Wanted (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers, Book 1)

by Nick Stephenson

  LEOPOLD STRODE THROUGH the upper offices, having climbed nearly nineteen flights of stairs, and tried not to pass out. He knew better than to use the elevators with most of the building’s security looking for him, but the long climb had sapped most of the strength out of his legs and his head was spinning. If anyone caught up with him now, he’d have no chance of getting away.

  With sweat starting to show through the front of his shirt, Leopold pulled his jacket tighter to hide the stains. With his head down, he made a bee line for the elevator, the only way up to Harris’ office on the twentieth floor. He grabbed a stack of important-looking papers from an empty desk and kept moving, hoping to pass for one of the associates. Nearly bumping into half a dozen people on his way through, he eventually reached the elevator and dumped the pile of reports into a trash can. He hoped he hadn’t just got someone fired.

  Leopold jabbed the call button and stepped inside as the doors slid open. He used the buttons to punch in the code “335962.” The doors closed and the elevator shuddered to life, heading upward. Leopold took a deep breath and willed his muscles to stop aching.

  He was going to need them.

  Chapter 52

  THE BLINDS WERE down, the lights were off, and all the other meeting rooms were in use. Reiniger strode over, listening out for any movement inside. He turned the handle, slowly at first, reaching inside his jacket for his gun. Finger on the trigger, he kicked out with his foot. The door flew open.

  “What the hell, buddy?” the man spoke English, an American accent.

  The assassin froze. A conference table in the center of the room seated six people, each staring dumbfounded in Reiniger’s direction. On the far wall, a projected image of some sales figures. A few pie charts.

  “What do you want?” the man asked again. His tone had shifted from surprised to pissed off.

  Reiniger straightened, taking his hand out of his jacket. “My apologies, wrong meeting room.” He turned and walked out. As he closed the door behind him, he felt his cell phone buzz with an incoming message:

  “Blake used his pass code. On his way up. Come now.”

  Reiniger frowned. He had hoped to catch up with the two women first, maybe get some alone time with them. They owed him for all the trouble he’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours.

  Still, things could be worse.

  Just as Harris predicted, Blake had acted like a reckless fool. By forcing a confrontation, he had put his life, and the lives of others, at risk. Having escaped twice already, a sensible man would have cut his losses and made a run for it. Instead, Blake was walking right into a trap. And for what?

  The assassin headed for the elevators, keen to ask Blake for an answer in person.

  Chapter 53

  THE ELEVATOR DOORS slid open at the twentieth floor, reserved for the company’s top brass. Ahead, Leopold could see Harris’ corner office, backed up against the tall windows that looked out at the midmorning city skyline. The door was closed and the blinds were drawn. Between Leopold and the office, several dozen executives and interns busied themselves with paperwork and morning coffee runs.

  He stepped out onto the carpet, looking around. Leopold had visited the Paris office several times over the last few years, and his face was well known to the more senior executives. Several employees glanced up as he walked past, conversations halted mid-sentence, and some even reached for their cell phones – presumably to call security. Or maybe the police.

  It didn’t matter now. Leopold knew this was his last chance to make a stand and, whatever the outcome, it was better than the prospect of spending the rest of his life on the run. He drew closer to the office door. A small crowd was starting to form around him now, and the consultant felt fifty pairs of eyes following his movements.

  His heart starting to pound, Leopold took out the cell phone he borrowed from Sophie and hit redial. He dropped the handset back into his pocket as he reached Harris’ door, praying everything went to plan.

  Chapter 54

  THE SQUINTS OVER at forensics sent the cell phone’s location through within five minutes, better than promised. Rousseau was following the route set by his smart phone’s satellite navigation software and was getting close when the handset started to ring. The capitaine nearly slammed on the brakes when he realized who was calling. He patched the call through to the car’s speakers.

  Something on the other end of the line he couldn’t make out. Was that static? Rousseau hit the ‘record’ button and concentrated on the road ahead. The Blake Investments building loomed ahead, a column of polished glass among a dozen other identical structures. Backup was on the way, a few minutes behind. He would need to find somewhere to wait for them. A sound from the speakers grabbed his attention. Voices. Muffled, but unmistakable. He could just about make out what they were saying.

  Rousseau swore and dropped a gear, revving the car’s engine to the redline.

  Chapter 55

  “YOU HERE TO kill me, Blake?”

  Leopold stood in the doorway. Harris stood behind his desk, his back to the tall windows. The sun was behind him, an old trick. Leopold had hoped to open the conversation differently, but anything that got Rousseau there quicker was okay with him.

  “And why would I want to kill you?” he said.

  Leopold knew Harris well. For nearly a decade, he had entrusted the smooth running of the European Divisions to the man. Trust that had been horribly misplaced. But Harris was no fool, and certainly smart enough not to get drawn into a trap. Leopold would just have to be smarter.

  “I understand this is a difficult time,” said Harris. “Just so you know, the board and I will give you our full support. We know these things the police are saying…” he paused. “Well, we’ll be sure to help you through this.” A smile.

  “Thank you for your concern. But I’m not here to talk about that.”

  “Oh?”

  “The bodyguard you sent. Gerard. I’m sorry to say he didn’t make it.”

  Harris raised an eyebrow.

  “His blood is on your hands. Along with Dubois’. And the four other people at the cathedral.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Blake.”

  “And if you let the sale of Chemworks go through, there will be even more blood. Maybe even yours.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m just outlining your situation.”

  “Which is?”

  Leopold took a step forward. “Best case scenario for you: the police figure out what you’ve been up to and have you arrested. You spend the rest of your natural life in prison.”

  “Oh, I see. And, just out of curiosity, what’s the worst case scenario in this little fantasy of yours?”

  “The police don’t arrest you and the very, very bad people you’ve gotten yourself involved with decide they have too many loose ends.”

  Harris chuckled. “You sound like you have some experience with these people yourself, Leopold.”

  “I do. Enough experience to know there’s someone else calling the shots. You have the stink of a powerless man, Harris.”

  Leopold felt something cold and hard press into the back of his skull. He saw Harris smile.

  “What was that you were saying about powerless, Blake?” a voice came from behind. Deep, with a German accent.

  “Yes, I think you’ll find I’m calling the shots after all,” said Harris. He moved out from behind his desk and walked toward Leopold. Leaning forward, he reached into the consultant’s jacket and pulled out the cell phone. He dropped it to the floor.

  “Is that the same gun you used to kill Gerard?” said Leopold.

  “Don’t say a word,” said Harris, before the German could reply. He turned his attention back to the cell phone, now lying on the carpet. “This is just in case.”

  Harris stamped his foot down onto the phone. He continued until it shattered into three separate pieces.

  Chapter 56

  ROUSSEAU HEARD THE
phone line go dead. The Blake Investments building was the next right, and the captain didn’t even slow down to take the corner. The Renault sedan drifted, sliding over the asphalt at forty miles per hour before hitting the parking lot. By the time he slammed on the brakes, Rousseau had filled the cabin with the stink of burnt rubber.

  The entrance lobby was fifty feet away. Rousseau switched off the ignition and jumped out of the car, leaving the vehicle parked haphazardly across two empty spaces. He broke into a sprint, aging bones crying out in protest. Reaching the automatic doors, Rousseau paused to let them slide open and felt his heart pounding in his chest.

  Whatever Blake was doing, he was going to get himself killed.

  The glass doors opened and the captain resumed running, ignoring the protests of the woman at the reception desk. A few people milling around the foyer looked over at him as he ran past, heading for the elevators. He jabbed the call button and stepped inside as the car arrived.

  Double checking the photo message he had received earlier, Rousseau punched in the numbers ‘335962’ and felt the elevator start to move. He dialed dispatch.

  “Oui, vous-aider?” The same bored desk jockey as before.

  “This is Rousseau. I’m on scene at the Blake Investments Building. Where the hell is my backup?”

  A short pause on the line. “I have the details, sir. Your backup team is en route. Five minutes.”

  “I don’t have time to wait. Get a message to the unit leader and tell him to seal off the building. I’ll also need a team up on the top floor.”

  No answer.

  “Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then why are you still on the Goddamn line?” Rousseau hung up and took in a deep breath. Although he didn’t consider himself out of shape, he made a mental promise to start exercising more often. Maybe even try a diet.

  He hit the seventh floor and felt the car start to slow. On the eighth floor, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Four suits stood waiting in the hallway, each carrying a folder stuffed with papers. They stepped forward.

  “Je suis désolé,” said Rousseau, opening his jacket to reveal his sidearm and badge. “Occupé.” He hit the button to close the doors and smiled as the suits disappeared from view.

  The elevator set off again and Rousseau composed himself. He had heard two other voices on the phone earlier in addition to Blake’s, one with an American accent and one that sounded German. Blake had mentioned a gun. Something about the German gave Rousseau shivers, a feeling that he couldn’t shake off. Probably just the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his blood. The captain put one hand on his service revolver.

  Twelfth floor.

  The low rumble of the elevator reached a crescendo. The walls of the car seemed a little closer in than before.

  Fifteenth floor.

  The captain steadied his breathing and ran through a mental checklist: Backup was on the way. There were six rounds in the barrel of his revolver and extra rounds in his pocket, just in case.

  Eighteenth floor.

  He wasn’t wearing a protective vest.

  His hand was shaking a little.

  He wasn’t as good a marksman as he used to be.

  He wasn’t exactly getting any younger, either.

  His muscles ached.

  Rousseau told himself to stop worrying. Thirty years on the force was long enough to develop an instinct. Muscle memory and gut reactions had kept him alive so far, and he wasn’t about to break the habit.

  Nineteenth floor.

  Nearly there. Rousseau kept his hand on his gun and watched the elevator lights announce the next stop.

  Twentieth floor.

  A soft chiming noise announced his arrival. The doors opened.

  Time to move.

  Chapter 57

  LEOPOLD HEARD THE crunch of glass under Harris’ shoe. The cell phone was destroyed, completely useless. The police wouldn’t even be able to track it. Hopefully, Rousseau had taken the bait already.

  “We won’t be needing that, I think.” Harris reached forward and took the gun away from the German. “It doesn’t really look too good, does it? A gunshot wound to the back of the head doesn’t really scream ‘self-defense’. We’ll have to be a little rough around the edges this time, Reiniger.”

  Harris lay the gun on the desk and walked around to his chair. Leopold heard a drawer open.

  “When a wanted murderer breaks into your office and attacks you, it’s far more likely you’ll end up in a bit of a struggle.” Harris pulled out a heavy-looking revolver and lay it down next to the German’s pistol. “I reckon it’s more likely an intruder would get hit in the chest. What do you think, Reiniger?”

  Leopold turned his head and saw the German nod. It was definitely the same man from Dubois’ house, still dressed in the suit he was wearing when he murdered Gerard. The man’s expression was cold, impassive. There was a spark of something ruthless in his eyes. Leopold knew the look well.

  “Good,” Harris continued. “Why don’t you give me and Mr. Blake a little time alone? We’ve got some catching up to do. Keep an eye out for any other visitors.”

  Reiniger turned and left the room without another word.

  “So, this is what it all comes down to,” said Leopold. “All this, just for a chunk of money? You’d betray everything we built together?”

  Harris picked up the revolver, weighing it in both hands. “Everything you built. Everything your father built. I was along for the ride, sure. At first, that was all I needed. But after ten years, fifteen years, hell…” he smiled. “After twenty years working with you and your father, what do I have to show for it? You don’t pay that well, you know. And the way you’re going about running this place, the whole company is going to be looking at bankruptcy in a few years. I’ve got to start thinking about retirement, Leopold. After a lifetime of working my ass off, I deserve the chance to live a little, don’t you think?”

  “Business is booming, Harris,” said Leopold. “You got greedy, that’s all.”

  “You really have no idea, do you?” He shook his head and stepped out from behind the desk. “We’re struggling to break even. And that’s on a good year. If you spent more time in the office, where you belong, and less time playing cops and robbers, you’d know that. But so long as your trust fund stays topped up, you really don’t care, do you? The sale of Chemworks is the only thing that can really get us back in the game. And I knew you’d be too blind to go along with it.”

  “And that’s why you kept things from me, all these years,” said Leopold. “This was your intention the whole time.”

  “Not the whole time,” said Harris. “But when we made the discovery… Well, suffice it to say my eyes were open to what was possible with the right attitude and approach.” He shook his head. “The Chemworks business is a regulatory nightmare. If anyone found out what we were doing,” he paused. “Still, none of that matters now. With you out of the picture, I can take control of your shares and push the sale through with the other stockholders. The board will sign off the paperwork and it’s a done deal. We get an injection of capital to get us through another few years, and I get a significant boost in my investment portfolio – enough to make sure I never have to work another day in my life. It’s a win-win situation. It’s a shame you won’t be around to enjoy it.”

  “Don’t do this, Harris. You have no idea what these buyers will do with the company. If that sort of research fell into the wrong hands, the results could be devastating.”

  “Relax. You’re being paranoid.”

  “I suppose you did your due diligence, did you? Or was the lure of the money too tempting to question their motives?”

  Harris shook his head. “Why should I care? I spent my whole life doing what other people thought was the right thing. Now it’s my turn.”

  “People have died. Can’t you see what’s happening here?”

  “People like Dubois? His own greed was his downfall. Do
you know how easy it was to convince him to arrange the break-in? Once I found out the Louvre was kicking him to the curb, it was a done deal.”

  “But why?”

  “You can work it out, I’m sure.” Harris leaned against the desk, holding the gun loosely by his side. “You’re supposed to be the smart one, after all.”

  “It was all about me, wasn’t it?”

  “There’s that ego again.” Harris rolled his eyes.

  “You needed me in Paris for this to work, and you knew I’d never turn down a job with the Louvre. But you had to give them a strong enough reason to hire me.”

  “A stolen painting seemed like a strong enough reason. After the FBI Director recommended you, it was in the bag. Or, at least, someone who sounded a lot like the FBI Director on the phone.”

  “And once you had me in place, all you had to do was have your Rottweiler set me up and make sure everything went down smoothly.” He shook his head. “What I still don’t understand is why you killed all those people at the cathedral. They were no threat to you. Why did they have to die?”

  “No loose ends, like you said. And with you in prison, without that bodyguard of yours to keep an eye on you, it was inevitable that something bad was going to happen eventually. I expect your giant friend is learning that for himself.”

  “Those people died for no reason,” said Leopold. “There were never any loose ends. You killed innocent people just to make me look like more of a killer. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Oh, but I did. But you’ll never know why.” He raised the gun. “It’s enough for me to know that I beat you. That I’m smarter than you.”

  Leopold sighed. “You went to a lot of trouble. And for what? I’m still here. A smart man would have just killed me in the first place.”

  Harris smiled and took a step forward, aiming the revolver at Leopold’s chest. “There’s still time for that.”