by Blake Pierce
“That’s right!” Johnny said. “You had no right to—”
Ava acted as if she was going to deliver the punch again, and that shut him up.
“So now what do we do?” Frances asked.
“Well, we’re still taking this one in,” Frank said, tapping Little Johnny Jones on the shoulder. “Officer Knight, would you walk Little Johnny to the corner and blow on your whistle. I saw another officer—Officer Talbott—just a block or so down on our way over. He’ll escort you to the station. I’d like to walk Ava home, just in case.”
“Of course,” Frances said, giving Little Johnny Jones a polite shrug toward the street. He griped and complained the entire time, but Frances was undeterred.
“You okay?” Frank asked her.
“Physically, yes. But that just means—”
“I know. Our guy is still out there.”
“And my plan did nothing.”
“But it was a good plan,” Frank said. He grinned and said, “It drew the creeps out, just the wrong one.”
They heard Frances blowing her whistle from the street and both looked in that direction. “Come on,” Frank said. “Let’s get you home.”
She nodded as they walked down the alley. But just before they reached the sidewalk, Ava looked back. The killer was still out there, and it was far too easy to imagine that he might be somewhere right behind her, peering at her from the shadows he’d already used to take three lives.
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
William Gault had been at the Key Factory and watched the entire performance. As much as he loathed Ava Gold, he had to admit she was one hell of a canary. Not bad to look at, either. When the show was over and he watched her leave the stage, William dashed for the door, wanting to get out before her. But when he was just a few steps away from the door, his mother spoke up in his head, stopping him.
What are you going to do, just kill her right in front of the place with all these people around? What are you, an idiot? Be patient.
The bitch was right, and he hated when she was right.
He had slipped out of the club almost right away but he had not chased after her as he’d wanted. It had smelled like a trap. But it didn’t matter. He could wait a bit longer. If she had indeed tried springing a trap, he knew where she’d let her guard down—where she’d start to feel safe.
It would be her home. And as luck would have it, he knew where she lived.
Finding out had been quite easy. After realizing he’d killed the wrong woman officer yesterday, he’d taken some time to really think things over. The one newspaper article he’d read on Ava Gold had not only informed him that her husband had been a police officer, killed in the line of duty, but that her father had once been quite famous. The article claimed that her father was once-great boxing legend Roosevelt Burr. Earlier today, just after he’d heard the announcement on the radio, he’d walked down to Roosevelt’s boxing gym. The man had not been there, but some basic questions asked to the trainees and boxers at the gym told him all he needed to know. It had been almost criminally easy. One boxer in particular told him Roosevelt usually just slept in a little loft over the gym, but ever since his daughter’s husband had died, he’d been spending a lot of time at her apartment to help with his grandson.
So he’d stayed on that block for the rest of the day. He quickly found out that he’d missed Roosevelt by about ten minutes. He’d taken the grandson out to get some sweets at the candy shop. He watched them enter and then leave an hour and a half later. After that, it had been simple. He followed them to an apartment building six blocks away and waited just to make sure they stayed.
About forty minutes later, Ava Gold herself appeared and went inside.
So upon leaving, with Ava still in the building, William left and headed in the direction of Ava’s apartment building. He stood there now, waiting, watching.
It took a bit longer than he expected, but she finally showed up. Only, when she did, there was a man with her. Disappointment rose up in him but when he saw the man had no intention of going inside with her, he was able to calm himself. He ran his fingers along the handle of the hatchet tucked within the band of his pants. He could also feel the blade poking his skin.
He could barely wait.
He was trembling with anticipation by the time the man turned away and headed back down the street.
William watched Ava Gold enter the apartment building. When he saw the man walk across the block and then out of sight, William made his move. He moved slowly across the street. The other man was well out of sight by now, but William did not want to take a chance. He remained slow and steady until he came to the stairs leading up to the doorway to the apartment building. Then he threw caution to the wind and sprinted up the stairs.
He was sure it was just his imagination, but when he passed through the doors and into the hallway, he thought he could hear her footsteps on the stairs ahead of him—he thought he could smell the sweat coming off of her, lingering from her performance at the club.
William made his way to the stairs and kept his ear tuned for the sounds of her movement. He followed her up, a flight or two behind her, and started to withdraw his hatchet.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
As Ava came to her door, she wasn’t quite sure which she felt more dejected about: that her plan had netted nothing other than a vengeful mobster, or that she was being moved to something else when she got to the precinct tomorrow. She had been on the job for less than a week and had already managed to become the laughingstock of half of the station and attract the ire of Captain Minard. And once she was taken off of this case or, even worse, transferred to another precinct, she’d never be taken seriously again.
She stopped at the door, considering it all. It was yet another tale of failure she’d have to tell her father. He’d been sacrificing his time at the gym to help her care for Jeffrey and all she had to show for it was a string of screw-ups and bad luck. It was enough to make her want to cry.
And maybe she would. Once she was inside, maybe she’d shower off the club sweat and have a nice, long cry in bed. It wasn’t the most cheerful of plans, but it was just about all she had the energy for.
She opened the door and stepped into her apartment. It was mostly quiet, broken only by the sound of her father’s snoring from the couch. She carefully closed the door, not wanting to wake him up.
Just as the edge of the door met the frame, the door was pushed back against her. For a moment it made no sense; it was almost as if the door had exploded from its hinges and attacked her. It slammed back into her, slamming hard against her elbow and sending her stumbling back toward the kitchen counters. The counter slammed into her back hard and by the time she regained her footing, she saw why the door had behaved in such a way.
William Gault was rushing into the apartment. He’d apparently been outside, waiting for the moment she slipped into her apartment to attack. He came at her, hatchet raised, crossing her kitchen in long, lumbering strides.
With her back still aching, Ava felt panic try to overwhelm her. This was not just some sparring partner or a boxing match. This was a man with a hatchet, wanting very badly to kill her. She focused on that panic and used it as fuel as she instinctively delivered a hard jab. She was not fully on her feet so she did not get her full strength behind it, but it still did the job. The blow landed just below his neck, causing him to stagger a bit and make a gulping noise as he gasped for breath. He still brought the hatchet down, but she was able to duck away from the blow without a problem. From her sunken position, she delivered a brutal right hook to his ribs on the left side. He crumpled in that direction, leaning against the counter.
Ava reached into her purse for the gun but never got the chance to draw it out. Still gasping for air, Gault slashed out with the hatchet again. Ava leaned back, still pinned against the counter. The blow missed, but it was so close that she could feel the broken air of the motion on her nose as the blade missed her by about two inches.<
br />
She barely had time to register this before a third figure entered the kitchen. She didn’t realize exactly what was happening until she saw the first punch delivered. By the time the new figure had thrown a second punch at Gault, she recognized not only the face, but the boxing stance of Roosevelt Burr. Her father had been stirred awake by the commotion and was coming to help. He had already landed two jabs and she watched as he drew back to deliver the left-handed uppercut that had won his so many matches.
“Dad, no!” she screamed. In her mind, she could not help but wonder…if her dad was out here to see what the commotion had been about, where was Jeffrey? How much longer before he came out to see what was going on?
She watched as her father worked Gault over—but Gault was faster. A fraction of a second before Roosevelt’s next landed, Gault brought the hatchet out, slashing it out defensively. It was by sheer luck alone than the blade found purchase. Roosevelt screamed out as the blade tore through his shirt and the skin of his left shoulder. He staggered back, falling to the floor, but Gault seemed not to care. He wheeled back on Ava, again bringing the hatchet over his shoulder.
Something very similar to thunder sounded out in Ava’s head in that moment. This man had killed four women in all. He would have killed five if he’d been luckier with Theresa Neilson. And now here he was, in her apartment—in Clarence’s apartment—with her son just a few rooms away. Pure fury passed through her in that thunder, bringing a calm that was almost disarming.
Ava raised her right arm to ward off the blow. Gault’s arm shuddered a bit and he drew it back again while also trying to push her back against the counter. When he pushed her, she caught his free arm and twisted it while also swinging her own body hard to the right, almost like she was trying to curl herself around him. The motion sent Gault sailing into the kitchen counter (which seemed to be taken the brunt of the action) chest-first. When he hit the counter and rebounded lightly, Ava hammered two successive blows into his back, both directly along his left kidney.
Gault wailed and tried to turn to defend himself. When he did, he caught a jab to the face and another blow to his ribs. This blow was devastating, and Ava could feel ribs cracking under her fist. Gault howled again and finally dropped the hatchet. It clattered to the floor and he tried diving for it right away. When he did, Ava stopped him by bringing a knee up and striking him directly in the jaw.
Even Ava cringed at the noise of his jaw breaking and his teeth slamming together. When William Gault hit the floor, he was not moving. For a moment, Ava thought she’d killed the bastard, but she could just barely see the rise and fall of his back as he drew in breath.
She ignored him and rushed to her father’s side. He was bleeding on the floor, and she couldn’t tell how deep the cut was.
“How bad is it, Dad?”
“Deep, but too bad,” he hissed. “Might wanna see if you can get the hospital on the line, I guess.”
Ava nodded. Not having a telephone in the apartment, she would have to use the booth downstairs in the lobby. She grabbed her purse and handed her father the Model 10. “If he tries to move, shoot him in the knees.”
He grinned despite his pain and said, “Honey, you just whooped his ass good. He’s not getting up until the hospital folks lift him up on a stretcher.”
Ava started for the door but her father’s voice stopped her.
“Hey, Ava?”
“Yeah?”
She couldn’t tell if the emotion in his face was from the pain or from the sentiment of what he said next.
“If that’s how you carry yourself on the street…forget everything I ever said against you being a cop.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Frank did his best not to feel intimidated as he entered Minard’s office. It was nothing new for Minard to call him in for a private conversation—especially not since tasking him with the guidance and care of Ava Gold. But today, Alvin Cunningham was also there, sitting across from Captain Minard. Cunningham was the chief of police and only bothered coming by the precinct when he needed a favor or when something had gone bad.
The look on his sour face made Frank think today was to handle some bad business.
“Chief Cunningham,” Minard said, “this is Detective Frank Wimbly. He was the only detective to go to bat for Ava Gold and was with her for most of the events that transpired these last few days.”
Skipping any sort of introduction, Cunningham looked directly at Frank and said, “So you were in on this insane sting operation she attempted to pull off last night?”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
“And why did you agree to it?”
“Because she’s good at the job,” he said, the answer surprising him. “Even when she was getting it wrong on the hatchet killer case, she was still solving crimes. We got Tony Two and Little Johnny Jones in here, something that had never been pulled off before. And she discovered a shallow grave on Neibolt Street where—”
“I’m aware of what she’s done,” Cunningham said. “I’m also aware of how reckless, foolish, and big-headed it all was. Answer me this, Detective: do you think she’s cut out for the job?”
Frank thought it over for a bit, eventually giving a stiff nod of his head. “Yes, sir. But she’s had no training. She was tossed into this this because of her own arrogance as well as a misguided but brilliant attempt at positive PR for the department. And with no training, she still managed to get the killer.”
“Some might argue the killer came right to her doorstep and she got lucky.”
When Minard spoke up, it quite frankly shocked Frank. “With all due respect, Chief,” Minard said, “William Gault’s current doctors at the hospital might argue that her surviving the attack was much more than luck. She beat the hell out of him, and with expert precision.”
“I take all of this to mean that both of you would be in favor of keeping her on?”
“I would, yes sir,” Frank said.
Minard took a moment to answer. When he did, he chose each word slowly. “Half the damned city knows her name now. And she has connections to clubs and some of the more underground places that usually turn their noses up at the fuzz. Not to mention she took down two mobsters and got the hatchet killer.”
“So that’s a yes?” Cunningham asked sarcastically.
“Yes. But I would stipulate that she needs proper training.”
“If she stays on,” Cunningham said, getting to his feet, “I would expect Detective Wimbly to handle her training. For the start of it, if she looks bad…you look bad. Would you be open to that, Detective?”
He did not like the sound of it, but Frank nodded all the same. “Yes, sir.”
“Then have at it.”
He said nothing else. He simply gave them both looks of frustration and then walked out.
“He didn’t look too happy,” Frank said.
“Chief Cunningham isn’t the sort of man that is for gender equality,” Minard said. “He’s still peeved that I even gave her the job in the first place. I guarantee you he ignored all of what we just said, and is just thinking about the good publicity of keeping her on.”
“So…when are you going to tell her?” Frank asked.
“I was thinking now,” Minard said, grabbing for his phone.
***
Ava stared at Minard’s closed office door for a few moments before knocking. This was it. This was where he sent her home, considering her brief tenure with the NYPD a failed experiment. It had all just gone so poorly, it was the only reasonable assumption she could make. Gently, she finally knocked on the door. She had to use her left hand because there was a wrap on her right hand to keep the swelling down from all the punches she dished out the night before. “Can I come in, Captain?”
“Yes,” Minard called through the door. “Please come in.”
Ava entered and when she saw Frank was also there, she felt as if someone had nailed a coffin closed somewhere deep inside her heart.
“Have a seat,”
Minard said.
Ava did, trying not to seem too shaken. The last thing she wanted to do was get emotional in front of these two men. She’d take her lumps like every other officer who had sat in this chair and that would be the end of it.
“Gold,” Minard said, “I have no choice but to remove you as an officer from the department. You understand, right?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Good. Now, from this moment on, you will have the designation of detective.”
Ava looked up to him as if he had just spoken to her in a different language. That closed coffin in her chest burst open as the realization of what he’d said sank over her. Surely, she’d misunderstood him.
“Sir?”
“Detective Gold. That’s right,” Minard said. Ava looked to Frank to see if they were having some sort of cruel joke at her expense. But all she saw was something that looked like a grin. Not a joke…but something close to joy or happiness.
“I want you to take the remainder of the week off to nurse those expert fists of yours,” Minard said. “And when you come back, you will be running the detective beat with Detective Wimbly. Is that to your liking?”
The smile and the glistening of tears in her eyes could not be stopped. And in the end, she decided to just let them come. Weeping was quite different from showing genuine appreciation and gratitude, she supposed.
“Yes, sir,” she said, as confidently as she could. “And you won’t regret it.”
Minard could not contain his chuckle when he said, “Oh, I suppose we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” He then stood and, in a move that shocked Ava, he offered his hand to be shaken. “Enjoy your week off, Gold.”
She shook with her uninjured hand and made her exit. She felt like she was floating rather than walking back to the WB offices. It felt like she was walking in a dream. She made her way slowly over to her desk, barely aware of the mail carrier passing through. She felt equal measures of gratitude and fear. She now had to really be on her game, had to make sure she was as professional as possible. And perhaps more than that, she had to keep in mind that people would definitely see Clarence through her now. She had to make him proud.
