Next of Kin (3 page)

“Yes, sir?”

“Sarah Steinman. Brickman Apartments. 9B. Now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me back on this number when it’s done.”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead in his ear.

He went back up to his bedroom, then stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. The police would be here within hours. Might as well get a little rest while Pacheco cleaned up.

Beth glanced up at the wall clock over Detective Burroughs’s desk. It was after 3:00 a.m. Why was it taking so long? She’d given her statement, picked a man from a photo lineup even though she’d already furnished them with a sketch, and agreed to testify in court should he be brought to trial. What more could they possibly expect from her?

Her eyes were burning from lack of sleep, and she was in the process of getting a headache. There was no way she was going to be able to make it to that meeting tomorrow. She hoped people would understand. Deadlines were a big deal in the publishing world, and client approval was always the first order of the day, although in this case all her sketches were done and turned in. The meeting was just a follow-up, in case any changes needed to be made.

All of a sudden the door to the captain’s office swung open and Detective Burroughs came out. There was a strange expression on his face, but when he spoke, he was all apologies.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” he said. “If you’re ready, I’ll take you back to Miss Steinman’s apartment.”

Finally.
“I’m ready,” she said, then gathered her things and followed him to the parking lot.

Once inside the car, the silence got to Beth. “So the man I picked out in the photo lineup…who was he?”

Burroughs hesitated. They didn’t want to spook her, but on the other hand, they couldn’t just let her go about her life without knowing how dangerous he was.

“He’s associated with organized crime. Let’s just say it would be best not to mention names at this point, not until we’re able to gather more evidence against him.”

Beth was shocked. “You mean you aren’t going to arrest him right now?”

“He’ll be questioned, but I can promise you, he’ll have an airtight alibi. It will come down to your word against his, which won’t hold up in court, and we don’t want him to know there’s a witness. We’re still processing evidence from the scene. Finding his DNA on the victim’s clothing would be a plus. It’s complicated.”

Beth frowned. “But I saw him push her, then cut her throat as calmly as if he were slicing a loaf of bread. Not even an expression on his face. What good does it do for a witness to come forward when this is all that happens?”

Burroughs knew how she felt. Sometimes the police felt just as helpless. The justice system was complicated, and quite often the people with the most money and power could get away with a lot. It was going to take an ironclad case against Ike Pappas to bring him to justice, and they didn’t want to mess it up by jumping the gun.

After that, the drive was silent. Beth wasn’t in the mood for conversation, and the detective seemed focused on the street traffic as well as the traffic on the police radio. When they finally reached the Brickman Apartments, she breathed a quick sigh of relief. The sooner she could put this behind her, the better.

“Here we are,” Burroughs said as he pulled up to the curb. “I know there’s a security guard on duty, but considering the hour, I’ll walk you back in.”

“Thank you,” Beth said.

They entered the building in tandem. Beth stepped aside long enough for the detective to flash his badge and remind the guard that Miss Venable was a guest in 9B; then they got on the elevator together.

“You really don’t have to walk me all the way to the door,” Beth said.

Burroughs smiled. “It’s not a problem.”

There was nothing more she could say. The elevator stopped on the ninth floor with a jerk. As they neared the apartment, Beth began digging for the key Sarah had loaned her, and when they stopped at 9B, she slid the key into the lock.

She paused. “So here we are. Thank you for the escort.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Burroughs said, and stepped back as Beth opened the door, revealing a darkened interior.

“I guess she turned off the lights,” she said, and fumbled for the switch just inside the door.

In seconds the interior lit up.

Beth walked inside. “I’ll be okay from here.”

Burroughs nodded as he turned and headed for the elevator.

The unfamiliar feel of a strange apartment was still with Beth as she walked toward the sofa, where her bed had been remade. She tossed her jacket on the arm and dropped her purse on the floor. She was just about to kick off her shoes when she glanced up, then stopped short. The door to Sarah’s bedroom was ajar, and she could see flashes of light, probably from the television screen. Beth wasn’t in the mood to talk, but if Sarah was awake, the least she could do was let her know she was back.

The moment the door swung inward her mind went blank. It took another second for her brain to register the scene.

The television was on, but muted. Sarah was lying in bed with two pillows propped up behind her and the remote in her hand. Her eyes were open. But it was the hole in the middle of her forehead and the blood-soaked pillows behind her head that made reality kick in.

Beth screamed, then covered her face and screamed again before it hit her that the killer might still be inside. With her heart in her throat, she bolted for the door.

Burroughs was halfway to the elevator when he heard the first scream. By the time she screamed again he had already pulled his weapon and was running back down the hall. Just as he reached the door, it flew open and Beth Venable fell into his arms.

“She’s dead. Sarah’s dead. Someone shot her. There’s blood everywhere. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”

Burroughs gave her a rough push. “Stay back,” he ordered, and slipped inside with his gun still drawn. He quickly checked out the living room and kitchen, then moved toward the bedroom and the gaping door. He’d seen plenty of bodies during his career, but it was something he’d never gotten used to.

Beth Venable was right about one thing—Sarah Steinman was definitely dead. From the size of the hole in her forehead, he would guess a .38 caliber. The odd thing about the room was that nothing was out of place. There’d been no fight, no resistance. The muted television was odd, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d heard something out of place and muted her program to listen closer. He could picture an intruder entering the apartment, pushing open the bedroom door and firing point-blank. She wouldn’t have had a chance to scream or run, and since nothing had been reported, he suspected the killer had used a silencer.

A few hours ago this twentysomething woman had called in to report a murder, and now she was dead.

The whole setup stank.

He holstered his gun, got Beth Venable out of the hall and called in the murder. When he turned around, Beth was still standing where he’d put her, white-faced and shaking so hard he thought she might faint.

“Sit there,” he said, pointing toward the sofa. “I’ve called it in. Police will be here shortly.”

Her eyes were wide with shock. “Why did this happen?”

The first thought that went through his mind was that Pappas already knew there was a witness, which meant there was a snitch in the department. The possibility definitely existed. It made him sick.

“It’s hard to say. Obviously someone took her by surprise. She didn’t even have time to fight or run.”

Beth wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth where she sat, but the expression on her face was one of dazed disbelief. She kept remembering that moment in the dark when she’d felt as if the killer were staring straight into her eyes. Maybe he had seen her at the window. This was Sarah’s apartment. He would have had no way of knowing Beth had been the witness—the
only
witness.

“It was the killer from across the street, wasn’t it? There was a moment when I thought he saw me. He must have. That’s why this happened. Oh, God. It’s my fault. It’s my fault Sarah’s dead.”

Two

Rebel Ridge, Kentucky

R
yal was finishing his first cup of coffee as day broke in the east. He tossed the remaining dregs into the rosebush by the front steps and then set his cup on the porch railing. He needed to deliver a special-order hutch he’d made for a customer’s wedding anniversary, but for some reason he didn’t want to leave. That uneasy feeling he’d had last night was still with him, but business was business.

An hour later he was loaded and ready but continued to hang around the house, delaying the inevitable trip as long as he could. He kept thinking he was going to miss something important if he left, then reminded himself that if he were really needed, he would eventually be found.

Beth had cried until she was numb. Except for a throbbing headache, she felt nothing. She hadn’t moved since Detective Burroughs had set her down on the sofa other than to pull a blanket up around her shoulders. It wasn’t because she was cold so much as a subconscious effort to hide from what was going on. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sarah’s face and that blank, sightless expression—and the blood. Dear God, the blood.

Police were everywhere. The crew from the LAPD crime lab was still taking photos and fingerprints and bagging evidence, although the coroner had come and gone, taking what was left of Sarah Steinman to the morgue.

As Beth glanced toward the windows, she was shocked to see the faint rays of first light pushing over the horizon. A new day was about to dawn while she had yet to come to terms with the old one.

Startled by a flurry of activity at the doorway, she turned to look just as three men in dark suits entered the room. She saw Detective Burroughs glare, have a few words with them, then look her way. Her heart thumped hard against her chest as Burroughs started toward her with the three men at his heels. Something bad was happening.

“Beth, these men want to talk to you.”

Beth drew the blanket tighter beneath her chin as the tallest of the three men flashed a badge.

“Miss Venable, I’m Special Agent Ames with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. These men are Special Agent Burke and Special Agent Charles. We’d like to talk to you.”

Beth blinked. The FBI?

“About what?”

Ames sat down on the sofa beside her, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees in what she supposed was a move to try and put her at ease, but that was never going to happen—not here.

“You know the man you picked out of a photo lineup at the police station…the one who matched your sketch and who you said committed the murder in the apartment across the street?”

She nodded.

“His name is Ike Pappas. He’s the current head of a crime syndicate that reaches all the way to the other side of the country. The woman you saw him kill is his ex-wife, Lorena. We’ve been building a case against him—or trying to—for the past two years. Problem is, our witnesses keep recanting their statements or disappearing—or dying.”

Horror was rising within Beth in creeping increments. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse.

“Have you arrested him?”

“Not yet. The police are still working the evidence from the crime scene. Lorena was going to testify against him. The fact that she’s dead tells us he probably found out. And the fact that your friend is dead is obviously because he found out that there was a witness to the murder. With the intelligence he’s able to gather, it won’t take him long to find out he had the wrong woman killed.”

Her fingers curled into fists to keep them from trembling.

“But wouldn’t his fingerprints be all over the place? And his DNA must be on her. They were hitting each other before he cut her throat.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Pappas owns the building. He set his ex-wife up in the apartment and visits regularly. His DNA and fingerprints are all over the place with good reason.”

Beth’s heart was pounding so fast it was difficult to breathe. “Are you saying he’s going to get away with it?”

“Not if we can help it. Not if we can keep you safe until we go to court.”

Beth glanced toward Sarah’s bedroom. “And you’re sure that’s why Sarah was killed.”

“We think so.”

Too shocked to cry, she kept trying to make sense of Sarah’s death. “How did he find out about the phone call so fast?”

Ames glanced at Burroughs, who looked away.

“In this case, we believe someone from LAPD gave him a heads-up that there was a witness, so he did what he always does—eliminates the obstacles in his path. This is the first time that his information was faulty. Because the call that came in was from your friend and the crime was witnessed from this apartment, he made the assumption that she was also the witness. He and his informant don’t know about you. Yet.”

It was the “yet” that made the skin crawl on the back of Beth’s neck.

“What are you saying?”

Ames glanced again at Detective Burroughs, who was trying not to glare. Ames knew the LAPD was angry that the Feds were commandeering their case. It was a territorial thing that had nothing to do with Beth Venable’s situation. But the bottom line was that she had to be protected, and the FBI had the better chance of making that happen.

Ames turned his attention back to Beth.

“You’ve already agreed to testify, right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then we need to put you in protective custody until the case goes to trial.”

Beth flinched. The blanket dropped from around her shoulders. “Because I’m next?”

“We know they’ll try to eliminate you once they realize they killed the wrong person. We can protect you.”

Her head was swimming. This couldn’t be happening. And all because of a gas leak on the other side of the city.

“For how long? I have a life. I have a job. I can’t just disappear. And doesn’t it take months, sometimes years, for a case to go to trial?”

“Time will mean nothing to you if you’re dead.”

Beth slumped against the arm of the sofa and covered her face. Swamped with guilt for causing Sarah’s death and fearing she would be next, she felt defeated.

“Ma’am?”

Beth made herself look up.

“You need to come with us.”

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind in the few seconds that she sat there, but she kept going back to the hole in Sarah’s forehead. There was no escape.

“I’ll get my things.”

It was just after 6:00 a.m. when the detectives pulled up to the gates of the Pappas estate and rang the bell. A few seconds passed, and then someone answered.

“The Pappas family is not receiving visitors this early.”

The detective pulled his badge and aimed it toward the security camera.

“LAPD. Open the gates.”

A few moments later the gates swung inward and the detectives drove through. The arrival of the police was beyond the staff’s area of responsibility. The housekeeper immediately rang Ike Pappas’s room.

Ike hadn’t been asleep more than a couple of hours, and hearing the phone ring was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

When he realized it was an in-house call, he was pissed.

“This better be good.”

“The LAPD is on their way to the house, sir. I thought you’d want to know.”

Ike shifted mental gears and apologized to his housekeeper. “Oh. Sorry for snapping at you, Beatrice. I’ll be right down.”

He rolled out of bed and made a quick trip to the bathroom before putting on a robe and house slippers, then headed down the stairs.

He met Adam coming up. He was wearing workout clothes and dripping with sweat.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“Beatrice just woke me. She said the police are on the way up the drive. On another note, you’re up early.”

“Working out, obviously,” Adam said, turning to follow his father back downstairs.

At that point the doorbell rang. The housekeeper appeared in the hall and went to answer.

The door opened. He watched a couple of detectives flash their badges as they walked in. He called out as he continued down the stairs,

“Thank you, Beatrice. I’ll take it from here. Make some coffee, please.”

She scurried away as Ike moved toward the detectives with his son at his heels. He’d had a lifetime of dealing with confrontations and had already prepared himself for this moment. He pulled the sash of his robe a little tighter as he crossed the foyer.

“What the hell, guys? Don’t you have enough to do without getting a man out of bed?”

One of the detectives stepped forward and flashed his badge again. “Detective Samson, Homicide. This is my partner, Detective Phillips.”

Ike frowned. “Homicide?”

“Yes, sir. We regret to inform you that your ex-wife, Lorena Pappas, was murdered in her apartment last night.”

Ike had practiced the look of shock that he forced onto his face, along with his gasp of disbelief.

“What the hell?” He turned to Adam, who’d gone white as a sheet, and pulled him into his arms. Ike morphed his true concern for Adam’s grief into a very passable imitation of rage. “What happened?”

“Someone entered her apartment and slit her throat.”

Adam groaned, then began to sob, clinging to Ike even tighter.

Ike kept his arms around Adam’s shoulders as he faced the cops. “Tell me you have the son of a bitch who did this.” When the detective hesitated, he pushed his anger up another notch. “Certainly you at least have a suspect! I own the damn building. Security is top-notch. He would have been caught on camera!”

“The security system was disabled, and the guard on duty is dead,” the detective said.

“Noooo,” Adam wailed, and pushed out of his father’s arms.

Ike saw the pain on his son’s face changing swiftly into rage. An involuntary shudder swept through him, knowing how close he was to having his carefully constructed world rip apart. It was time to point opinions in the right direction.

He ran a hand over his bald head, as if in frustration. “I’m sure you know I have enemies.”

Samson nodded, took a quick breath as if gearing up for the question, then blurted it out.

“We need to know where you and Adam were last night.”

Ike shifted from concern to indignation. “You ask such a question of
us?
What the fuck’s the matter with you people? We have no reason to want Lorena dead. I was on good terms with my ex, and Adam adores his mother.”