Killing Frost Page 15

  Kowalski poured Shanahan a cup of coffee.

  ‘I called Collins. He’s on his way out.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘My boat has gone.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘What do you know?’ Kowalski asked Collins as he came in. Collins glanced at Shanahan, who was putting some apricot preserve on his toast, and then up at Maureen as she descended the stairs.

  ‘You have a license for a bed and breakfast?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Lose a car?’ Kowalski said in response.

  ‘Lost a cop, I think,’ Shanahan said.

  Kowalski explained the footprints, the missing boat.

  ‘Someone was outside last night?’ Maureen asked.

  ‘No prints now,’ Collins said.

  ‘Frost. Kind of like looking for fingerprints on an icicle,’ Kowalski said. ‘They were there fifteen minutes ago.’

  Collins pulled out his cell. ‘Tell Swann to come on out and bring the kids in the white coats.’ He put the phone back. ‘Some blood splatter on a rock.’

  ‘Is that Card’s squad car?’ Shanahan asked.

  Collins nodded. ‘Signed out to him.’

  ‘You don’t know where he is?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘No contact at all yesterday. Sent someone to his place. Nothing. And some other news. The girl, Samantha, may not have been murdered. She may have done the deed herself. We’re looking into it.’

  ‘So he may not have ordered her hit to protect himself?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Even monsters can fall in love,’ Maureen said. ‘Maybe he loved her.’

  Shanahan said nothing, but he didn’t believe a broken heart was in Card’s nature. Revenge, maybe. Personal survival would rate high on a list of motives.

  No one else spoke. It was clear that not only was there nothing to say, but that no one knew what to do. Card was the essential link. If he was disposed of, they would all be back to zero.

  ‘What time did she die?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Early morning.’

  ‘He could have tailed me down to Holcomb’s office and then to the library. He was in a rage. Her death could be why.’ Shanahan said. ‘He had to know where I lived so he could tell her where Fournier could be shot.’ Then he remembered. ‘I told him where I was going,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Who?’ Kowalski asked.

  ‘Holcomb. Like I said before, I told him I was going to the library to look up all sorts of things. Largely a bluff to make him nervous. I can’t believe I forgot.’

  ‘And you did make him nervous,’ Collins said. ‘And you may be next on this endless list.’

  Shanahan had to find a safer place for Maureen, a safe method to get her there. And, most difficult of all, convince her to go. If Card was alive, then he probably still wanted Shanahan dead. If Card blamed Shanahan for Samantha’s death – if he cared at all – Maureen might also be a target. If Card was dead as the scene suggested, or as it was intended to imply, his killer might well believe Shanahan had incriminating information and must be eliminated as well. Death seemed to be the solution to everything. Wasn’t it? he asked himself.

  Shanahan would return to his home and play the role of the tethered goat. He understood he had no client. He had no moral responsibility. In fact, a good case could be made for him to stay out of it. Go off to Hawaii. He realized, though, he could not let this go. He couldn’t go on even with his petty, uneventful life with the dead boy’s picture still in his head.

  ‘Did Holcomb decide to take Card out? ‘Shanahan asked. ‘If so, how did he find the people to do the job?’

  ‘Everyone who knew anything has been killed,’ Kowalski said. ‘The killer – the person calling the shots, that is – is pretty thorough, pretty paranoid.’

  Kowalski stepped outside to watch the crime scene investigators arrive. Collins was already out there.

  ‘And then there was one,’ Maureen said. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means. It just came out.’

  ‘You’re crazier than I thought,’ Maureen said when Shanahan suggested she slip on one of the crime scene investigators’ white coats from their lab, go to the airport and catch a plane to California where Shanahan’s son and family lived. They’d love to have her. ‘No,’ she said firmly.

  ‘When this is over, I’ll join you. A little vacation in wine country?’

  ‘No. Your brain is on the fritz. Even your left side is iffy. You can’t tie your shoes. You’ve broken half our china …’

  ‘Maureen, I’m a professional,’ he said, half believing it but wholeheartedly wanting to. ‘I don’t tell you how to sell a house. I don’t demand to be there when you’re closing the deal. That is what you do. This is what I do.’

  He thought he might have gotten through, but he hadn’t.

  ‘There’s a time,’ she said.

  ‘Crap,’ he said.

  He knew. When he sat down to pay his bills, even his right hand did not follow directions. His handwriting had become illegible. Trying to stuff checks and bills into envelopes became a challenge. The scrunched-up envelopes looked like his hands, not only wrinkled but slightly contorted. The whole process took longer, much longer, frustratingly longer. He moved slower, thought slower. But, even in poor shape, he would stand a better chance if he didn’t have to worry about her as well as himself. He could figure out a way to compensate for his shortcomings. What made her presence problematical is that in these kinds of circumstances he would never be able to accurately predict her behavior. And he would be more concerned about protecting her than doing his job, which was to kill the bastard.

  She was right. He was right. Yet they were going in completely different directions. He needed to do what he needed to do. Alone.

  ‘This isn’t negotiable,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no room for error,’ Shanahan said. While he was at the edge of the actuarial table, she had plenty of room. ‘Listen to me. With my life the risk is low. I can’t lose much. You can.’

  ‘He may be dead, anyway,’ Kowalski said, coming into the kitchen. ‘It may be over.’

  ‘He’s not dead. It’s not over.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Kowalski asked. ‘He have an accomplice? There were two sets of footprints. I saw them.’

  Kowalski, shaking his head, draped Maureen’s coat over her shoulder. Shanahan noticed it hung heavier on the right side. Maureen apparently noticed too. She put her hand in her pocket then pulled it out, trying to put a blank look on her face. Her poker face was always comical, Shanahan thought.

  ‘Collins is having them match Card’s DNA with the blood on the rock,’ Kowalski said, ‘and I overheard him telling someone to get a boat down here to check out the riverbank and, if necessary, drag the river for a body.’

  ‘It will be Card’s but they’ll never find the body. Collins is wasting his time.’

  Collins came up. ‘Don’t take my name in vain.’ He looked at Shanahan. ‘Until we find out what’s going on here, why not take a vacation?’ he asked, his eyes moving from Shanahan to Maureen. He smiled at the obvious defeat of his suggestion. ‘I can have the area around your place patrolled.’

  Uncomfortable quiet followed. ‘Stay away,’ Shanahan finally said.

  ‘The problem is that if Card has been murdered,’ Collins said, ‘then there’s another murderer to be found. Maybe two if Samantha didn’t do herself in.’

  ‘There always was,’ Shanahan said. ‘Card and Samantha were the hired help.’

  He didn’t tell them how much he wanted Card.

  ‘Any other words of wisdom?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Daniel Holcomb.’

  ‘The defense attorney?’ Collins asked. ‘In what way?’

  ‘As I’ve said before, he seemed to be on Card’s side in committee deliberations. He has expensive upkeep.’

  ‘Not much. This is why there are twelve people on a jury. Oh, and your little Tyrus thing? How is that going?’ Collins said as he left them.

  Back home, he lo
oked at the house differently. With the exception of the kitchen, which was the center of action. Shanahan read his morning paper there. Maureen, when she worked at home, set up her laptop there. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were consumed there. The table was for food and for work and for conversation. There were four doors in the kitchen: from the garage, to the basement, from the outside, and a doorway into the rest of the house.

  The only other door from the outside was the front door, which opened into an entry hall. To the left was a hall to the two bedrooms and the bath. Other than these doorways, the only way in and out of the house was through windows. Shanahan nailed shut all of the windows that couldn’t be seen from the street. He nailed shut the door from the garage to the kitchen and used a padlock piece of hardware to secure the door from the kitchen to the outside.

  ‘Lunch?’ Maureen asked as Shanahan came up from the basement carrying a shopping bag full of J.W. Dant bourbon and Mount Gay rum. She had put away the groceries they picked up on the way home. Her eyes widened. ‘I see we’re setting priorities. What are you doing?’

  He set the bag on the table, picked up the hammer and a nail the size of a railroad spike. As best he could with his half useless left hand, he drove the nail into the doorframe, sealing off the basement.

  ‘Seems like we ought to be on Key Largo, the way we are battening down the hatches. Are we preparing for a hurricane?’

  ‘We’re preparing for a madman, professionally trained to carry out his madness.’

  In the quiet that followed, Shanahan heard the raindrops hit the window. It would be a cold rain which, Shanahan thought, suited his closing up the house in anticipation of danger.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Seems as if you’re making some random choices. This door, but not that one. This window, but not …’

  ‘When you’re herding cattle, you funnel them into one exit. You limit their choices. I’m limiting Card’s choices.’

  ‘If I were him, I’d just burn down the house.’

  ‘As a cop, he’d know better than that. Too iffy. He needs to know I’m dead.’

  ‘That we’re dead.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll just want you dead so I’ll suffer,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘How sweet of you.’

  Shanahan continued. He hid weapons – steak knives, a baseball bat, an aerosol can with a butane lighter – in various places around the house.

  The day passed under the sparse, cold rain. With Shanahan’s new ability to drift in and out of sleep in what seemed like a blink of an eye, he did not know how long he slept for. But he and Maureen were still alive when he decided to get out of bed at a dark six a.m. He didn’t turn on any lights.

  He pushed the button to get the coffee going. He looked out of the front window. Nothing to see. The newspaper, in a plastic bag, was just outside the front door.

  Sitting at the kitchen table so that he’d be out of the line of fire, he read:

  Missing Police Officer Feared Dead

  Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department (IMPD) Sergeant Leonard B. Card, 53, has not communicated with his superiors in 48 hours. His squad car was found abandoned in Ravenswood yesterday under suspicious circumstances. Blood was found nearby. Authorities are testing DNA to determine if the blood belongs to Card.

  Not much, Shanahan thought. When he turned the page he found a handwritten note that had been tucked in: You and your lovely Maurie enjoy the last minutes of your lives.

  Shanahan called Kowalski.

  ‘Do you have a sadistic rooster over there?’ Kowalski asked groggily.

  ‘Sorry.’ Shanahan brought the lawyer up to date, including the note inside the morning paper.

  ‘You want me in the spare bedroom for a couple of days?’

  ‘No, but could you do a complete background on someone?’

  Kowalski agreed, though he was surprised by the name.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘I am.’

  Shanahan went to the bedroom. Maureen was asleep and curled up the way he had left her. He made the rounds of the house, in what little light the morning chose to provide. He checked his work. All seemed secure.

  If Card wanted to disappear and start a new life, why would he write a note? He couldn’t help it, Shanahan concluded. In a way, they were alike. Shanahan could have dropped the case. He had done what had been asked of him. In fact, he had been formally dismissed.

  Maureen awoke. ‘What happened to the heat?’ She had draped herself in a blanket. She looked malformed and forlorn, a strange combination of monster and mood.

  ‘I’ve already turned it up.’ He poured a cup of coffee for her, stuffed the note in his pocket. ‘It will catch up.’

  By mid-morning it was clear. As the sun rose, the temperature dipped. There was no catching up.

  It occurred to her first: the situation was more serious than they wanted to admit. They were on the verge of an ice storm. If it happened, there was a good chance the electricity would go out. They had enough food and, clearly, they had enough alcohol. The refrigerator was unnecessary in such circumstances. The stove was gas. But light and communication with the outside world – TV, radio and some telephones – were at risk. Telephone lines were known to snap under the weight of constantly accumulating ice. She instantly put her cell phone in its charger.

  She left the kitchen. When she returned, she was dressed. Warmly. She held out a sweater for Shanahan.

  ‘Put this on,’ she said.

  ‘It’s scratchy and it’s a turtleneck.’

  ‘It would seem silly to have saved your brain only to have you kick off with pneumonia,’ she said.

  He might have resisted more if he wasn’t so cold.

  ‘I need to get batteries, candles, a battery operated radio,’ she said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I have to go and I have to go now. It will only get worse.’

  ‘I can’t let you go out there. Who knows where Card is lurking.’

  ‘The longer we wait the worse it gets.’

  He followed her into the garage, having pulled out the nail that sealed it shut.

  She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I’m still packing.’ She patted the pocket of her overcoat. ‘I’m not afraid to use it,’ she said, no doubt, Shanahan thought, trying to reassure both of them.

  He stood just inside the door as she backed the car out. There was no real light, though it was just after noon. There were only dark shadows in a gray mist as far as the eye could see. The rain, though not yet dense, was hard and cold. It wouldn’t be long before it turned to a torrent, coating everything with ice.

  If it happened, the city would simply shut down. Cops, firefighters, emergency health workers – all would be stymied at least for a few hours. The night would be dark, everywhere.

  He waited until she was on the street and moving forward before he pushed the button for the garage door to close. He was inside when he heard the door come to rest on the concrete.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Inside, in the kitchen, the first thing he saw was her cell phone getting re-energized in the wall outlet. She didn’t have it with her. He put his half-cup of coffee in the microwave and went to the living room window to look out. Nothing had changed in the last few seconds.

  He thought he heard a creaking sound, but if so, it was soon obliterated by the buzz of the microwave. He was on hyper alert, perhaps because he was worried about Maureen. Her going out. Leaving her cell behind. And a madman being loose. His being less than whole.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Shanahan.’

  ‘This is Collins.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘The blood on the rock is Card’s.’

  ‘That was quick.’

  ‘We had his on file. We had support from the top. Also, we found blood in the boat, which was floating around Broad Ripple Park.’

  ‘Are you going to dredge?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Collins said.


  ‘I have a theory,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Let it go, Shanahan. You’re like a terrier with a pant leg.’

  ‘Who killed him?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘That’s for us to find out.’

  ‘He’s not dead.’

  ‘Get some rest.’ Collins disconnected.

  As Shanahan put the phone down he noticed the plastic daily pill container. He hadn’t taken his morning pills. He’d have to pay more attention. He took his morning dose: prednisone, a steroid prescribed to fight against the swelling and inflammation of his brain; two blood pressure pills; a pill for vitamin D and calcium; and the most important, two anti-seizure pills. He’d have a little dip in energy in a few minutes. He sipped some coffee to ward off a drift into naptime, then went to the window in the living room. He hoped Collins was right and Card was swirling into some black hole in space, but he couldn’t ignore the note. He still wanted Maureen home. Now. The wind picked up and slammed the rain against the glass. The sky went battleship gray. Nearly black. He left the lights off to limit visibility from the outside.

  There was a loud snap. The darkness was intensified but not complete. It was almost like the light suddenly dimmed in his brain. The room felt empty and dark. He felt empty and dark. His left hand began to jump on its own. He could see, but it was like looking through a veil. He was surprised to see Leonard Card in the kitchen doorway. Shanahan’s .45 was in a drawer in the kitchen, on the other side of Card. No. Card was holding it.

  The man with the gun seemed almost an apparition, a faint projection into the fog. In fact, the world seemed as if the light had been squeezed from it. Reality was in question.

  ‘You know how to handle a forty-five, Card? You sissies on the force now have these nine millimeters; popguns for thirteen-year-old girls. Then you pick your victims carefully. A couple of adolescent boys and …’

  ‘And an old geezer who should have checked out years ago.’

  ‘After you, I’m probably next in line.’