and along came SPIDER ( A Martina Spalding Thriller ) (Spider Series Book 1) (15 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Unbeknownst to either
of them, the apartment door on the right side of the hallway, half way down,
quietly opened and a man of middle age eased up to within a few steps behind
them.

When Marti glanced back
to Dunbar, she saw him there.  But at first she thought her eyes had played a
trick on her.  How could it be?  Where had he come from?  Then she saw the open
door.  “Lieutenant!”

Dunbar followed her
glare and slowly turned.

“Surprise!  Surprise! 
Surprise!”  Raym Koffee said, gleefully.  “Finally, I have you all together.  I
assume Gloria is inside?  Martina, will you please do the honors?”  His eyes
went past her, to the keys in the lock.  “How does it feel to be on the hot
seat, for a change, Lieutenant?  I bet you never expected this, did you?”

“I can’t say that I
did,” Dunbar said, stepping to the side to place himself between Raym and
Martina, behind him, at the door.

“Martina…”  Raym
shifted to see her fully again.  “The door!”  He waved the gun to point at her,
briefly.  “I should shoot you now for that little stunt you pulled at my office
today.”

The footsteps she heard
moments ago must have been Raym moving around in that room he came out of.  But
how did he make the phone call?  Then she remembered the pay phone down the
hall, at the mouth of the stairs.  He could have tossed the smoke bomb, dashed
upstairs, made the call, then ducked into the room, all in the span of a few
minutes if he hurried.

“I assume that’s a Colt
patent 1896, Vest Pocket pistol in your hand there, Mister Koffee?” Dunbar
said, as if not frightened by it in the least.

“Actually, this one is
a 1908.  A later model.  But don’t judge it by its size, Lieutenant.  It packs
a deadly wallop.”

“I guess we both know
that!  Don’t we Raym?”  Dunbar barked, in an effort to unnerve him.  “In fact,
I’ll bet the farm that bullets from that gun killed at least three people.  And
those are just the ones I know of.  Let’s see, there’s the John Doe at the
morgue,” he said, counting on his fingers.  It was a ploy to get his gun hand
closer to the thirty-eight revolver tucked away inside his jacket…  “Officer
Bright!  The first Misses Koffee, Susannah…”

With that Marti, who
had yet to move, gasped!  So he
had
killed Susannah!  Like Gwyn Raizel assumed all along.

“Lieutenant!”  Raym shouted. 
“That’s enough!”

“Oh!  So there’s
more…?”

“Actually, it’s the gun
you have under that jacket… that concerns me.  Will you be so kind as to gently
remove it, using only two fingers, and place it on the floor?  Now Lieutenant!”

Dunbar did as he was asked — to
a point.  Instead of placing the gun on the floor as told, he intentionally
dropped it, with a thud.  This almost got him shot.  Raym jumped to the side
and extended his gun full arm’s length, as if he intended to fire it, near point
blank, into Dunbar’s face.

This petrified Martina
for a spell.  Then it eventually became obvious he wasn’t apt to shoot, perhaps
because the noise from it, here in the hall, would surely resonate loudly
throughout the building.  That would most likely bring the police before he
could do his dirty work and escape the building.  Inside the apartment would be
a better place to do what he had in mind.  Now she feared the Beretta, at her
navel, was leaving a noticeable bulge in the sweatshirt.  She hoped to get a
chance to use it at some point, if it was not taken from her.  It would be
their only chance of survival now that Dunbar was disarmed.

“Kick it over!” Raym
ordered, rage consuming his face.

Again, Dunbar reacted
defiantly, kicking the gun with such impact, it went skittering over the uneven
hardwood floor, coming to rest far down the hallway.

“Now, look what you
did!”  Raym stepped in and slammed the palm sized pistol into Dunbar’s head,
causing his ever present hat to go flying, and dropped him to his knees.

Marti’s reaction to
that was to quickly grab the keys from the lock and fling them the forty feet
to the stairwell.  No way was she about to let this maniac get to Gloria
without putting up some resistance.  Even if it killed her.  To her thinking,
they were all dead anyway, if he got into that apartment.  Soon, the sound of
the keys crashing to the floor far below echoed back to them.

“What did you do,
bitch?”  Raym came at her now.

She answered him with a
knee to his crotch.  But the broad side of the gun reached her head
first — before the knee had much impact — sending her
to the floor as well.

Then, as if what else
could possibly go wrong, Marti heard the lock snap, and, with its usual squeak,
the door swing open.  Looking up, dazed, with blood dripping down her face, she
saw Gloria framed by the opening.  “What’s going on out here?” she said,
obviously still inebriated.

Raym’s reaction to that
was to leap over Martina and charge Gloria, forcing her back inside.  Promptly
he began beating her.  At this point, all Marti could do was listen to her
screams as things banged around inside.  Then, as if getting a second dose of
adrenalin, she struggled to her feet and staggered through the door.  She saw
him atop Gloria now, pounding on her face.  Getting to him, Martina got an arm
around his neck, and fell on him.  Knowing she would not be allowed there long,
she did what she was taught at self-defense school — use any means
available to hurt your attacker — which included biting.  Once her
teeth were on his ear, even though he came off Gloria and flung her around like
a pinwheel, she did not let go.  But a good sized piece of his ear finally did,
and she went with it, crashing into a table.

After stumbling around
the room for a moment, screaming in agony while holding a hand over what
remained of the ear, Raym marched up to the motionless body of Gloria.  There
he glanced back at Martina, who appeared unconscious, and leveled the pint
sized gun at Gloria’s head.  A shot then echoed throughout the room, followed
closely by several more.

But those sounds never
came from Raym’s gun.  Marti, who’d been shaken and dazed on the floor, finally
collected herself enough to fire once.  Then, rolling, she fired four more times,
all connecting with the torso of Raym Koffee.  A final shot was then fired into
Raym’s right eye as he painfully stumbled about the room, doing his best, as he
emptied his gun, to kill her.  Dodging the bullets and then the falling body,
Marti bounced to her feet and rushed to Gloria, spitting out the chunk of
Raym’s ear along the way.  Then as Martina was checking Gloria for vitals, she
caught sight of Dunbar, standing at the open door.

“How much did you see?”
she asked.

“Enough,” he said, as
he shuffled to Raym and dropped to his knees beside him.  It was obvious Raym
was dead, Dunbar determined by the remaining eye that glared up at him.  “Well,
that’s the end of that.”  He scooped up the piece of ear from the floor nearby
and poked it into Raym’s shirt pocket.  “The undertaker may want to reattach
that,” he mumbled.  Seeing the Beretta there as well, he pulled out his
handkerchief and wiped it clean of Martina’s prints, even the clip and
remaining cartridges in it.  Then he gathered the empty casings and polished
them as well, before dumping them into his jacket pocket.

“You okay, Lieutenant?”
Marti asked.

“I think it’s best no
one knows you did this.  The Koffees are a revengeful lot.  It’s still the old
west, as far as many of them are concerned.  Since it’s my gun you used, I’ll
take the credit,” he said.  “They more than likely won’t come after a lawman. 
Especially since we now have the evidence that would have sent Raym to the
electric chair, anyhow.”

“What about the ear? 
How will you explain that?” Marti asked.

“Hell, I’ve got
teeth!”  Dunbar bared them briefly, before glancing about the room for what
else may need tweaking, to make the scene fit the story he was conjuring up at
the moment.

“I appreciate it,”
Marti said, looking down at Gloria.  “I was wondering how I was going to tell
her.  Now, I won’t have to.”

“How is she?” Dunbar
asked, still on his knees.

“Unconscious.  But
she’ll be fine.  I didn’t find anything major wrong with her,” Marti said. 
“I’ll call for an ambulance, just in case.  It’s best she doesn’t wake up to
this anyway.”  She then got to her feet and went to the phone.  A cry was
coming on, but hopefully she could fight that off until Gloria was safely in a
hospital bed.

Moments later, a
uniformed police officer appeared at the door.  He was Dunbar’s driver for the
day, Smitte, and he had Dunbar’s snub nosed Smith and Wesson in hand, picked up
down the hall.  “I heard gunshots.  What in the name of Jesus happened here,
Lieutenant?  Is that Raym Koffee?”

“It was,” Dunbar said,
and got to his feet.  “Go in the bedroom and get something to cover the body. 
Then call the coroner, okay?”  He retrieved his 38 S&W and returned it to
the holster under his arm, then went to the hall to gather his brown fedora. 
He felt naked without it.

It was only minutes
before several sirens were heard in the area.  The first to arrive was the
ambulance.  Marti made her presence available at the top of the stairs to
direct them back.  She then helped to lift Gloria onto the stretcher.  And since
the two attendants would physically carry it down five flights, she made
certain the available straps were applied to prevent her from accidentally
sliding off it.

Marti did a quick job
of washing the blood from her face, then checked the half inch gash on her
head.  She would have a stitch put on that at the hospital, once Gloria was
taken care of.  She then collected a jacket and her purse from the bedroom,
before stopping at Dunbar on the way out.  “I’m going with her in the
ambulance — County General, again, Lieutenant.”

“Do you want me to tell
her when she comes around, Martina?”

“I believe that would
be for the best, if you don’t mind?  Sad as it may sound… I think secretly she
still has feelings for him.  In that case, it may be better coming from you.”

“I gathered that
myself, from our little chat at the diner,” Dunbar said.  “It seemed to me
then, there may be some coals still glowing in that old fire.  And no, I don’t
mind.  I’ll try to get over there in the next couple of hours, okay?”

“Okay,” Marti said. 
Then, seeing Gloria’s purse nearby, she grabbed it, turned through the open
door and hurried for the stairs.

“And, Martina?” Dunbar
called after her.

“Yes?”

“I wouldn’t talk to the
press if I were you,” he warned.  “Best let me handle that.”

“I wouldn’t have it any
other way, Lieutenant.”  She waved and chased after the ambulance attendants,
who could be half way down by now.  She didn’t want to delay them getting
Gloria to the hospital.

After she’d gone from
sight, Dunbar shook his head again, for the second time that day.  “Where in
hell did that gal come from?”  Even though a bit eccentric, he couldn’t help
but like her.  Especially now that she had single handedly saved all their
lives here today.  He hadn’t seen everything, but enough to know that much. 
Martina on Raym’s back, like a panther, gnawing on his ear, was certainly a
sight he wouldn’t soon forget.  And the way she handled that gun… rolling! 
Professional!  Too bad he wasn’t in any shape to help her, at the time.  It
wasn’t that she needed it.  However, it would have served to assuage the shame
his masculinity suffered at the moment.

Within a few more
minutes, the building was swarming with cops.  And soon after, the morgue
arrived to pick up the body of Raymond Ringo Koffee.  St. Louis would never be
the same without his flamboyance around town.  If only they had known there was
a cold blooded killer among them, things may have been different.  But then,
maybe some did, or at least suspected it, the way the first wife had been so brutally
beaten, raped, and murdered.  However, the smell of money often blotted out
such suspicions, as if the wealthy were immune to sin.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

After everyone had left
the building, Dunbar sent young Officer Smitte down to the manager’s office,
with instructions to find out how Raym had acquired a set of keys to that
apartment next door.  He’d had them in his pocket, and it was important to know
who supplied them.  The apartment itself was empty except for a goodly number
of cigarette butts, stomped out on the floor.  What disturbed him was the butts
were of two different brands: Lucky Strike and Kool.  A partial pack of Luckys
was found on Raym.  The Kool smoker, however, remained a mystery.

In the meantime, Dunbar
decided a little poking around in the crime scene apartment couldn’t hurt,
seeing as how he knew little to nothing about either of the girls who lived
here.  Being a moral man, undergarment drawers were avoided completely, once it
was determined which they were.  One drawer in Martina’s room, however, had a
considerable number of photo albums, scrap books, old letters and such, which
piqued his interest.

As he sat on the bed to
begin going through a high school year book, something uncomfortable in his
pocket caused him to stand again.  It was Raym Koffee’s vest pocket pistol.  He
removed it, wondering why he hadn’t thought to send it downtown with the other
evidence collected, when the responding officers were here.  Tossing it on the
bed, he went back to the yearbook.  Thumbing through it, he eventually found
Martina Spalding’s graduation picture, but not without some effort.  He found
it by name, as opposed to recognition.  She didn’t look a whole lot like she
does now, he noted.  But who did, years later, he reasoned?  Strangely, though,
someone had inscribed “Spider” in ink across it.  Why, he wondered?  It must
have been her that did it, seeing as how it was her yearbook.  But again, why? 
She was quite slim, from what he could see of her.  Perhaps it was a nickname
on that account?

Setting the yearbook
aside, just so, so he could replace everything just as it was, he went on to
what looked like a file, only laced with a string.  Inside were various letters
of recommendation from hospitals, doctors and such, her degree from nursing
college, and several (maybe a dozen in all) achievement awards from the Kincaid
School of Martial Arts, Chicago.  “Bingo,” he said, and went through each and
every one of them.  It seemed she was the top of her class in about everything. 
Even a special course on gun handling.  Wow, he was impressed.  And smart. 
This gal was at the top of her graduating class in nursing college, as well.

Moving on to the photo
albums, he saw pictures of her, and her family, from the day of her birth until
the present.  She was a string bean as a youth, he confirmed.  But look at the
beauty she’d grown up to be.  Since there were several duplicate studio photos,
perhaps done recently for issuing with resumes, stuck in the back, he helped
himself to one and put it into his jacket pocket.  If there was anything he’d
gleaned from this, it was that she had had what appeared to be a normal
upbringing.  And she was an only child.  It was just Martina that appeared with
the parents and such in all family photos.  Sadly, though, she didn’t seem to
have an abundance of friends, back then.  Only two other girls appeared with
her anywhere, and zero of the opposite sex.  Perhaps that brought about her
drive to excel, which she obviously had.  Second best was apparently not an
option, where it came to Martina Spalding.

From her birth
certificate, found elsewhere, he noted she was now twenty-five, born January 9,
1930.  Then, from the envelope of a recent letter from her parents, he jotted
down their names and home address in Chicago.

Hearing Officer Smitte
coming up the hallway now, he began the tedious effort of returning everything
to the drawer, just as they were.  It was important to him Martina not know
he’d been so nosey.  Although it was only good police work, some people took
offense at such things, as if it was a violation of their innermost secrets.

“She was none too
pleased to talk to me,” Smitte said, coming into the room, “in light of what
happened here today.  But finally she coughed it up that some guy came in a few
days ago and rented the apartment.  He paid cash for a half month in advance,
with a promise to pay the balance when he returned with his things.  She also
had these keys that somebody turned in.  She said they belong to this
apartment.”

“I’ll take those. 
They’re Martina’s,” Dunbar said.  “So, does this man have a name?”

Smitte read from his
notebook, “Bradley Wilson.”

“Brad Wilson?” Dunbar
glared at him.  “Did you ask her what he looked like?”

Again, Smitte looked at
his notes.  “About forty, sandy hair, mustache, five seven or eight…”

“Hell!  That sounds
like Raym Koffee!  I know a Brad Wilson, but that ain’t him.  This guy’s only
in his twenties — has a rap sheet as long as my arm, everything
from petty to car theft.”  Dunbar closed the drawer, scooped up the Colt Vest
Pocket from the bed and went for the door.  “Let’s go talk to Bradley.  See if
he’s been chummy with Raym Koffee, lately.”

It was near three pm
before Gloria came around.  The first face she saw was Martina’s.  And the first
question she asked was, “What happened?”

“You were knocked
unconscious, honey.  But you’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,”
Gloria said, putting quivering fingers to her face, again black and blue.  “Oh
my God!  I was beaten again, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Martina
said, using her fingers to gently brush hair away from her face.  “But that
will never happen again.  I assure you.”

“Why do you say that?”
Gloria said, glaring through slits for eyes.  “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Martina straightened
and looked to Dunbar, nearby, who came forward.  Luckily he had arrived just a
few minutes before.

“Gloria, this is
Lieutenant Dunbar.”  Dunbar leaned in to be sure she saw him.  “I’m afraid
there was a scuffle, and in the process I found it necessary to shoot Raym.”

“Is…  Is he dead?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dunbar
said.  “I had no choice.”

With that Gloria froze,
her mouth agape, her eyes still.

“I’m sorry, honey,”
Marti said and gently touched her arm.

“Was the family
notified?” Gloria eventually asked.  “I always liked his father and mother. 
They’re decent people.”  She felt a pang of sympathy for Sheela, as well, no
matter the hatred she’d directed her way in the past.  She couldn’t help but
feel for her now.

“Yes, ma’am.”  Dunbar
would have liked to tell her that he’d informed them personally.  But for now,
he didn’t feel it wise to come within spitting distance of any of them Koffees:
father, uncles, or cousins.  They weren’t exactly the embodiment of decency, as
Gloria had intimated, the mother possibly excluded.

About the time Martina
thought Gloria was taking the news well, tears began to flow down her face.  “I
know, honey.  It’s hard.  But just think… it’s over now.”

“That’s not why I’m
crying,” Gloria blurted.  “These are happy tears.  If I wasn’t so beat up, I’d
go to Hannity’s and celebrate.”

“That’s the spirit,”
Marti said cheerfully and smiled over to Dunbar.  She could tell he was
relieved, too.  But then, he hadn’t killed Raym.  She had.  The full horror of
that came back now, as she felt tears welling up in her own eyes.  They weren’t
happy tears.  Quickly she pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to get
them to stop.  But they didn’t.  They only got worse.  Rounding Dunbar, she
abruptly bolted from the room.

Dunbar followed her
out, to find her huddled against the wall.  Now it was evident she wasn’t the
hard hearted Hannah he had originally thought her to be.  Feeling he knew her
now, as a result of going through her things, he turned her by the shoulders
and pulled her into his arms.  She was there like the daughter he never had as
he allowed her sufficient time to cry it out, before saying, “You’re going to
be okay.”  Seeing her head nod, he released her.  “The first time is the
hardest,” he absently said, not considering this wasn’t a fellow cop on the
force.  But then, if she were, she may very well be the best officer he had,
female or male.

“I hope you don’t
expect there to be another… Lieutenant,” she said, glancing at him while
swiping away tears.  “I may never get over this one.”

“You did what you had
to do,” Dunbar said.  “And I might add, you did it very well.”

“Why don’t I find that
comforting?”  Marti folded her arms around herself and backed against the wall.

Considering this for a
moment, Dunbar said, “I had my men scrub up the place a little.  But I don’t
suppose you’re going to want to sleep there tonight anyway?”

“I don’t know,” she
said.  “I haven’t thought about that yet.  Do you have a reason why I
shouldn’t?”

He shook his head. 
“No.  Not really.”  But he did.  They still hadn’t located Brad Wilson.  And
there could be a crazy Koffee or two out and about, seeking revenge.  “Well,
whatever you decide — call me.  I don’t want you going there
alone.  Besides, I’ve got your keys.  They’re in the car.”

“Now you’re starting to
worry me, Lieutenant.  I thought this was over.”

“There’s one guy I’d
like to talk to, is all.  It probably won’t amount to much.”

“Someone associated
with Raym?” Marti asked.

“I don’t even know that
for sure, yet.”

“So, you want me to
just wait here until I hear from you?  I mean… I have two friends in here now
to keep company with.  I’ll be okay.”  Marti made light of the situation.  But
if the truth were known, she was plenty worried right now.

“Maybe that’s best,” he
said, taking her shoulders, briefly.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Sure,” Marti said and
watched him go.  Back in the room, she caught sight of herself in a mirror and
fluffed her reddish brown hair.  She had always hated that color, but did
nothing about it for fear of offending her mother.  Her hair was a similar
shade, at the time.  Thinking on it some more, she considered colors, if she
should decide to change it.  Dark brown or even black would cover nicely. 
She’d always admired people with dark hair.  Besides, such a drastic change may
do her good.  Perhaps it would serve as the beginning of something different. 
And that’s what she needed right now — a fresh start.

Discussing it with
Gloria a short time later, Gloria made her an offer: “I’ll tell you what... if
you’ll dye yours black, I’ll bleach mine blonde?  I’ll be salt.  You’ll be
pepper.  Deal?”

“Deal!” Marti agreed. 
They touched thumbs on it, and laughed together until the pain forced Gloria to
stop.

“So how long will I be
stuck in this place?  I hate hospitals,” Gloria grumbled.

“They want to observe
you until morning,” Martina said.  “Then you can go, if nothing crops up.”  She
didn’t mention that it might not be entirely safe to go back to the apartment. 
Gloria had plenty else to be worried about, if she only knew.

“I guess I can handle
that.  But not a minute more, understand?  People die in hospitals!”

“You’re a nurse, and
you hate hospitals?” Marti said, thinking that strange.

“You have to know, I
was forced into this profession by my grandma,” Gloria said.  “She was a nurse
and thought there was no grander profession.  If it wouldn’t have been for her,
I probably would have ended up a whore.”

“Gloria!  Jeez!”

“It’s true,” she
chuckled.  “I’ve always had a knack for pleasuring men.”

“Is there a trick to
it?” Marti said with a smile.  She had been up to see Parker earlier, while
Gloria was in the ER.  Of course, he was no less frisky than the other times,
which set her to thinking.  “Anything special I should know?”

“The trick is to find
what pleasures you, and do that,” Gloria said.  “Nothing pleases a man more
than knowing a woman finds him desirable enough to seek a little jazz time for
herself.  And let him know that — if not verbally, then in subtle
ways.  Vocals never hurt, either.”

“You mean, like jungle
sounds?” Marti laughed.

“Sure, if it turns your
crank.”

“Any trick to being on
top?” Marti asked, thinking of poor Parker, who was confined to his back, the
straps still in place, after nearly four days now.  But she could work with
that.

Gloria smiled, knowing
full well why she wanted to know this.  It couldn’t be written plainer on her
face.  “Just like putting bread in a toaster.  Plug in and
cook — eight, skate, and rotate, baby!”  She laughed, feebly
holding up a hand for a high five.

Marti, however, was confused. 
I mean, eight, skate, and rotate…what the hell was she talking about? 
Regardless of that, she high fived her anyway.  To ask more questions, she
feared, would only bring more crudeness from Gloria.  And this made her
uncomfortable.  Sex to her was a serious matter, especially when it came to her
present condition.  Oh, God, just get it over with, she’d told herself a lot
lately!  But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do that.  There had to be a
right and a wrong way to do it.  And she wanted her first time to be perfect,
for her and Parker.