An Eye for Murder (33 page)

A car door opened, and I was thrown in, falling sideways against the back seat. The door slammed. I heard murmurs outside. Then it was still. I wriggled on the back seat, trying to gain purchase, but the upholstery was too slippery. After what seemed like a long time, the doors of the car opened, and the springs under the front seat squeaked.

“You get rid of her?” It was the gravelly voice. “Yup,” a second voice replied. Not as deep. Reedy. “What about the other spic?”

“I left him at the dumpster.”

Raoul. A wave of nausea threatened to choke me. Doors slammed. The engine gunned. The car swung around. I rolled on my side, lurching back and forth on the seat. Finally, the car accelerated in a straight line, and I became more or less stationary.

The ride was a blend of stale cigarette smoke, weed, and the acid smell of violence. Facedown on the seat, every bump was a fresh slice of pain. My left cheek rubbed against a patch of rough tape, probably used to repair a tear in the upholstery. “Fire me up one,” the rough voice said. A few seconds passed. “Now, asshole.”

I heard the click of a lighter being depressed. The air filled with cigarette smoke. Someone exhaled. “You must always think ahead, Burl. Anticipate. And prepare for it.”

“I’m doing that, Eugene. I am.”

“Fuck you are. You haven’t learned anything since the goddam dog.”

Dog?

“I took care of it, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but it was your mistake that got us into this in the first place. You should have known the old lady was taking the mutt for a walk.”

Bruno. And Ruth Fleishman.

“If we hadn’t gone back to finish them off…” his voice trailed off.

“But we fixed it, Eugene. Didn’t we?” A grunt was the response.

“It’ll end up okay, once she’s out of the way, won’t it?”

“Here. You keep this.”

“A Colt? Hey, thanks.”

The men lapsed into silence.

I tried to breathe normally but couldn’t gulp down enough air. The gag reflex kicked in again. I made mewling noises in the back of my throat. Surely they would take pity on me.

“If I hear another sound from you, bitch, I’ll do you right here. Just like your
amiga
.”

So much for pity. I tried small breaths through my nose. Gradually, the tension in my throat eased. I tried to count in an effort to keep track of time, but I couldn’t get past eight. Was Dory really dead? What about Raoul? Where were we going?

The car slowed and made a turn. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I could tell from the uneven road we were off the highway. After a few more turns, tires crunched on gravel, and we came to a stop. The car doors opened. Hands pulled at me, and I stumbled forward. I smelled freshcut grass and heard the quiet slap of waves.

Chapter Fifty

Images flew past my eyes, like flashing lights on a carousel, but I knew my mind was playing tricks on me. I was curled up in a dark, silent place. The blindfold was on and I was still cuffed, my wrists now chafed and raw. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I felt the tape on my mouth. My jaw was stiff, and my lips and throat were parched.

Feet shuffled outside. I heard a key inserted into a lock. The door opened.

“Rise and shine.” A harsh voice. Gravel Mouth. Eugene. I tried to swing my legs and sit up but lost my balance.

My right cheek and side slammed against a cold, hard surface.

I saw stars.

“Clumsy bitch, ain’t she.” The other voice from the car. A pair of hands grabbed me, pulled me up. Again I stumbled, but the hands caught me and pushed me forward. Something cold and hard pressed against my cheek.

“Do you know what this is?” Gravel Mouth.

I shook my head.

Another prod stabbed my cheek. “It’s my Glock,” he said. “And Burl has the Colt.”

I didn’t move.

He ripped the tape off my mouth. Pain stung my lips and skin. I whimpered.

“What did I tell you?” He jabbed the Glock into the side of my head. My lips throbbed like someone had poured alcohol on an open sore. I gulped down air.

We clacked down an uncarpeted hall, linoleum probably. Someone gripped my arm and pushed me up a flight of stairs. I counted thirteen steps.

Upstairs it felt warmer. I had been in a basement. I turned toward the person gripping my arms.

“Water?” I croaked hoarsely.

“I told you not to say anything.” It was Gravel Mouth. “Please….” I begged.

“Shit.” Then, “Give her a fucking glass of water, Burl.” Footsteps. Water gushing from a faucet. A glass being filled, the trickle changing from hollow to full. I could have cried in gratitude. More footsteps, then someone slipped the glass between my lips. I opened them eagerly. I smelled the slight chlorine odor. My mouth sang with anticipation.

“Not so fast, bitch.” The reedy voice. “Give us what we want, we’ll give you what you want.” The glass was snatched away. The water drained into the sink. I heard laughter.

“Damn, Burl,” the gravelly voice chuckled. “You do learn.” A buzzer sounded. Loud. Flat.

“Let’s go.” The blindfold was pulled off my head. Blinding light blasted my eyes, and with it sharp pain. I squeezed my eyes shut. After a while I slowly cracked my lids. A man with beady eyes and a ponytail stood in front of me. I’d seen him before. Driving a tan Cutlass.

He pushed me through the door.

Chapter Fifty-one

Wearing white linen slacks, a silk shirt, and looking very much the gentleman of leisure, Jeremiah Gibbs lounged on the Iversons’ brocade sofa. Night hugged the windows, and several table lamps glowed. Pinching the barrel of the Glock against my neck, Gravel Mouth shoved me into a tufted chair. A pitcher of water sat on the mahogany table in front of it. I eyed it jealously.

Stroking his blond mustache with two fingers, Gibbs studied me for what seemed like a long time. He poured a glass of water. Ice cubes plopped into it. My throat was on fire. My mouth opened. Gibbs motioned to Gravel Mouth. “Give it to her.”

Taking the glass, the man thrust it between my lips and turned it up at a sharp angle. I gagged, and the water sloshed down my chin, my chest, soaking my shirt and jeans.

“Eugene. Be careful. Those are expensive carpets.” Gibbs rose and grabbed the glass, raised it to my lips, and gently tipped it into my mouth. I drank greedily.

“Good breeding is a thing of the past, isn’t it, Ellie?”

He removed the glass, and our eyes met. I looked away. He set the glass back on the table.

“We, on the other hand, know what good manners are.” He sat down. “But breaking and entering?” he chided, airily waving a hand. “
Them
—well, we know how
they
are. But you? You should have known better.” He squared his shoulders, and his face grew cold. “Did you really think we wouldn’t change the alarm? Or that you’d find anything we didn’t want you to?”

I tried to speak.

“What?”

I whispered hoarsely. “David?”

“Yes. We will deal with him when he arrives.” My head jerked up.

“Yes. We know he’s on his way.”

“My phone. You’ve been—”

He flashed me a modest smile. “Your E-mail too.”

“You tried to kill my father.” I heard the rage in my voice. He ran a hand through his hair. “Strong guy for his age.

And fast. He was lucky. We’ll get him, of course. In time.”

“Leave him alone. You’ve got me.”

“Sorry. He knows too much.”

“What? What does he know that I don’t?”

He raised a finger to his lips. “You’ll find out. Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.” He paused, as if waiting for me to praise his intellectual pretense. “Aristotle.”

I tried not to react, but I wondered where he had learned that. Was he the kind of loner who hung out at the library as a kid? Didn’t psychopaths often start out like that? Suddenly, the memory of another kid at a library passed through me. “You shot Boo Boo. He’s an innocent.”

He shrugged. “He was helping Skulnick at the library.

Who knew what he knew? And—before you ask—yes. The old lady—Fleishman. She was in our way. But she did give us your name. Which made catching up with you a lot easier.” He fingered the silk collar of his shirt. “You’ve been a busy woman. And, until now, quite resourceful. My compliments. Hacking into Skulnick’s E-mail was good. Likewise getting past me at Giant Park.”

I glared at him.

He folded his arms across his chest, all business now. “We know you found the document. You and your boyfriend. The question is, who else knows about it, Ellie? That’s what you must tell us.”

I eyed him steadily.

“Don’t be a hero. It doesn’t suit you. Does Lamont know?” I kept my mouth shut.

“You’d be wise to tell me.” He yanked a thumb toward

Gravel Mouth.

I shook my head.

“Oh, Ellie.” He nodded to Gravel Mouth. “I thought you had more sense.”

Keeping the Glock at my neck, Gravel Mouth sidestepped around to the front and extracted a Swiss Army knife from his pocket. Flicking it open, he used the gun barrel to raise my T-shirt and slashed a line across my right breast. I screamed as hot, searing pain shot through me. Bright red blood bubbled up through the incision. I started to collapse, but Gravel Mouth caught me and shoved me back in the chair. A red mist of pain rolled over me, and my head lolled to the side. A mixture of horror and fascination registered on Gibbs’s face, as if he was witnessing a gruesome accident and couldn’t look away. He licked his lips.

“Well, Ellie?” He leaned forward, his voice deep and hoarse, as if he were sexually aroused. “What does Lamont know?”

“I don’t know.” I wheezed.

“You’ve been working together, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

I tried to move my head to the other side, but I couldn’t. Again Gibbs nodded. Gravel Mouth set the gun down and grabbed my T-shirt, bunching it at my neck. His hand dropped to my left breast, and squeezing it like a grapefruit, he slashed it with the knife. Blood spurted, and I slumped to the floor. Once again he hoisted me up and pushed me back on the chair. The pain lashed my skin, clanged in my ears, made my entire body throb. I gulped down air, trying not to pass out.

Gibbs rose and came closer to me, his breath quick and shallow. I tried to shrink back. “You are proving to be a problem, Ellie.”

“I warned you.” A new voice came from behind me. Deep. Barely female. I twisted around. Frances Iverson was at the door.

I gasped.

“Frances.” Gibbs smiled. “How lovely to see you this evening.”

Frances slowly wheeled herself into the room. Lifting a gnarled hand off the giant wheels, she motioned to the table. Gibbs poured her a glass of water. She drank half of it, then handed it back.

“I told you she would cause problems.” She sniffed. “We should never have waited.”

“We’re handling it now,” Gibbs replied.

Gravel Mouth spoke up. “Burl’s got her car. You still want to run it over the bridge?”

Gibbs held up his palm. “A few minutes.” I buckled in the chair.

“I am sorry, Ellie. Marian was very fond of you. In fact, that’s why you’re still alive. She persuaded us not to harm you. But now, of course, we don’t have a choice.”

The presence of pain is so overwhelming, demanding so much from the brain, that the remaining neurons sometimes compensate and perform amazing feats. Thought patterns are clarified. Previously obscure connections emerge. Maybe because I was fighting the pain so fiercely, the rest of my brain freed itself up. I swiveled toward Frances. “It was your name on the report. Not your husband’s.”

“I told you not to underestimate her.” She set the brake and sank back in her wheelchair.

Gravel Mouth broke in. “Ma’am, with all due respect, we’re running out of time.”

Warm sticky blood clung to my T-shirt. My breasts throbbed with pain. I was weak and dizzy. Part of me wanted to curl up on the floor in a fetal position. Give up. Let it end. But the pain wouldn’t release me. Keep them talking, it prodded me. Stall for time. I opened my mouth, my lips dry and cracked. “Why?” I croaked. “I don’t understand.”

Frances appraised me with a neutral expression, then shot a look at Gravel Mouth. “She’s entitled.” She propped her arms on her chair. “Many patriotic Americans…people with means…good people…believed in Hitler. And his ideas. Separate the wheat from the chaff. The leaders from the led. It made sense. There will always be some who are superior. My father, Henry Ford, the Coughlins, they all saw the wisdom of this thinking. Hitler merely accelerated the process.” She shot me an ironic smile.

“Interestingly, our quarrel was not with the Jews. At least, not at first. You were smart. Useful. For us, it has always been the coloreds. The browns, the blacks. The yellows. They are the problem. They breed like rabbits. Overpopulate the world. Consume precious resources.” She tossed her head. “We knew that even before the war.”

“Before World War Two?”

“Of course.”

“But—but you were just a young woman.”

“A young woman with polio. Confined to a wheelchair.” Keep going, the pain said. “Polio?”

“My parents searched the world for a cure. There was none, but that didn’t stop them. They took me to every spa, every sanatorium, though our hopes were flimsy at best.” Her eyes grew dense and smoky. “It was in Switzerland, during the Thirties, that we met a handsome, ambitious young doctor. He was studying genetics in Frankfurt. My father owned a pharmaceutical company, so we had much in common. This doctor couldn’t cure me, but we ‘bonded,’ as you young people say. We listened. We learned. We liked what he said.”

“Mengele,” I breathed.

“A few years later, he began to research the concept of the master race. First while he fought with the Waffen SS, then through his experiments at Auschwitz. Unfortunately, though, his funding was cut back. Hitler had other priorities: the military, the Einsatzgruppen, the camps. That’s when Mengele remembered the rich American with the crippled daughter. By then, of course, the rich man had died, and his daughter inherited his firm.”