Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (18 page)

Livermore grabbed the
Daily
and walked to the door of his office. He turned the knob and pulled the door open. “Just make sure this asshole and his paper don’t get anything more.”

Livermore turned and almost ran into three men crowded around his assistant’s desk. She immediately stood and said, “Deputy Inspector, this is...”

“We’ve met,” one of the men interrupted. “Bill Munro. I’m the asshole’s boss.”

“Bill? What are you doing here?” Livermore asked. “You know the channels.”

“We need to discuss something and we need to do it right now,” Munro said, his voice full of the urgency he felt. He had been working with legal for most of the night and only caught a couple hours sleep on the couch in his office. Already, they were working on promoting this thing for tomorrow’s paper. He had to get this done and get back to the office.

“Maybe we can arrange something for this after…”

“You ever find McIntosh’s ID, Stephen?” Munro interrupted. “You ever find her driver’s license?”

Livermore glanced down at the large envelope Munro was carrying. “Oh no.”

Livermore looked at Mann and Keough and then turned to his assistant. “Have coffee and some Danishes or whatever you can find sent to the conference room. Come on, Bill. You and the asshole follow us.”

*

Lewery was sitting beside Mann, thoroughly enjoying himself. Munro had provided photocopies of the letter so all the members of this impromptu meeting had their own copies. The original and the driver’s license were already on their way to the lab for fingerprint analysis. Mann had finished reading and was telling Lewery that he would have to be fingerprinted for elimination.

“No problem. The legal beagle over there already warned me about that. So how is Dani?”

Mann didn’t miss a beat. “As beautiful as ever. She has something going in the financial district.”

In the past, Lewery had let it slip out that he knew about Mann and the television reporter. He also made it clear that he wasn’t using it as a bargaining chip. Instead, he had tried to use his knowledge as a peace offering, a bit of shared confidence as an ice-breaker. Mann didn’t really dislike the reporter, as hard as he tried. He was always on the lookout for the next lurid headline but a straight shooter and more honest than most reporters. So they had an uneasy relationship, neither really giving the other much slack.

“If she ever gets tired of lugging that camera around, tell her the
Daily
would take her in a heartbeat. She’s a hell of a reporter and I don’t mean just for a Flashcam. She’d probably take my job.”

“She can’t type,” Mann said with a grin.

Before Lewery could respond, Livermore started the negotiations. “I know what a civic minded individual you are, Bill. So what do you want?”

“Want?” Munro said, a hurt tone in his voice. “Hey, we want this guy caught. But, we also can’t ignore the fact that he did pick us.”

“Well, me, actually,” Lewery interjected.

“Let’s start with what you can’t use,” Livermore said, ignoring the reporter. “You can’t use the mark. That is non-negotiable. We are withholding that and anyone who leaks it will have to get themselves arrested to ever see the inside of a police station again.”

“Done,” Munro said. “But when it is all over, we have the exclusive on it.”

Lewery could have kissed Munro. The reporter could see the cover of his book already. The mark, carved in the back of a woman, dripping with blood. Perfect.

“If it is possible, it is yours,” Livermore agreed. “How are you going to play this?”

“The advertising has already started. The letter will be front page tomorrow. We’ll take the mark out so that nobody even knows it was there. I’ll even black out the reference in the letter.”

Livermore smiled. Without the reference, no other news agency would be sniffing around to discover what the mark was. And the black out would play well – a good visual. Win. Win.

“Are you going to try to set up communication with him?” Mann asked.

“Definitely going to try and set up some sort of a rapport,” Lewery admitted. “But don’t even think about tapping any of my phones.”

“No taps. Unless he contacts you by phone and then all bets are off,” Livermore said.

“I don’t think he is going to be calling anytime soon,” Munro said.

“Besides, you can’t photograph telephone conversations,” Keough added.

“Damn straight, Skippy,” Munro smiled. “This ain’t television.”

Thorman worked his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension. They felt like rock. He had a pain running up from his right shoulder, through his neck and into his brain. The pounding was becoming almost unbearable.

Being in the office was beginning to wear on him and it was showing. Several of his colleagues had commented how tired he looked. How many times had he jumped when someone walked into his office? Every time the phone rang, his stomach turned and he could feel his bowels begin to loosen. He was so close. He just needed a little more time and he would have his revenge and more money than he could possibly need.

If he survived until this last deal happened, he would be set. He would have enough to be able to leave little pots of money buried in the banking systems around the world for Angelino to find. A multimillion dollar trail of bread crumbs to keep him off track and searching everywhere Thorman planned not to be.

If his brain didn’t explode first, either from this headache or a bullet.

With that cheering thought fresh in his mind, Thorman stood and walked to the door of his office. He casually looked to his right toward the senior partner’s big double doors. With nobody in sight, he stepped three steps to the left and quietly unlocked the fire exit door that went to the main hallway. Whenever possible, he used the washroom outside the office complex. Strangely, he felt the public washroom was more private.

He walked quickly to the washroom, hurrying inside when he heard the signal for the arriving elevator. Stepping quickly to one of the four stalls, he slipped inside and shut the door. He heard the main office door open and then shut. He hoped whoever had arrived wasn’t there to see him.

When he realized that his heart was beating too rapidly, he tried to breathe and relax himself. Still leaning against the door, he made no attempt to take down his pants. Instead, he rested his forehead against the cool metal of the door and let it ease his headache.

The outer door opened. He didn’t dare move. When the stranger’s voice called his name, he began to wish he had pulled his pants down.

“Mr. Thorman?”

Silence filled the washroom and Thorman tried not to breathe.

“Mr. Thorman, you do not have time to jerk me around. I am here to save the life of you and your family.”

When Thorman still didn’t respond, he heard something hit the floor and slither under the stall. He watched as a photo slid across the floor and stopped at his foot. Another followed. And another.

He was looking at a picture of his daughter getting dropped off at her Day Care by his wife. He remembered seeing his daughter wearing the cute little blue jumper just this morning. Exactly what she was wearing when she kissed him goodbye at the breakfast table – a Cheerio stuck to her chin – looking sweet, adorable and so innocent.

The second picture was of his wife, looking so sexy, running in her tight yoga pants and crop top in the park. Trees and bushes lined the frighteningly empty path.

In the last shot, he saw himself, fast asleep in his bed, still in his clothes, obviously passed out from one of his late night drinking binges. His wife was asleep in the bed beside him, sheets pulled down, her nightgown in disarray, her left breast exposed. He felt violated, angry and frightened. But anger started to win out as he realized that this man had been in his house. He had stood over him and taken this disgusting picture. Thorman imagined this man touching his wife, who always slept so soundly.

But as a fourth picture slid under the stall door, all anger disappeared and fear returned. He felt his forehead slip against the metal door as sweat quickly beaded on his brow. There was his little girl, his sweetheart, his most treasured possession, asleep in her pink
Little Mermaid
bed. On her back, one arm wrapped around Mr. Froggie, the other with her thumb in her mouth. Her blonde hair, loose and framing her face on her pillow. And pointed at her, held by the same man taking the picture, was a large gun, the ugly silencer pointing straight at his daughter’s head.

Thorman didn’t even hear himself moan.

“Are you ready to talk, Mr. Thorman?”

Thorman slowly opened the door and looked out at the man in front of him. He had expected a hardened killer with a gun. Instead, he was faced with an ordinary, boring mailman. And he was smiling a nice, reassuring, mailman smile. One that said, don’t worry, I will be happy to deliver that letter to your grandmother.

“Sit down, Mr. Thorman.”

Thorman just blinked at the mailman, looking at him as though he was speaking a foreign language.

“Truly, Mr. Thorman, don’t waste my time. Sit down, pick up the pictures and hand them to me, please.”

Thorman blinked twice more and did as he was told. He suddenly understood that it was all over and he could finally relax. This mailman was coming to end it all for him. No sense fighting, he could never win now. There was always another mailman on the next street. And all the mailmen knew where he lived.

“I am going to give it to you quick and fast, because we don’t want to get interrupted,” the mailman said, taking back the photos and putting them in his bag. “Angelino knows everything – except where the money is. Do you understand?”

Thorman nodded.

“Good. Do you still have all the money?”

Thorman nodded.

“Do you want your wife and daughter to live?”

Thorman nodded.

“Understand, you are already dead but I can save your wife and daughter from a very unpleasant death. Your wife would live a long time but she would be used, repeatedly. That fit, sexy body would become a play land for some very deviant, wealthy men. And all the time, she would know that your daughter was suffering a similar fate – all because of you. You understand what I am saying?”

Thorman nodded.

“Gather the money. I know you have it hidden all over. I want all the codes, I want everything you have. Hold anything back and I can’t guarantee to save your wife and daughter. Give me everything and I can look after them. Will you do that?”

Thorman nodded.

“I need to hear the words.”

“I will get you all the money to give back to Angelino.”

“And the insurance you have? The disk you hoped to use against Angelino? You know it won’t save your wife and daughter. I’ll need the disk, too.”

“I will give you the disk.”

“Good. I’ll contact you in two days. Don’t think of running. We know about the passports. You are being watched. Your wife is being watched. Even your daughter is being watched. Look for the green sedan when you drive home tonight, that is one of your escorts.”

“Green sedan,” Thorman repeated.

“Don’t arouse suspicion. Act normal but you must send your daughter to see your wife’s parents. She needs to be away and safe right now. Do you understand?”

Thorman nodded. Some part of his mind wondered what would be on his headstone.

Preston’s fingers, already black from the newsprint, ran over the headline again as though he could feel the type. He had read the newspaper so many times; the long, front page story was committed to memory. The first part just rehashed the killings. Although being reminded of the details gave him an erection, it was the second half of the story that really excited him.

He felt Dale speaking directly to him, even if the words were not on the page. Dale, who always questioned the police, the biggest bullies going, had to be on his side. Dale was too smart to come right out and say that he supported Preston. Judging by all those letters to the editor, condemning his sacred mission, too many readers misunderstood his mission for Dale to publicly admit he was cheering him on to greater success. But Dale was a kindred spirit. Was he just so incredibly understanding or was he a fellow sufferer that would join him in his fight?

He watched as Dale exited the newspaper building and wandered down the street. How he longed to walk up and shake the newsman’s hand. Thank him for his understanding. But it was too early. The police might be watching.

Soon enough, he would have his time with Dale. He already knew his home address. That had been easy. For now, he would just enjoy a closeness, a camaraderie he had rarely felt in his life.

He stood and followed Dale down the street, clutching the paper close to his chest.

Men expect certain sounds when a woman dressed for a night out. Hangers shifting, shoes tossed aside, hair dryers. However, not when the woman getting ready was Danett Wood. Even before Mann wandered out of the bathroom of Dani’s apartment, he could hear the rhythmic, rasping sound.

Dani was sitting on the bed. The special vest that held the batteries for her video camera lay beside her. But the vest carried more than batteries.

The sound was beginning to grate on him. “Do you have to do that?”

Dani looked up at Mann and smiled. She knew the cop in him didn’t like her carrying the knife. However, it was as much a part of her as her camera and vest. The vest was her design because the heavy battery packs were too heavy to carry on the usual belt. The right shoulder also had special padding that helped cradle the camera and save her from incredibly sore muscles after a day of shooting.

The knife had been added later. She had been told to keep it sharp.

Commanded, was more like it. Major Jon Van der Meer, retired, was used to giving commands. Tall, blonde, and muscular, Jon was descended from South African stock. He had gone to England to study and joined the forces and then the SAS, although he would never actually admit it. He was the ideal of the SAS soldier – tall, muscular, fit, handsome. Not to mention an incredible lover.