Straight to the Heart

by S. J. Coles

  “He’s not in, young man.” James turned to see an elderly couple leaving the house next door. He recognized them as the duo he’d seen strolling along the pier on Sunday morning, which now seemed like years ago. “He left about twenty minutes ago,” the man continued with a helpful smile.

  James pulled out his badge and hurried over. The old couple peered at it, their white eyebrows rising in unified surprise. “Would you mind answering a couple of questions Mr. and Mrs.…?”

  “Pine. No, of course not. Is Mr. Torez in trouble?” The woman’s small eyes shone with excitement.

  “Do you know Mr. Torez well?” James asked.

  “Oh, not very well, I’m afraid,” the man said apologetically. “People don’t get to know their neighbors these days, do they?”

  “Is there anything at all you can tell me about him? His habits? Whether he’s caused any trouble?”

  “Oh no, no trouble,” the woman insisted with a warm smile. “He works a lot. We keep very different hours. We don’t see him much.”

  “You ever see anyone else here? Anyone visiting on a regular basis?”

  The old man’s face crumpled and he looked to his wife for guidance. She had a knowing grin on her lined face. “Oh yes,” she said significantly. “He had a young friend for a while. Polite young man. Handsome. Long hair. Used to call once or twice a week.” She glanced around then lowered her voice. “I think it was Mr. Torez’s boyfriend.”

  James swallowed and pretended to jot a note. “Anyone else?”

  “Well, yes,” the man put in eagerly. “Seems he has a girlfriend now—or, rather lady-friend. She’s older. Older than him, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman added eagerly. “Very well-dressed lady. Doesn’t smile, though.”

  “It was her who just picked him up, actually.”

  James examined their smiling faces for a moment, then pulled up Melissa Benson’s file photo on his phone. “Is this her?”

  “Yes,” the old man beamed. “That’s her. Has she done something?”

  “Thank you for your help,” James said and hurried back to his car, ignoring the flurry of questions they sent after him. He climbed in and was just about to ring Gibson when the phone bleeped with an incoming picture message. His heart jerked. It was Leo’s number. It bleeped again as another came in. Then another. James frowned, enlarging the pictures. His mouth went dry.

  He cued speaker phone as he reversed out of Torez’s driveway. “Come on. Come on,” he urged as it rang and rang.

  “Agent Solomon,” Gibson eventually came on the line, voice sheet-iron stiff. “I do not appreciate—”

  “Gibson. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What?” she said, voice suddenly alert.

  “It’s Hannah.”

  “What about him?”

  “I think he’s done something…unwise.”

  She swore. “He’s only been released three hours. What the hell has he managed to do already?”

  “He’s at the victim’s house.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s sending me pictures. He’s outside Benson’s house, filming through the window. Torez and the widow are inside.”

  “Torez and Melissa Benson?” There was a heavy silence on the other end of the phone. “What are they doing?”

  “Arguing, possibly? And…more. I’ve just had confirmation from his neighbors that she’s been visiting Torez’s house, too.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Ma’am… Hannah…?”

  Gibson swore again. “The goddamn kid’s gonna get himself hurt.”

  “I’m heading out there now.”

  “I’ll meet you there. I’m calling the sheriff for backup.” She disconnected.

  “Call Leo,” he ordered. A ringing tone filled the car. “Pick up,” he growled, but it went to voicemail. He tried again as he swung the car back out onto the main road, but this time it went straight to the answerphone without even ringing. He tore down the small, wooded road, overtaking what little traffic there was at speed. Blue lights flashed in his mirror as a police car pulled up behind him. Sheriff Coyle killed the siren then accelerated to keep up.

  He turned onto a side road sharply enough to have the tires screeching, then turned again onto the drive of the Bensons’ house with another jerk. He was just braking in front of the three-story mansion when a black car zoomed past in the other direction.

  “That was Torez,” Gibson said as she clambered out the passenger side of Coyle’s car.

  “Was Hannah with him?” James asked, craning to see where the dust from the saloon was being dissipated by the breeze.

  Gibson shook her head. “Not that I could see. Do a perimeter circuit of the house then meet me inside. Coyle, wait by the door. Make sure no one leaves.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Coyle said, following on Gibson’s heels and taking up position by the open front door, drawing her gun.

  Gibson rang the bell. “Mrs. Benson? Mrs. Benson, it’s the FBI.”

  James hurried down the side of the house until he found the window from Leo’s video. There were fresh sneaker prints in the flowerbed. He trailed around the entire house, scouring several large bushes and trees but found no one.

  He hurried through the door and along the luxuriously carpeted hall to the drawing room where Melissa Benson stood, rigid with emotion. Her expensive mascara was smudged around her eyes, but she tilted her chin as he joined Gibson on the designer rug.

  “What the hell do you both mean, racing into my home like this?”

  “You are still stating that you are here alone, ma’am?” Gibson asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “We saw Mr. Torez leaving in rather a hurry.”

  Mrs. Benson narrowed her eyes. “My business partner stopped by to ask me to sign some legal forms concerning my husband’s death. He could see it was distressing me, so he left.”

  Gibson gave James a significant look and he loaded Hannah’s pictures. “This doesn’t look like a business meeting to me, Mrs. Benson.”

  Her eyes widened at the phone screen, then burned hot. “How dare you? You spied on me? I shall have you in court.”

  “Mrs. Benson, you have to understand that hiding your affair with your husband’s business partner does not look good.”

  “My personal business is just that. Personal.”

  “It’s also a motive for murder.”

  Her pencil-thin eyebrows drew down in a furious glare. “That rodent Leonardo Hannah killed my husband. You arrested him.”

  Gibson shook her head. “We never charged him, ma’am. He was released this morning. Have you seen him?”

  Her nose wrinkled disgust. “Of course not.”

  “She’s lying,” James stated, examining her face.

  “How dare you,” she said again, but James thrust the phone under her nose again.

  “These were sent by him less than ten minutes ago. He was outside that window,” he jabbed his finger at the velvet-draped bay window. “You didn’t see him?”

  “And how, pray tell,” Mrs. Benson said in icy tones, “did a murder suspect come to have your phone number, Agent Solomon?”

  “Where is he?” James demanded, but Gibson stepped between them.

  “Mrs. Benson,” she said coolly, “our evidence of your affair, coupled with evidence that you lied about seeing Mr. Torez in the conference room at the time of the murder, is putting us in a pretty strong position to charge you as an accessory to both your husband’s murder and that of Renford Muntz.”

  “This is outrageous,” she spluttered. “There is no such evidence.”

  “Because you paid Renford Muntz to destroy it, you mean?” James’s voice was hard.

  “This is slander and harassment,” she cried. “I shall have both your badges for this.”

  “I’ll be sure and wrap it in a Tiffany’s box for you,” Gibson drawled. “But first, you need to tell us where Mr. Torez has gone.”

  “How should I know
where he’s gone?”

  “I think you know perfectly well.” Gibson’s gaze was penetrating. James shifted impatiently, keeping his hands by his sides and watching a surge of emotions swirl though the widow’s ice-blue eyes.

  “I want you to leave my house,” Melissa Benson said, her voice catching.

  “It’s over, Melissa,” Gibson stated. “You’re making it worse by lying. And if Mr. Torez is about to do something stupid to that boy. Helping us stop him is in both your best interests.”

  Mrs. Benson’s eyes flashed. “He got to you too, didn’t he?” she growled at James. “What the hell is it about that boy that has perfectly rational men losing their senses?”

  “Mrs. Benson,” Gibson said in a dangerously low voice, “tell us where Horatio Torez is or we’ll be charging you with kidnapping and attempted murder on top of everything else.”

  The older woman clenched her fists. A single hot, angry tear squeezed from her eye. She swiped at it angrily. “He didn’t say where he was taking him.”

  James’s chest tightened. “Where do you think he’s taken him?”

  Mrs. Benson sent him a poisonous look. “I don’t know. Somewhere quiet to finish the job.”

  James was already running back to the car, Gibson hot on his heels. Gibson shouted to Sheriff Coyle to arrest Mrs. Benson, then pulled out her cellphone.

  “I need an APB on a vehicle…”

  The rest of her orders went unheard as James flung himself into the car and started the engine. Gibson shouted something after him, but he was already speeding down the drive. The black car was long gone, but James tore along the road toward Winton, scouring every lay-by and side road. The second time Gibson’s number flashed on his phone screen, he activated speaker phone.

  “James, don’t be stupid. Let the local PD handle it.”

  “I can’t let him get killed,” he snapped.

  “This isn’t our fault.”

  “We should have believed him,” he growled. “I should have believed him.”

  “Getting yourself killed won’t help anyone, Agent Solomon.”

  “You know where he’s gone?” James said, hearing something in her tone. Silence. “Lisa, please.”

  A noisy sigh. “The car was spotted taking the turn toward Benson Industries HQ,” she said. “But, James—”

  James cut the call and increased his speed.

  Another car swerved and hooted angrily as he tore into the Benson Industries parking lot. He spotted the black car parked sideways across two spaces, the trunk and driver’s door wide open. There was a battered sneaker in the trunk. An overweight man in a security guard’s uniform stood by, scratching his head.

  “Where’d they go?” James demanded.

  The man straightened, looking startled. “Who are you?”

  “FBI. Where did they go?”

  “Where did who—?”

  “The men from this car,” James grated, restraining himself from grabbing the man with an effort.

  The guard, his face slack with fear, shook his head so hard that his jowls wobbled. “I didn’t see anyone. I was just doing my perimeter patrol and spotted the car. There was no one in it.”

  James swore and scoured the parking lot, but it was deserted. There were lights on in some of the building’s windows and he could see staff moving around, but no one seemed to be acting out of the ordinary. He stared at the dense surrounding woodland with a cold, sinking feeling in his insides. Sirens wailed in the distance, but they were still too far away.

  He rubbed his mouth, glanced up to the sky and froze. An access door on the roof, just visible, stood open. He took off at a run, the security guard’s startled questions whipping away in the wind. A woman in a suit was just swiping herself out of the entrance as he arrived. He pushed her out the way and ran in, ignoring her squawk of protest.

  “Have you seen two men come through here?”

  The wide-eyed receptionist blinked at him. “Two men?”

  “Yes. Horatio Torez and Leo Hannah.”

  She stared at him opening and closing her mouth a few times.

  “Have you seen them?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They just came by. Is something wrong?”

  He swore. “How do you get to the roof? Quick.”

  “Sir, I don’t—”

  He thrust his badge at her and repeated the question. She pointed down the hall, and he ran. He skidded around a corner and found a door onto the access stairs ajar. He took the steps three at a time, his heart hammering, sweat sticking his shirt to his skin. He raced to the top but then made himself slow, approaching the door to the roof without making a sound. He drew his gun, willing his noisy breathing to calm. He put his face to the gap, gun ready, and strained his ears.

  “Jump. You know you want to.”

  James could just make out Torez’s voice, muted by distance and the wind. He pushed the door open and stepped out, keeping his back to the wall and edging slowly toward the sound.

  “And how do you figure that?”

  James’s knees almost buckled with relief at the sound of Leo’s voice, a little shaky, but otherwise strong.

  “The cops think it’s all you,” Torez replied.

  James stopped himself running out into the open with an effort, forcing himself to approach carefully, assessing, checking the field. He reached the edge of the wall that housed the access stairs and peered around the corner. Leo was standing near the edge of the roof. His clothes were rumpled, his hair loose and blowing in the wind. There was blood from a cut on his lip smeared across his chin, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His eyes were fixed on Torez, who stood about ten feet away with a gun clenched in a white-knuckled grip, its barrel leveled at Leo’s face.

  “You’ll go to prison,” he said with a nasty smile. “Do you know what prison will be like for someone like you?”

  “Someone like me?” Leo drawled.

  “Your pretty face won’t help you in there. They’ll rip you to shreds.”

  James muttered curses, keeping himself still with an effort, trying to decide if he could get into position and take Torez down before the man heard him or fired at Leo. His palms were sweaty. He forced himself to wait. He needed Torez’s attention off his target.

  “They know, Ray,” Leo said, voice shaking. “They know I saw you leave the meeting. If I get splattered across the parking lot, they’ll figure out it was you.”

  “I’ll be the business executive in the good suit and the thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer,” Torez took a step closer. “You’ll be the high-school-drop-out screw-up who ended it all rather than face the consequences of his actions.”

  “You’re crazy. They know I had no reason to kill the old man.”

  Torez barked a sharp laugh. “They took Benson’s computer this morning. They’ll find the emails.”

  “What emails?”

  Torez took another step closer. Leo took a step back, his heel hanging over nothing. James scanned the flat, empty rooftop for any extra cover. “The ones from Derek telling me to break it off with you. They’ll find my humble replies and eventual acquiescence.”

  “That’s bullshit. There were no emails.”

  “You’re not the only one with IT skills, Leo. And I’ve ensured little Miss Andrews has spread it far and wide. It’s as good as fact.”

  “All this,” Leo cried, beginning to sound desperate. “All this, for what? Money? Melissa? What?”

  Torez bristled. “I’m owed it.”

  “How’s that, Ray?”

  “I fought for this country. I bled for it. It owes me.”

  “It owes you the company? Power? A shiny corner office?”

  “Fucking respect,” Torez ground out. “Something you have absolutely no understanding of.”

  “And Benson?” Hannah pressed, shifting along the railings. “He didn’t give you enough respect. Was that it?”

  “He was going to fire me,” Torez said, voice high and shaky. “Fire me. Over what?”

>   “I dunno, maybe choosing his wife for your rebound screw?”

  “He didn’t know,” Torez growled. “The blind old fool. Even if he had, he wouldn’t care. He’s never cared about Melissa. The idiot was still hung up on that country-singer ex-wife of his. He didn’t understand the value of things, even when they were staring him in the face.”

  “You shot him.”

  Torez’s face twisted. “All these years I’ve worked for him, day and night, holidays and weekends. I’ve taken his side in board meetings, took out competitors, engineered the best deals. I fought for his damn company. Then he told me I was fired by text. Text.” His teeth clenched. “I just wanted to talk. That’s the only reason I went to his office that night…to talk. I knew we’d be alone and could have it out, man-to-man. But he didn’t even stand up. He just sat there and told me to pack my bags.” His sudden grin was like a knife wound. “He got the gun out to frighten me. He forgot I know what it’s like to stare down gun barrels.”

  “And now so do I,” Leo said with gritted teeth. “Is that what you wanted?”

  Torez’s bright smile, sharper than a paper cut in his handsome, taut face, pulled tighter. “I shot him right in the heart, right where he’d hurt me. Right where you hurt me.”

  “So shoot me too.” The edge in Leo’s voice was growing keener and he thumped his chest with his fist. “Right here, Ray. Go on. Do it. Or are you too much of a coward?”

  “No. You do this yourself. Take that much responsibility. End it. Let it end.”

  “And then what?” Leo shouted. His eyes moistened, and his face was white with fear. “You and Melissa take over the company and get all the money and get married and start popping out babies?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Does she know you sleep with men?” Leo said, and James swore and shifted himself, ready to dive.

  “I do not sleep with men,” Torez bit out, the gun trembling in his hand.

  “Sorry, pal,” Leo retorted. “Sergeant Major Lawson? The guy you beat to shit for breaking it off? Deffo a guy. Oh, and last time I checked, I have a dick too.”