A honk interrupted him. A yellow cab jolted to an abrupt stop only a few feet from where he stood. The manager slapped the hood. “Watch where the hell you’re driving!”
I smiled. Here was the man who minutes ago was a preacher’s advocate about how bad times were getting yet he had a bit of a temper.
The cabbie hauled the upper half of his torso out the window. “Don’t touch my cab!”
The manager put another flat-palmed hand down on the hood. “What are you going to do about it, eh?”
“That’s enough!” The cabbie got out of the vehicle and came after the manager with intent to do some harm. I knew eyes, and I knew how to read body language. The manager was too proud to back down.
I took a couple steps outside the hotel door. That’s all it took.
The cabbie looked at me, halted in his approach. He spoke to the manager. “I didn’t hit you.” The driver’s eyes narrowed with a threat as if saying, you might not be so lucky next time.
“We’ve got it from here. Thanks for the coffee.” I nodded toward the manager and thanked him for something I would never use. If everything went according to plan, I would be two hundred and forty miles away from here before the next sunrise.
THE CABBIE WATCHED ME UNLOAD my luggage just as he had when I crammed it into his ride. There was no way I would be carting everything around with me, and there was no way I would be leaving it behind at the motel for the manager to rummage through. In fact, I wouldn’t be returning.
I must have been tired to bring all of this with me anyway. All I really needed was my rifle case and bullets. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You must be a hunter.”
I was in mid-sling of placing the duffel bag over my shoulder. I held the case in my other hand. I turned to face him and his head nodded toward my waist and the .44.
“Something like that.” I had him take me to the Greyhound bus station where there would be a lot of people and public lockers for rent. It also served to sever the connection between me, the motel, the taxi, and the hospital. But just the way he kept watching me, I feared another suspicious person.
“That will be forty dollars,” he said.
“Forty? That sounds like a lot—”
“Gas keeps going up.”
As I counted out the bills, I thought of Brenda and how she would jab at my frugalness. She might have a different viewpoint now that Salvatore’s Clothier notified her about the tuxedo.
How I missed her and the kids!
I extended the bills to the driver and our business transaction had been concluded.
He stood there for a minute, and I held concern he might attempt conversation, but after counting the cash he left. There were no more glances to the piece on my waist. This cabbie lived in his own world and preferred to stay there. He could almost be a hired driver for a Town Car the way he seemed to respect privacy, except for that one inquiry.
He drove off and I glanced down at the case I held in my hand. It had been customized to look like a man’s briefcase with no shiny aluminum or other telltale sign that it held a sniper rifle. Its interior shell was forged titanium to make it a lighter weight, but the exterior had been overlaid with genuine leather. To the untrained eye or the uninterested observer, it would be viewed as nothing more than a business case and me nothing more than a traveling businessman…with a huge weapon holstered to my hip.
I needed to lose the .44. It had given me confidence when this mission had started, but it drew too much attention—and attention wasn’t a good thing when you needed to be invisible.
3 HOURS EARLIER…
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
7:00 AM
THE SECURITY TECH OFFERED HIS CHAIR TO CLINTON, who took it without a nod of appreciation. His thoughts were on getting the son of a bitch who shot the Governor and thought he’d get away with it.
“All right, so start this up again. Go back to around eleven when the Governor came back to the room.”
Devries reached past Clinton and pressed the appropriate buttons.
They watched the video play out in fast forward from ten thirty. Hensal, the hotel staff member, delivered food to room 836. Clinton passed a glance at his partner whose eyes were fixed on the replay. She lightly bit her bottom lip, the way she did when she was in deep thought.
The video caught up to where the Governor showed up around ten to eleven.
“Okay, so the Governor comes back to her room. Lanky’s standing vigil at the door,” Clinton said.
Wingham faced him now, a smile only lit in her eyes. She must have felt proud for rubbing off on him with the attribution of nicknames. “Standing vigil? What sort of bodyguard do you know who stands with his hands in his pockets?”
Clinton’s eyes went back to the screen. “Stop the video.” The tech wasn’t moving quickly enough. Clinton rose to his feet. “Go back to where she’s outside the door.” Clinton paced while the feed was reversed. “Now, play it frame by frame.” He stopped moving.
“What is it?” Wingham’s tone flickered with the hint of a whine.
“Pause it.” The tech hurried to accommodate Clinton’s request. “Look at her left hand.” It was the one opposite from the camera angle they were watching from. “Is there another angle?”
“Ah…” The tech pressed some keys on the keyboard and clicked the mouse a few times. The mirrored image came up on a screen beside the paused feed.
“Enlarge that—”
“Please.” Wingham added the pleasantry to her partner’s directive. It warranted a look from Clinton.
“Just as I thought.” Clinton walked out of the room into the hallway. Wingham followed. He heard Devries’s inquiries about whether they’d be back. Wingham responded and told him to stay put. Clinton was already on his cell phone.
It didn’t stop her from talking to him. “What are you doing?”
Clinton held up a hand and listened to the person on the other end. After a few seconds, he had the answer he needed, not necessarily the one he wanted.
“What is it?”
Clinton could picture his partner stomping her one foot. Her patience level had a lower threshold than his at times. And just for that, he’d take his time. “The Governor was on a cell phone.”
“Yes.” She dragged out her s almost like the security tech. “So what? Don’t most people have them these days? And she held a position, does hold, a position of power. It was likely tied to her ear most of the time.”
“Crime Scene never found one.” He stated his revealed jewel matter-of-factly.
“What? That doesn’t make any sense.” She paused. “So our guy kills the Governor and takes her cell phone?”
“Well, not just any cell phone. A smartphone.”
“Are you a spokesman for the industry now?” There was the faint detection of amusement in her voice.
“They’re utilized for a lot more than simply conversations. They have hundreds, thousands, of apps for them. They can store files.”
“The killer wanted what was on her phone,” she said.
“Bingo.”
They stood there silent for a few seconds. Clinton’s attention was on the wall across from them and Wingham’s was on the carpet.
She took a deep breath. “This raises a lot more questions.”
“And opens up a lot more possibilities.” Their eyes connected now. “First of all, the question I raised earlier, why was the Governor out without her bodyguard? I mean she obviously recognized the guy. She never gave him a second glance when she saw him standing outside her doorway.”
“We need to find out why the Governor was here. I’m getting the feeling it wasn’t official business,” Wingham said.
“I tend to agree with that assessment. And I’d also wager that the reason for her being here might be tied to Tux and to something on her pho
ne.”
“I’ll see your bet and raise it with the fact she must have been killed for it.”
Clinton’s lips pressed downward. “I’m starting to think so.”
-
Chapter 23
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 10:30 AM
LESS THAN 19 HOURS UNTIL DEADLINE
THE PUBLIC WASHROOM MADE THE perfect retreat for removing my piece and placing it into the duffel bag. I studied my eyes in the mirror as I headed for the oversized cubicle intended for those with health restrictions. My eyes had changed and glazed over with a man reborn into a former life. I would kill the Governor without hesitation and get my family back alive. There would be no mistakes, no misses this time. She would die.
My realization came with a slight pause when I placed the holster and .44 into the bag. I almost forgot I even had this; I held the Governor’s smartphone in my hands for a few seconds before stuffing it back in the bag. What was on there really didn’t matter right now. Getting my family back alive was all that did.
NAVIGATING THROUGH THE BUS STATION was a struggle. People never stuck to the mentality of defined lines that should separate one direction from the other. Someone’s elbow went into my side, and my instant fighting reaction had them pinned with a raised fist in front of their face. Of course, I never acted on the thought and they kept walking as if they never even noticed they cut me off.
The interaction quickly gave way to the situation my family was in—because of me. I would never forgive myself for this, even for as far as things had already progressed, my family kidnaped. If something actually happened to one of them, if Christian killed any of them or physically harmed them, I would never recover.
Despite the forward momentum and how far I had truly come in a short amount of time, nothing was coming together fast enough. Twinges of pain pulsed through my body—the heartbreak that came from the uncertainty. I would get revenge for this. I just hoped that my family would come out on the other side with me.
I took another cab to County General. When I reached my destination, I performed a scan of the area and looked into the distance, taking in the surrounding buildings and analyzing potential perches. First, of course, I needed to determine exactly which room the Governor was in. That would be the easy part.
Walking through the revolving door, I noticed the vacant spot at the front desk that at one point would have been manned by a human being. Now a message board sat on top of it beside a phone, which listed numbers to call should you need assistance navigating through the corridors of the hospital. A layout of the hospital had been enlarged and framed and was displayed on the wall behind the desk.
Given the fact the Governor’s injuries were to her head, I scanned for the appropriate wing. It didn’t take long to realize I needed to be on the other side of the building.
As I took elevators and wound through the maze of hallways, I was aware of each step I took on the glossy, tiled floor. They hadn’t been scuffed up yet, resulting in a mild squeak from my shoes.
The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the third floor. The embossed sign read, MENTAL HEALTH AND HEAD INJURIES.
I remembered from the board, the wing took up a couple floors of the hospital. I had been conflicted about whether I would find her in this wing or down in the emergency area. According to the last update, she was in critical condition, but that was hours ago.
I took a deep breath and stepped off the elevator.
I had too much to lose, and it could compromise the mission. When emotions factored into the equation, it normally meant failure. I wasn’t afraid of getting caught and going to prison, although I’d prefer not to experience that, but it couldn’t happen or my family would be killed.
Each step a heartbeat, each lift of the legs a stymied exhale.
The way I saw it, I wasn’t looking for the Governor, I was looking for her security detail. They would be easier to spot than one lone dignitary. When I found them, I had her.
I was just thinking about moving to the next floor when the last turn in the corridor revealed what I had been looking for. Two government agents, apparent by their suits, stood guard outside of a room. One faced me and the other watched the hallway in the opposite direction.
My heart raced. I needed to get closer if I was going to get the room number. I needed to get this taken care of now. Time wasn’t on my side. It worked against me. I took a deep breath. I was used to getting close. That was my specialty. I could do this.
The agent facing me raised both hands. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.”
I did my best to conjure a confused look. “Je suis de l’extérieur de la ville et ici pour voir un parent.” I knew little French, but I was thankful for what I did remember. I told him I was from out of town and came to see a relative.
The agent appeared unfazed. “You will not find them here.” He braced himself, stood straight, and put both hands on his hips—providing himself close access to his holster.
Getting shot wasn’t what I had planned for this morning. “On m’a dit—” I was told.
“Sir, I’m not going to repeat myself.” The agent’s patience had worn thin. I relaxed my posture. The agent was prepared to fire with deadly force if necessary—it was in his gaze.
“Sorry.” I let my eyes drift to the floor for a second, and when they came up, they met with the agent’s. He was analyzing me. “Bonne journée,” I said. Good day.
I turned around to retreat down the hallway and felt his stare on the back of my head. But I had to hold this together. My entire family depended on me. And I had to act quickly for a couple reasons now. I think he might have been on to me, which would mean they’d be arranging for a room change.
I studied the numbers as I made my way back to the elevators. The Governor would be in room 315.
My heart resumed a regular rhythm, but my breathing remained unsteady. I hated the necessity of getting so close to the authorities, but by the time everything went down, they would have no idea where to find the French-speaking man looking for a relative. At least I sure as hell hoped not.
-
Chapter 24
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 10:30 AM
DETECTIVE CLINTON WALKED BACK INTO the room where Hensal sat with his head cocked to the side, resting in one hand. The other held a phone to his ear. He lifted his head when Clinton and Wingham walked in. His eyes were bloodshot. He slammed the receiver back on the cradle.
The man had transformed over the last three and a half hours. He was no longer the weak, fragile person who had discovered a woman clinging to life. Clinton found the transformation to be enlightening. But as he had learned over the years, you could never accept anyone at face value. People only projected what they wanted others to see.
“Finding it tough to get a lawyer on a Sunday.” Clinton more or less stated it, rather than raising it as a rhetorical question. Hensal said nothing.
Wingham and he had spent more time looking at the video footage and had been called in by the Chief to head downtown. The FBI was here now. They were supposed to cooperate with them and the Michigan State Police. But so far, Clinton and Wingham had the lead.
MSP had tracked down Behler’s bodyguard. He was a man by the name of Kevin Biggs and he had worked with her for ten years. His record was clean. They found him at home, and he provided a solid alibi for the time the Governor was shot. He said that Behler had told him to take the weekend off and had added that she had other bodyguards accompany her periodically. Apparently, Behler found them on her own, without the formal interview process, and was very private about their identities.
Clinton pressed the flat of his hands on the front of his trousers as he took a seat.
Paul crossed his arms, licked his top lip, and turned to the right. “Where have you been? I
’ve been held up here for hours.”
Clinton disregarded his statement. “We know that someone talked you into going into the room.”
Hensal’s eyes made contact with Clinton’s but quickly diverted to a sofa pillow.
“You were delivering food to room 836,” Clinton continued.
Hensal’s jaw went askew for a moment. He didn’t speak a word.
Clinton settled into the couch, crossed a leg. Most men didn’t make it a habit of sitting that way, but he was comfortable. And in his case, the rumor about the package being smaller in a man who did held no truth. “We know someone approached you. Maybe even set you up.”
His eyes dashed to Clinton’s. Wingham stood at the side of the room with one hand braced on a hip.
“I want a lawyer,” Hensal said.
“And that’s your choice kid.”
His brows furled as if to say, I’m no kid.
“But, what we need is your help—”
“Why should I help you? You’re going to twist what I say. I watch those…those…” His hand moved emphatically. “Those shows. I know what you cops are capable of. I won’t go to jail.”
A smile formed on Clinton’s lips. He fought to stifle the laugh that lingered behind it. Hensal must have picked up on it. Seriousness grazed his expression.
“You can’t make me talk.” His arms tightened in front of his chest.
“No.” Clinton paused for dramatic effect, uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward. He loved it when he had a suspect or witness within his grasp. “But you don’t want to be responsible for letting the Governor’s killer go free, do you?” Clinton heard the deep exhale of his partner, but didn’t acknowledge it by looking at her. To him, it was only a minor technicality that the Governor was in critical care. “I mean that wouldn’t be a good spot to be in. You could have helped but chose not to.” He paused for effect. “Because you were afraid.”
Hensal’s jaw tightened. The message his eyes tried to convey was, I’m afraid of no one, but Clinton saw through the veneer.
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