat in her parking space. I glanced up at her apartment. The door was closed, but the kitchen window was open a crack. I hadn't left it open the last time I was there. Someone had been there, or maybe someone was there now.

  Ray patted the holster clipped to his belt. A reflex move I'd seen him make on other occasions. I didn't think Craig would shoot us, but I liked the fact Ray came prepared.

  He held out his hand, palm raised toward me. "You stay here. I'm going upstairs." Ray glared at me, warning in his eyes.

  I waited until he was halfway up the first flight of steps, then closed the car door behind me, controlling the swing to prevent a bang. I started up the steps after him. He'd be angry, but there wasn't much he could do about it. A few steps later he turned and scowled. He didn't look happy.

  I hurried to within a few feet of him. Screams ripped the air. I recognized them as Vanessa's. Ray bolted upward, taking two steps at a time. I couldn't keep up and watched from below. He yanked open the unlocked apartment door.

  Craig appeared. His hands glistened red in the sun. The front of his shirt looked soaked in fresh blood. He planted both hands against Ray's shoulders and pushed, smashing Ray against the railing. The old wrought iron shuddered with the impact.

  A vision of Ray falling through the air flashed through my mind. Thankfully, the railing held tight.

  Craig glanced in my direction and took off running toward the stairs on the far side of the building.

  Ray regained his balance and took off after him, racing at full speed. Craig did not appear to be armed. Ray kept his gun in its holster. When Craig reached the bottom of the first section of stairs, Ray grabbed the old railing and swung himself over it. He landed a few feet behind Craig. Ray leapt forward, hitting Craig's back with considerable momentum. This time the railing didn't hold. They both flew though the air, landing in a grassy area a few feet below.

  I gasped in sympathy, then realized I couldn't waste another second. I needed to move. Ignoring my cramping hip and watching the men over my shoulder, I resumed the climb. I needed to get to Vanessa.

  Craig struggled to his feet and, with strength he didn't look capable of, landed a right hook on Ray's jaw. It wasn't a good move on his part. Ray swung, clobbering Craig with a right hook of his own. Ray grabbed an arm, turning him and restraining him at the same time. I wasn't surprised when cuffs appeared in Ray's hand. Ray grabbed a piece of railing, shook with brutal force, and cuffed Craig to it.

  I figured Ray's next move would be to call for backup and an ambulance. The whole chase and fight hadn't taken more than sixty seconds.

  Out of breath and grabbing at my right leg, I used the railing to drag myself the last few steps. "Vanessa," I called, as I hurried through the apartment door. "Vanessa."

  Nothing.

  Stepping past the kitchen wall into the living room, I saw her lying on the floor. A kitchen knife with a six-inch blade lay in a pool of blood. The pool grew larger by the second. Picking the side with the least amount of blood, I knelt next to her.

  "Vanessa."

  She opened her eyes. "Craig did it," she whispered.

  "We know."

  "I did it." Her voice was so quiet I strained to hear.

  Seve
ral wounds defiled her chest, and an artery in her arm ejected blood in little spurts. It looked like she had used her arms to fend off the attack. Ignoring everything I knew about blood-borne pathogens, I put my bare hand on the wound, applying pressure, hoping to stop her from exsanguinating. "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Hired killers. Gave picture. I had to." She rasped.

  I grabbed a cell phone lying on a nearby table, laid it on the floor, and used my available hand to dial 9-1-1. Vanessa needed help fast if she was to have a chance of survival. When I finished with the call, I said, "Why did you want to kill Barry?"

  "Barry pushed me. Abused me. Like Craig. Didn't want to. No choice. Couldn't take more abuse. Had to get out of the contract. Unfair what he did to me." She took several labored breaths.

  "Oh Vanessa, we would have helped you."

  "No. Couldn't get away. He told me I had to keep contract. No choice. Get sued. I knew."

  "Did you disconnect Barry's ventilator?"

  "Finished job. The men . . .screwed up. My fault. Finished job." Each breath made a rattling noise as her chest filled with blood.

  "You're going to be okay," I lied.

  "No." Her voice grew weaker.

  I ripped her shirt away and found more stab wounds and knew she was right. The blood pooled under her. I let go of the bleeding artery in her arm. Holding it did no good. I watched as blood bubbled from her chest. Her eyes closed, and she breathed her last gurgling breath. I felt for her carotid pulse. Nothing.

  I knelt there a long time, my friend's hand in mine, then looked up and saw a couple of paramedics staring at me.

  "You okay, ma'am?" one of them asked.

  "Yes, it's all Vanessa's." Then, without rational reason, I rubbed my bloody hands against my soaked sweater. "Guess this will never get clean."

  The young man looked at me, shock in his eyes. I knew what I'd said was inappropriate. I was inappropriate. Tears ran down my cheeks as I sobbed, crying for my friend, for what she'd done, for what Craig did to her.

  Then Ray was at my side, helping me to my feet. He took me into Vanessa's bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and pushed me into her shower. "I'll find you something to wear."