Blood Kills Page 10

  “I’ve got stuff in the back of my Ram. We can go now, if you’re done reading us the riot act.”

  Wukowski grinned. “Doubt I scared you.”

  “Nah,” Spider said, “and you didn’t scare Angie either.”

  Word, I thought, mentally echoing my grandsons’ newest favorite phrase.

  Chapter 27

  The dangers of life are infinite, and among them is safety.

  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  Thanks to Wukowski’s badge and a call to Rebecca Franken, the building manager put up no barriers to unlocking the office door. The entire ride up in the elevator, the fussy little bow-tied man repeated various versions of “it wasn’t our fault.”

  Exasperated, Spider finally turned to him and said, “We get it, Mr. Markham. Once I’m done looking at Ms. Franken’s computer, I’ll need to see the security tapes from the night of the assault.”

  “I, uh, I’ll have to pass that by our attorney,” he said. “I didn’t think about that last night when I got the call from the police. Learning about an attack on Ms. Franken shook me up. But I should not have let them look at the tapes without our legal staff’s agreement.”

  “Or,” Wukowski said, “I can get a court order and you can look like you’re unwilling to cooperate in a police investigation of a serious assault with ties to an open homicide case.” Wukowski gave it the just-the-facts tone that he’d perfected.

  “I would never—”

  “That’s exactly what you’d be doing,” he continued. “Delaying me in the conduct of my duties. So what’s it going to be?”

  The elevator dinged, and we exited and walked down the carpeted hall.

  “Very well, but I assure you that it’s a waste of time. I, uh, I took a look this morning. The cameras to the elevator and the stairway were both out of order for maybe thirty minutes. Our lobby guard noticed and was on the phone with the security company when they came back online, so nothing was done.”

  “What about the hallway on her floor? And the other areas of the parking structure? Give me a look-see, Markham,” Spider said. “That time of night, there couldn’t be much traffic. I may spot someone approaching the disabled cameras. It’s amazing what biometrics can tell us these days.”

  “Biometrics?” Markham asked.

  “Things like gait, distance between eyes, ears. They’re all very indicative. I’ve got connections who can use even small amounts of data to narrow the field of suspects.”

  And not all of those connections are strictly legal, I mentally added.

  Markham clearly wanted to hang around the law office with us, but Wukowski dismissed him with a gruff, “I’ll call you when we’re done here.”

  Once inside, Spider rolled Andrew’s chair from the reception area into Rebecca’s office. “Hers is way too small for me.” He stooped down to glance at the desktop computer, still unlocked from the previous night, and began to type, interspersing clicks with periodic hmms, yeps, and uh-huhs, all punctuated by the gyrations of his eyebrows.

  After ten minutes, he looked up. “Files related to Michael L. Swanson have been deleted from the hard drive. The perp was damn clever. He installed malware to erase the entire drive if I try to restore them. Lucky Franken has offsite backups in place. I can revert to an earlier version from before the files were deleted. Hang on.”

  Spider moved the mouse and clicked a few times. In under a minute, he said, “File folder called SWANSON, MICHAEL L., with a file called LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT and a SWANSON HOLDINGS subfolder. I won’t open anything here in case the guy was smarter than most and touched the backups too. I’ll install them on a USB drive and check them out on an air-gapped—isolated from the internet, for you non-geeks—computer in my lab. That way, they can’t infect anything else.”

  “Surely he must’ve realized that Mick had copies,” I said. “Why erase them from Franken’s computer?”

  Wukowski rubbed the back of his neck. “Once Hunter has his own set, he can go after anyone named in the will. Get their copies. And question them about the so-called “hidden material” Mick claimed would establish his innocence by pointing to Hunter.”

  “That would be Debby and… maybe me,” I said, my voice sounding squeaky with the sudden realization of exactly how dangerous our positions were. I tried to keep my expression impassive, but my heart rate ratcheted up at the fear of coming face-to-face with a ruthless killer like Artur Hunter.

  “Now do you get it?” Wukowski glared at me. “You need to back off this case and wait for us to put him away.”

  I’d faced personal danger before. In an office storeroom, where a bullet took out a small chunk of my side. Rolling down Interstate 94 in a semi’s load of pipes while a killer pursued Bobbie and me. Tracking down a dead man. But this felt more immediate. More personal. And much more fraught with the potential to end my life and Debby’s.

  Before panic overtook me, I breathed deep and reassured myself that, in each of those cases, my friends, my team of special ops guys, and my homicide detective lover all had my back. I had emerged, if not unscathed, at least functional and, after a period of healing, able to enjoy life. That would be what tethered me to sanity now.

  “I’ll go talk to Debby,” I told Wukowski.

  Chapter 28

  Stay alert. Stay alive.

  U.S. Army training film

  I left Ma’s and made my way to Debby’s shop at the Galleria. A cheery group of female knitters and one rugged-looking man clacked both needles and tongues in her classroom area.

  “Angie,” she said, looking up as her needles continued to form perfect loops, “it’s good to see you.”

  It probably won’t be, once I update you on Franken and the current threat level. I recalled the DEFCON—Defense Readiness Condition—ratings that Spider explained during the course of the Johnson case. Back then, we were at DEFCON 2, one step below nuclear war. Ready to deploy and engage the enemy. It struck me that this was a DEFCON 2 situation also.

  “Can we talk privately?” I asked.

  “Sure. The class breaks up in about ten minutes. Want to wait in my office? Help yourself to a coffee or tea pod. Oh, I also have hot chocolate, but it might be too soon for that.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “Hot chocolate is definitely a cold-wind-off-Lake-Michigan drink in my estimation.” I settled myself in her office with a cup of herbal tea and waited while the group broke up and Debby farewelled them with “See you next week” and “Great job on that shoulder. They’re tricky” and “I hope all goes well with your mom’s surgery. Let me know.”

  “Now,” she said as she bustled in, “we should be alone until after school lets out. The door alarm will ring if a shopper comes in.” She took one of the two visitor chairs and folded her hands on her lap in anticipation.

  “I read Mick’s will and other documents last night,” I told her. “From the intact wax seal, I’m assuming you never looked at them.”

  “Well, no. I just stuffed them in my file cabinet at home. I never imagined that Mick would die so young.”

  “Of course not. But the envelope held unusual documents.” I handed her my cell phone to read an image of Mick’s note.

  “Dear God!” she exclaimed. “Angie, you can’t… I mean, that would be so dangerous.”

  “There’s more.” I related the events of the attack on Rebecca Franken.

  She blanched at that. “Oh, the poor woman. Concussion, bad bruises, and a black eye! I feel just awful for her. What room is she in? I’ll send her a bed shawl to keep warm. I always have a stock of them on hand for friends who are ill.”

  “That’s very kind, but I think she’ll be released this afternoon. My aunt is making the arrangements.”

  “Doesn’t she have family? She can stay with me, you know. I feel partly responsible for what happened. If I’d taken a look at the contents, maybe this Artur Hunter could’ve been stopped sooner. And… I know what it’s like to take a beating, Angie. She might want to talk to som
eone who’s been there.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

  My ex had been a serial cheater, but at least he never raised more than his voice to me. “You have a good heart, but I don’t think it would be wise for the two of you to be together.” A double target, and if Artur caught all three of us in one location, he’d win the trifecta.

  I laid Wukowski’s conclusions out for her, making sure to clearly enunciate the dangers.

  “Dear God,” she repeated as she wrung her hands, making no attempt to cease the behavior.

  I took her cold hands in mine. “The worst thing we can do is panic. I have a plan,” I said, using the quiet voice that my young children responded to when they were verging on a meltdown. “It’s not ideal, but you’ll be safe. Are you ready to hear about it?”

  She gave a small nod.

  “Detective Wukowski wants you to stay in a police safe house for a week, maybe two, until Hunter is caught. The good news is that no one can get to you there. The downside is that you’d have to close the shop for a short while. However, Wukowski thinks that the state’s Crime Victim Compensation Fund may cover all or part of your lost earnings.” I slowly rubbed the back of her hand in a soothing motion and waited several seconds before asking, “Is that something you’d consider, Debby? Because I honestly think it’s the best thing for now.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Without a doubt.”

  “What if… if they don’t catch him?” She squared her shoulders. “I’m not running again. I love my life here, the community of the other artists, my clients, my home, Bleki. Wait, what about Bleki? If I agree to the safe house, he’d have to come with me.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said. “I’ll check into it.”

  “How long do I have to decide?”

  “Tomorrow?” I asked. “Meanwhile, Spider Mulcahey has made arrangements for your personal protection. He’s sending a guy named Mad Man Malone.” At the look of alarm she gave me, I hurried to add, “Don’t let his nickname worry you. His real name is Eugene. He probably goes by Mad Man to be macho. He’s a pussycat, really.”

  In my mind, I saw myself crouched behind one of the stone grottoes at Holy Hill monastery while a killer took potshots at me. There were still nights when I woke up in a sweat from that nightmare. If not for Spider, Bram, and Malone, among others, the snow would’ve run red with my blood that day. So I valued Malone’s ability to morph in seconds into a tiger on the hunt. But I wouldn’t tell Debby that. Not after the violence she’d endured.

  “Angie?”

  Her anxious voice snapped me out of the reverie. “You won’t even know Malone’s there, but he will not let Artur Hunter anywhere near you, I assure you.”

  With a small sigh, Debby said, “Well, I hope Spider will understand, but I’d rather go to the safe house right away than worry about someone watching me all the time. It would remind me of… you know.”

  “I think that’s a very wise decision. Now, about the shop. Do you have classes tonight?”

  “No, not until the weekend.”

  “Perfect. Then I suggest you put a sign on the door that you’re closed due to a personal emergency until further notice.”

  She huffed. “I guess having a killer after you qualifies, if anything does.”

  “That’s for sure. You should stop mail and package delivery and set up an out-of-office response to emails and phone calls. Don’t say anything to the other shop owners. People are gossips. It’s just a fact of life.”

  While Debby took care of the minutiae of closing for a week, I texted Spider: Cancel the protection detail for Debby Hill. She’s going to a police safe house.

  Spider: Roger that. Frees us up to cover you.

  Next, I called Wukowski to let him know Debby agreed to the proposal.

  “That’s a relief,” he said. “One less thing for me to worry about. It’s already set up since I was pretty sure you’d convince her of the wisdom of the plan. I’ll send a squad over to take her home. She can pack up what she needs, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “She won’t go without her dog,” I told him.

  “No problem. We’ve had cats, dogs, parrots with bad vocabularies, lizards, snakes… you name it.”

  I explained the next steps to Debby, who turned a whiter shade of pale—to appropriate the Procul Harem title. “Will you be able to see me? Or at least call me?” she asked. “I need to know what’s happening.”

  “I think a call will be okay. But Debby, don’t call anyone else or let your friends know where you are. You’re off grid until this is over. Almost anything can be traced these days. The police will explain it to you.”

  “In that case, I’m packing a bunch of yarn. Knitting and crocheting keep me from going crazy.”

  “Good idea.”

  She gathered a huge bag of supplies, and we waited for the police to arrive. When the officers entered to escort her, she turned to me. “I’ll be safe, Angie, but what about you?”

  “No worries,” I said. “I’ll have Wukowski and Spider, not to mention Bram York, Mad Man Malone, and Tiny Tim. I defy Artur Hunter to get to me with them around.”

  She gave a little wave from the back of the squad car, and I smiled and waved back, praying to the God I wasn’t sure existed to keep us safe. Couldn’t hurt.

  Chapter 29

  Monsters don’t sleep under the bed. They sleep inside your head.

  Unknown

  The following morning, I visited Rebecca Franken. Wearing an eye patch, she sat in a recliner in Papa’s study, clothed in pajamas, robe, and slippers. Aunt Terry occupied the adjacent love seat. Since Papa is not a tall man and buys his furniture accordingly, Franken looked comfortable, watching the news on TV, with a cup of tea on the end table.

  I approached and bent down to place a kiss on her cheek. “How are you today? Did the transfer from the hospital go well?”

  After a slight start—perhaps she was uneasy about physical touch—she smiled and patted my arm. “I’m fine, just sore. And my eye was troubling me, so Terry suggested I cover it. Much better, but I feel like a junior version of Jack Sparrow.”

  Settling next to Aunt Terry, I gave a laugh. “Very dashing,” I told her. “Rebecca, is there anything else you’ve recalled since we spoke?”

  She clicked the remote to turn off the program. “Not to say recalled. More like dreamed. Or nightmared, but that’s not a word, right?”

  “No, but it probably should be,” I answered. “Can you tell me about it?”

  “Might as well. I woke up the whole household, so there’s no need to hide it.” She closed her eye. “I’m at home, working in my garden, when Mick enters via the back gate. ‘Find the box,’ he says. Before I can ask anything, he fades away. I stand up to look around, and a man in a ski mask grabs me by the arm. ‘Lebedev—you call him Swanson—do you store anything for him?’ He shakes me and grins. Evil. Pure evil.” Her eye popped open. “That’s when I woke up.”

  The doorbell rang and Aunt Terry rose. “That’s probably Ted,” she told me. “He called to see if Rebecca was up to a visit.”

  In a moment Wukowski entered the study and greeted Franken and me. I noticed a slight coolness but put it down to his being on duty. “I’m glad you’re well enough to see me, Ms. Franken. I’d like to go over events again. We find it often helps a person remember something they missed the first time around.”

  Franken explained about the nightmare. “I’m not a big believer in ghosts, but that sure sounded like a message from beyond.”

  “Did Swanson have a safe deposit box?” Wukowski asked.

  “He didn’t say so. I asked when I drew up the will so that we could include instructions for his executor, and he gave me an emphatic no. Wish I could tell you more.”

  “What was his state of mind at the time?”

  “Mr. Swanson was always very controlled when we talked or met, but he did say that he’d had a recent health scare.”

  I wondered
if that related to anticipation of bodily harm but kept the thought to myself.

  “And his decision to appoint Ms. Hill as his heir and executor. Did he give you reasons for that?”

  “Only that he had no family and he considered her to be principled and capable. He believed she would follow his instructions and was very unlikely to misuse funds. He also wanted to be sure the Galleria stayed open and Debby seemed the perfect person to assure that. He loved that place, Detective. He said it brought out the better side of him and that it allowed him to fulfill a youthful dream.”

  At the thought of a life with such aspirations cut short, I felt the start of hot tears but blinked and forced them back. Mick cared for the Galleria like a father would a child. We had to find Artur in order to keep that dream alive.

  “Well,” Wukowski said, “on the off chance, I’ll visit his bank and ask if he rented a box there.” Then he turned to me. “Since I don’t have a court order, it will be simpler to include Debby. The bank will allow her to have access once they see the will.” He gave me his lopsided smile. “I’m sure you want to tag along.”

  “You bet I do,” I said, ignoring the inference that he thought of me as a pesky little kid. “Before we go, Rebecca, is there anything you need? Or anything you want me to do at your home or office?”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head that caused her to raise her fingertips to her temples. “Ouch, keep forgetting not to do that. But the office is buttoned up tight, from what Mr. Markham tells me. Over and over. He called this morning.” Her uncovered eye rolled. “And my neighbor, Joshua Birnbaum, promised to keep watch on the house and garden. So I think I have things covered.” She leaned slightly forward and took my hand, patting it as she said, “I will never be able to repay your kindness, but I will make a generous donation to Terry’s organization. She tells me that a Catholic charity is more than happy to accept a Jew’s money and that the sisters are praying for my recovery. Imagine!”

  In the living room, we arranged to meet at the bank after Wukowski picked up Debby. That gave me time to retrieve the original copy of the will from my condo.