Death Perception

by Victoria Laurie

  ‘‘Stay put,’’ she said. ‘‘We’ll be there in a minute.’’

  A second later the line was cut and I realized that Candice had suddenly stood up and was listening intently to the noises outside. I was so confused that it took me a moment to realize there were voices in the graveyard. ‘‘I think help’s arrived,’’ Candice said hopefully.

  My left side didn’t agree and my anxious mind began to put two and two together. ‘‘Son of a bitch!’’ I swore as it all clicked into place. ‘‘She fucking texted him!’’

  ‘‘Who?’’ Candice asked, thoroughly confused.

  ‘‘She had your phone!’’ I said as I remembered telling her to put the phone into Candice’s bag after I’d dropped it. ‘‘She remembers everything, Candice! She sent a text to Chase! I think he might even be here!’’

  Candice stared at me for a full three beats before she said, ‘‘We’ve got to go!’’ Grabbing Dutch under the arm, she said, ‘‘Take his other side. Maybe there’s a place we can hide until the ambulance arrives.’’

  Candice and I labored to pick Dutch up off the ground. He moaned loudly and hot tears stung my eyes. ‘‘Come on, babe,’’ I said to him. ‘‘We’re going to get you out of here.’’

  We were almost to the mausoleum’s door when voices outside became very loud. An argument was taking place just beyond the door and Candice and I stopped to listen. ‘‘How could you do that?’’ I heard my sister say. ‘‘How could you just leave him when he’s your own cousin!’’

  ‘‘I told you to shut it!’’ said an angry male voice that sounded eerily like Dutch’s.

  ‘‘I will not shut it!’’ my sister retorted. ‘‘You abandon your wife and baby, and you leave your cousin in some tomb? What kind of monster are—?!’’ Cat never finished her sentence.

  All we heard was a loud slap and a gasp followed quickly by Jane’s voice. ‘‘Chase!’’ she said. ‘‘Don’t do that!’’

  Candice motioned to me. ‘‘Set him down,’’ she whispered, and we did. She then moved toward the door, clicking off the flashlight, and we waited silently in total darkness. I stood near Dutch, with my heart pounding and my fists balled. We heard the door creak loudly on its rusted hinges and in the tiny bit of light we could see a figure enter. There was a shuffling noise from where Candice had been standing, and in the next instant a loud scream echoed off the four walls of the tomb.

  The mausoleum was suddenly illuminated by two bulbs hanging from the ceiling and to my astonishment I could see Candice gripping Nora in a choke hold. Nora was shouting to be let go as Chase stood behind them with a gun, his finger still on the light switch.

  ‘‘Thought you might try something like that,’’ he said as he shoved the gun squarely into Candice’s back.

  Candice had by this time let go of Nora, who was rubbing her neck and looking angrily at Chase. ‘‘I’m the mother of four!’’ she yelled at him. ‘‘How dare you make me go first through that door!’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry,’’ Candice whispered to her.

  ‘‘It’s not your fault,’’ Nora said, stepping back as more people came into the now-crowded room.

  My sister came in, followed by a wide-eyed Jane. ‘‘Chase,’’ she begged. ‘‘Don’t hurt them. They were nice to me.’’

  He glanced at her. ‘‘As long as they’re willing to cooperate, baby, no one gets hurt.’’

  I looked pointedly at Dutch. ‘‘Except your own flesh and blood, right, pal?’’

  Chase glanced at me. ‘‘You must be Abby,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve heard all about you.’’

  ‘‘Fuck you,’’ I snarled.

  Chase pulled his gun out from Candice’s back and pointed it at me. ‘‘You’ll find I’m not as nice as my cousin,’’ he said in a warning tone.

  ‘‘Oh, well then,’’ I said, feeling the heat of an anger so deep fill me up completely, ‘‘let me rephrase. Fuck you!’’

  Chase’s face hardened to a granite look that was eerily similar to Dutch’s. His finger curled around the trigger as we stared each other down. ‘‘Don’t!’’ came a throaty whisper. ‘‘Chase... don’t do... it.’’

  Chase glanced at his cousin and scoffed. ‘‘You’d thank me in time,’’ he said, but pulled his finger off the trigger.

  I glanced at Jane, who had her hand on his arm and was shivering in fear. ‘‘Baby, please!’’ she said. ‘‘Please don’t hurt them!’’

  I realized suddenly that in the odd lighting of the tomb her jawline matched a photo I’d seen before. ‘‘You were with Chase in the car at the bank,’’ I said. ‘‘It was the mustache that threw me. It was thick enough to make us all believe you were just a skinny guy.’’

  She glanced at me in surprise, then gave me a small nod.

  I then turned my attention back to Chase and his cut lip and bruised eye. ‘‘No makeup needed for that look, though,’’ I said. ‘‘I’m guessing you got that from Delgado?’’

  Chase gave me a mirthless smile. ‘‘He put up one hell of a fight getting into the trunk of Misty’s car,’’ he said.

  ‘‘And I’m sure he gave up an even bigger fight when it came to his diamonds,’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Five million in stones,’’ Chase said. ‘‘Kind of tough to ignore that kind of temptation, if you know what I mean.’’

  ‘‘So you killed him,’’ I said, shaking my head and trying to let it sink in that someone so bad could be related to someone so good.

  ‘‘It was an accident,’’ Chase said, and waved his pistol at the wall, where we all suddenly noticed a huge rust-colored stain. ‘‘He jumped me when I came in here to bring some aspirin to Dutch. We fought and my gun went off. All I wanted was the stones and Misty. I just wanted a chance for a clean slate and a new life without always having to live up to my cousin. I mean, do you know how hard it’s been all these years? Dutch is like some kind of hero in my family, Mr. Goody-goody. Hell, even my wife worships him.’’

  ‘‘He saved your ass from debt collectors and all kinds of financial trouble!’’ I yelled at him. ‘‘He gave you a chance to be a man, Chase, not a no-good loser!’’

  ‘‘There’s just no saving some people,’’ Chase said sarcastically. ‘‘I could never live up to my good old cousin Dutch. Everyone would always look at me as being second-best. So, one day, I decided that if I couldn’t be the best good guy, maybe I’d be the best bad guy.’’

  ‘‘But what about your wife? Your baby?’’ Cat said. ‘‘How could you just leave them?’’

  ‘‘Trust me,’’ he said. ‘‘They’re better off without me.’’

  ‘‘Make no mistake about it,’’ Candice said to him in a deadly calm voice. ‘‘If anything happens to Dutch while you two are off making your getaway, I will hunt you to the ends of the earth, and I will kill both of you without a second thought.’’

  My heart welled with emotion to have a friend like Candice in my corner. ‘‘And I’ll keep her well funded for as long as that takes,’’ said Cat, rubbing the red mark on her cheek. ‘‘Count your breaths, Chase Rivers. They are definitely numbered.’’

  Chase regarded us moodily. ‘‘I’ll send an ambulance once we’re up in the air,’’ he said. ‘‘He can hang in there another couple of hours.’’

  ‘‘No, he can’t,’’ Nora said, bending down to Dutch and feeling his brow. ‘‘He’s septic. I’d give him maybe an hour, but it might already be too late.’’

  My heart seemed to stop and I knew that Nora was telling the truth. ‘‘You’ve killed him!’’ I screamed at Chase. ‘‘You fucking bastard! He’s your own flesh and blood!’’

  ‘‘It’s his own fault!’’ Chase roared back at me. ‘‘If he’d just left it alone, none of this would have happened!’’

  I did something then that I’ve never done before. I lost my sanity. When they talk about crimes of passion, where all cognitive thought leaves you and some animal instinct takes over, I know exactly what they’re talking about. I flew at Chase. His eyes
became large round orbs registering his shock and he moved to point his gun at me, but he didn’t get off a shot before I slammed into him and pulled him into my knee, just like I’d seen Candice do.

  He doubled over and I grabbed a fistful of his hair, slamming his nose into the hard marble floor. ‘‘You bastard!’’ I shrieked. ‘‘You... stupid... fucking... piece of shit... bastard!’’

  I could feel something hit my back, and sharp nails scratched at my back. ‘‘Let him go!’’ Jane yelled, but I wasn’t even close to finishing the pummeling Chase deserved.

  I stood up and slammed my elbow back hard. It hit Jane in the chest and she let go of me. Then I started kicking Chase with all the strength I could muster. ‘‘I hate you!’’ I kept shouting. ‘‘I hate you, you bastard!’’

  He was rolling around on the ground, trying to get away from me, but I followed him and kicked and kicked and kicked. I was panting hard, but I kept going... until a shot rang out just over my head. Then everybody froze.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘‘Ah,’’ said an oily male voice. ‘‘Dinner and a show. You just have to love Vegas.’’ I knew without looking up that Robillard had finally tracked us down, and I also knew that meant we were all as dead as the bodies laid to rest around us. In the distance I could also hear the sounds of sirens, and I realized with a leaden feeling that I’d heard them faintly when I was kicking Chase and hadn’t been aware until just this second that they had seemed to come close to the cemetery, but were now moving away into the distance.

  ‘‘Oh, don’t let me stop you,’’ Robillard said when I finally looked up at him. ‘‘Continue on, Miss Cooper. It will help with my alibi when I tell my colleagues that I walked in on a scene of total carnage. I’m thinking of making it look like the end of Hamlet, you know, how everybody dies?’’

  ‘‘Go to hell,’’ I said, my chest heaving as I stepped away from Chase, who was curled up in a fetal position holding his nose, which was bleeding through his hands.

  Robillard smiled evilly. ‘‘Spoilsport,’’ he said, then seemed to notice that we were all listening to the distant sound of sirens. ‘‘Ah yes,’’ he said. ‘‘The cavalry. They were initially directed to the cemetery, but on their way here another call came in. Apparently you and your merry band have been spotted half a mile south, in the parking lot of a Wal-Mart.’’

  ‘‘Oh, no,’’ my sister said, and a quick glance told me she’d begun to cry.

  Robillard ignored her. ‘‘What I want to know before I kill you, Miss Cooper, is how you knew about Cynthia.’’

  ‘‘She told me,’’ I said, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. My satisfaction, however, was short-lived as that look was replaced quickly by skepticism. ‘‘Don’t believe me?’’ I asked coolly.

  ‘‘Don’t tell me,’’ he said. ‘‘You had some vision where she came to you in a dream and gave you all the gory details,’’ he said, and the oil sound in his throat became extra slick.

  ‘‘Not quite,’’ I said, still cool and calm, hoping that by keeping him talking, I might give Candice time to try one of her famous karate-chop moves. ‘‘It wasn’t a dream, but Cynthia did show me her entire murder scene. How you and she met at her house late one night and sat in the kitchen at the table. You were wearing this light blue suit, and a thin black knit tie with a gold tie clip. I remember you were also wearing a wedding ring, but that’s a thing of the past now too, huh?’’ I said, pointing to his left ring finger.

  I had Robillard’s full attention, and I could tell by the flick of his eyes that he had barely resisted the urge to glance at his own hand.

  I continued. ‘‘There were big sunflowers on the wallpaper, and her dishwasher was on in the background along with the television. I remember hearing the music to The Tonight Show, so it must have been right around eleven thirty at night, right? You and she sat at a table and she said, ‘It’s all there, Ray,’ and that’s when you pounded the table with your fist. She asked you to keep it down because her daughter was upstairs sleeping, and that’s when you struck. You got to your feet, almost casually, pulled her from the chair, twisted her around, and snapped her neck. You killed her in about three seconds flat. Then you grabbed that folder and left.’’

  ‘‘Fascinating,’’ he said, and pointed his gun at Candice, who had made the tiniest movement forward in his direction. ‘‘Careful, Miss Fusco. I promise you I’m a very good shot.’’

  My heart sank. Robillard knew whom to keep his eye on. That didn’t stop me from trying to distract him, however. ‘‘What I want to know, Ray, is, what did she have on you?’’

  Robillard’s smile broadened. ‘‘Now, now,’’ he said. ‘‘Some things are better left in the past.’’

  ‘‘Stolen mob money,’’ Dutch croaked. ‘‘She knew you’d helped Delgado hide the money he took from his Mafia boss back in Spain.’’

  Robillard’s eyes roved over to Dutch. ‘‘Agent Rivers, I underestimated you,’’ he said. ‘‘Yes, we split the money. I met Delgado in Brussels at a restaurant. Can you imagine what a coincidence that was? Here he was, informant to the CIA, being handled by some young, barely out-of-training agent—Kelton—and he and I meet casually at a restaurant. We struck up a friendship, and he explained that he was having some difficulty with his handler. His faith in the CIA to get him safely out of the country and into the U.S. did not run deep, and while he liked Kelton, he didn’t feel he had the pull at the agency that was necessary to get Delgado to safety.

  ‘‘I agreed to privately mentor Kelton. We saw each other in the Belgium office on occasion, but I was working mostly with a KGB informant at the time, so our relationship appeared to everyone else to be quite informal. We’d have lunch and I’d give him advice about how to wind Delgado through the system and help him get settled in the U.S.

  ‘‘It was at one of these lunches one afternoon that Kelton revealed that he not only knew the exact amount that Delgado had stolen but where the money was hidden. He’d kept this information private, until he’d had a chance to run an idea of his by me.’’

  ‘‘The plot thickens,’’ Candice said with a snort.

  Robillard regarded her with his cobralike eyes. ‘‘And so it does,’’ he said. ‘‘Kelton suggested that the three of us do some creative financing. He explained that the agency had never really known how much money Delgado had stolen. He was very evasive when it came to facts and figures, and he’d told three different agents three different amounts over the months that he’d been an informant.

  ‘‘What can I say? The idea of ten million dollars split three ways in the late seventies was very attractive and I succumbed to the temptation. We devised a plan to report the lowest figure that Delgado had given as the actual amount he’d stolen, and sock the rest of the money away for ourselves. I know that the higher-ups at the agency always suspected there might be more, but they could never actually confirm the amount. So, the three of us agreed to turn most of it over to the agency, and we very quietly secured some funds for our own individual retirement plans.

  ‘‘Everything went smoothly until I received a call from the accounting department. Kelton had been the subject of some intense scrutiny as the money trail began to wind its way back to him. He was Delgado’s handler, after all, and the agency was suspicious of the amount that had been turned over, as the Spanish mob boss in custody continued to insist Delgado had stolen more than he’d turned over to our agency. Kelton was given a lie detector test, which he didn’t quite pass, and he resigned rather than put up with being further scrutinized.

  ‘‘He and Delgado remained close, keeping each other’s secrets, and neither of them ever gave me up, but that could be because I had some insurance on that end.’’

  ‘‘You know about Kelton’s sexual preferences,’’ I said with a distasteful scowl.

  ‘‘Yes, and I also had influence with certain higher-ranking members of the immigration panel who renewed Delgado’s visa every six years. One word from me, and Delga
do could have been flown immediately back to Spain.’’

  ‘‘Where he’d be assassinated before he even got off the tarmac,’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Precisely.’’

  ‘‘Which doesn’t explain how Cynthia figures into this,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Ah, yes. That droll-looking toad of a woman. She was a nothing at the agency, a joke really. The only one who ever took her seriously was Gaston, claiming she was a genius when it came to numbers, so the agency kept her on. Mostly she worked audits on old files, just to make sure things were on the up-and-up. And somehow she tracked the money down to the very Belgian bank we each had our accounts in. She believed I was her ticket to being respected, you see. She figured if she brought me in, she’d no longer be a joke. But we all know who got the last laugh there,’’ and Robillard made me queasy with the derisive laugh he had at what he believed was a fond memory.

  ‘‘Once she was taken care of,’’ he continued, ‘‘we moved the money to a more secure Swiss-bank-account location, and the three of us were able to breathe easily. Then, in a stroke of genius and to make sure no one ever tracked us to the money again, I kept the investigation of Cynthia’s murder going, blowing smoke where I needed to or pulling the case away from eager beavers who were in danger of discovering things they shouldn’t. And for nearly thirty years no real leads were ever turned up, until, of course, I discovered that our rising star here, Agent Rivers, was doing some digging into the lives of my dear friends out here in Vegas. Speaking of which, where is my old chum Ricardo?’’

  ‘‘He’s dead,’’ Dutch said, and his fevered face turned menacingly to his cousin. ‘‘He tried to escape and Chase shot him.’’

  ‘‘It was an accident,’’ Chase said, still on his hands and knees.

  ‘‘Well then,’’ Robillard said, ‘‘all I’ll need is those diamonds, Mr. Rivers, and we can get on with it.’’

  Chase looked up at Robillard, his face a bloody mess. ‘‘What diamonds?’’ he said, but it was obvious he knew.