by Diane Capri
“Then get it,” Hallman said.
Metcalfe shoved the gun into Belk’s hefty belly. “Now.”
“Those records are in storage. Probably destroyed. It would take me a while to find them if they still exist.” Belk shook his head. “I would have to go to the office. I don’t keep things like that here at the house.”
Metcalfe dragged Belk by the collar and shoved him toward the door. “Welcome to the wonderful world of overtime.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Tuesday, November 28
6:40 p.m.
Kansas City, Kansas
Metcalfe held his gun in front of Belk’s face. “You know what a 9mm round does to your body?”
Belk shook his head a fraction.
“It cuts a huge hole. The force of the impact from this range is like being hit by a truck. Rapid loss of blood.” Metcalfe looked around. “Make a huge mess in here, for sure.”
Belk stared at the gun.
“You do one stupid thing, and it’ll happen to you. Bang. You’ll be dead.” Metcalfe pushed the barrel of the gun into Belk’s forehead. “You understand?”
Belk leaned back, nodding, and swallowed hard. “I have a key. I can get in my office.”
A broad smile spread across Metcalfe’s face, and he stepped back, sweeping his arm in a wide arc toward the back door. “Then let’s go.”
Outside, Metcalfe pushed Belk toward the garage. “We’ll take the Suburban.”
“I’ll have to move the Mercedes,” Belk sputtered.
Metcalfe shook his head. “Suburban’s four-wheel drive. Drive around on the grass.”
They mounted the Suburban, Belk in the driver’s seat. Metcalfe held the gun on him from the passenger seat. Hallman claimed the rear bench. The Suburban bumped over the drop from the driveway into a flower bed as Belk veered around the Mercedes on the lawn. The wheels scrabbled to climb back onto the concrete at the end of the driveway.
“Easy,” Metcalfe said. “There’s no emergency.”
Belk drove downtown, stopping for the traffic lights and traveling below the speed limit all the way. In the midst of the towers in the center of town, Belk chose the entrance into an underground parking lot. He waved a card at the barrier, and after it lifted, he parked near the elevators.
Metcalfe put the gun in his jacket pocket. “One dumb move and you’re dead. You got it?”
Belk nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
The elevator walls were metal plated, marked by gouges and scratches. Metcalfe stood behind Belk and Hallman.
There were only three buttons, two parking levels and a foyer.
Belk’s finger hovered over the foyer button. “We’ll have to change elevators. My office is on the eleventh floor. There might be people working.”
Metcalfe poked the gun into Belk’s back. “Make small talk. Like we’re friends.”
Hallman had the feeling Belk never made small talk because he looked like the concept was completely foreign to him. But he nodded anyway.
The elevator rose with a jolt and stopped the same way. The parking lot elevator opened in one corner of a large lobby. The front of the building was glass. Ficus plants dotted the space and water trickled down a fountain sculpture. The elevators to the upper floors were on the opposite wall behind a circular reception desk.
A security guard watched the group exit the elevator. He stood at the sight of Belk, his face showing some recognition. “Mr. Belk, everything okay?”
Belk cleared his throat. “Yes. No problem.”
“You’re working late?”
Belk made for the upper elevators and pressed the call button. “Actually, on our way to dinner. Just had to pick up some papers.”
“Anywhere special?” the guard said.
Hallman watched a counter above the elevator doors click down. Eight, seven, six…
“Bergan’s. The steak place.”
“Nice.” The guard shifted his weight. “And everything’s okay?”
Belk nodded. “College reunion.” He gestured to Metcalfe and Hallman. “We went to Cornell together.”
“Right.” The guard sat down. “Nice.”
A bell chimed. The elevator doors opened. Hallman kept an impassive smile until the doors were closed.
Metcalfe rammed his gun into Belk’s ribs and slammed him against the wall. “Why didn’t you tell us there was a guard?”
Belk squirmed.
Metcalfe grabbed Belk’s face, squeezing his fingers into his cheeks. “You think that’s clever, don’t you? Well, you think on this. Another surprise and I’m going shoot everyone in the room.” He shook his gun. “Fifteen rounds. No chance I’ll miss.”
Belk twisted his head, unsuccessfully trying to free his face from Metcalfe’s grip. “I didn’t think. I—”
“No, you didn’t think. Next time, everyone dies.” Metcalfe shoved the gun into Belk’s gut. Hard. “Got it?”
Hallman shifted his weight. The last thing he wanted was a murder on his hands. He wanted to collect his money and go. That’s all. “We don’t want anyone to die. Give us what we need and we’re gone.”
Metcalfe looked at him and Hallman’s gut twisted. But Belk was alive. Right now, anyway.
Even as they all knew it wouldn’t happen, Hallman said, “We just want to know where the boy is now, we drop you off back at your house, and we’re gone.”
Metcalfe nodded. “Yeah. Right… We’re not going to hurt anyone unless you force us to.” He let go of Belk as the elevator slowed.
Belk straightened his clothes. “There will be a few people around. Just follow me into my office.”
The elevator opened into a small lobby area. Behind an empty receptionist’s desk was a corridor. Belk walked down the corridor to a door with his name on it. He unlocked it with a key, and Hallman followed Metcalfe inside.
The office was long and narrow. A table and four chairs occupied the space by the door. At the far end was a large desk with a computer on the right side. One wall was lined with books.
Metcalfe took up a position at the door. Belk sat at his desk, Hallman stood behind him to watch what he did with the computer.
Belk logged into the company’s database tools. He brought up a file and copied a Social Security number onto a notepad. Then he put the number into another search tool. The cursor turned into a spinning beach ball.
“It might take a while,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I can get a ride. You can take the Suburban. You can have it if you want. Get on your way.”
“Our car is parked at your house,” Hallman said.
“Oh. Right.” Belk sighed. “Okay.”
The computer screen flashed up a name and address. Belk wrote a Colorado Springs address on the sheet of paper. “That’s the last known address. He probably still lives there. But it’s not like I checked up on him or anything.”
Hallman verified that the address Belk wrote down matched the one on the computer screen, folded the paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.
Metcalfe patted Belk on the shoulder. “If this works out, we’ll never meet again.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Belk said.
“All you’ve got to do is walk out of here with us. Nice and easy.”
Belk led the way back to the elevator. A woman in a dark blue pantsuit rode down in the elevator with them. She eyed Metcalfe and Hallman but didn’t speak. In the reception area, she walked out of the front of the building.
The security guard stood. “All done?”
“Yep,” Belk said.
“Enjoy your meal at…where was it?”
“Bergan’s,” Belk said.
“Right. Yes. The steak place. Should be good.”
The security guard sat down.
Damn rent-a-cops, Hallman thought.
They rode the elevator down to the parking levels in silence.
Hallman scanned the area as they walked through the garage to the Suburban.
They left the underground garage in silen
ce, Belk behind the wheel and Metcalfe holding the gun.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Tuesday, November 28
6:45 p.m.
Kansas City, Kansas
Fernandez’s office was in a line with a dozen other offices along one side of a downtown office tower. The furniture was standard metal and government-issue plastic laminate in a uniform gray. Non-descript and totally forgettable.
The office was separated from the workers’ cube-farm by a glass wall. Weirdly, the door in the glass wall was wood. Or at least, something that looked like wood.
Jess sat with her back to the glass, aware that several eyes were on her back.
“Bible pusher,” Fernandez said derisively. He sat on a low ledge by the window. “Can you believe that guy?”
“Norell? He lied the whole time,” Jess said.
Fernandez nodded. “He knew the guy in the garage, and he knew where he was going.”
“I agree. You gave up on the Audi. Why?” Jess asked.
He shook his head. “Simpler to get bank records. Criminals like Norell don’t confess, regardless of how it works on TV.”
Jess nodded. “And kidnapped with a saw? That’s a new one on me. I figure the kidnapper wasn’t prepared. The weapon was improvised.”
“Norell surprised him?”
She shook her head. “In the middle of what? Robbing the garage? Stealing a car? A simple theft doesn’t just turn into a kidnapping, does it?”
“Not usually, no.” Fernandez drummed his fingers on the window ledge. “We’re getting Norell and Gotting’s bank records. Won’t be available until tomorrow.” He looked at Jess. “You should get some food and sleep. Nothing much will happen for the rest of the night. You’ll need to be ready for tomorrow.”
It was the last thing she felt like doing, but he had a good point. Jess stood to leave.
Fernandez’s desk phone rang. Lines wrinkled his forehead as he listened. He put the phone down and stood. “KCPD just had a call from security at the office tower where Belk works. Apparently, he arrived with a couple of thugs. Belk said they were on their way to dinner at Bergan’s. A fancy place downtown that requires a reservation, and a coat and tie. They were acting odd, so the guard called the restaurant and they don’t have a reservation.”
“Who were the two guys with him?” Jess asked.
“A KCPD officer reviewed the CCTV video. One of the thugs was Henrik Metcalfe. He’s managed to evade jail time by dumb luck. And I mean dumb.”
“Lawyers like Belk tend to meet a lot of criminals,” Jess said. “Comes with the job, doesn’t it?”
“He must have met up with these two right after he left here.”
Jess nodded. “Either a busy schedule or dumb luck, as you said.”
She fished out her phone and did a quick search for Ammerson Belk on the internet. Several pages of hits came up. He worked for a firm with a double-barreled name, Somersall-McCree. She clicked on the link for his biography. It was long. “This is weird.”
She scrolled to the top of the page and clicked on the link for images. Definitely him. “Ammerson Belk practices family law.”
“So?”
She scrolled up and down the page looking for anything that wasn’t family law related and found nothing.
Jess cocked her head. “Remember Mrs. Norell said Belk represented her husband’s business?”
“If you’re thinking of questioning him, he’s probably going to complain about harassment or police pressure if we haul him in again,” Fernandez said.
“But he doesn’t practice corporate law or criminal cases. There’s no way he’s going to dabble in cases like that,” Jess said slowly. “And family law? Don’t forget that I’m looking for my son. I can legitimately ask him for help.”
Fernandez nodded his head sagely for a few moments. He grabbed up his car keys. “Okay. Let’s go stake out his house.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Tuesday, November 28
7:00 p.m.
Kansas City, Kansas
Belk steered the Suburban up his driveway, bumped onto the lawn to go around the Mercedes, and into the garage.
Metcalfe pressed the button for the doors to close and waited until they hit the pavement to exit the SUV.
Belk got out after Hallman. He stood still by the driver’s door. “You’ve got what you wanted.”
Hallman nodded. “We’re good.”
Metcalfe picked up a roll of duct tape and a spool of green gardening twine. He unrolled a length as he walked around the big SUV.
Belk stepped back and dove for a tool chest. He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a gun.
Hallman stepped backward.
Metcalfe took two steps forward, grabbed Belk’s arm and twisted it up and back, high and hard. Belk yelped in pain.
Metcalfe pried the gun from Belk’s fingers. “All we’re going to do is tie you up until we’re on our way.”
Belk shrugged and offered a single nod in surrender.
Metcalfe dropped the gun into his pocket and slapped a width of duct tape across Belk’s mouth before he released his grip on Belk’s arm.
“Put your hands out,” Metcalfe said.
Defeated, Belk offered his hands, wrists touching.
With one swift flick, Metcalfe looped the twine over Belk’s head.
Belk twisted and jerked back.
Metcalfe whipped the twine into a garrote around Belk’s neck.
Belk swung his arms, grunting and choking as he landed ineffectual punches on Metcalfe’s shoulders.
“No,” Hallman said.
Metcalfe wrapped the twine around the spool, multiplying his leverage on the weak threads. He twisted the spool, tightening the twine.
Hallman stepped forward. “Stop. We can tie him up and take him with us.”
Belk’s fingers tore at his neck, digging into the flesh in a futile effort to get inside the band of twine and loosen it enough to breathe.
Metcalfe grunted with effort. “Don’t be stupid. He knows us. Knows who we’re looking for.”
“Then put him in the Suburban,” Hallman suggested. He’d done many things in his life, but he’d never murdered anyone. He hadn’t counted on killing Belk, either.
Belk collapsed to his knees. His eyes bulged out of his head. His hands feebly patted at his neck.
Metcalfe shook his head, tugging tight on the twine. “Too much baggage. We have to cut off the trail. Stop anyone from coming after us.”
“But he isn’t going to tell anyone. He’ll go to prison right along with us if he does. The guy’s been selling babies. They’ll never let him breathe free air again,” Hallman said.
Belk’s head lolled over. His arms fell to his sides.
“Don’t be stupid,” Metcalfe growled. “I traced you through Gotting and Norell. Cops are doing the same. The trail ends here. Now.”
Hallman watched, horrified, as the life drained from the lawyer’s body. He staggered back, knocking over the plants, pots, and gardening tools.
Belk’s head hung forward, the twine buried inside a livid red line around his neck. His arms became limp and lifeless. Metcalfe held the body up against its weight, tugging the twine as hard as he could pull it.
“You don’t have to do this,” Hallman said, weakly, knowing Metcalfe wouldn’t stop.
Metcalfe finally released the twine with a grunt. Belk flopped forward and crumpled face down on the concrete. His heart had stopped pumping. His nose smashed against the hard surface and a pool of blood drained by gravity onto the floor as another dribble oozed from the line on his neck.
Metcalfe rubbed his hands together, massaging where the twine had made deep purple grooves on his skin. “This is better. Trust me. Now we don’t need to be concerned about him.”
Hallman stared at Belk, the spool of green twine still wrapped around his fleshy, mottled neck. He’d died in a few seconds. Metcalfe had turned the harmless garden twine into a silent, unstoppable, deadly weapon.
&nb
sp; With a soft click, the automatic timer on the garage door light went out.
Metcalfe’s shoes thumped on the concrete floor as he dragged Belk’s body deeper into the darkness behind a workbench.
Hallman worked his way around the Suburban in the dark, his hands on the side of the vehicle. His eyes failed to adjust to the faint light from around the side door, causing him to stumble over the pots and tools he’d knocked over earlier. He fell to the floor.
“Get up from there. Let’s go,” Metcalfe said, rubbing the dust off his hands and knocking the dirt off his coat. His voice suggested he was moving toward the side door, but Hallman couldn’t see him.
Hallman’s blood fizzed in his veins. He felt light-headed. Metcalfe was more than a thug. He was a cold-blooded killer. Part of the job. Belk was merely a task he could mark off his to-do list. The knowledge chilled him because Hallman knew his name was on the same list.
He swallowed hard. How long did he have to figure out a way to save himself from Belk’s fate?
He ran his hands over the tools on the ground. He picked up a pronged garden fork with a long wooden handle and a strong plastic grip.
The thin light entering from around the broken side door revealed Metcalfe’s shadow. “What are you doing? Come on. We’ve got to get out of here before someone shows up.”
Hallman lunged. The fork’s tines first. One hand guiding the wooden shaft, the other clamped on the D-shaped handle. He crossed the six feet of open space between them in a fraction of a second.
Metcalfe lurched to one side. He was too late. The spiked garden fork’s tines struck him at waist height, scraping over the bones in his hip, and spearing into the soft organs under his ribs.
A grunting, squealing sound, part guttural anger, part high-pitched shock, pierced the silence.
Metcalfe’s momentum and weight pulled at the fork. Hallman gripped hard to hold on, feeling the soft tissues give. One of Metcalfe’s ribs cracked.
Hallman gawked at Metcalfe’s doubled-up body, mesmerized by the gushing blood running down his side.
He twisted the fork.
