Fatal Demand: A Jess Kimball Thriller

by Diane Capri

He considered where Marek might have kept his electronics. Since Marek’s wife knew about his work, he probably had a small desk in the apartment somewhere. He went quickly from room to room until he located Marek’s desk in the back hallway. The laptop was turned on, connected to the Internet. Marek’s cell phones were also on the desk.

  He pulled the cables from the laptop, folded it closed, tucked it under his left arm, and slipped the phones into his trouser pockets. It took only a few moments. He considered whether Marek might have hidden anything that would incriminate either of them here. If so, he knew he couldn’t find it quickly.

  He’d have to take that chance and the lack of choice Marek left him further confirmed his actions. No, he didn’t regret the kills. He regretted only that Marek had been such a fool in the end.

  Enzo turned and hurried back down the stairs. Despite his gloves, he wiped the gun using the tail of his silk shirt, knelt and placed the gun in Marek’s hand, making sure to imprint it properly. Then he shot a round into the baseboard of the wooden bar by pulling Marek’s finger on the trigger to assure there would be gunshot residue on his hand. He dug the bullet from the wood and dropped it into his pocket.

  The Italian surveyed the scene, recalling his movements, making sure he’d left no evidence that might cause suspicion or lead back to him.

  The scene was perfect.

  He picked up the coffee cup and saucer he’d used and, to be cautious, the extra spoon.

  He was satisfied he’d touched nothing else. No fingerprints nor DNA was left behind. The scene accurately depicted an insane, sleep-deprived father who killed his family and then himself on a cold and depressing Sunday morning.

  The Italian donned his long coat, turned up the collar and set the fedora on his head. He flipped the small button on the door handle that would lock it again when he closed the door behind him.

  He retraced his route through sleet-slicked streets, the cup and saucer still warm in his pocket.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dallas, Texas

  May 10

  Jess Kimball waited in the private visitor room at the jail normally reserved for meetings between inmates and their lawyers. She wanted to write this scene effectively for her Taboo Magazine readers, but she found nothing compelling about the room. No windows, no noises. No atmosphere of any kind. Thick walls kept the world outside and the criminals inside. Exactly what a jail should be, even if it was too good for the lowlife she was going to meet.

  She heard a spritzing noise and noticed the cloying citrus aroma. A quick glance around the ceiling revealed the automatic air freshener in the corner behind her chair.

  The door opened. A deputy came in, and looked around. “All clear. Send him in.”

  The inmate, Stosh Blazek, entered unrestrained. He was forty-three years old. Average in every way. Average height, average weight, average hair and eyes. Not one thing remarkable about him. It was his very averageness that caused senior citizens to trust him, and follow him deeper and deeper into heartbreaking financial losses from which they never recovered.

  Jess hated thieves, but those who stole from the elderly were as bad as they came. At that moment, staring at Blazek, she knew she’d met the poster-boy for heartless scum.

  On a tip, her publisher had sent her to the first heartbreaking interview six weeks ago—Sam Nelson, a proud ninety-four-year-old World War II veteran, and his wife Jane. Sweet people. Hard working. They’d outlived their friends and two of their children, but they were survivors. They hadn’t let hardship or grief derail them. Until they met Blazek.

  Blazek had targeted them, tugged on their heartstrings until Jane persuaded Sam to contribute to Blazek’s phony African AIDS victims’ charity. Starving children needed their meager savings, Blazek said. Sam’s generous nature overcame his good sense.

  Blazek had cheated Sam and Jane out of every cent they owned. When Jess met them, they were eating canned fish because they were too proud to collect food stamps. Their home had been pledged to Blazek and they were being evicted. Jane spent the entire interview crying and Sam patted her shoulder because that was the only thing he could really do.

  Jess promised to help them. She had uncovered and interviewed a grand total of forty-six of his victims. After their lifetimes of hard work, Blazek had hounded them all to ruin. He took everything from them. Their money, their dignity.

  From some, he stole their will to live. For others, Jess had been too late. She’d heard time and again how desperation caused Blazek’s victims to murder their spouses and commit suicide.

  Sam Nelson had done that two days after Jess interviewed him. Before Jess could get Sam and Jane the help she’d promised.

  She hated Blazek and every lying piece of crap like him.

  Too bad he didn’t get the death penalty this morning. He deserved it. And if Jess had anything to say about it, she vowed he’d never walk out of here a free man again.

  “You know the drill, Blazek. You’re being watched and recorded by that camera in the corner over there. You have fifteen minutes,” the deputy said, before he turned and left.

  Jess glanced at the camera again. The red light on the bottom meant it was operating.

  She sat with her back to it, making sure Blazek was facing the lens. If he said anything that could be used against him, she wanted an airtight recording.

  She kept her hopes in check. Unlikely he’d say anything important, but she’d had luck with smarter criminals than Blazek before. She couldn’t fail Sam and Jane or the others. She simply could not, would not fail.

  “Thank you for coming, Ms. Kimball,” Blazek said. Even his voice was deceptively average.

  Her stomach soured. She felt bile rising in her throat. “Why did you want to see me again, Mr. Blazek?”

  “Call me, Stosh. Everybody does,” he replied, automatically, as he had when she’d met him before, as if he’d said it thousands of times. He probably had. Probably in this very room.

  Back when he routinely perched on the lawyer side of the table instead of the criminal side where he sat now.

  She might have engaged in a contest of wills with him under different circumstances. But time was short. “Why did you want to talk to me, Mr. Blazek?”

  “I saw you in the court room. You know I’ve read your work since we talked the last time. You really do care about crime victims. Like me.” His expression revealed no irony at all.

  She clenched her jaw tight to keep her mouth from falling open. How could he possibly believe he was any sort of victim? The guy had brass balls, for sure. “You pled guilty. Fraud, larceny, and grand theft. And a few other offenses. They couldn’t make murder charges stick. You lucked out with that plea bargain. How does that make you any kind of victim?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand you cheated a long string of elderly people, Mr. Blazek. The ones who weren’t so devastated that they committed suicide will live out their lives in hopeless poverty.” She kept her voice level and stone cold. “You’re the polar opposite of the kind of person I want to help.”

  He pounded his fist on the table. “I had no choice! Don’t you understand that? You need to stop them before another life is ruined forever!”

  Jess stared at the man. Could he be such a stranger to reality? Or maybe he felt betrayed. Some thieves did after they were caught.

  The air freshener spritzed again and the sickly sweet citrus aroma filled the room.

  She lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Stop who?”

  “They tricked me. They took everything I had. They said I’d get the money back that I borrowed from my clients to help them. But they lied.” The pouty child he’d probably been a few decades ago seeped through in his aggrieved complaints. “And now they’re going to kill my friends.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” She glared at him. “And who do you think they’re going to kill?”

  He shrank back and shrugged. “Who knows? Could be any of them.”

  “An
y of who?”

  “They took everything from me, and—”

  “No one took anything from you, Mr. Blazek. You willingly gave away what you had, and then cheated and stole from everyone who trusted you so you could chase a pot of gold at the end of a fraud.” Unmoved, Jess stated the hard truth. “You crippled seniors who will never recover from it. You pled guilty because you are guilty.”

  “They were going to kill me,” he whined.

  She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop sniveling and prove it.”

  “It’s an international crime ring. Italians. Maybe even Mafia—”

  “Mafia?” Jess curled up one side of her lips as if he’d said Martians. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “They target businessmen like me. Rip us off so they can get access to our accounts. They promise a return on our investment that never materializes until we’re tapped out. And then…then…well, they don’t stop. They wring everything out of you. Everything. And then they go after anyone who knows you.”

  “Italians? The Mafia?” She shook her head. “I heard your testimony, and I believe it’s the first honest thing you’ve said.” She leaned forward. “You were the center of the crime ring. You’re the one who cheated and stole from those people.”

  “They made me do it!” He shouted, standing up abruptly, knocking the metal chair over behind him. It clanged against the floor.

  She shrugged, still relaxed in her seat. “Uh huh. Why didn’t you cooperate with the FBI then?”

  “I did! I did, I tell you!” Still shouting.

  Calmly, Jess replied, “And?”

  “And they failed. The FBI failed to find them, and failed to stop them.” He glared at her, eyes wild, nostrils flared.

  Jess looked up into his face. She pointed to his chair. “Sit down, you’re making my neck sore.”

  Blazek continued to glare. The citrus air freshener squirted. The big clock on the wall ticked off a few seconds.

  She waited silently until he finally bent over, picked up the chair, and reseated himself.

  Only then did Jess ask, “Stop who, precisely? Because that’s the problem with your story, isn’t it? There’s no one involved in these thefts except you and your victims.”

  He crossed his hands on top of the table and leaned in. “Talk to Morris. He’s got the information I gave him. He’ll tell you what happened. And you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  He meant FBI Special Agent Henry Morris. Jess had already interviewed him twice on the phone. He wasn’t at all sympathetic to Blazek. “Tell me the names of the friends you’re worried about.”

  He slid a scrap of paper across the table. A list of five names in tiny, precise, cursive script.

  She glanced at the names. She’d come across none of them during her investigation. Which meant he was probably lying again.

  “You didn’t name your friends or accuse the FBI of failing in court when you pled guilty this morning.”

  Blazek slumped and shook his head. “People said I was greedy, wanted to get rich quick. That’s not true. I got in way over my head. But I was gullible. And desperate.”

  “You’re still alive so you’re not half as desperate as the old folks you cheated.” Jess figured Blazek was about the least gullible person she’d ever met. But she’d buy the desperate part. He had wriggled and squirmed in every way possible before his trial like a trout on a hook. But he didn’t get away.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like being the son of a wealthy man?”

  Jess snorted a laugh. She hadn’t seen that one coming.

  Blazek pushed his chin out. “Well, it’s not as great as you might think. Especially if you’re a constant screw up, like I was. My dad gave me a viable business before he died. I ran it into the ground.”

  “Common story.” She pressed her eyelids closed a moment. She was tired and she needed a break and she had a long way to go tonight. There was still a lot to do. Every minute she spent here was a minute she wouldn’t spend searching for her son. Blazek wasn’t worth another second of sacrifice.

  She picked up her notepad and pen, and tossed them into her oversized messenger bag. Time to go.

  “But then I got a chance that would have saved me. Saved my business. And I took a risk.” Blazek raised his intensity. “You would have, too. Anybody would have.” He lowered his gaze to the table, maybe trying to appear contrite.

  Jess wondered if he’d taken acting lessons or if he was simply another manipulative sociopath with a lot of experience at conning others.

  Either way, she figured he rarely felt contrite at all. He felt nothing remotely like empathy for his victims. This wasn’t Blazek’s first trip to the justice system rodeo. Only this time, he was getting gored.

  Jess shrugged as if to say Who cares? The wall clock said she’d only been talking to Blazek for five minutes. It seemed a lot longer. He was a waste of her time.

  During the next part of Blazek’s performance, he lowered his voice as if he was embarrassed or ashamed, like a normal person would be. Or maybe he wanted her to think he was telling her something secret.

  “The thing is, they got access to my books. I had client names in there and some were prominent business people. A few were friends for years, since school. I didn’t even know they’d been contacted.” He raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. Was this supposed to be sincerity, now? “My friends got into the deal because they believed if I was in, the deal was legitimate.”

  The citrus spray squirted again and the heavy scent was nauseating. Or maybe sitting in the same room with Blazek was the cause of her stomach’s revolt.

  Jess stood up. “But the deal wasn’t legitimate. You knew that. And you didn’t warn them? Some friend.”

  “By the time I found out, they were already involved. There was nothing I could do.” He stopped pleading briefly. His eyes were glassy with tears.

  Jess had met sociopaths before who could cry at will. Perhaps tears were an effective weapon on some people. But not her. She’d cried too many of her own.

  “So you’re saying that we haven’t found all of your victims yet. In addition to the senior citizens you stole from, you also created a cadre of thieves just like you who could steal from their victims, too.” She sneered. “What a guy.”

  “Just before I was arrested, I lost contact with my friends.” He blinked his tears away. “I’m worried about them, Ms. Kimball. Very worried.”

  Maybe he was. Or maybe he had a different agenda. Either way, it was none of Jess’s concern. She was done here.

  The buzzer sounded and the door opened. The deputy held the door with his hip. “Come on, Blazek. Time to go.”

  Blazek looked directly into Jess’s eyes again. “Be careful, Ms. Kimball. These Italians are bastards. Ruthless.” His tone was as hard as blood diamonds. “Don’t think they won’t kill. They will. Unless you do something about it.”

  “Thanks for the tip. Good to know.” Jess turned off the recorder and dropped the phone into her bag.

  Blazek walked ahead of the deputy as they left the interview room. Jess stared at the door after it closed, wondering whether she should believe anything he’d said.

  Now what?

  Wrap it up and move on.

  Liars like Blazek always had another excuse ready when the last one flopped. Only gullible people believed them. Jess was a lot of things, but gullible she was not.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall under the security camera. She was booked on a flight back to Denver in four hours. Plenty of time to nail down Blazek’s latest excuse and close her story with a bit of extra flair. She had time to burn.

  Maybe she should have her head examined, but she couldn’t think of a single legitimate reason not to follow up on Blazek’s last statement.

  Cases like this one, where nothing she did could make a significant difference to his victims, sucked her soul. She needed a break from the never-ending supply of heartless scum like St
osh Blazek who never, ever picked on somebody their own size.

  After today, she promised herself, she’d take a break. Before her work snapped her in half and she was no good to anyone.

  Tonight, she’d wash off Blazek’s slime with a good, long shower. Tomorrow she would file her article, then take a few days off. She’d already requested the vacation time and she’d planned to spend it looking for Peter, as she always did.

  But maybe she’d take a real break this time. First time in years. To clear her mind and renew her senses.

  Maybe a quiet hotel in a remote town. Near a river or a lake. The water soothed and relaxed her the way nothing else did. She could do that, couldn’t she?

  But not a place so remote as to be cut off from the world. One of her investigators could call. She wouldn’t ever be totally unavailable. Not until she found Peter, until she knew he was safe.

  She sighed. Maybe she’d come back to her search for Peter with fresh ideas, and to Taboo less weary, not as jaded. She’d heard vacation time could refresh and renew like that, but she’d never tried.

  For now, she’d finish the job she came to do. She’d close up Blazek’s coffin tighter than a sealed air cryovac capsule. She couldn’t undo the harm Blazek had caused, but she might be able to prevent more harm from flowing through his crimes.

  She looked at the names he’d given her: Kowalski, Warga, Zmich, Supko, and Grantly. They weren’t unique names, but there couldn’t be that many Wargas, Zmichs, or Supkos in the country. She included their first names and texted the list to her assistant with a request for a search.

  A few minutes later, she got a list back. Wargas, Zmichs, and Kowalskis popped up all over the country, but there was only one Joshua L. Supko on the list and he lived in Texas in a town with the unlikely name of Highland Village.

  She Googled the address, and his house appeared on the map not half an hour from her present location.

  She sat in her rental car considering her options. If she were to approach Supko, she’d need a good reason to get him to talk.

  The Blazek story had been on the news, and point blank asking the man if he’d been involved in a scam was a sure way to get thrown out.