Blunt Impact (29 page)

All the same, he tried to straighten up as he walked up to the motel, and gave it to the boss crisp and concise, even with the rain now dripping in his eyes. At least he thought he sounded crisp. Maybe not so concise.

‘
What
?’

‘He dead. Damon’s dead, he was tossed off that tower just like the other two were. There weren’t nobody there when I left, I
know
, just Damon. He might still be there, up on the floors, I don’t know.’

‘Then let’s go get him,’ the boss said, and pulled his not inconsiderable bulk out of the worn lawn chair. ‘Lee, lock up here. You, come wit’ me.’

Boonie had half-hoped, half-feared the man would say that. ‘He might still be there, I don’t know, sick one like that might stay and be rubbin’ on himself. But I don’t know—’ He threw himself into the driver’s seat, and it was a measure of his agitation that his speech did not even slow down when the boss’s bodyguard threw him back out of it, took it for himself and let Boonie get in the empty back space where he would have to sit on the floor. ‘He might be gone by now.’

‘We’ll look anyway,’ the boss said, in a voice that almost sounded kind.

‘Might have a piece, too. I’m thinking about that, and Damon wasn’t no bitch.’ Actually Boonie had had his doubts about that lately, what with Damon’s surprising contentment with a paying job, but now that the boy was dead he would defend his memory with extreme prejudice. ‘And he worked out, weren’t no weakling. Would have been really tough to pick him up and carry him around and Damon wouldn’t have gone with the fool, not unless he had a piece.’

‘You’re sure he wasn’t shot?’

‘No. It weren’t no rip-off,’ Boonie said, remembering the way Damon’s bones grated against each other when he tried to turn his friend over. His stomach roiled and he bit down on the taste of bile in his mouth. This might be the worst hour of his life but he would retain the presence of mind not to upchuck in front of the boss. ‘Cops might be there.’

The boss turned around and looked back at him, having to peer down over the back of the front seat since Boonie was on the floor, the convolutions of the corrugated floor biting into his buttocks, knees drawn up to his chin. He hadn’t sat in that position since he’d been in grade school and straightened out his legs before the boss noticed. Damon might be dead, but
he
wasn’t, and a man had to think of these things.

‘Are you proposin’ that we let this messed up mope get away with killin’ one of our own?’

‘No,
suh
,’ Boonie said.

‘If the cops are there, that’s one thing,’ the boss told him calmly, turning back around to stare out the windshield. ‘If they’re not, then apprehendin’ this dangerous animal falls to us. And we will not fail.’

Boonie felt comforted, in a small but firm way. He had not run away from his murdered friend – he had simply kept the boss in the loop, like any good soldier. Damon, he knew, would have understood.

Ian had not been kidding when he said he walked past the construction site every day on his way to the Justice Center – he lived at the Chesterfield, no more than a quarter of a mile from the Rockwell address. Theresa didn’t know where to leave her car; in frustration she parked it in front of the channel nineteen building with the visitor’s lot empty at that time on a week night. She guided Ghost out of the passenger seat, then braced her knees and picked the kid up, draping her across the front of her body with the skinny arms around her neck. Ghost didn’t protest; she let her head rest on Theresa’s shoulder, the arms tightening just enough to break Theresa’s heart.

It wasn’t easy – skinny or not Ghost was still eleven years old and had to weigh at least sixty-five pounds. Theresa’s knees protested just a bit at stepping on and off the curbs as they crossed Chester, but she wasn’t about to let go. She had known this child less than forty-eight hours, but might be the only person she had left in the world.

The streets were empty and a little wet from the misting rain. A lone figure shuffled along further up Chester, and she heard a car door slam somewhere. Even with the weather keeping people in, it saddened her how downtown Cleveland had become so deserted. Only a block away there used to be a lounge called The Theatrical, a Midwestern version of Sardis. Anyone who was anyone drank there, from mobsters to politicians to
Press
reporters getting out of work. More deals had been struck—

‘Theresa!’ A voice broke her reverie. ‘You’ve got to get to the site. Someone else has been killed, one of the pipefitters.’

She stopped, stared. ‘Another murder? But Frank—’

‘He’s there, too. Come on, we’ll take my car.’

Ghost’s head snapped up. ‘Theresa, NO!’

Theresa tottered under her sudden agitation. ‘What?’

‘He’s the shadow man!’

Theresa’s heart seemed to seize, and pricks of icy sweat broke out on her skin.

He smiled.

F
rank left Chris Novosek in a holding cell, then rejoined his partner at their desks. She paged through Todd Grisham’s statement, turning each sheet with a desultory flick. Frank slumped into his chair and took a sip of cold coffee before dropping the Styrofoam cup into his wastebasket. The impact forced drops of the liquid upward, leaving a spray pattern on his lower desk drawer, a perfect illustration of his mood. Scattered and dark brown.

Angela sat back as well. She didn’t often show her weariness but made an exception tonight. ‘I’m lost.’

‘Have you tried Hare Krishna?’

‘We got one murder sewn up, but we’re back to square one on the other. And I don’t even have a front runner. I just can’t see Todd. I’ve never been able to figure out where Scott Crain and his protesters figure in – potentially violent but not likely. Then there’s our corrupt concrete inspector, likely but not violent. Your phone’s blinking.’

‘Huh?’

She nodded at the electronic device on his blotter.

He picked it up, checked the screen. ‘Theresa called. How much you want to bet this kid’s disappeared again?’

‘Don’t think it. You think she’s really been roaming the city looking for her father?’

‘We’re all searching for something. That’s what keeps us moving into new territory, building ever higher buildings. Hoping we’ll find it. It’s what makes us human. Angela . . .’

She turned another page of the statement. ‘Hmm?’

‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’

As Theresa neared the Federal Reserve building, her thighs began to quake. ‘I don’t think I can make it.’

‘Put her down,’ he said. The steel barrel bit into her spine, just to let her know who remained in charge. Just as it had when a homeless man had come out of the alley off Chester, and when an occupied taxi had crossed East Ninth in front of them. Besides that, the streets belonged to them and the gun at her back eased up a bit. He didn’t touch her otherwise. He didn’t have to.

At his suggestion Ghost wailed and tightened her arms around Theresa’s neck. Theresa instinctively squeezed back.

‘Shut up, you stupid brat. You want to make this poor lady carry you all over the city?’ The gun pressed harder. ‘Put her down. You, kid, you try to run and I’ll shoot you, and then I shoot her. Same deal goes for you, forensic bitch. Got it?’

The child’s body slid to the ground, but she never let go of Theresa enough to think about running. Her arms wrapped around Theresa’s waist, face buried in her rib cage. It made walking with her almost as clunky as carrying her had been, but Theresa wasn’t in any hurry. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Where do you
think
?’ Jack told her.

The sky lit up in a brilliant blue light, and thunder boomed so loud it seemed to quake the very ground under her feet.

Ian Bauer came through the Chesterfield’s two front doors. He thought Theresa should have been there by now, but then he didn’t know how long it might have taken her to convince Ghost to come, or what her driving habits might be like. He hadn’t told her his apartment number and the deskman said no one had come in for the past hour. Maybe she wasn’t sure of the building. But the Chesterfield had been there for so many years . . . Too many, from the state of the electrical system . . .

No cars at the curb, none in the street. He checked his cell phone, no calls. A bolt of lightning cracked the sky in two and the resulting thunder followed too closely behind for comfort. Crap.

He braved the raindrops to pace the sidewalk to the south. He would wait. He would wait for Theresa MacLean for the next ten years, yes, OK, but he meant that right now she might not know where to park—

As he pivoted, a lump in the shadows caught his eye. It sat against the building to the right of the front door.

He picked it up without thinking. A wet brown leather purse with plenty of outside pockets, and a chiffon scarf tied to one buckle. Theresa’s purse, the one he had hung on to at the Tavern. What the hell was it doing on the sidewalk outside his apartment?

He looked up and down the street again, panic beginning to swell within him. But East Twelfth remained as empty and silent as before.

The gate facing the Mall stood open, about a foot. Theresa pushed it, reluctantly, wondering if she could slam it back on Jack without getting herself and Ghost shot. Most likely not.

‘Keep walking.’

‘It’s dark in here. Where am I going?’

‘Turn to the left. Keep walking.’ He let a few feet lapse between them; behind the fence he didn’t need to touch her back with the gun. This didn’t help, as now she couldn’t snatch the gun away if something distracted him. As if she could have pulled that off anyway. Crouching Tiger she was not, especially in the slick mud.

Ghost continued to cling, her soft whimpers muffled by Theresa’s shirt and flesh. It made travel over the uneven ground difficult but that was good. Every extra second made it more likely that Ian might notice the delay in her arrival, or Frank might call back and then come looking when she didn’t answer. But would either of them figure out where to search for her? Her heart, beating wildly, sunk further at the possibilities. No, she and Ghost were most likely on their own, exhausted, unarmed, and at the mercy of a madman. She wiped soaked tendrils of hair out of her face.

Think
.

‘You left asbestos on Sam’s clothing,’ she told Jack. ‘I should have figured it out when you mentioned your kitchen remodel. You’re redoing your counters?’

‘Going to look great when it’s done. Step up on the platform, there.’ He directed them on to the raised foundation that would eventually become a parking garage on the west side of the building. To her left, the fence that shielded them from the Mall and, farther away, the Marriott; to her right, the shifting, murky depths of the interior of the building.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Didn’t you ever want to see the city at night? I mean from forty stories up.’

‘I’ve seen it. We’re getting on the zip lift?’ She stopped at the edge of it.

He giggled, and the sound raised the hairs on her arms. ‘Unless you want to walk all the way up.’

A chance to get a few steps of higher ground while he wearied, plenty of dark turns and corners? ‘Yes.’

‘Well, I don’t. Get on.’

‘I’m not riding on this,’ she said. Ghost whined a protest as well.

‘Fine, then I’ll just shoot my little angel/demon here. See, the fates have turned me into an omnivore. Meaning I’ll push, I’ll stab, I’ll pull the trigger. It’s all the same to me.’

Theresa put one foot on the small wooden deck and bent down to lift up Ghost.

‘Wait a minute. Wait, wait, wait.’

She straightened.

‘I have asbestos in my kitchen?’

Grab at any straw. ‘Yes. It must have been on your clothing and transferred to her. You should get a chest X-ray, have yourself checked for exposure.’

He appeared to think about it and for a moment a shoot of hope sprung up in her heart. But then he shrugged. ‘Not surprising, it was built in the sixties. Go on, get up. Get back against the railing.’

Theresa stepped to the opposite edge, trying not to think that in another minute that edge would be a hundred or more feet off the ground, and slid Ghost down until her feet reached the decking. She took the little girl’s hand and wrapped it around the thin railing post which held the cable railings, then stood in front of her, facing Jack.

He had the gun in his right hand, pointed at her, with the left awkwardly crossed in front of his body to reach the lift controls. She could see him clearly enough in the ambient light from the Mall and the mall lights. With a jerk, the platform began to rise, bringing them closer to the errant flashes of lightning.

She let her knees soften, rock with the movement as she planned her next move. She might not be a black belt and she might not be a trained police officer, but if she didn’t do something soon, he would kill her. And then he would kill Ghost. Her heart pounded against her ribs hard enough to hurt and she knew if she thought about it for even another split second, she wouldn’t do it.

So Theresa stepped forward with her left foot, grabbed his gun hand with her left hand and punched at his face with her right, and brought her right foot forward to kick him in the groin as hard as she could. Her plan wasn’t to incapacitate him or even wrench the gun away and shoot him. Her plan was to push him over the side of those flimsy cable railings and let him plummet to the earth just as Sam and Kyle had.

‘You going to call her back?’ Angela asked him.

‘In a minute. Answer the question first.’

‘About getting something to eat?’ she murmured, paging through one of the many Manila folders on her desk.

‘No,’ he said so firmly that she stopped paging and looked up at him. ‘Would you like to have dinner with me?’

Perhaps the careful enunciation tipped her off, but she seemed to know exactly what he was really asking and somehow it didn’t surprise her as much as he had thought it might. But neither did she jump at the chance.

Finally she opened her lips to answer. But just as she said, ‘Yes,’ his phone rang.

He glanced at the display, sighing in irritation. His cousin’s timing had never been worse. But instead of Theresa’s voice, Frank found himself listening in disbelief to Ian Bauer’s panicked tones.