"Why did you do it? What did you want?"
"Nothin'. We didn't want nothin'. It was a job," Mort said. "The woman was the mark. That nanny broad."
"And who ordered it? Who?" The sirens were closer now but Peyton wasn't connecting that sound with rescue for his child. Finn pressed his advantage. "I swear, it isn't me who's letting your child die. It's you. You have the power, man. Now who ordered the hit on that woman?"
"Barnett's the name," he screamed. "I don't know nothin' more than that. My guy gets a gig, he calls me with the place and a date and a name and then I call my partner. The name is insurance. In and out. I don't give a shit why. It was supposed to go down on Sunset but she didn't show so my guy tells us to go to the house 'cause it had to be done that day."
"You're sure it was Barnett who put in the ticket?" Finn insisted.
"Yeah. Yeah," Mort cried. "Now get her help. My kid don't deserve this."
"No, she doesn't," Finn pulled Mort Peyton off the fence and shoved him toward Cori. "Book this bastard, Cori. It was Barnett."
She caught Peyton but handed him off to Lang. She ran after Finn who was dodging the paramedics as they passed one another in the narrow walkway between the houses.
"Don't you go alone, O'Brien. I swear, don't do it," she hollered.
Finn spun around and stormed back to her.
"If I'm needing help, Cori, I'll be the one who asks for it. Don't mess with me on this."
Their eyes locked and for a minute the world went silent. They took no notice of the neighbors standing in the street, red-tinged from the revolving lights of the ambulance. They didn't hear the commotion in Peyton's backyard.
"If you screw this up, you'll be the one behind bars. This time for real, O'Brien."
"I don't care," Finn said. "I want to know why and I want it to be just me and him when I find out."
CHAPTER 45
DAY 10 – NIGHT
Finn climbed the wrought iron gate that was closed across the Barnett's driveway and dropped down. Keeping an eye on the house, he sidestepped to the garage under the hang of the trees, looked through one of the windows that ran across the top of the doors and saw Elizabeth's Jaguar and Sam Barnett's Mercedes.
He pulled his gun and went back the way he came, cutting over at a right angle to the steps that led up to the backdoor, skirting the motion sensors on the outdoor lights. The light over the back door was already on but anyone looking down from upstairs would not be able to see him.
He stayed tight to the wall beside the door that warned him away from the 'happy family' that lived beyond it, and then rolled his head to peer through the window. The nightlight over the stove was on and Finn could see the kitchen was empty. Past that, the dining room was dark.
Finn lay back against the wall again and wrapped the butt of his gun in his t-shirt. Quickly, he stepped in front of the door and tapped the glass. It shattered. He lay back against the wall once more and counted to ten. When the house remained quiet, he stepped in front of the door, put his hand through the broken pane, flipped the lock, and turned the handle.
Easing himself through, he stepped carefully until he was at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the light coming from the girls' room. Finn clasped both hands around his gun, raised his arms and started up the stairs. Every inch of his skin prickled, he heard every beat of his heart and felt the pump of his pulse. He counted to himself as he took each riser:
One.
Two.
Three…
Twelve.
His next step took him to the landing. He inched past the room where Rachel Gerber died and flattened himself against the wall between that door and the one to the girls' room. Finn lowered his weapon but held tight with both hands. He bowed his head, preparing himself to go the next five feet. He was not afraid to face Sam Barnett; he was afraid of what he would do when he did.
Lifting his head, Finn listened to the immense silence in this house of pain. Now he would be the one to inflict more. He would show Elizabeth the man responsible for her children's deaths; he would show her the man she loved and break her heart forever. Then Finn O'Brien stopped thinking as the house filled with the sound of music and the music was coming from the room in front of him. He looked through the crack of the half-opened door and saw a plastic ballerina twirling atop an empty glass box. The sound was so sorrowful that it made Finn want to cry but he was too tired, too done in by the trail of ugly, human failings and frailty he had followed to this point. He did not weep because it would make no difference. The end was near; what was done was done.
Finn pushed the door and let it swing fully open. What he saw made him more sorrowful still. The box springs were still on the bedframe, there were no curtains on the window, but the room was far from empty. The walls were covered with pictures of Alana and Alexis Barnett, Elizabeth and Sam, and pictures of the whole family together. There were pictures taken on vacations, Christmas' celebrated, occasions marked. All were hung helter skelter, willy-nilly, hanging off big nails and small that had been rammed into the walls without care. Little girl clothes hung from the lampshade and the posts of the bed. Stuffed bunnies and bears and lambs sat in rows on the bed where the youngest girl died and, atop the other bed, lay Sam Barnett. Elizabeth stood in the space between.
"Missus," Finn said.
She turned a little and smiled gloriously when she saw him. Elizabeth held a long finger to her beautiful lips.
"Shhh," she warned. "He's not done."
"He can't sleep anymore," Finn said. "I'm needing to talk to him."
"He's not sleeping," she said gently. "He's dying."
When she turned back to look at her husband, Finn saw the gun hanging loosely from her fingers. He moved into the room cautiously and stood at the end of the bed, his eyes on the lawyer but his instinct tuned to Elizabeth.
"I am going to help him now, missus. I'm going to see if we can keep him from doing that." Finn holstered his weapon and inched past Elizabeth, hating to turn his back on her but knowing there was no alternative to it. "Did he do this to himself, missus."
"Oh, yes. Yes, he did," she answered.
"And do you know why?" Finn tried to keep her engaged even as he searched for a sign of a pulse in the lawyer.
"Sam brought terrible things to this house," she sighed. "He never learned, you know. That woman came between us, and then the children died. We could have got past it all. I tried to get him to walk the path with me like the doctor said, but he couldn't do it. He just couldn't live with what he knew."
Finn listened to her, taking in every word as his fingers worked. Finally Finn felt just the faintest sign of life. He saw the bullet hole just above his cheekbone. When he turned the man onto his back he saw that the bullet had exited near the top of his head. There would be no help for him. Even if he were to survive, it was a sure bet he would be a vegetable. Still, Finn had to try. He took hold of the man's shoulders.
"Missus, help me with his feet. We need to get him on the ground. I need him on the–"
Finn stopped talking the minute he felt the muzzle of a gun pushed against his ribs.
"Let him alone." Slowly, Finn let go of the man on the bed and put up his hands as he eased off the box spring. Elizabeth smiled softly. "This is the right thing. I think we should both respect that."
"But I might be able to save him," Finn said.
"Oh, I tried to save him. Many, many times. And this last time. It was a struggle, I mean with the gun and all. It would have been easier if that didn't happen, but it did." Elizabeth shook her head. She looked at her husband and spoke as if she expected him to confirm what she was saying. When he did not move, she sighed. "I loved him so very much. I loved my children. I just couldn't accept what he did. I think you should move away, don't you?"
"You know what he's done?" Finn asked.
"Oh, I know about the money. Richard told me. He said it was a fine line, but he didn't want to take a chance. Sam did. Sam wanted the money and that was
beneath him, really. He was smarter than that. And there was Rachel. I know about the bars. I saw pictures of her naked. She was a slut."
"Elizabeth," Finn said. "Give me the gun. Please, missus. Give it to me. You can't let him die no matter what he has done."
"But it's what he wanted. We sat right here and had a long talk and when we finished, when he heard what I had to tell him, Sam said, 'I want to die'. So, I think we should let him."
Even as she said this, Finn saw her hand waver. He stepped forward. He held out his hands: one eased the gun away from her and the other touched her shoulder. When she faltered, he pulled the woman into him. She stood in his arms, rigid and unblinking. He knew what she was feeling because he had felt it himself after the beating. It felt like nothing. It felt as if the world no longer existed, as if the body were something easily discarded because the mind couldn't comprehend what had happened to it in the same way the mind could be discarded when the body was abused.
It took more than a moment but then her arms went around his waist and her fingers dug into his back. Elizabeth Barnett began to cry.
ONE MONTH LATER
Finn O'Brien and Cori Anderson sat across the desk from one another in their small office as the day wound down. Cori had put him on notice that she was on babysitting duty that night and would leave on the stroke of six. Finn informed her that he intended to be at Mick's by six-thirty so they were even.
They had four new files on their desk – an assault with intent, a cold case with new DNA information, and two murders, one of an old man who ran a bagel shop. They were happy to have them and be back to work. For two weeks they had written reports and been subjected to one interview after another regarding how things went down with Peyton and the Barnetts. The good news was that there was little to be sorted out in the end.
The D.A was moving forward and would prosecute Mort Petyon, the only one in this bloody mess left standing. With any luck, they would find the go-between whose business it was to unleash men like Peyton and Kramer.
The little girl, Roberta, was already home with her mother. Finn couldn't imagine what the future had in store for that family, but he didn't think it was going to be rosy.
Williams had taken the shooting hard. Finn and Cori, if not wholly welcome at Wilshire Division, would be calling it home a while longer.
Cori took up her jacket and had her hand on her purse when Bob Fowler appeared.
"Glad I caught you. This just came in."
"Please don't tell me we're going to be pulling down overtime tonight. I've got to babysit my grandson."
"Not to worry, O'Brien can field it," Fowler said as he handed the paperwork to Cori. "Morning is fine."
"Barnett's autopsy." She passed the paper off to Finn. "Took 'em long enough."
"I'm just glad we got someone to look at him. He wasn't anyone's favorite," Fowler said. "So this will wrap it up. I would have preferred it was a little cleaner, but it is what it is."
Finn set the report on the desk, "Paul's not ruling it a suicide."
"Inconclusive is the best you're going to get considering there was residue on both their hands," Fowler said. "It was impossible for him to shoot himself like that. The man was left handed. But if they struggled the way Mrs. Barnett said, the entry could have looked like that. So let her know she can have someone pick up the body."
"We'll take care of it," Finn answered.
"Want me to do it?" Cori asked, but Finn shook his head.
"I've got it. You go on."
"If I was her, I'd let him rot," Cori said to no one in particular. "And on that note, I'll be ridin' into the sunset. See you in the a.m."
Fowler took his leave and walked Cori as far as his office. Finn was grateful for a little quiet time. He pulled the jacket on the Barnett case intending to clip the autopsy report inside and be done with it. Instead he fingered the paper work. That little Tinker Bell feeling coming at him again, tiny sparkles in his memory of something he knew he should have caught but didn't.
He pulled out a picture of the Barnett Family in happier times: two beautiful little girls, a handsome blond haired man and a delicately beautiful woman with long black hair who had no idea about the heart ache coming her way. He set aside that photograph. He would take it to Elizabeth when he told her about her husband's body. Perhaps she would be kind to Sam Barnett's memory if she remembered when things were good.
Finn pushed back his chair, put on his jacket and took the Barnett File with him as he went out the door. The desk officer bid him goodnight and Finn O'Brien was pleased. There was at least one man who was willing to speak to him if only to see him off. It was a start.
When he got to Fremont Place, he chatted with the new guard and learned that the wall had been fixed. She was proud to say all was secure and the residents safe. Finn just smiled at that and then drove on, down the wide, tree-lined streets, past the big beautiful houses set back on their carpets of lawn.
He parked in front of the Barnett home and saw there was no car in the driveway and the gates were closed. The house was dark but that did not surprise him. One person living in such a large place needed little light. Finn rang the doorbell but no one came. He ran again, but the house remained quiet.
Finn took the photograph out of his jacket pocket and started to put it in the mail drop, only to change his mind. He wanted to give it to Elizabeth personally. He would come back another day. Finn stepped off the porch just as a car drove in next door. He walked across the lawn and caught Mercedes Coulter before she went into the house.
"Detective O'Brien," she said.
"Missus, how are you?" he asked as they came together.
"We're fine. Thank you so much for asking. I'm glad we've put all that behind us. Charlie and I can't thank you enough for coming that night."
"I'm only sorry it ended as it did."
Mercedes shook her head, "I still can't believe it. I'm usually such a good judge of character. Sam seemed to live and breathe for Elizabeth. It's such a cliché, isn't it? The nanny and all?"
"Yes, ma'am," Finn said. "But I was wondering if you knew when Mrs. Barnett might be home. I have a few things for her that I think will help her through. I didn't want to just drop them in her box."
"She won't be home," Mercedes said. "I assumed she would have told you."
"Told me what?"
"She's gone. She doesn't live here any longer."
"Did she go to live with her mother?"
Mercedes shrugged, "I'm sorry, I really don't know. In fact, the only reason we knew she was gone is because the listing agent came over to let us know they would be having open houses on the weekends soon. I suppose she might know where to find Elizabeth."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose she will. Thank you, missus."
"You're welcome, detective," Mercedes said. She stood watching Finn's back but called to him before he was out of range. "Detective? I know she appreciated what you did."
Finn raised his head, thanking her for the confidence but he said nothing. He got in his car and sat looking at the house as he fiddled with the picture. Finally, he tossed the photo on the seat and headed to Mick's.
"Oh-ho, O'Brien, you be stickin' in de mud tonight."
Geoffrey Baptiste put another pint beside the paper Finn had spread out on the bar. Tonight Geoffrey's beanie was purple and puce. It made Finn cross eyed to look at it.
"I'm busy, my man," Finn said as he swiped up the glass.
"Not too busy for de Guiness."
"Helps me think Geoffrey. Go away. Go talk to Violet."
"Oh, mon, no. She in heat tonight. I be stayin' way away from dat one," Geoffrey said, but still he went off and left Finn alone.
Finn flipped the pages in the Barnett file again, slowly and quickly, hoping one way or the other he would identify something that would stop the niggling in his brain.
He looked at the crime scene diagrams, the statements from the neighbors, the maid, and the gardeners. He looked at the nanny's phone records
but saw no incoming call the night of the murders. He rifled through the pages but realized they had not asked for the Barnett's landline records.
Finn turned the page and found himself looking at Sam Barnett's cell record and the notes he had made next to the numbers: Eros Manufacturing, PolyGain's Swiss offices, and other widget manufacturers who he was negotiating with. He turned the page and there were Elizabeth Barnett's phone records. Cori had checked out some of them only to abandon the effort as the investigation closed in on Sam Barnett and Rachel Gerber. Finn ran his finger down the list: hairdresser, a nail salon, the children's schools, the clinic. Finn took another drink and when he looked back again, before he closed the file, he saw something else: three numbers that did not have a local area code nor the area code for San Diego where Elizabeth's mother lived.
Finn drained his glass and took out his phone. He dialed a number called six weeks before the murders and it went nowhere, again two weeks before the murders and another that was made the night before the Barnett's left for Paris. It went were nowhere. Finn cut off the last and set his phone aside.
He went back to the file and ran through, stopping when he found the statement that had come from the Paris Hotel, George V. It had arrived only a week ago. He and Cori had confirmed check-in and check out and nothing more. Finn ran his finger down the first page: spa charges, room charges, taxes, room service. The mister treated his lady like a queen. Finn flipped the page. More of the same. He turned five more pages until he reached the last one and there it was; the call made from France at ten in the morning, the call that rang once, the call that could have stopped everything. It wasn't made to the Barnett home as Finn had assumed, but to a disconnected number that matched the one Elizabeth Barnett had called three times before she left the United States.
Finn threw the file back together and tossed some money on the bar. He pushed through the crowd that had gathered on this Thursday night. Behind him, Geoffrey Baptiste called:
Severed Relations Page 28
