A Knight at the Opera (28 page)

I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Is his name Conner
Pennington?"

There was a pause, then she said in an irritable tone, as though peeved that I
was stealing her thunder, "Yes." Then something must have sunk in, because she said, "How
do you know--"

"It's a long story. Jana, he's the man who's been looking for you. He killed
Bonners and the woman from Rawlings Professional. And now you've walked right into his
clutches."

"Shit! I just thought he was a witness. What do I do?"

"You need to get the hell out of there. Immediately. Don't meet with him."

"Bullshit!" she said. "I'm not going to run away and hide from the son of a
bitch."

"Jana, he's already killed two people. You can't just--"

"They didn't know they were in danger. I do. And I've got the Glock with
me."

"You can't just walk up and shoot him. Even Stone wouldn't go along
with--"

"Screw Stone. And no, I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to shoot him unless I have
to. And not anywhere that will kill him. I'll let you know what happens. I'll be taping the
conversation. He won't know it."

She ended the call.

Maurice had been listening to my end of the conversation. "What?" he asked
urgently.

"Jana. She's going to the mall to meet a murderer."

"And?"

I jumped to my feet. "We're going down there."

* * * *

At that time of the evening, traffic in lower downtown was relatively light. I took
a few chances, running the red light on Fifteenth Street and another one as I turned onto
Speer Boulevard. Maurice and I had debated our options. If I called the police and they
went rushing to Jana's rescue, she would be furious at me. Doing nothing was not an option.
Going there was our last resort, although neither of us had any idea what we would do once
we got there. There was no point in trying to call Jana, in hopes of changing her mind. She
wouldn't even answer her phone.

Maurice persuaded me that there was one additional thing to do, and I called a
number that had become all too familiar.

"Why are you calling me at night?" Stone demanded. "I'm off duty."

"Because this is an emergency." I knew his first impulse would be to say, "Call
nine one one," and hang up on me, so I kept talking. "Jana Deacon is on her way to Cherry
Creek. She's meeting with Conner Pennington."

He let out a deep breath. "Why the hell is she doing that?"

"She found out that his car was parked near the mall the night she was
assaulted. She thought she'd found a witness and arranged to meet him. Instead, he's the
spider and she's the fly."

"Does she know?"

"She does. I just told her. But she thinks she can handle him by herself."

"Then she's a damn fool. What's she planning to do?"

"She says she's going to tape their conversation. Maurice and I are on our way
there."

"Is she armed?"

"She is. Her Glock G20."

"She's not at her place of residence. She can't rely on the 'Make My Day'
law."

"I know. She says she's not going to kill him."

"How far away are you?"

"About ten minutes. We're not too far behind her."

"I'll meet you there. It'll take me longer. I'll have dispatch see if anyone's
closer."

"Can they do it without lights and sirens?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Damn her!"

"Tell me about it," I said. "For once, we agree on something. I--" My phone
beeped. I told Stone, "Someone's calling me. I'll meet you at the mall." I was hoping it was
Jana, but it wasn't.

It was Brandt Johnson from Semper Security. "I got your message this
afternoon," he told me. "And I was so intrigued by your question that I've spent most of the
evening going through those recordings and the box office records."

"And?"

"It's utterly incredible, but you were right." He explained what he had found.
"How on earth did you know?"

"I didn't. It was just an educated guess."

"Well, if so, it was college level. You know, of course, that I have to tell the police
about this."

"Of course. In fact, I'll be seeing Sergeant Stone in about fifteen minutes. I'm sure
you'll be hearing from him."

By then, we were southbound on University, approaching the west parking lot
where Jana was meeting Pennington. This was going to be touchy. We couldn't rush in like
the cavalry. Jana was apt to shoot me if we pulled a stunt like that. On the other hand, I
wasn't going to wait idly while she was alone with someone who had already brutally
murdered two people.

Maurice said, "Park down here on level one and we'll walk."

The garage was nearly empty. For reasons I had never understood, all of the
stores in the mall closed at nine. Only the movie theater, located on the east end, stayed
open later. I swung my car around, not bothering about whether I was in a designated
space, and switched off the lights and the engine, so we could figure out our game plan. We
didn't have to wonder whether he was up on the second level with Jana yet, because less
than thirty seconds after we'd arrived, we heard the sounds of a vehicle approaching from
outside the garage and saw headlights reflecting off the side walls. We both ducked down.
Evidently the driver didn't see us, because he cruised past without slowing down. I sat up
just in time to see back of a dark colored 4Runner as it rounded the corner, bound for the
second level.

"What do you think?" I said.

"I'd say wait three minutes and then we head up there."

"Why three?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It gives them time to start talking, but probably not
enough for him to do any serious harm."

"That's as good as anything I can come up with."

"Do you have your revolver?" he said.

I touched the area where the Smith & Wesson rested in its holster. "Of
course, I can't just start shooting into an occupied vehicle."

We timed it with the stopwatch on my phone. After about two and a half
minutes, I said, "I can't stand the suspense. Let's go."

We climbed out of the Audi, closing the doors gently so as to not make noise, and
started walking, as though we were just two guys casually strolling through the empty
parking garage, which was brightly illuminated with rows of fluorescent lights. As we
rounded the corner, we slowed our pace. Two vehicles were parked side by side, about half
way up the row. The one closest to us was Jana's. The people in the front seat were engaged
in a struggle. The passenger had something around the neck of the other person, whom I
quickly realized was Jana.

Maurice took off at a run toward the vehicle. I did the same, but he was three full
strides ahead of me. For a big man, he could really move. He charged up to the passenger's
side and smashed his fist against the window. It cracked but didn't splatter. He hit it again,
and this time managed to put his hand all the way through. He jerked the door open.
Almost in the same movement, he grabbed the man by the collar, pulled him out of the
vehicle, and slammed him down onto the floor. Before the assailant knew what had
happened, he was sitting on the concrete, looking dazed, with my gun pointed directly at
his forehead.

It was Conner Pennington.

"Stay put," I told him, "so I won't have to shoot you. The cops are on their way.
They know about the people you've murdered."

A peculiar look came over his face, as though he'd just awoken from a terrifying
nightmare.

Then he buried his face in his hands and just sat there.

Jana had opened the door and scurried out of her green Corolla. She was
cradling her left arm as though it was broken again. I expected an angry outburst, like,
"What the hell are you doing here?" or "Why didn't you let me handle this?"

Instead, she threw her right arm around my neck and began sobbing against my
chest. In the bright light, I could see red welts rising on her neck, where it looked like a
leather strap had bitten into her skin. I kept my eye--and the Smith & Wesson--on
Pennington, but he wasn't moving.

He just kept sitting there.

I waited until she had calmed a little and asked, "What happened?"

"He grabbed my arm, right out of the chute," she said, gesturing toward her left
arm. "And started twisting it. I tried to reach for my gun, but he pinned me between the
steering wheel and my door. There wasn't enough room in the car to kick him or punch
him. He pulled off his belt and slipped it around my neck. And just kept pulling it tighter
and tighter. I'm not sure what happened after that."

"Maurice busted the window and pulled him off of you." I glanced over at
Maurice. His right hand was bleeding heavily and had swollen up like a balloon. He looked
to be in serious pain.

"Tempered glass," he muttered disgustedly.

I told him, "Next time, we'll get you a jack handle to use, instead of your
hand."

He looked at me disbelievingly. "Next time?"

I became aware of a rush of activity around us. Suddenly, we were surrounded
by patrol cars. In a flash, five uniformed officers leapt out of their vehicles--and were
pointing their guns directly at me.

"Please drop the weapon, sir," one of them called out.

I said. "Don't shoot. I'm one of the good guys."

"Then lay down the weapon."

"I'm doing it." I bent down slowly and set my revolver on the concrete floor. A
fourth car came screeching up the ramp. Without even having to look, I knew who was
driving. I said, "Sergeant Stone knows what's going on. Meanwhile, my friend here needs
medical treatment."

One of the patrolmen looked at Maurice's mangled hand. "Ouch. What did you
do, put it through the window?"

I said, "This is Maurice White, the ex-Bronco. He's a knight in shining armor.
Again."

Maurice shot me a withering glance, but said nothing.

Jana uttered something inappropriate.

I smiled at both of them. That was a good sign.

They were both going to be just fine.

* * * *

That evening lasted well into the night. Stone and one of the uniformed officers
followed as I drove Maurice to the Rose Medical Center, with Jana at the end of the
procession. The Hispanic man at the admitting desk gave me a peculiar look when he saw I
was accompanied by Jana, the former patient, and Maurice, who was obviously the new
patient--especially since there was a uniformed cop with us, plus Stone who looked like one
even though he was dressed in a shirt and slacks.

He remembered having seen me a few weeks earlier. "We don't give discounts to
repeat customers," he commented with an amused grin.

I returned the smile. "Then I'll have to take my future business elsewhere."

Once we got Maurice checked in--and provided proof of insurance--they led him
back into the emergency room. He was obviously going to need x-rays, but they said they
needed to get the bleeding stopped first. Jana's arm was still hurting her, but she insisted
she was just fine. The waiting room was about half full of people, presumably awaiting
word on the condition of their loved ones. Stone wanted details, so he led us out of the ER
area into the main hospital.

The four of us--Stone, the uniformed officer, Jana and I--set up shop at a
grouping of chairs in the long hallway. Jana told her story, while the officer took notes. He
also activated a little recorder he had placed on the table between two of the chairs. Jana
described her interaction with Pennington that led to the meeting at the mall.

When Stone asked her what happened inside her car, she pulled a little device
out of her purse and pressed a button. The uniformed cop turned his recorder off.

Jana: "Are you Mr. Pennington? Thank you for--ow! What are you doing?"

Pennington: "I didn't come here to play games. You saw what was in the
envelope, didn't you?"

Jana: "No, I--ow, that hurts! Stop it!"

Pennington: "You shouldn't have tried to find me. You stupid bitch!"

The sounds of a struggle came through the speaker. That went on for probably
thirty seconds and then a thump, and a second thump--which I presumed was Maurice
putting his fist through the window. Indistinct noises followed until Jana reached over and
stopped the playback.

That's when the final piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Jana turned toward me. "How did you know he was the one I was meeting
here?"

"It's a long story. I'll give you the play-by-play later. Sergeant Stone already
knows most of it."

Stone reared back, as though surprised I was referring to him respectfully. I
tilted my head half an inch, in a gesture of acknowledgment. Something had passed
between us earlier in the evening, during our conversation while I was racing to the mall. I
knew it wouldn't last, but for the time being I wasn't going to disturb it.

I told him, "There are still a few things that you don't know." He stirred irritably,
the way he always did when he thought I was putting something over on him, and he
started to say something. I raised my palm. "I just found out about them--or, at least, the
ones that really matters--on my way over to the mall."

"Yeah?" he said. "What's that?"

I turned toward uniformed cop, "You're going to want to start your recorder."
He did, and I returned my attention to Stone. "After you and I talked this afternoon, I
realized that there were several pieces missing from this puzzle. Maurice brought up one of
the issues, namely Pennington's motivation. It seemed strange that he would murder two
people just to keep it a secret that he was impersonating Markowsky and spending time
with what everyone presumes was a prostitute. I can name a handful of well-known
philanderers who have risen like the Phoenix after trashing their reputations in sex
scandals."

"What's your point?"

"I'll get to it. Standing alone, it was possible, but I had my doubts. But then there
were two other things. Something I heard this morning made me suspect that more was
going on at the opera that night than I suspected."