Cold Dead Hands (A Mike Casper Thriller Book 1)

by Sebastian Blunt

  “We have only economy and business,” said the woman with a name tag that had “Ramona” etched on it.

  “Okay, upgrade us to business. How much?”

  “Let me check.” She looked at her screen for about thirty seconds. “For your ticket Mr. Jones, it’s $439 to upgrade.”

  “And for Ms. Manchu?” Mike looked at Kim. She seemed lost in her thoughts.

  “I can’t upgrade her ticket.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s got a Belize government ticket. It’s locked in.”

  “Unreal.” Mike had zero patience. “No problem. How crowded is business class?”

  “There’s room.”

  “Great. I’ll buy a new ticket. I want Ms. Manshu in the seat next to me and prefer no one near us if that’s possible.”

  After a minute, Mike used his new card. It cost about $1800 in total.

  “What did you just do?” Kim woke from her daydream.

  “Don’t think about it.”

  They got their boarding passes. Row 3 E & F were on the right side. Kimberly had only a carry-on, so they breezed through. Ramona wasn’t kidding about the space available. There were only two other business passengers, the older couple who previously sneered at his use of “Holy shit” while reading about Ken in the main hall. Mike got the same look as he glanced back while stowing Kim’s luggage in the overhead compartment.

  Chapter 23

  “Can you tell me about what your brother was investigating?”

  They were about fifteen minutes into the flight. Kim seemed like she was internally re-hashing the surreality of her situation. She stared at him and prodded Mike sharply. “You said you understood how I’m feeling. Why don’t you tell me about that?”

  Perhaps he was in over his head, and what Ms. Manshu needed was an actual psychologist. What was the point of being a potential punching bag for her? Giving her details of Cassie was a risk. If she went to the police, then his good intentions could backfire—that would mean getting busted and tossed in jail to be shanked by someone paid off by Bruner or the drug queen.

  “I lost someone to a violent assault.” Mike tried his best to keep an even expression.

  “What happened?” She seemed determined to focus on him like she was checking to see if he was for real.

  “Wouldn’t you rather talk about your brother? I mean, only if you want to. My situation isn’t a priority right now.”

  “No. Mr. Jones. You said that you know what I’m feeling, and I would like to hear how you dealt with it.”

  “I think if we are going to go down this path, then we have to avoid bullshit. There’s no point in dancing around something that’s awful for both of us.”

  Kim seemed very direct by nature from what he’d heard so far, but she could just as easily call the N.Y.P.D. and rat him out. Part of him wanted to go back to coach-class and extricate himself from what could prove to be impulsive and stupid.

  “Okay. I’ll be honest. There’s nothing to lose in being straight forward unless you’re a reporter looking to cash in on my misery.”

  “I’m not a reporter, and please, believe me, I have zero desire to make you feel any worse,” Mike assured her.

  Kim stretched out and kicked off her shoes, then asked him, “Why does what my brother was investigating matter to you?”

  “I read in the paper I bought in the terminal that he was investigating a possible double murder.”

  “Yes. He thinks a woman who lives in New York killed two people, tourists, in San Pedro and then deposited their money in my bank.”

  “Is the N.Y.P.D. working on this suspect?”

  “I don’t know. Kenny’s evidence was weak. Statistically significant but weak on hard facts.”

  “He had enough to get his boss to send him, right?”

  “Yes, but my brother was good at charming his boss. Who the hell knows what the New York cops thought of his theory.”

  “Listen. I am so sorry that you are going through this. I grew up in Brooklyn. New York can be pretty tough. You might have seen some of that when you were at Cooper Union.”

  “You grew up in Brooklyn? And yet you have a British passport? What aren’t you telling me?” she glared at him.

  “I told you that I grew up in the states—no British accent, remember?”

  “Did you tell me that?”

  He ignored her question. “Do you want a drink? Like a real drink? Maybe that will take a tiny bit of the stress away.”

  “I’m a lousy drinker, but at this point, maybe just one.”

  He pushed the call button, and in a couple of minutes, they both had some alcohol therapy in their hands. On Kim’s empty stomach, the Whiskey Sour went straight to her head. Her mistrust evaporated just a little.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “I’m supposed to go to East 26th to identify my brother. Then they said that they would release his body for me to take back to Belize. The airline will help me, and my country is sending up all the paperwork.”

  “What about the investigation? Are you supposed to see anyone?”

  “No. All of that is between Kenny’s boss and the cops in Manhattan. I’m not in the loop at all.” She took a good size sip. The drink was helping—better than the Xanax. Kim suddenly wished this was just a vacation and that it was all a bad dream.

  “Why did you want to talk to me? Do you really need to get involved in my problems? This isn’t a fun end to your trip to San Pedro.”

  “I don’t know—the story in the paper and then seeing that dumbass reporter hassling you. I thought I could help.”

  Her thoughts returned to Kenny. “I told him not to go.”

  “So, why did he? What did he have that was so solid that he needed to be there in person?”

  “Why does that matter?” Kim deflected his probing. She was a little nervous. Could she tell this guy that Kenny had gotten evidence without a court order? From her? “I can’t talk about the evidence. Just that there was a woman who was a person of interest.”

  “But he must have had something to go on that led him to New York? He wouldn’t go up there without some details on the woman, right?”

  “What is your interest in this?” she was getting defensive. “Who are you working for?”

  Mike sensed her sudden anxiety. “Kim. I am not here to hurt you. If there is anyone who can relate to what you’re going through, it’s me. I’m not a threat.”

  She didn’t feel any safer. “Why should I believe you? In my business, we get all kinds of bullshit artists trying to scam us on a daily basis. I don’t know you.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t know me, but I’ll take a risk if you do the same. My gut tells me that you’re a good person.”

  “I try to be.”

  “Also, I don’t work for anyone.”

  “You’ve got money in my bank.”

  “It was a gift.”

  It felt good to hear him admit that. A lot of guys would let their egos get in the way. “From who? Your parents? I mean, you must be what, thirty? Kind of young to have earned a couple of million pounds.”

  “It was a gift from the person who was murdered. Someone very close to me.” There, he thought, he’d said it.

  “Thank you for telling me that. I’m beginning to get why you understand what I’m feeling. How long ago?”

  “Ten days.”

  Kimberly’s mouth dropped open. For a few seconds, she was trying to comprehend what he’d just said. She started to tremble. “Who are you? Are you after me? Why are you doing this?”

  “Kim. I’m on your side. I’m the good guy.”

  “Prove it!”

  Mike peered around the cabin. Lunch wasn’t ready yet, and the flight attendant was nowhere in sight. He had the window seat. Puffy little clouds were evenly spread out below them. If only Cassie was alive and they were escaping to some remote island, Bruner and the bitch would never find them. His thoughts and memories of his love rushed through hi
m. Without some self-control, he might end up balling his eyes out. Despite the effort, his eyes teared up a little. Kim poked Mike on his arm.

  “Hey! Are you still here?” Casper turned back from the window, and she could see the emotions written on his face.

  “Listen. This might sound like a ridiculous question, but what is the name of the woman suspect?”

  “She’s a customer at the bank.”

  “I got that. What’s her name?” Mike persisted while trying to smooth away a tear with his finger without her noticing.

  “If I tell you, will you tell me the truth?”

  Her tension was real, and he could see the stress in her eyes.

  “Kim, I will answer any question you ask me.”

  She wasn’t trembling any longer. Mike got the impression that this girl could be strong as hell when she had to be. Kim lowered her voice even though they were alone—other than the old folks a few seats behind them and across the aisle. “Tell me your story first. I don’t know a damn thing other than your name, Mr. Collin Jones.”

  Mike recognized that they would be in a stalemate for the remainder of the trip if one of them didn’t start opening up. He wondered what would happen if she sold him out. Maybe it would be a good idea to split from her in Atlanta. By then, he would know if she was going to turn on him. He could find another way to New York, or he could lay low for a year and then hunt down Claire German. The drug business was a good teacher. It taught patience and that if someone screwed you over, time would fix it. Rushing was always a bad idea. So if Kim rubbed him the wrong way, it didn’t matter if she knew some of his story. He could disappear and live up to the name Casper.

  She was looking at him expectantly. “I’m your secret banker. You can’t trust me.”

  Mike gritted his teeth. A voice in his head told him to shut up and read the in-flight magazine, then vanish. But a louder voice told him to open up to this girl—the smart engineer who worked in a secret offshore bank.

  His justifiable paranoia kicked into high gear. “Just to be safe, turn off your cellphone, please.”

  “That’s when I left New York on a freighter, in the hold with containers and a few rats.”

  The two of them talked in whispers and frequently checked the area for anyone intruding into their space. Mike made a point of leaving out names and details to keep things simple.

  Kim shook her head slightly. “Man, this is fiction. I’m sorry to sound like I’m mocking; you’re telling me you saw a drug hit and got pics of some important people doing it?”

  “It’s true. I can’t tell you every detail, or you’ll be in danger.”

  “What happened after that?”

  He looked at her hesitantly. The hard part was about to be laid out for the first time to another human being. Casper was determined to tell the bare minimum.

  “Well?”

  “I ended up in a European country. I bought a boat and tried to fish for money, and I was living in a trailer.”

  “What about all your money?”

  “I told you. The money was a gift that I only just got. Before that, I only had what I carried with me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, I met this woman, but the New York people were looking for me, so I avoided her for a long time to keep her safe. I failed. We were planning on running away to a place where they would never find me, but then something happened.”

  “What happened?” Kim was utterly focused on his story; she’d shut out everything else.

  “I was out fishing, and I saw something. A boat sailed past me, and it was close enough for me to see the crew. A while later, a motorboat went by and then returned with one of the guys I saw on the sailboat. That wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he was sick; I didn’t know. But, when the sailor recognized me, they turned and started shooting.”

  “Okay. That is some bullshit.” Kim looked at him like he was insane.

  “No, Kim. It happened. I was eight miles away from the coast, and they sunk me. They thought I was dead, but I was hiding under my capsized boat. One of my best skills is holding my breath. They left, so I had to swim back to shore.”

  “Eight miles?”

  “At night.”

  “This was just a couple of weeks ago? Why didn’t I see it in the news?” She reached for her phone.

  “Don’t turn it on. Wait.”

  “I made it to a beach, and some people took me to a clinic at like six in the morning. My girlfriend snuck me out of there after I’d gotten three bottles of fluids. We had a little help from someone.

  “There was no doubt in my mind that the New York gang found me. But they thought I was dead.”

  “So you were safe!”

  Mike was desperate to stop reliving the most challenging part of his life but forced himself to keep going.

  “No. I was wrong. It wasn’t the mob. What I’d witnessed was murder out in the Messina Straits. It was a woman who killed her husband for money.”

  A shadow passed over Kimberly’s face. She held her tongue.

  “She thought I could I.D. her when they learned that I was alive. They killed my girlfriend.”

  “How do you know?” asked Kim. Her voice was unsteady, and she downed the rest of her drink.

  “I was there.”

  She sat quietly, processing his words. It was obvious that Jones had left out details, maybe to protect her.

  “Why aren’t you dead? Don’t lie to me.”

  Her words were killing him. “There were two of them: the woman and her partner. The woman got away. My girlfriend was killed.”

  “What about her partner? The other killer?”

  Mike felt like he was sinking into a pit of quicksand. “I didn’t let him get away.”

  “You mean—”

  “That’s all you need to know.” He exhaled hard.

  Kim sat, trying to work through his story. It was so unrealistic that she imagined he must be some kind of con-man.

  “Can you prove any of this?”

  “I hurt her while she was escaping. But, she got away.” Casper shifted so that he could reach into his pocket. “I’m going to show you something that you cannot talk about. Please don’t betray my honesty with you.”

  He cupped his hand, and the serpent earring lay inside. Kim leaned over to get a good look at it. “What is that?”

  Mike held it for a moment longer and then stuffed it back into his pocket. He stared directly into Kimberly’s eyes. “When she ran, I stumbled but managed to take a swipe at her. My hand caught this, and it ripped through her earlobe. That is how I identified her and found out that she didn’t have one damn thing to do with the mob.”

  “How?”

  “I saw her in the news, the widow, mourning her husband who went down at sea.”

  Kim was becoming increasingly uptight because of the convergence of Kenny’s story and what she was now hearing. Mike reached for his blue carry-on wedged under the seat and unzipped the front pocket. She looked at him curiously and waited. For a lightweight like Kim, the alcohol went right to her head. She blinked and tried to stay focused. Casper pulled open the newspaper from the airport in Barcelona. It was folded so that the story about the widow and the picture was visible.

  “What is that?”

  “A paper I picked up in Spain. Look at it.”

  She saw a woman with a bandaged ear. He pointed to the smaller photo on the same page that had been taken earlier in Sicily.

  Kim looked closely and saw it. The earring was plain as day. It was the same serpent earring.

  “What the hell?” She looked up and examined the other photo. It was the same woman with a bandage, just like Collin had said. Then, with her hand on the page, she scanned the newsprint downwards and read the caption. The words that were printed there were unmistakable. A mountain of emotions crashed down on her as it all started piecing together. Kim felt faint. She reached out for Mike. He caught her as she nearly slumped into the aisle.

  He pulled her up a
nd closer to him. Small short breaths escaped from her lips.

  “Kim!”

  She focused on him. “That’s the woman my brother was chasing. She murdered two people in San Pedro. That’s—Claire German.”

  The dinner on the flight was tense. A half-hour out of Atlanta, the attendant collected the remains of an unexpectedly decent meal. Kim and Mike ate, but the surreal truth of knowing that an evil, sick and twisted woman killed two people that each of them loved was gut-wrenching.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  He knew precisely what she meant, which made the question frustrating—Mike didn’t want to be asked—but it was asked anyway.

  “What do you think?” He tossed it right back at her.

  “Analyzing stuff was a massive chunk of my degree in E.E. That and doing calculus until I wanted to run into the nearest wall.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve got people chasing you. And whether you like it or not, Collin, I’ve figured out that you can’t go to the cops. Either because your New York cops are in bed with the drug boss, or they are the drug boss. If you show up trying to lay out a tale of something that happened in the Mediterranean, they will laugh at you and throw you in jail because of your own sins. Then someone will kill you in jail, right?”

  “Sound reasoning.”

  “And let’s knock off the Collin crap. I had my doubts in the bank, but you passed all the tests. That money was a gift. I’m certain that your girlfriend or someone else told you the codes to that account. The passport was genuine. It must have cost a fortune, but I think you should tell me the truth.”

  Casper bit his lower lip, brooding over whether to level with her. He was putting a boatload of trust in her being as tight as a steel drum. “If you want justice for Ken, then I need to be able to rely on you even when the zombie apocalypse is on top of us.”

  “I’m not big into the genre, but we both want the same thing, so I guess that makes us unlikely partners, don’t you agree, Collin?” She emphasized the name with a snarl.

  Mike motioned her to come close. He lowered his voice to a barely audible volume. “You know, Claire will never go to prison. Do you understand that? I’m guessing the N.Y.P.D. told Ken that they would investigate. They will, and then they will realize very quickly that there is nothing to go on. She’s going to get a huge paycheck because of her late husband. Claire is a genius. They won’t ever get evidence. The best they can hope for is that one of her people will roll on her if they get busted for something big. Good luck with that.