Killing Frost Read online

‘My motive?’

  ‘She wanted you to.’

  ‘Her motive?’

  ‘Money. Kill her before she gave everything away. Alexandra stole the judge from her. He made the pile of money. Now, Charles is back and he’s walking away with part of that pile in the form of Tyrus Investments.’

  ‘Why would I help her?’

  Shanahan wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that but he did.

  ‘Money. And maybe you’re in love with her.’

  ‘Is this how your story ends?’ Harold asked.

  ‘Not necessarily. I’m just answering your question about why I’d investigate the person who hired me. My job is to find out who did it. We go wherever the evidence leads.’

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Harold said. ‘I got another question for you. What do we do now?’

  ‘I think we’ve given Charles enough time to stew. Let’s find out some stuff.’

  ‘All this freedom, and you’re in a motel room,’ Shanahan said at the doorway of Room 107.

  ‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Charles said. ‘And I still got a bug bangin’ at the screen.’

  ‘Could be worse. Why don’t we go inside? Someone could die out here.’

  ‘Won’t break my heart,’ Charles said.

  ‘I don’t mean me. You’ve become an extraneous, embarrassing detail.’

  Charles blinked a couple of times, bowed his head and stepped back into the room.

  ‘What do you think you know?’ he asked, shutting the door behind Shanahan, squeezing all but the slightest light from the room.

  The question was perfect. But Shanahan’s question was risky. If Charles knew how little Shanahan knew, the con would simply shut down.

  ‘You’ve already signed over the options, right?’

  Charles bowed his head again. Shanahan realized it wasn’t that this tic was a way to keep from seeing, but to keep from being seen. Charles’s hands involuntarily clenched.

  ‘Go away,’ Charles said.

  ‘We have lots to talk about, Charles. Tyrus Investments. Murder.’

  Charles got up, threw a duffel bag on the bed and began to stuff his meager belongings inside.

  ‘Have you got your cut?’

  Charles acted like he was alone in the room.

  ‘Did you know your sister was going to get it?’

  ‘It’s her fault, not mine. They don’t know when to let things go.’

  ‘Your sisters?’

  ‘Just let things go and nothing would happen.’

  ‘Your sister Jennifer too?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’re going to get her killed too?’

  ‘That’s the way she is.’

  ‘You the middle kid?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘The youngest.’

  ‘They’re both tough women, your sisters.’

  Charles laughed. It was unguarded and charming.

  ‘I was a talker, talked myself into and out of trouble. I couldn’t get very far with Jenny. But Alex, that’s a different story. Her mind was ruled by her heart. She was a sucker for a sob story, especially if you had a plan to change your life.’

  ‘You had a plan, didn’t you?’

  Charles’s smile slipped away. ‘Gotta have a plan.’

  ‘You think you’re home free? You’re involved in a murder.’

  ‘Ain’t so,’ Charles said. ‘Anyways, what are you? Not the law. Not a big-time bad guy. What have you got?’

  ‘Something,’ Shanahan said. ‘You’re moving pretty quick to get out of here.’

  ‘Your visiting ain’t helping me out any. You know what I’m saying. Alex was at your front door, wasn’t she?’ Charles said, an accusation more than implied.

  He laughed, took the Bible from the bedside table, tossed it into the bag.

  ‘And Mr Smartass Know-it-all … you too. We’re all gonna do the dance now. People can’t mind their own fucking business.’

  He nearly knocked Shanahan over, heading to the door. Shanahan followed. Charles dropped his bag, felt all his pockets, went back inside, no doubt for his car keys. Shanahan waited for him.

  ‘You could stop all of this,’ Shanahan said.

  He felt something sting his ear. He saw a red dot appear on Charles’ forehead.

  Harold, 9mm drawn, was there in a second. He looked in the only direction the shot could have come from. So did Shanahan. Nothing to see. There was a two-story building close enough for a skillful sniper to do his work and far enough away to come and go without being seen.

  Shanahan raised his hand to his ear. He found some blood.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Harold said. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘Get back to your boss, Harold. We don’t know who is next.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll go inside, call the police. The shooter is gone. For now.’

  ‘You’re kind of a bad luck charm, aren’t you?’ Captain Collins asked.

  ‘You might not want to stand too close.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Delivering the magic word.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Options.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ Collins said. Behind him investigators were doing their work. Swann was there, doing the hands-on supervising.

  ‘Maybe “Tyrus Investments.”’

  ‘We did a search on that when you first mentioned it. What did we get? Squat.’

  ‘What we have are murders by a professional killer. We have a mysterious entity called “Tyrus” that involved both victims. And all I know is that Charles nearly went into shock when I mentioned the word “options.” That’s the secret word that leads to the treasure or doom.’

  ‘Interesting take. You said both victims. There was a third. Nicky Hernandez.’ Collins looked him in the eye.

  ‘Wrong place. Wrong time,’ Shanahan said, though he wasn’t comfortable lumping them together.

  ‘Would seem so,’ Collins said. ‘A versatile hitman, though, don’t you think?’

  Collins hadn’t bought the threesome either.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘What happened?’ Maureen asked when she came home from work and found him mixing her a rum and tonic. Her eyes were focused on the Band-Aid on his ear.

  ‘I cut myself shaving.’

  ‘You shave your ears?’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  She gave him the ‘don’t-be-stupid’ look.

  ‘The sniper killed Charles.’

  ‘And your ear was in the way?’

  ‘That sums it up pretty well. How about a funeral tomorrow?’

  ‘It wasn’t on my wish list.’ She took the drink. ‘This was.’

  ‘Miss Bailey is going to need Harold. She not only has her sister’s service, but arrangements for her brother.’

  ‘Wow.’ Maureen shook her head. ‘And then there was one.’

  ‘End of the line.’

  ‘And you need a ride?’ Maureen sipped her drink.

  ‘I need a protector. I haven’t been in a church in quite a while.’

  ‘You’re afraid of retribution. Or the Devil.’

  ‘You can beat the Devil.’

  ‘Let me check. What time?’ She retrieved her laptop.

  Shanahan went to the sofa, sat beside her. She marked her place in a Megan Abbott book.

  ‘Do you think we need a tuffett?’

  She smiled, set the book aside. ‘Are you offering curds and whey?’

  ‘If you will answer one question.’

  ‘That’s from a different fairy tale.’

  ‘Options?’ he asked.

  She looked confused. ‘I guess we can go right to sleep, talk about the meaning of life, or mess around if …’

  ‘Property options. How do they work?’

  ‘I’m not at that level, Shanahan. When people come to me, they either want to buy a house or sell one. Nothing complicated. And, for the most part, not commercial property. I really do
n’t know my way around the business world. I’m sure there are people in the property investment business and I’d guess an option would work the way they do with stocks. You agree to buy a certain amount of stock before a certain time at a set amount, no matter what the market is at that moment. You could probably do the same with property.’

  The fire wasn’t all the way out. There were some burning embers and an occasional flare up.

  Kowalski was complaining not so much about the hour of Shanahan’s call, but that this was Kowalski’s time set for play and not ‘legal crap,’ especially the ‘infinitely boring contract law.’

  ‘Humor me,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Can’t be any simpler.’

  ‘Pretend I’m in the third grade.’

  ‘Good. Then you’ll get it in thirty seconds. It’s all contract law. I’ll give you something if you give me something. When we agree on the somethings, we write it down and we both sign it. We get it notarized. Shazam, we have a contract. We don’t file anything. We don’t get anybody’s approval.’

  ‘All done in secret?’

  ‘Certainly can be. You want to know why someone would want an option to buy?’

  ‘Right,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Rather than just buy it?’

  ‘Right again.’

  ‘You alluded to one of them. Sales of property are disclosed. People will know. Secondly, an option usually favors the purchaser, since he is not required to exercise it. Most likely the buyer puts down a small amount compared to the eventual purchase price – an amount he is prepared to lose. Let’s say the buyer thinks the property will be worth a million in five years. Maybe he knows something about future development in the area. He gives the property owner $10,000 for the option and agrees to pay $500,000 in five years. As time goes on, somebody puts the kibosh on the proposed development. Suddenly the future doesn’t look so bright. The option holder decides to pass on the purchase. He’s only out $10,000, not $500,000. And nobody knows he was a fool. Essentially, this is what bankers do with your savings account these days. It’s a form of gambling.’

  Shanahan was surprised he understood what Kowalski was saying.

  ‘Could someone sell their option?’ Shanahan asked. ‘Or group of options?’

  ‘It’s a contract, Shanahan. Paramount could buy a movie star’s contract from MGM. Baseball teams do it all the time with players. Do what you want. Any two people can enter into a contract about pretty much anything. For a dollar and a half you may use my umbrella, but only on Thursdays if it starts to rain after three p.m. Sign here.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Shanahan said. ‘I owe you dinner.’

  ‘Listen, at this time of night you need to be making love or drinking a fine liquor, listening to Coltrane or asleep dreaming of a planet with a tribe of long-legged women with three breasts. Not talking about options.’

  ‘I’ve been remiss,’ Shanahan said, disconnecting.

  The fire had gone. Maureen had disappeared. She was in the bedroom. In bed.

  He could relax. Maureen’s breaths were long and deep. He thought about all the hoopla he’d attend the next day. If he knew of a way to miss a funeral, any funeral, Shanahan would. Maureen felt the same way. He was going, not to pay his respects, but to see who was there and possibly catch them off guard. He had more questions. Maureen was going as collaborator, chauffeur and, primarily, as an observer. A spy.

  Shanahan took advantage of Maureen’s deep sleep in the morning. Toast, coffee, the newspaper, the morning news on television. Otherwise, space and time were quiet and still.

  Autumn had settled in outside. As if to remind the elderly PI of that fact as well as his need to do some gutter cleaning and lawn raking, a gold leaf fluttered down slow enough for its fall to be noticed.

  Both the newspaper and local TV news were focused on the series of murders. The consensus was that the deaths of Alexandra and Charles were connected, likely a ‘family’ thing. Nicky Hernandez was a fluke, they implied. Wrong time. Wrong place. A witness to a break in. The reporters alluded to how little the police had provided them with. Shanahan noticed that no mention was made of the fact that brother and sister were killed by a sniper. The police probably held this back as a way to root out false confessions or decide between more than one suspect. But much was made of the fact that prior to Alexandra’s death her office was tossed by an intruder, who, upon being discovered, must have killed the person who saw him and, a short time later, killed Alexandra. The police confirmed they were looking for one killer, though they fell short of any indication there was a person of interest for that role.

  Police also kept Shanahan’s name out of the news, referring to him as a ‘retired gentleman recovering from serious surgery’. They did it because they didn’t want him – a loose cannon at best – mucking up the investigation. As far as Shanahan was concerned, he couldn’t have asked for a better arrangement. He didn’t want to have to deal with the press unless they proved useful.

  The Eastern Star Baptist Church was not what he had expected. Instead of a small church with a relatively solid turnout of supporters from her expanded community, the place was huge, and yet still filled with thousands of well-dressed attendees. The lighting was extensive and professional. The stage could have accommodated Oklahoma or Porgy and Bess.

  The parking lot should have hinted at the contents.

  ‘Goodness,’ Maureen said.

  Mrs Thompkins was there in black. She talked with Mr Holcomb, who wore black Armani. Thompkins touched him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear. They weren’t the only white faces, but among the few. Mrs Tice sat close to the stage. She stared ahead. Eventually Shanahan located Captain Collins, who had the charisma of a movie star. He was scanning the crowd as well. Shanahan looked for the attorney who read the will or trust or whatever it was. He found himself standing beside Holcomb instead.

  ‘No stone unturned?’ Holcomb asked Shanahan.

  ‘I could ask the same of you. As I understand it, you and Mrs Fournier weren’t on the same page with regard to Leonard Card.’

  ‘I have no idea if that is true. The committee does not yet have all the information. It’s true that she was a little more spirited in her questions regarding Officer Card.’

  ‘You were more reticent than Thompkins, the law-and-order candidate. That’s odd. Aren’t you afraid you’ll disappoint your constituency?’

  ‘If by that you mean the black community, you might be a victim of stereotypes. Black families want to see the end of violence in their communities. They want the police to be tough. We can’t expect to clean up the neighborhoods if we micromanage the police and punish those on the front lines.’

  ‘At the expense of innocent young men?’

  ‘The jury is out on Card. Crime is down in the neighborhood.’

  There was a moment of quiet, heads turned to the rear. The silence dissipated into a chorus of indistinguishable whispers. Jennifer Bailey walked up the middle aisle, Harold a couple of steps behind her. She walked slowly, but purposefully, with perfect posture.

  Shanahan wondered what she thought, seeing the mammoth crowd for her sister, who had in many ways played second to Jennifer, the successful attorney general of the state of Indiana, political power broker and often spokesperson for the city’s black community. Was she getting a preview of her own send-off? Or was she surprised her sister had gathered so many followers?

  Coming in to take her hand was the US congressman from the Seventh District. Shanahan looked at the program he was handed when they entered. The congressman was scheduled to speak. So was a deputy mayor. So were several others. It would be a long afternoon that would end only after the long ride out to Crown Hill Cemetery for the graveside service and burial.

  Maureen, at Shanahan’s suggestion, took the empty seat next to Mrs Tice. Shanahan made his way to Mrs Thompkins, who seemed to be disengaging from her conversation with fellow commission member, Daniel Holcomb.

  ‘Hard at work?’ he asked her.<
br />
  It took her a moment to place him. She smiled. ‘That’s cold. The truth is yes and no. I’m not trying to sell houses, but it’s important. If I run for citywide office,’ she said.

  ‘Mayor, for example.’

  ‘Yes. I need to show support for this community and for social services. I might not get much of a percentage as a Republican here, but I can’t win without some support.’

  ‘I might vote for you just for being honest about your motives. Who was closer to Alexandra Fournier, you or Holcomb?’

  ‘Politically they appear to be more aligned, but I don’t think they liked each other. She thought he spent money frivolously.’

  ‘You’d think he’d want her backing.’

  ‘She was pretty independent.’

  ‘The Leonard Card thing. They disagree on that?’

  ‘I’m getting the third degree here.’ She smiled. ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘That’s what I do. You think he would vote to let Card skate?’

  ‘The conversation seemed to drift that way. For a liberal, Holcomb seemed a little soft on bad police behavior.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Not so much. I’m law and order, no question, but the law applies across the board.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘We may have different views on taxes, but crime? That’s where Mrs Fournier and I agreed. We got along.’

  ‘So you might come down against Card?’

  ‘I don’t know. As it stands now – and this is confidential – there’s not enough evidence against him. There’s no question he was put in a dangerous situation. Collateral damage. Innocent people get caught up. The whole question of whether he was a decent kid not involved in gang activity might not matter. If the young man was there, why? And if he was killed by a bullet not intended for him, it would still be hard to punish Card under those circumstances.’

  ‘Did Mrs Fournier have political ambitions?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She wanted to find homes and shape the lives of those who hadn’t gotten a fair shake. She also didn’t hold politicians in high regard. She never said so directly, but I think she believed her sister had to sell a bit of her soul. Mrs Fournier was a lovely woman, but a little naive. You don’t get through life with a spotless soul.’