by Kara Lennox
The woman studied him for a moment. “I know Tonda. We talk at the grocery store sometimes.”
“Great—which building does she live in?”
The woman closed her door, but Hudson heard her sliding the chain locks open. She stepped out onto her porch and squinted into the afternoon sun as she looked down the street. “It’s either the pink building or the gray one. I know it’s down at that end, but I never been to her place.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” That narrowed things down considerably. Each of the apartments the woman had pointed out had maybe six or eight units.
Liz had told him not to come, that Tonda would run, that she would never trust Liz again. He would have to take that risk. If he was wrong, if this outing of hers was totally innocent, and she wasn’t in any danger at all, she would be furious with him for causing all this trouble. That would be the nail in the coffin of their relationship. But when he weighed that risk against the possibility that she could be injured or, God forbid, killed, there was no contest. He had to go in. He had to trust his gut.
He started with the gray building, knocking on doors in sequence—Apartment 1, Apartment 2. With luck, he’d find someone who knew Tonda, rather than hitting Tonda’s apartment itself. If he just knew which unit, he could listen. Peek in windows. Maybe get inside with no one the wiser.
But no one answered. He could hear TVs inside, dogs barking, saw curtains flicker aside, but no one was going to open their doors to a strange man. He was lucky that one woman had helped him.
Discouraged, he trudged upstairs to the second level. Rather than knocking, he simply pressed his ear to the door.
That was when he saw a Montgomery County cruiser turn down the street, inching along.
Carla.
She’d come. She believed in him regardless of the evidence. When this was over, he was going to kiss his partner for having faith in him. He could only hope Knightly didn’t see the cruiser, so far out of its jurisdiction.
He trotted down the stairs and ran across the apartment building’s weedy front yard. The cruiser’s passenger window opened. Hudson took in the scene instantly; Ronnie Benson, in uniform, was driving, Carla in the passenger seat.
“Carla. You come with me. Ronnie needs to take the cruiser and his uniformed self out of sight. If Todd sees cops, he might do something crazy.”
Carla turned to Ronnie. “Do what he says, Ronnie. We’ll stay in touch with cell phones, not the radio. You can call for reinforcements if anything goes wrong.”
Ronnie looked dubious. “If you say so, Sarge.”
The cruiser glided out of sight. Knowing Ronnie, he’d find a shady spot and take a nap.
“Thank you for coming, Carla.”
“This better be good. Knightly? Are you sure? I mean, he’s such a stickler for rules, always has that stick up his—”
“It must be an act.” Hudson pulled Carla to a more hidden spot, behind some overgrown honeysuckle that completely engulfed a trellis. “Two witnesses described him. More or less. But my baseball cap found in Mandalay’s car—someone in our office took it from my desk and planted it. Clearly someone has been framing me from the beginning. At first I thought I was just an easy target because I had such an obvious motive. But now I see that it’s personal. The murderer didn’t just want to escape detection. He wanted me to go down. And you, too. He went to a lot of trouble to get hold of your backup weapon.”
“Oh, God.” Carla looked sick. “When I reported the theft, I had to fill out a bunch of paperwork. Todd said he would take it to Administrative Services for me.”
“And he probably shredded it.”
“Why? Why would he do something so...horrible?”
“Ambition? He always resented that I’d been promoted to Major Crimes when he had seniority.”
“It doesn’t seem like enough.”
“People start wars over ambition. But I suspect he was also trying to divert attention away from his criminal operations. With both of us working to save our own skins, he must have figured we wouldn’t have much energy to upset his applecart.”
“But he was defending you.”
“All part of the act. His reasoning isn’t important right now. It’s going to get a whole lot more horrible, Carla, unless we take action.”
“We’re just two people. We need a SWAT team or something.”
Suddenly Hudson smiled, though it was with a sense of fatality. “We have something better than a SWAT team. We have Project Justice.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELIZABETH NODDED AND picked up the pen. Her hand was sweating, and the pen was slippery.
“‘I’m sorry,’” Knightly said, using a high voice, pretending to be her. Obviously he enjoyed the dramatic. “‘Hudson talked me into it.’”
She dutifully wrote the words, spelling everything correctly, though she deliberately altered her handwriting so the note would be questioned.
“‘We did it for the money. We hired Munch.’”
She continued to write, as slowly as she dared. Not that there was any point in prolonging the inevitable. No one was coming for them. She’d given Daniel Tonda’s address, but he had no reason to come looking for her unless she went missing.
“‘Then Hudson didn’t trust Munch and killed him. Tonda was a witness. He wants to kill her, too. I love Hudson, but this has gone too far.’”
She’d run out of envelope. She had to turn it over and use the front.
“‘I’m going to kill him, then myself, so Tonda can live.’”
She looked up. “You’ll let Tonda go?” she asked hopefully.
“Maybe.” But she could tell he was lying. He couldn’t let Tonda go—she knew way too much. “That’s good enough. Sign it.”
She signed it Liz. Knightly wouldn’t know that Hudson was the only one to use that nickname. She put the pen down and looked up at him. For the first time in her life, she knew what true hatred felt like.
“You killed my father.”
“You’re only just now figuring that out?”
“Can I know why?”
“It was in self-defense. More or less. He had a meeting with Munch, but Munch wanted a witness. He was scared to death of your old man, and with good reason. I never met anybody as cold-blooded.”
You’re certainly giving him a run for his money.
She didn’t say that out loud, though. Her expertise was in talking, in reasoning with people who were under extreme stress, in crisis, on the verge of making terrible decisions or regretting bad choices already made. That was the only weapon she had. She wouldn’t resort to a physical attack just yet.
“Are you saying my father was a criminal?” She had to keep him talking. Obviously he had an ego. He was smart enough not to brag about his crime to anyone who could rat him out. But two dead women couldn’t talk to anyone. This might be his only chance to tell his story, to gloat about how smart he was.
“Come on, Lizzy-baby, you knew that.”
“I didn’t know. I hardly ever talked to him once I went away to college.”
“Oh, this started way before you went to college.”
“I don’t believe you. He wouldn’t... Deep down, he was a good man.”
“A good businessman, maybe. He was involved in prostitution, mostly. Yeah, the food on your table was paid for by young girls like Tonda, here. Opening their legs for a few dollars while people like Franklin Mandalay got rich.”
Elizabeth’s stomach turned again. Whether it was from the head injury, or the disgusting nature of Knightly’s story, she didn’t know.
“Supposing I believe you...how did you fit in?”
“I was in charge of the Montgomery County territory. It started out just as protection money. I looked the other way, made evidence disappear, that kind of thing. But your father’s name kept coming up, and I started to wonder about him. Did a little research. Found out about the missing wife.”
“Do you know something about my mother?” Though she’d tol
d Hudson she didn’t want to know, she realized she did.
“I know everything about your mother. Because I got hold of the investigating officer’s notes. The cops were positive your father murdered his wife. But he was just too damn rich and powerful. He paid off someone high up. Maybe the chief of police. Your mother’s case got buried.”
Oh, God. She shouldn’t have asked. Hudson’s instincts were right on the money—this whole thing was connected to her mother’s disappearance. But she hadn’t wanted to hear these disturbing facts about her father. Any more than she wanted to hear them now.
But she’d already started down the slippery slope. Before she died, she had to know.
“I was going to blackmail him,” Knightly continued, obviously enjoying his story. “I secured the information in a safe place where, if I were to die or disappear, it would all come to light. Otherwise, Franklin would have simply killed me. But I had him by the short hairs.”
You think you’re so damn smart. She’d never wanted to hit someone so badly. The anger surged through her veins, making her feel physically strong, as if she could pick up the coffee table and bash him with it.
“All I asked for was a bigger piece of the pie. I made him hand over all of Montgomery County. We became equals. I’m socking it all away. With Sanchez and Vale out of the picture, I’ll make lieutenant within the year. Imagine what I can do then.”
“If my father killed my mother, why did he do it?” she asked, almost against her own will. “Did you discuss it with him? Did he tell you anything?”
Knightly flashed that evil smile. “Because of you. Your mother was threatening divorce. She’d gotten tired of his affairs, the prostitutes—he liked to sample the wares for free, you know—and she didn’t like the way he wanted to raise you. She was going to take you away from him. And that was one thing he couldn’t allow.”
Now she was going to be sick. She leaned over and retched onto the carpet. It was her fault. Shouldn’t she have seen what was going on? But looking back, she could see how Knightly’s explanation made perfect sense. Her father always had been possessive with her. If her mother wanted to discipline her, her father stepped in and stopped it. But if her mother tried to give her ice cream or a cookie, her father would take it away, saying he didn’t want her to get fat. Then, when her mother wasn’t looking, he would give her an even better treat.
“It was painless,” Knightly said, as if this made it okay. “Your father wasn’t a sadist. He just liked to have his way. She’s buried in the backyard, by the way. Under the tennis courts. Doubt anyone will find her now. You’re the last person who would look for her, and—”
A knock on the door interrupted him. Knightly pointed his gun at Tonda’s head and put a finger to his lips.
Elizabeth held her breath. She longed to cry for help, but she feared if she made a peep, Knightly would blow Tonda’s head off.
* * *
HUDSON WATCHED IMPATIENTLY from the cover of the honeysuckle as Carla approached Tonda’s apartment. Tonda had never met Carla and might be more likely to open the door to her. If she did, Carla would pretend to be selling something and assess the situation, see if Liz was there and if anyone seemed to be in imminent danger. If all appeared okay, Carla would withdraw, and Tonda would never know that law enforcement had intervened.
The sound of a car engine grabbed his attention. An ordinary-looking Chevy Impala made its way down the street, moving slowly, perhaps looking for a parking place. As it neared, Hudson could see that the passenger window was open, and Joe was scanning the area, searching for him, no doubt.
Hudson stepped out from his hiding place just far enough to wave to Joe. Joe nodded and the car continued down the street. Two minutes later, Joe appeared from the rear of the property, having approached from the alley. He wore a Kevlar vest and had another one in his hand for Hudson.
“What’s going on?” Joe asked, stepping behind the bush.
Hudson quickly brought him up to speed as he donned the vest, while keeping an eye on Carla, who’d got one of Tonda’s neighbors to answer her door.
“You’re sure she’s here?” Joe asked.
“I found her car parked on the next block. My partner is knocking on Tonda’s door, but she’s not getting an answer.”
Hudson motioned for Carla to join them.
“Who’d you bring?” Hudson asked.
“Everybody we could pile into that car—Ford Hyatt, Jillian, Mitch, Griffin Benedict and, God help us, Celeste.”
“Celeste?”
“Don’t underestimate her. I’ve seen her take down a two-hundred-pound opponent with just her bare hands.”
That sounded like someone he wanted on his team.
Carla joined them, looking troubled. “That lady I was just talking to? She heard what she described as ‘an awful scuffle’ about an hour ago in the apartment below hers. She said it sounded like someone was getting beaten.”
Joe listened with interest. “So maybe Tonda’s call was for real?”
“God, I hope so,” Hudson said. Maybe Liz wasn’t in danger at all. Maybe she was in there right now, simply trying to talk Tonda into going to the emergency room. Maybe Jackson was long gone, and Knightly was nowhere near here.
* * *
KNIGHTLY WANDERED OVER to the front window and peered out through a half-inch gap in the curtains. “Where, oh where, is Hudson?”
“He’s coming. He was clear across town when I called him.”
“Seems a little odd that it’s taking him so long. Could it be that you’re not really that important to him? He could be more interested in saving his own skin, fleeing the country. Maybe you should call him again.”
If she did—if Knightly forced her to lie so that he would come here—she would be luring him to his death.
“Give him a few more minutes.”
“But what if you’re lying? What if you never told Vale anything about your visit with Tonda?”
Damn it. He was too perceptive, and she was a bad liar.
“Maybe he won’t come,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “But if I call him again, he’ll know something’s up. He’ll hear it in my voice.”
“Let’s just give it a try anyway.”
Reluctantly, she stood up and pulled the silver cell phone out of her pocket. Probably Hudson wouldn’t answer.
Knightly snatched the phone away from her and scrolled through her contacts. “You don’t have many friends, do you.” The silver phone only contained half a dozen numbers. But one of them was Hudson’s.
Knightly located the number and dialed. He put the call on Speaker. If he answered, what would she say?
She couldn’t risk double-crossing Knightly. He thought of Tonda as expendable and probably wouldn’t think anything of shooting her to punish Elizabeth.
Please, Hudson, don’t answer.
She got rolled to voice mail.
“Hudson, please hurry,” she said. “Tonda’s injured and she refuses to go to the hospital. I’m really scared.” Would he recognize that code phrase they’d arranged several days ago, when she’d met Tonda and Jazz at the restaurant?
She hung up and tried to find the app that would turn her phone into a wire, but Knightly grabbed it out of her hand before she could go that far. He powered it down. Now Daniel wouldn’t be able to find her.
“That was perfect, Elizabeth,” Knightly said. “But why didn’t he take your call?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s driving.”
“And I’m sure he would take every safety precaution when driving.”
Knightly was so focused on Elizabeth, he’d stopped paying attention to Tonda, who was so cowed by his violence that he obviously deemed her a nonthreat. But Elizabeth hadn’t stopped watching her. Tonda was moving, inch by inch, working her way to the very end of the sofa, waiting until he looked in the opposite direction before each move.
Elizabeth was in awe of the girl’s courage. Beaten, bloody, probably in terrible pain, she was
doing something to help herself—to help both of them. For her part, Elizabeth pretended to fidget, standing up, then sitting down again. Each time she moved, Knightly raised the gun in case she tried something, she supposed. But all she did was move toward the opposite end of the couch from Tonda, to draw his attention farther away from her.
“What are you going to do with Tonda?” Elizabeth asked, just to keep him talking. “It wouldn’t make sense for me to have killed her. According to the note, by killing Hudson, then myself, I’m saving Tonda’s life.”
“Tonda will die from her beating. Jackson will go down for the murder, which suits my purposes. Jackson has always been a pain in the ass. He didn’t play by the rules your father set up. He was holding out, not paying the appropriate...franchise fee.”
Tonda’s one good eye widened at the mention of Jackson getting into trouble for her murder. That, apparently, was what it took to prod her into action. She grabbed a metal coat hanger that was lying on the floor and, from behind Knightly, slammed it over his head and around his neck. She jumped on his back like a crazed monkey, wrapping her legs around him and squeezing that coat hanger, finding the strength somehow despite her injuries.
“Get his gun!” Tonda screamed.
Elizabeth made a move to do just that, but Knightly pointed the gun straight at her. Tonda had a grip on his upper arm and was shaking it, still yanking on the hanger with her other hand and screaming like a banshee. The gun waved wildly. Elizabeth knew this was her only chance. She leaped across the coffee table so she wouldn’t be trapped between it and the couch, then put her head down, intending to run straight at him and head butt him, knock him down.
She never got the chance. He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was deafening in the small apartment. Something that felt like a hot poker seared right through Elizabeth’s arm, dropping her to her knees before she could even make contact with Knightly. She forced her eyes open and saw blood everywhere—her blood.
Jesus God almighty, she’d been shot. For a few moments, she couldn’t do anything but sprawl on the floor, clutching her arm with the other hand. She heard screaming and realized it was hers.
