Killing Frost Page 16

  Shanahan confirmed he could move his right arm normally. He could move his left arm, though he could not completely control its movement. All the while, his left hand continued to flip about like a dying fish. If he remembered correctly, his body, the whole left side of it, would soon do the same.

  ‘How about that weather?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘I was thinking of moving to a warmer climate,’ Card said. He stepped into the living room.

  ‘I suspect you’ll eventually make it.’ Shanahan didn’t see how he could come out of this alive. But he had to find a way to keep Maureen from walking into her death.

  ‘Your little friend, Maurie? Will she be home soon?’

  Maurie. Shanahan thought of the note. His left eye twitched. Again. He was running out of time. He walked to the window.

  ‘Stay still, Shanahan.’

  ‘No one can see in,’ Shanahan said, picking up the glass ashtray from the table beside the sofa.

  ‘What are you doing, Shanahan?’

  ‘Thought maybe you wanted to smoke.’

  ‘I don’t smoke.’

  ‘No?’ Shanahan turned and flung it against and through the window, breaking out nearly a third of it.

  ‘What … Oh. Clever. Doesn’t change much. If I don’t do her here and now, I’ll do her somewhere else, some other time.’

  ‘Sounds like a song.’ Shanahan wondered if Card could see the twitching at all. It wasn’t just the left eye now, but the left side of the head.

  ‘Stop it!’ Card yelled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whatever trick you’re trying to pull …’ Card moved in. Cold and wet air whooshed through the hole in the window with each gust of the wind. ‘It’s not going to work.’

  ‘The person who hired you will give you up.’

  ‘No, she won’t. You don’t understand the dynamics here.’

  Electric shock travelled down Shanahan’s left side. He was being taken over by a greater force than Card. The man with the gun was becoming an afterthought. Any moment, Shanahan believed, it would all go dark and silent. Certainly he’d not be able to stand. His left knee jerked about.

  ‘Did you love Samantha?’ Shanahan managed to say, though the words came out twisted by his faulty brain. He didn’t recognize his own voice.

  Shanahan went down. His body lurched and jerked violently. He couldn’t breathe, but he could still see, could still hear. Card cursed.

  ‘You’ll die like the boy did,’ Card said. The cop was down with Shanahan. He had put the .45 aside and had the garrote in his hands. ‘The police will connect the murders – you, Maurie and the kid in the backyard – but not with me.’

  Shanahan tried to ask him again about Samantha, but the words came out gibberish. He understood it was gibberish, tried again and gave up, concentrating instead on breathing. It wasn’t happening. Air was in short supply even before the wire slipped around his neck.

  ‘I really wanted you to see me do her.’

  Shanahan was being electrocuted and strangled. Neither of them worked. He was conscious, in pain and now making sounds he didn’t know a human could make. Even so, he blessed his Maureen for encouraging him to wear a thick wool turtle-neck sweater.

  Using his legs and hips on his right side, he flipped his body. Card was still trying to adjust his killing wire when Shanahan struck. With his jerking, crab-like left arm, he went for Card’s neck. His fingers closed and locked in place, tightening on the front part of Card’s throat. Card, eyes wide, hit Shanahan on the chest, on his face, on his side. All over his body crazily, at first with fury and then with hysteria. All the while Shanahan’s body lurched, jumped, and flailed about, legs going one way, arms another. He didn’t feel Card’s punches. Card changed his strategy. He had to. He was being strangled. His windpipe was being crushed, Card tried frantically to break free, no doubt to retrieve the .45. But with each shock, Shanahan’s claw gripped tighter.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  At some point his memory stopped. The last Shanahan remembered he was convulsing on the floor and Card was trying to kill him. He didn’t remember anything about the hospital or the room that he was in, brightly lit, clean and quiet.

  For a moment he thought of nothing other than the state of his being. His fingers found bandages on his face, stitches on his lips. His chest was wrapped in gauze and he felt a subtle, low-level pain in his chest as he took breaths. There was a rubber tip attached to one of his fingers and a needle in his lower arm near his left wrist. Two clear bags, one no doubt containing saline and the other, a smaller one, probably a painkiller. It was with a sort of robotic intelligence that he took inventory and evaluated his environment. He thought of Maureen and his dissociative thoughts dissolved into panic.

  Fortunately, she appeared. Behind her was Harold. Jennifer Bailey’s Harold.

  She kissed him on the forehead.

  ‘You really are a tough old bird,’ she said.

  ‘Ditto, except for the kiss,’ Harold said.

  ‘Card?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Dead,’ Harold said.

  Shanahan looked at Maureen, sad that she would bear that burden.

  ‘I shot him,’ Harold said. Apparently seeing the confusion on Shanahan’s face, he added, ‘Miss Bailey asked me to check on you now and then. I saw the window. Didn’t have anything else to do.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Shanahan said. But he couldn’t help looking into Harold’s eyes for something that would help Shanahan believe him. Card’s death would help the person who ordered the deaths of Mrs Fournier and her brother.

  ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ Harold said. ‘Miss Bailey said she’s glad it’s over and for you to get well.’

  Sometimes he wished he didn’t have such a suspicious mind. But that’s who he was. On the other hand, having Harold look in from time to time wasn’t out of character for Jennifer Bailey. She wasn’t the most warm-hearted person in the world, but she took responsibility more seriously than most. And she was thorough.

  ‘The doctor said you’d be released this afternoon,’ Maureen said. ‘Aside from being pummeled pretty badly, your convulsion went on a while. You need a little rest.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘A little after ten a.m. A day has passed,’ she said, and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you need anything?’

  ‘Not at the moment.’ He had no idea of what he needed or might need. He was still adjusting to the new reality, whatever that was. ‘I’m happy enough seeing you here.’

  ‘I feel bad about it,’ she said, ‘but I can’t tell you how relieved I am that he’s dead. I would have shot him.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t have to.’ He wondered if he’d ever tell her how grisly those moments were. He must have passed out at some point before the EMTs came. He didn’t remember hearing the gunshot.

  ‘It’s over; finally it’s all over,’ Maureen said.

  ‘Not quite,’ Shanahan said.

  Kowalski, who was standing in the doorway, came back in when Maureen went out for coffee. He hoped it would clear what was left of his brain.

  ‘Why are you so sure Card is alive?’ Kowalski asked. ‘I saw two sets of prints, Shanahan.’

  ‘So you say. Who would have killed him? Card created both sets by stepping back into his own prints. He made two trips. One around the house, then he backtracked, made a trip to the river, dropped some blood, sent the boat on its way and backtracked. Again. In the dim light of the morning and, if he was careful, you wouldn’t have been able to see the double-step in the frost. By the time CSI got there and there was enough light to see the prints clearly, they were gone. The sun took care of the evidence.’

  Despite its recent unpleasant history, Shanahan was glad to be home. But he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he got there. Standing in the living room just before the opening to the kitchen stood a dog. A large boxer, a fawn-colored specimen with a white chest, ears uncut and tail not bobbed. He looked at the approaching humans without fear.
Though he barked, it was not threatening – more like a hello or, as it turned out, probably to advise the two men in the kitchen – Collins and Kowalski – of the homeowners’ arrival.

  Collins appeared in the doorway.

  ‘This is Ray,’ Collins said.

  ‘Ray?’ Shanahan asked involuntarily.

  ‘As in “Sugar Ray,”’ Collins said. ‘The boxer.’

  ‘Come on in,’ Kowalski said. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  While Maureen and Ray got acquainted – she set him up with a water bowl – Shanahan found Kowalski bent over his laptop computer.

  ‘You were holding out on me, Shanahan,’ Collins said. ‘Kowalski told me you are focusing on Thompkins.’

  ‘And with good reason,’ Kowalski said. ‘She’s on the board of Hunter’s Bank.’

  ‘Sounds about right for a very successful, highly ambitious business woman.’

  ‘Sure,’ Kowalski said, ‘but that knowledge allowed us to put in other criteria and narrow the field: property sales, Hunter’s Bank, Regina Thompkins, Indianapolis and Tyrus Investments. And now we have something.’

  ‘What?’ Maureen asked as Ray came up beside her and stood as if he was giving her away at the wedding. Father of the bride. Protector.

  ‘Thompkins,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘I thought she helped you?’ Collins said.

  ‘By pointing us toward Daniel Holcomb,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘And you did a U-Turn?’ Collins said, obviously unsatisfied.

  Kowalski stood. ‘My source said that Hunter’s Bank bought Tyrus Investments for forty million dollars.’

  ‘So there was a Tyrus?’ Shanahan asked. He looked at Collin. ‘You see, Card was alive and there was a Tyrus.’

  ‘Thank God you’re not the kind of guy who likes to rub it in,’ Collins said.

  ‘Not exactly Tyrus,’ Kowalski said. ‘There was no real Tyrus. Nothing official, anyway. Just a folder with sheets of paper signed originally by the property owners and Judge Fournier. These, in turn, were signed over to Charles Bailey by his sister. Many of the options were already out of date. And the rest would run out soon. The whole package seemed worthless.’

  ‘She gave them to Charles because they had little value,’ Shanahan said. ‘Charles didn’t know about the key parcel, essential to a major development.’

  ‘Your source?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Competing Bank,’ said Kowalski. ‘The word is that while there was a lot of junk in the package, mostly options, there was some land, not worth anything at the time and not part of Shanahan’s dream Eastside development, land that the judge bought outright. One parcel was the land on which Second Chance was built and the land across the street. Both were deeded to the nonprofit. But there was a significant chunk south of Washington where serious redevelopment is going on. Hunter’s wanted in on this. They needed the parcel that Fournier owned and options on adjacent parcels to build their own regional headquarters and all sorts of additional development. You know, something like “Hunter’s Plaza.” There were also a few spots on the Eastside, key locations for future branches.’

  ‘And Mrs Thompkins fits in how?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Why don’t we ask her?’ Shanahan went to the cupboard. He pulled out a bottle of J.W. Dant Bourbon. ‘I’ll set up a time. You in, Kowalski?’

  ‘Wouldn’t miss it.’

  Shanahan began to pour. ‘Collins?’

  ‘It’s my party, isn’t it? Better be, anyway.’

  ‘Maureen?’ Shanahan said. ‘A rum and tonic for you?’

  ‘Consider me one of the boys. A whiskey. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ She reached down to scratch Ray behind the ears. ‘Can I bring a date?’

  ‘Up to you and Ray. He’s not my dog,’ Collins said.

  ‘You babysitting?’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Kind of,’ he said. ‘Ray’s homeless.’

  There was a long pause. ‘Could we talk in the other room?’

  They went into the living room.

  ‘I don’t know how to say this.’

  ‘I have bad breath,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Harold didn’t kill Leonard Card.’

  ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘No, you killed Card. Basically you crushed his windpipe before Harold shot him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Not a problem for us,’ Collins said, ‘but there’s Harold and the records. Who knows what the media will dig up? Anyway, I’ll tell Harold later.’

  ‘Not a problem for me either.’ Shanahan meant it. He had taken life before and, however despicable the victim was, killing someone was a big deal. But a flash of Nicky Hernandez’s agonized face made this one go down easy. ‘That all?’

  ‘You’re not easy to talk to …’

  ‘And yet …?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘I do.’ Collins smiled. Direct approach. ‘Will you take Ray?’

  Shanahan knew there was a story behind Collins’s watery eyes, but it looked painful and there was no reason to drag it out. ‘Doesn’t Ray have some say in this?’

  ‘Not really. But, don’t you think Maureen might?’

  Collins followed Shanahan back to the kitchen.

  ‘Ray needs a place to live,’ Shanahan said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

  ‘We’ve already talked about it,’ Maureen said.

  ‘What do you mean? Shanahan and I just …’ Collins mumbled.

  ‘She means she and Ray have already discussed it,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘And we’ve agreed,’ she said. ‘He gets room and board. In exchange, he has to take Shanahan out for a walk from time to time.’ Maureen looked happy.

  ‘My work is done,’ Collins said, backing out of the kitchen, ‘and a whole lot easier than I thought. Oh, I’ll bring in some dog food. It’s in in my trunk. Call me as soon as you know when we’ll meet with the Thompkins lady.’

  The neighborhood had recovered from the ice storm. At least, lights were on, though the ride home had been treacherous. Someone had put cardboard affixed with duct tape over the hole in the front window. He had things to do. Nails to remove, appointments to set up. He ran out of steam. Night came quickly.

  Maureen fixed a quick pasta and sausage dinner. Ray, like all the dogs Shanahan had ever known, found his own sweet spot near the fireplace. Shanahan had as well, drifting in and out of consciousness until he woke long enough go to bed.

  The bathroom called at three a.m. Ray made sure Shanahan got to his destination and back, quietly plodding behind him.

  The old detective was awake before the sun. And very much awake. He made coffee, eggs and toast.

  ‘Missing Cop Found’ was the headline in the morning paper.

  Missing Cop Found

  Police have cautiously explained that IMPD officer Leonard Card had been involved in illicit undertakings, which are part of an ongoing investigation.

  ‘We cannot comment on this at this time,’ said Captain M.A. Collins, ‘without jeopardizing a major case.’ Collins did say that Card’s death was a result of self-defense and that no one was being sought for his demise.

  Anonymous sources within the police department and confirmed by the district attorney indicate the investigation is connected to the sniper deaths of Alexandra Fournier and her brother, Charles Bailey.

  ‘Are you famous yet?’ Maureen asked as she came into the kitchen and saw the newspaper folded sloppily and pushed to the edge of the table.

  The Thompkins lady was available at two. The conference room, on the top floor of a three-story branch of a gaudily lit Hunter’s Bank branch, was made festive by gigantic, religion-free candy canes on the walls and contained a sixteen-seat, white marble-topped, oval conference table with all sixteen rolling chairs in red leather.

  ‘It’s pretty much Christmas all year long, I take it,’ Kowalski said, looking around.

  ‘I hope no one is diabetic,’ Collins said.

  Shanahan had made the appointment, telling her only that there were complications to do wi
th some real estate transactions that involved her company and that’s all he was at liberty to say. If she wanted to have an attorney present, she could.

  When she demurred, Shanahan suggested the media might help him sort it out.

  Captain Collins and James Fenimore Kowalski joined Shanahan and Maureen at one end of the long table. Jennifer Bailey sat at the other end, in almost a separate country. Harold stood behind her as if he were a Secret Service agent.

  ‘Christmas already? Did I miss Thanksgiving?’ Shanahan whispered to Maureen.

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘We still have time to miss it.’

  Mrs Thompkins, having almost pulled off a classy holiday look – the dress was an emerald green rather than the brighter Christmas tone – came into the room wearing a cheery smile. She was followed by a slender, fashionably dressed young man with big, black-rimmed glasses.

  Shanahan introduced everyone.

  ‘This is Arthur, my attorney,’ Thompkins said.

  He nodded.

  ‘I hope it is not as serious as it sounds.’ She sat, splitting the distance between Bailey and the others. Her attorney sat beside her. He pulled out a legal pad. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked.

  Shanahan introduced Maureen, Kowalski and Bailey. Thompins’s pleasant but formal countenance disappeared when Captain Collins of the IMPD was introduced.

  ‘How well did you know Leonard Card?’ Shanahan asked her.

  ‘As I told you earlier when we spoke about this, I interviewed him as part of my duties as a member of the police oversight committee.’

  ‘Just once?’

  ‘Yes, for about an hour.’

  ‘Alone? Just the two of you?’

  ‘Yes. To speed things up, perhaps you can tell me what this is all about,’ she said, looking at her lawyer.

  Collins leaned forward: ‘Card knew the sniper who killed Alexandra Fournier and Charles Bailey. Those two, aside from being sister and brother to Jennifer Bailey, were connected by a mysterious property investment group that might be extremely profitable for the current owner of those properties. The sniper is dead, suicide or homicide, we’re not sure. And now Card is dead. He was someone who could explain what’s going on. He died in an attempt to murder Mr Shanahan, who was closing in on this elusive Tyrus. Do you have any knowledge of Tyrus Investments?’