by Julie Hyzy
Oscar tried in vain to wiggle his hand out of the plastic restraint with no promise of breaking free. I wanted to run for help, but couldn’t leave him defenseless. Craig would kill the man. I had no doubt.
My cell phone was too far away, back amid the worst of the spillage. There was no phone line installed upstairs yet.
Our only chance for survival was the nail gun lying three steps below. I lunged for it just as Craig intuited my intent. Blood leaked down his face. He wiped it away with the back of his arm and heaved himself up the bottom two stairs.
I got to the nail gun first. Gripping it with both hands and holding it up like a gun, I aimed for his face, about four feet away.
“Don’t take a step closer.” My words came out menacingly low. “I will shoot you.”
He laughed, but backed up. “Oh yeah?” he asked as he attempted to clear his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “Go ahead.” He pulled his shirt higher and pointed to his chest. “Aim for right here. I want to see the look on your face when you try.”
Something clicked. I remembered how his left hand had come up to grab the top of the gun. Nail guns are effective tools, but not terribly threatening weapons. Had I seen that on Mythbusters? Or had Rodriguez or Flynn dropped that tidbit when my house was being restored? Didn’t matter.
The gun was getting heavy, no doubt about that. I re-aimed the device, training on Craig’s center mass. Another piece of advice from Rodriguez and Flynn.
“Oh, because I need to pull this piece back?” I asked as my left hand came up and I yanked the safety backward. “Should I shoot now?”
The panic in his eyes was real. We were only about five feet apart and although I doubted that a shot nail would possess the necessary velocity to harm him in any material way, he evidently wasn’t about to take chances. I didn’t blame him.
“Get on the ground, facedown,” I said.
“Not gonna happen.”
The fumes had dissipated enough for my vision to clear. I hoped that none of us would suffer permanent damage from our exposure to the toxins. But I couldn’t worry about that right now. One problem at a time.
Maintaining the high ground, I took a step closer, then another, reminding myself to stay out of his reach. Behind me I heard scraping, grunting, and scratching. I imagined Oscar was still trying to find a way to unhook himself.
“Craig,” I said in a reasonable tone, “we’re at a stalemate here. And we aren’t getting any healthier around this poison.”
“So?”
“Empty your pockets.” He might be carrying a pen knife or keychain that Oscar could use to break through the tie wrap.
“Make me.” He dropped to the floor, sitting solidly with his feet outstretched and palms flat on the concrete behind him. “I can do this all day,” he said. Nodding toward the quivering nail gun, he asked, “The question is: Can you?”
Chapter 30
Honesty got the best of me. “No,” I said, taking aim. “I can’t.”
And pulled the trigger.
Pshew.
Craig jumped as the projectile skimmed the floor next to him.
I took a step closer. “I told you to empty your pockets.”
He crab-walked backward. “You’re a lunatic. This isn’t fair.”
“Fair?” I asked, mimicking him as I tried to fight the tremor in my arm. Nail guns, I decided, were not designed to be held aloft for long periods of time. “Talk to Virginia’s family about fair.”
From behind me: “Grace, I got it,” Oscar said triumphantly. “I’m free.”
I didn’t shift my attention from my quarry. “Go get help.”
“One of those nails he shot at you,” Oscar said. “I used it to cut through the plastic. And it was really hard to do with my broken arm and all.”
“Go get help,” I said again. “Hurry.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.”
I heard him scramble up the stairs.
“Just you and me now,” Craig said when he was gone.
I hoped the quiver in my arms wasn’t obvious. “And the nail gun.”
He started to get to his feet.
“Stay down,” I said.
Shaking his head very slowly, he continued to rise. My right arm continued to shake. I would have loved to have bolstered my right arm with my left, but I didn’t want to release the safety mechanism. Not even for a second.
“I’m going to leave before the police get here.” He pointed to the other set of stairs. “And you aren’t going to stop me.”
“You don’t want to do that,” I said. “It isn’t safe with all those chemicals in the air.” It probably wasn’t safe at this end, either, but there wasn’t much I could do about that.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said.
I took a step closer and shot a nail just ahead of him, missing him by a much narrower margin than I’d expected. The nail gun’s weight had affected my aim.
“Don’t try it.”
He raised both hands above his head. “Okay,” he said. “You win.”
He spun so swiftly I almost missed it. Lunging, he grabbed for the gun, trying to wrench it from my hands. Despite my throbbing arms and the sweat that poured down my face from exertion, I gritted my teeth and held tight. Howling with pain, I tightened my hold on the safety and pulled the trigger once, twice, three times.
At such close range, the nails hit their mark with soft, sick precision—like a sharp knife plunged repeatedly into meat. Craig cried out, grabbing the side of his torso. He curled into the fetal position as he tumbled once again to the concrete floor.
Blood leaked from one arm and oozed from a wound on his left side. I couldn’t tell where the third nail had hit.
I sat on one of the steps to support my weakened right arm with my knee.
Below me, Craig moaned and rocked. Indecision froze me in place. How badly was he hurt? As much as I wanted to make sure I hadn’t delivered a fatal blow, I feared dropping my guard.
“Please help me.” Eyes clenched, features twisted in pain, he coughed and cried out. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I can’t.” His words grew weak as he moaned facedown into the concrete. “I’ll die here if you don’t stop the bleeding.”
Torn and helpless, I bit my lip. “Help is on its way.”
He looked over to me. The right side of his face was smeared red. “You’re cruel. You would let me die here.” He coughed again, this time spitting blood. “You see?”
As he talked, he’d begun shifting position. Now he had one leg bent, the ball of his foot propped against the floor. One hand pressed hard on the concrete. Just like someone preparing to boost himself to his feet. The look in his eyes was murderous.
He’d deliberately opened his mouth on the bloodied floor to make me believe he was coughing up his body’s vital fluid. I shook my head. “You’re a wily one, Craig.” I didn’t alter my aim.
“I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not.”
When he charged me again, I was ready for him. Instead of shooting nails this time, however, I leaped to my feet and swung the nail gun at his head.
He went down fast and hard, his skull bouncing along the edges of the steps until he landed at the bottom for the last time.
Shaken, I strove to steady my hammering heart. Keeping my perch above, I watched his immobile form to ensure he was still breathing.
He was. Good. No need to attempt CPR.
“Grace?” Rodriguez’s voice. “Where are you?”
I turned at the sound of my name. “I’m down here. Craig’s hurt. Call an ambulance.”
• • •
No dead bodies this time, so no need for the coroner to make an appearance. Sitting outside in the fresh air, far away from the toxins, I realized how much I wished Joe would show up anyway. For moral support, if not for any official
duties. But he’d made it clear that the next move was mine. And I hadn’t called him yet.
As paramedics tended to Craig, and Rodriguez and Flynn took statements from Oscar, I sat on my car’s bumper, stared up at the starry sky, and let my mind wander.
Craig would survive. I found myself relieved to hear it. And now that the police had his real surname, Webster, they’d be able to track his movements and investigate him thoroughly.
Flynn sauntered over. “Here’s your phone,” he said as he handed it to me. “Doesn’t seem to be damaged at all.”
I unlocked it and played with the controls for a minute. Seemed to be working just fine. “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
“How are you doing?”
“Better,” I said. “I like being able to breathe without feeling like my lungs are on fire.”
“Yeah, about that—we’re having our hazmat team come out here to assess the damage. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I appreciate it.”
He shifted in place and looked around as though to make sure no one was listening. “You did good,” he said quietly. “But I still don’t like you making a habit of catching murderers.”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t like it, either.”
“I did a quick background check on your buddy,” he said with a glance toward the gurney carrying Craig. “He’s got a record of embezzlement and fraud. No surprise there.”
“What about Virginia?”
“You already know that she first encountered Craig when he worked for the appraisal company.”
I nodded.
“Craig came up with this credit card scheme and pressured Virginia to go along with it. Having an empty building to process the cards was bonus.”
“Pressured her? How?” I asked.
“We’re looking into allegations that he threatened the daughter’s family.” He shrugged. “Davenport has been keeping us updated on the bank’s side of the investigation. Now that they know what they’re looking for, they’re finding more about Virginia than anyone expected.”
“How much do you think Craig and Virginia got away with?”
“We’ll probably never know for sure,” he said. “Millions, though. At least.”
“Wow. Poor Virginia. Too bad she didn’t come to you when Craig threatened her family.”
“Allegedly threatened,” he corrected. “That’s what the daughter’s claiming now that we’re building a case against her mother.” Flynn made an impolite noise.
“You don’t believe her?”
“She swears that otherwise her mother would never do anything illegal.” He frowned. “Maybe Craig made threats, maybe he didn’t. Maybe Virginia saw the writing on the wall: looming retirement, not enough money saved, and when Craig offered an opportunity, she jumped right in. Based on some of what I’m seeing in Craig’s background, elderly women were his preferred prey.”
“That’s terrible.”
He shrugged again. “You ask me, the daughter knew exactly what was going down. She’s scared now because the feds are liable to swoop in and take all her ill-gotten goods away.”
“Can they do that?”
“If they can prove the daughter was in on the scheme,” he said, “you bet they can. Even if they can’t make charges against the daughter stick, she’s in for a rough ride. According to the the loan application information Davenport uncovered for us at the bank—thanks for that, too, by the way—Virginia was into this credit card scam pretty deep. Just like you thought.”
My brows shot upward. It had to be hard for Flynn to admit that I’d helped.
He started to walk away, then turned back. “Hey, I hear Joe finally told you his troubles.”
“You knew about that?” I asked.
Flynn had the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah. Rodriguez and I got the lowdown when he first moved here.” He held up a hand. “Not my story to tell, you understand. It was up to him to spill.”
“I appreciate that, I guess,” I said.
“He’s a good man,” Flynn said. “I hope you don’t kick him to the curb because of his wife’s issues.”
“Yeah, well.” I wasn’t about to share my feelings for Joe with Flynn. Instead, I decided to deflect. “Kind of a he said/she said situation. Two sides to every story and all that.”
Flynn took a step toward me. “Two sides?” he asked quietly. “What are you talking about?”
“According to the private investigator who cornered me the other day, Joe’s wife is not only permanently injured, she’s heartbroken that he left her. She wants to reconcile or, at a minimum, warn others away from him.”
Flynn made a face. “And you believed her?”
I shrugged. “That was the first I’d heard of Joe still being married. After he told me his side of the story, I didn’t know what to think. I imagine the truth lies somewhere between the two versions.”
“There you go again, little miss know-it-all,” Flynn said. He wagged a finger at me. “What did he tell you?”
“I’m not in the mood to go down this road.”
He waited a long moment. “Did he tell you she was an addict?”
“Yes.”
“That she and her parents colluded to keep the truth from him?”
“He did,” I said.
“Did he also tell you that his wife tried to kill him?”
I nodded.
“More than once?”
I shook my head. “What?”
Flynn glanced from side to side again. “The evidence is circumstantial on that second attempt,” he said. “But while he was still unconscious after the accident, nurses discovered the wife in Joe’s room in the middle of the night. How she’d hobbled in—crutches and all—without anyone noticing is a mystery. But there she was. There’s some disagreement about what she was trying to do in there, in the dark, fiddling with his IV port.”
“No,” I said. “That can’t be.”
“Believe what you want,” he said. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked.
He glanced eastward. “Got a cousin in the department there. He said that the wife is a real mess and that Joe was lucky to get out when he did.”
“She wasn’t tried for attempted murder?” I asked. “For the car accident? For sneaking into Joe’s room?”
“When you’re as rich as her family is, you have resources. Her lawyer got her to plead down to reckless conduct and driving while intoxicated. As for the attempt in the hospital room, she claimed she was simply checking to make sure Joe was all right. Apparently she expressed remorse for the accident and sobbed in court,” Flynn added. “A lot.”
I shook my head. “How awful for Joe.”
“Exactly. Which is why you need to put the guy out of his misery.” Flynn gestured in the direction of Joe’s office. “Either give him the green light or tell him to take a hike. You owe him that much.”
I opened my mouth. He cut me off.
“Joe’s a stand-up kind of guy and he’s got it bad for you,” Flynn said. “Don’t mess this up.”
Chapter 31
“And you didn’t tell us any of this until now?” Scott asked the next morning when I told my roommates everything that had happened the night before.
We were sitting around our kitchen table with our coffee and the Sunday paper spread out before us. Both the news and the beverages had been long forgotten.
“I didn’t even hear the two of you come in,” I said. “Too much excitement again.” I shook my head. “Plus, I was wiped.”
“You could have texted or called. We would have come right home,” Bruce said.
“I know you would have,” I said. “But I was safe and sound, and honestly, all I wanted was to put my head down and fall asleep. Which”—I held up a finger—“i
s apparently one of the side effects of the chemicals we inhaled yesterday. As are dizziness and nausea.” I made a face. “Believe me, I had a rough night before I fell asleep.”
“What sort of health issues are there going forward?”
“Fortunately,” I said, “the hospital and hazmat team believe that because our exposure was short-term, Oscar, Craig, and I will all be fine. We got away from the worst of it quickly, and apparently the fumigation company has tried to eliminate toxic chemicals for its workers’ benefit. It could have been worse, but it wasn’t.”
“I can’t believe you were in such a dangerous situation again,” Bruce said.
Scott nodded. “And you went there to help us. I feel terrible.”
“You shouldn’t,” I said. “Craig made it clear that he’d intended to target me. He would have made an attempt sooner or later. We were lucky to get out of this one alive. I’m not complaining.”
“Craig’s probably going away for quite some time.”
“Let’s hope so,” I said. “If I’m called to testify, I’ll do so gladly.”
“We’re so sorry for having introduced you to him in the first place,” Bruce said. “When he approached us, we didn’t even think to suspect him.”
“Of course you didn’t,” I said. “Why would you?”
Scott frowned. “We just assumed everyone knew we were looking for a contractor, so when he offered his services, we didn’t think twice. We should have pushed him harder for details.
“It’s okay, guys, really,” I said. “There was no way for you to know. There was no way for anyone to know.” I shook my head. “None of this was your fault and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Okay then, what about Joe?” Bruce asked, referring to the conversation with Flynn that I’d related. “Have you talked with him yet?”
“No,” I said with a rueful smile. “I spent too much time emptying my body of toxins last night. But I’m feeling much better and intend to rectify that today.”
