The Dead Room

by Chris Mooney

  ‘A man who turned out to be a serial killer.’

  ‘Congrats, you connected all the dots.’

  The buckle caught on the last trouser loop.

  ‘What about the Feds placing witnesses and informants inside witness protection and making them disappear?’

  ‘They never went inside witness protection,’ he said.

  ‘They just disappeared.’

  ‘Yes. Now –’

  ‘You set up my father, didn’t you?’

  Pine didn’t answer.

  ‘Ezekiel told me my father had someone watching the hotel – someone he trusted,’ she said. ‘I’m assuming that person was you.’

  ‘I need to know where Kendra kept the tapes and notes. I need that evidence. We can’t afford to have it floating around out there. You can see why they’re anxious to find it.’

  ‘She didn’t tell Ezekiel where she kept the actual tapes, photos and assorted notes on Frank Sullivan – I mean, Ben Masters.’ The buckle was still caught on the last trouser loop. ‘That’s the God’s honest truth. I’d cross my heart, hope to die and all of that, but my hands are… well, you know.’

  Pine stood.

  Keep stalling him.

  ‘I know where the copies are.’ She bucked against the restraints, giving the belt another hard tug. Her head didn’t like the movements; bile shot up her throat. She kept tugging… tugging… there.

  ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

  ‘Give me a moment, my head… it’s hard to concentrate.’ She stretched her fingers, the rope biting into her wrists. She felt the belt buckle. ‘I feel like I’m going to throw up.’

  Pine leaned sideways against the windowsill, his arms crossed over his chest. She grabbed the belt buckle and pulled the blade from its sheath.

  ‘I don’t know where she kept the actual tapes and files, but I know she carried copies.’ Darby drew out the words, trying to buy herself some time. ‘She kept copies of everything on a USB drive. Scanned documents. Audio files and pictures. I don’t know where the originals are.’

  ‘Did you see them? These scanned documents?’

  ‘I did. We’re talking dozens and dozens of items.’

  The handle gripped between her fingers, she moved the blade around and started sawing through the rope binding her wrists.

  ‘What was on them?’ Pine asked, growing impatient.

  ‘You promise you’ll make it quick? I don’t think I can stand any more pain.’

  Pine sat back in his chair and wheeled closer, his jowls jiggling. She could smell the cigar smoke as he placed his hands on her knees. ‘You have my word.’

  ‘You’ve got to answer some questions for me first. I think I deserve that.’

  He sighed. ‘Make it quick.’

  Darby felt the tension in a piece of rope snap in half. ‘How did they find Kendra?’

  ‘Wexler – Dr Wexler, the owner of the house. He called me, said Kendra had phoned him to ask if she could stay at his house for a couple of days.’

  ‘Why did Wexler call you?’

  ‘We… worked together. He performed certain emergency medical services for us when he lived in Charlestown. You can’t go to a hospital with a bullet or knife wound.’

  ‘How does Kendra know him?’

  ‘Wexler was her doctor in Charlestown. She kept seeing him when he moved to Belham.’

  ‘She just phoned him out of the blue?’

  ‘Yes. It was a stroke of luck.’

  For you, Darby thought, working the blade and also wondering just how many people this group of Feds had on their payroll.

  Coop’s words came back to her: These guys are slick. They never go to jail. They always have inside help.

  ‘Kendra couldn’t stay at a hotel,’ Pine said. ‘You can’t pay cash any more, you need a credit card. Kendra needed a place to stay for a few days, and she didn’t want to stay anywhere near Charlestown, so she decided to take a chance, tracked down Wexler and called him. He offered her the use of his house.’

  ‘And then took a sudden vacation so you could call your friends and set her up.’

  ‘Now it’s your turn.’

  His phone rang. He answered it but didn’t talk.

  She wiggled her right hand out from the rope, felt it slip across her fingers and drop to the floor. Shit. It’s dark in here so just hope Pine doesn’t see it. She went to work on her left hand, sawing quickly, the blade cutting and nicking the skin along her wrist, palm and fingers.

  Pine hung up. ‘We’ve got two minutes or else King is coming in.’

  ‘The files are password protected.’

  ‘They’re audio tapes. You can’t put passwords on cassette tapes.’

  ‘They’re audio files. You know what a flash drive is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a little hard drive. You slide it into the USB port of your computer. Kendra transferred the audio tapes into MP3 files, took her notes and scanned them, and put everything on to this little flash drive that fit nicely inside a watch.’

  ‘I want the hard copies.’

  ‘I don’t know where they are. But the commissioner has the USB drive. Once the computer guys crack the password, she’ll have everything.’

  Pine’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you screwing with me?’

  ‘Call her. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.’

  He stood and took out his phone. Darby tried to pull her left hand free.

  It was stuck.

  Pine didn’t call Chadzynski; he spoke with King. She could make out his voice echoing over the tiny speaker in the quiet room.

  Pine’s face remained curiously blank, like that of a man waiting for a bus. He stood only a few feet away. She couldn’t stand; her ankles were still bound to the chair legs. If she could only get one foot free…

  Both your hands are free and he’s only holding his phone, not a weapon; you’regoing to have to make a move now before he –

  Pine hung up. Darby came around with the knife, the four-inch blade sticking out between her fingers, and lurched.

  61

  Darby sunk the blade deep into Pine’s scrotum. He howled and she twisted the blade once before yanking it free.

  His hands flew to his groin, and when he buckled she aimed for his throat. He turned too quickly and the blade hit his cheek, sliding across the bone. He staggered and tripped. His enormous bulk toppled against her, shooting the chair backwards.

  She banged up against the wall but didn’t drop the knife. She started sawing away at the rope around her right ankle.

  Pine was rolling on the ground, screaming, hands still cupped over his groin and blood spurting between his fingers. The screams echoed through the small room and she was sure King and whoever else was in here had heard them and were now running this way.

  Snap and a piece of rope cut away.

  ‘You bitch,’ he wailed. ‘You goddamn bitch, you’ll pay, you’re going to PAY.’

  One, two, three cuts and her right foot was free.

  Pine, panting and howling, face red from the excruciating pain, reached for the sidearm clipped to his belt. She got to her feet, and with the use of one leg moved to him, dragging the chair behind her.

  She jumped on top of him. Slammed her knee deep into his groin and when he howled she hit his throat. He started gurgling and she hit his throat again. She broke his nose. Then she got behind him and snapped his neck, and his arms and legs stopped moving, as if they had suddenly given up.

  She pulled the sidearm from his holster. A Glock. She found the knife on the floor, dropped the nine next to her and started cutting.

  Snap on a piece of rope binding her left ankle.

  A door slammed open outside.

  Snap and another piece of rope gave way.

  Footsteps – walking, not running.

  Snap, snap, snap and she twisted her ankle free.

  King appeared in the doorway, expecting to see Artie alive and her dead. Surprise bloomed on his face when he saw
her lying sideways against the floor holding a nine.

  She fired. One shot and half his head disappeared.

  Darby scrambled to her feet. King’s body jerked and twitched on the floor. Dead this time. Dead.

  ‘Please.’

  Pine’s wheezing, cracking voice.

  He stared up at her in horror. He lay still on the floor, bleeding out from his groin.

  ‘I can’t… I can’t feel my… I can’t move my arms or legs.’

  ‘You’re paralysed,’ she said. ‘I made you a quadriplegic. Think about me when they’re changing your diapers in prison.’

  ‘Please… please don’t leave me like this, the pain…’

  His words trailed off as Darby stepped over King’s body and started to check the garage.

  Clear.

  She ran back to find the wooden table that held her SIG and phone. She slid the gun inside her holster. Picked up the phone and tucked it inside her pocket.

  A shotgun rested at an angle against the wall – a Remington 870 police entry with a fourteen-inch barrel, magazine extender, mounted tactical light and side saddle holding six low-recoil shells. Perfect. She tucked Pine’s nine in the back waistband of her trousers, switched to the shotgun and carried it with her as she moved, her eyes locked on the door at the far end of the bay.

  She remembered that Madeira James from Reynolds Engineering Systems had sent a message. Wants you to call her immediately, King had said before reading the message. When he put the phone down, his face had changed.

  Bad news? she had asked.

  Nothing we can’t handle, he said.

  She ducked into one of the empty rooms and took out the phone. Turned it on and saw the woman’s message and an attachment. She opened it and scanned the text quickly. Then she turned the phone off and tucked it back inside her pocket.

  Darby moved out of the room and crept towards the door, staring down the shotgun sight. A shot had gone off. If there were other people in here, they’d coming running. They’d come running anyway, when King and Pine didn’t return. She wondered how many people were in here with her. She had plenty of ammo but no body armour, no helmet or smoke grenades. No hostage situation either. Play it safe. Be patient.

  Plenty of room to the right side of the door. Hide there. Wait for it to swing open and then come out from behind it.

  She waited.

  Two minutes passed.

  Four minutes.

  Six.

  Crouching low, she threw the door open and backed away.

  No gunshots.

  She turned with the shotgun, ready to fire, saw nothing but a short, narrow corridor covered in shadows.

  She moved down the corridor and when it ended she again crouched low against the wall. Heard the slow, steady purr of a car engine.

  She spun around the corner with the shotgun. Another corridor. Dim light at the far end. She moved silently across the floor breathing in the hot, musty air. She paused at the corner. Waited. Listened for movement underneath the steady rain drumming on the roof and what sounded like a car engine idling.

  Darby turned another corner and looked down the ghost ring sights at the calm face of Boston Police Commissioner Christina Chadzynski.

  62

  Chadzynski sat in front of a small laptop set up on an old desk. In the light coming from the computer screen Darby could see the pair of headphones wrapped around the woman’s ears. The woman had a pleasant, almost angelic look on her face.

  Darby heard a door slam shut, followed by the sound of a car driving away.

  The corridor was maybe twenty feet long. She moved down it and heard a phone ring. A small square of light came to life on the desk. Chadzynski took off her headphones, letting them rest on her neck, and reached for the phone, which lay next to a shotgun. Both hands were covered with latex gloves.

  ‘Freeze,’ Darby said, and switched on the tactical light.

  Chadzynski’s face lit up with surprise. Then it disappeared, swept back underneath her cool composure.

  ‘Hands on your head,’ Darby said. ‘Nice and slow.’

  Chadzynski took off the headphones and placed them on the desk. She didn’t stand.

  Darby stood in front of her. Chadzynski leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. Dust floated in the light coming from the computer screen.

  ‘Who else is here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chadzynski said. No nervous hitch in her voice. She was in complete control of her emotions. ‘I arrived only a few minutes ago. You’d have to ask Mr King. Since I don’t see him, I’m left to assume he’s dead.’

  ‘You assume correctly. Place your hands on your head.’

  ‘I have a way out of this for you.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘My car is right out front. We can leave together. If you play your cards right, you’ll come out of this looking like a hero. I can help you towards that end. I recommend –’

  Darby swung the butt stock and raked it across the side of the woman’s head.

  The force knocked the commissioner off her chair.

  Darby fitted the shotgun’s strap over her shoulder and switched to Pine’s Glock. Then she took out her phone and pressed a few of its keys.

  ‘There’s no one here but the two of us now,’ Chadzynski said from the floor. ‘It will be my word against yours. And I can assure you I’ll win. I suggest you take me up on my original offer. If you don’t, you’ll never hold up under the scrutiny. The evidence is already stacked against you.’

  Darby placed the phone on the desk. ‘What evidence?’

  ‘Recognize the computer? It’s yours.’

  Darby glanced quickly at the laptop, a white Apple iMac. She owned one. On the screen, she saw the audio files from Kendra Sheppard’s flash drive. ‘You broke the password.’

  ‘And we copied the files on to your home computer,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Paperwork has been filed to show you checked Kendra Sheppard’s flash drive out of evidence – Anti-Corruption has it in their hands right now. Since the flash drive is now gone, Internal Affairs will have no choice but to assume you destroyed it. I can, however, make it all disappear with one phone call.’

  ‘You’ve got all the angles figured out, don’t you? Know how to make evidence disappear, have people plant bombs inside a house and on my crime scene –’

  ‘Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail? We have enough evidence to show you deliberately tampered with these cases. How you deliberately destroyed evidence to protect your father. The boxes of evidence and murder book pertaining to your father? The ones that are supposed to be in storage? They’re currently in a safe location with paperwork that leads back to you. The way the story will go down is that you came across evidence that showed your father was working for Frank Sullivan. He’ll be known as a corrupt cop – as will you. I don’t think you want that.’

  ‘I know about your trip to Reynolds Engineering Systems. You went there last year with Lieutenant Warner. That round we found inside the Belham house, the rounds we found in Kevin Reynolds’s basement? They came from a batch of test ammo that mysteriously disappeared on the day you and Warner were there. The company was kind enough to send me the list.’

  Chadzynski scrambled up into a sitting position, eyes blinking. Her small hand with its perfectly manicured fingers and big, sparking diamonds trembled as she touched the side of her face. The butt stock had split the skin above her cheek.

  The woman wobbled, stunned and confused. She placed a hand on the floor for balance.

  ‘Did you steal the ammo and the Glock eighteen?’ Darby asked. ‘Or did you have your pet do it?’

  Chadzynski gripped the edge of the desk and slowly got to her feet.

  ‘I’m guessing you let Warner do it,’ Darby said. ‘You knew that kind of ammo would be next to impossible to trace because it doesn’t exist on the market. He was inside the Belham house, wasn’t he? He was there when they killed Kendra Sheppard.’

  ‘I can assur
e you he wasn’t.’

  ‘Then why did he kill Special Agent Alan?’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘You already know.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  ‘Russo,’ Chadzynski said.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Not the wife. The wife is still alive and, coincidentally, living in the same house. She confessed to killing Ben Masters and the Federal agent, Alan.’

  Darby thought back to that moment inside the lab with Randy Scott and Mark Alves. The footprints recovered from the deck steps matched the footprints found in the woods near the binoculars – a woman’s size nine sneaker. A woman had been watching from the woods.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s still living in Wellesley,’ Chadzynski said.

  ‘Where is she right now?’

  Chadzynski wouldn’t answer.

  ‘Call and find out,’ Darby said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hands on your head, Commissioner. You’re under arrest.’

  Chadzynski gripped the bottom lapels of her suit jacket and gave them a sharp tug, straightening out the fabric.

  ‘This list you have from RES, it won’t hold up in court. You know I’m right.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘There are forces at work, people you’ll never be able to find,’ Chadzynski said. ‘Arrest me and you’ll be signing your own warrant.’

  ‘You’re probably right about that. That’s why I recorded our conversation.’ Darby picked up her phone. ‘Who killed my father?’

  ‘Let me use the phone and I’ll tell you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I know where all the missing pieces are buried. You need me.’

  Chadzynski grinned, probably thinking about her Rolodex full of people who could pull the necessary levers, make this moment disappear as if it were nothing more than a bad dream. She already owned the Anti-Corruption Unit.

  She had Warner or one of her other henchmen plant evidence and remove my father’s murder book and evidence files from the storage unit – she’s spent years doctoring evidence or making it disappear to suit her needs. She killed my father and she –

  Darby squeezed the trigger.

  The shot blew out the back of the police commissioner’s head.