Cross Cut (29 page)

At this very moment in time, my mind was kind of a wash. I’d figured out half of what was going on, but I really had no idea what Ryder had planned, or why, for that matter, she was doing it like this—a farce right out of a detective novel. It was only later on that I realized the importance of meeting here at such a time.

As the first guests arrived, Ryder was sitting in her chair, as elegant as a sling would let her appear. She had regained her physical strength, although, her face looked a little pale. Most importantly, she possessed that aura—the one she has before she’s about to pull something off. Every ten seconds she’d crack a grin and tap the desk with her fingers. Some people get a rush from different things, that’s all I’ll say. I only wish being shot at would make her feel the same way.

The agents arrived first. Special Agent Gibbs of the FBI, Johns and Mantle of the BI. The lack of Hacket and Bloom pleased us, and later I learned the BI had taken them off the case.

Ryder greeted them, and invited Gibbs to sit at the black leather chair, to which she declined, but Ryder insisted.

Ryder looked up at me, and said, “Ader, I wish to discuss something with Agent Gibbs, could you perhaps attend to any guests and allow them to make use of the living room? Agents Mantle and Johns, if you don’t mind? I assure you, the living room is most comfortable.”

I didn’t bother questioning it, and neither did Mantle and Johns. I sat them down and avoided any conversation as the bell rang. The five people from Gillham and Mane had arrived, plus one visitor I wasn’t expecting, Cassandra Bishop. She looked as striking as ever. No competition between herself and Ryder now, seen as she didn’t have her arm in a sling. The other five didn’t look as good. Some were tired and some were irritable. And while I didn’t know exactly what was unraveling, there was of course one man whose days were numbered; Graham Rudd. By the look on his face, he knew it.

“Good evening,” I said spiritedly. “Miss Ryder will be with you shortly. Please have a seat in the living room.”

A few of them mumbled on their way in but I wasn’t really listening. I was more interested in their reaction to seeing BI agents present.

Cassandra Bishop stood by the main door and adjusted her hair, and took off her glasses. “I was hoping to see you at a social gathering, but this isn’t what I had in mind,” she said.

“No kidding. Why are you here?” I asked.

“I received a call from Agent Gibbs a few hours ago. Apparently, Miss Ryder requested my presence.”

Ah, I thought to myself. Yet again, Ryder was trying to be foxy. Considering both she and Cassandra had come to the same conclusions, it seemed likely Ryder wanted a seconder to whatever answer she would be proposing tonight. And it didn’t hurt that person was a qualified psychiatrist.

The door to the office opened and Agent Gibbs nodded at me.

“Okay, everyone, Miss Ryder will see you,” I said.

I let the crowd hustle into the office. Agent Gibbs vacated the black leather chair, so I gave it to Darren Bromme, CEO. The others sat at either side on the wooden chairs. The two female lawyers, Laura Harles and Robyn Faith, sat to his left, while Graham Rudd and Doreen Sharp sat to his right. Gibbs, Mantle and Johns stood next to my desk as agents do; hands by their sides with straight backs. I offered them my sofa, but they declined, so I gave it to Cassandra and sat with her. Ryder looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I saw one side of her mouth sag, but she corrected it.

She addressed everyone firmly. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

“What is this?” Rudd said. “I thought this was an update. Why is the FBI here?”

It was obvious Rudd was shaken. He leaned forward nervously and tried to stare Ryder down, to no effect.

“I must admit, this is somewhat improper. It has been nearly a week and you spring this on us without any real notice,” Bromme said.

Ryder tilted her head slightly and began proceedings. The orange light from the lamps in the corner gave her short, coal black hair a tinge of fire. “Oh, come now, sir, that is somewhat childish. Why have you yourself not contacted me since Monday? I’m sure you know it’s because you never really cared. I must confess, I provoked you into acquiring my services, but I had no idea you would be so detached to even feign interest.”

“You provoked us?” Doreen Sharp said. “You offered your services. We are here because we wanted to be.”

“Nonsense,” Ryder said. “None of you want to be here. And the devil’s truth is, neither do I. This farce that has surrounded not only your company, but myself, cannot end quickly enough.”

“What do you mean,
surrounded our company
?” Bromme said. “One of our employees was murdered—”

Ryder shook her head and looked at me. “I do not have the will to break this gently,” she mumbled, and then turned to Bromme. “This will be disagreeable for all of you, but here it is: your company, Gillham and Mane, is indirectly involved with a criminal organization, that we do not have a name for, but is closely related to a Romanian gang known as the Danturas.”

This was met with vitriolic rebuttals, but Ryder waved them away and pressed on.

“I say indirectly. I do not know to what degree. That is to say, how many of your staff had knowledge of such an affair. As far as I’m concerned, a separate police enquiry can approach that. However, I do know the identity of one—he is sitting right next to you. Aren’t you, Mr Rudd?”

Rudd rose from his chair in a flash. I half expected him to do something, so I did the same, but to my surprise, he sat back down again. Resigning himself to his fate.

Ryder nodded. “I suspect you realize it is futile, but, we have photographic proof of your involvement.”

Bromme looked at him. “For God’s sake, man, what have you been doing?”

Rudd shook his head and buried it into his hands.

“As I suspected, you were unaware, Mr Bromme?” Ryder said.

“Hell, of course!”

“Very well, I shall speak for Mr Rudd. The people behind the operation, whom I shall now refer to as
the gang
, have various outlets on the west coast of California. They use legitimate companies that have significant storage and loading facilities to help transfer illegal goods out of the country. The idea is twofold; one, in legitimate holding, their product stands minimal chance of interception. Secondly, if their product is found, the company itself will act as a diversion to blame. Your factory in Westminster was such a place.”

Bromme looked to Rudd. “Of all the things—you’ll cripple the company, for what, an extra paycheck? Despicable.”

“If you please,” Ryder said, shaking her head. “I suspect Mr Rudd acted under coercion rather than avarice. It is how criminal organizations of such stature operate. Now, naturally, you are considering what this has to do with Guy Lynch. The truth is, Guy Lynch also acted under coercion, until he had had enough.”

“So, Guy Lynch was a crook too? Christ,” Bromme said.

Ryder looked to Rudd, who seemed somewhat confused. “How about it, Mr Rudd? You seem dumbfounded.”

“I—he was never there at the transfers,” Rudd said.

“Quite,” Ryder said, “because Guy Lynch’s part was oh so different.”

Laura Harles spoke for the first time, saying, “So the gang killed him—is that what you’re saying?”

“If you expect a fee for that, forget it,” Robyn Faith said.

Ryder shook her head. “You’re missing the point. I shall tell you who killed Guy Lynch momentarily, but I shall start from the beginning and stipulate why.”

“Because he was a crook, we get it,” Bromme said impatiently.

“Indeed, but as I said, his part was different. You wanted, as a company, to attain a certain amount of positive publicity from all this. The truth of it is, you could not have possibly foreseen the consequences from learning the truth, and that is, Guy Lynch was the serial killer, egregiously known as the Cross Cutter.”

A lot of mumbling ensued, especially from the agents. You could practically see Bromme’s company falling from under him, and Johns looked unimpressed. A few people pointed out that Guy Lynch was murdered the same way as the other victims, to which Ryder asked for patience.

“That middle aged frump was a serial killer? Get out of it,” Johns said.

“How can you establish this?” Gibbs asked.

This was the tricky bit. Ryder had to wrap up a neat story, with over half of the history missing. For the first time tonight, she looked to Cassandra Bishop.

“Miss Bishop—pleased to meet you,” she said. “You were the one who convinced the FBI the serial murders were, in effect, committed under a different guise, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “I also surmised they were connected to this criminal organization.”

“Why is that?” Ryder asked.

“For the very reason you did, I imagine. The inconsistencies suggested a lack of devotion, and serial killers are often devoted to their cause.”

“Indeed,” Ryder said. She looked to Gibbs and said, “And you, Agent Gibbs, after investigation, suspected some of the murders could be connected to the gang I am at odds with?”

“Yes, but there’s no proof,” Gibbs said firmly. “That’s why I’m here, you said you had—”

“Yes,” Ryder interrupted. “I fully intend to satisfy you. I am just merely presenting facts and stipulating that I am not alone in my theory as to the motive of the murders. Now, as for Guy Lynch—I can only surmise as to why he committed the first two murders the way he did. All I will say is that they were the only ones not connected to the gang.”

This was a lie, obviously. We suspected the murders were committed because Lynch saw red. He saw himself twelve years ago and he just blew, but we couldn’t tell anyone here that. I wasn’t too impressed with how Ryder had put it. It was rather lazy, expecting them to suspend the belief that Lynch had actually begun as a serial killer, and then diverted his priorities. I was right, Mantle objected.

“That kinda stinks,” Mantle said. “Make up your mind, he started off killing people—why did he suddenly become a hitman for this—gang.”

“I’m getting to that, Miss Mantle. Please, do not be impatient.” Ryder straightened herself. “The pivotal point in this whole affair was the third murder. I shall now explain the main question that no one had the sagacity to emphasize: why was there a secondary stab wound on Jake Segal, victim number three?”

The crowd in the office mumbled and looked at each other. Gibbs nodded for Ryder to continue.

“The answer is somewhat surmise, but poignant nevertheless. It’s because two different people stabbed Jake Segal.”

Again, more mumbling. “How could you possibly know that?” Mantle said.

“Naturally, I do not know that, Miss Mantle. As I said, it is surmise. But it is surmise that leads to a very convincing story. The only situation that seemed remotely viable to me was that someone who wasn’t the killer first stabbed Jake Segal. Such a scenario makes sense, considering the murder took place in an alley. Surely an unwise setting for a premeditated serial killing. With that in mind, you have to ascertain why the real serial killer came afterward to change the nature of the murder.”

Yet more mumbling and objections.

“How do you account for two people? If Lynch’s murder was a copy, why not this?” Gibbs said.

“Inference, Agent Gibbs. I’m sure the medical examiner will agree that the stab wound was different in nature.” She cleared her throat. “Back to what I was saying—why would Guy Lynch follow the real murderer of Jake Segal, and dress it up as his own? There is only one answer: to protect the murderer. But what he could not possibly know was that there was someone else watching them—a member of the very gang that we have been discussing tonight. And by coercion and blackmail, the gang later acquired Guy Lynch’s services as a hitman, disguised as a serial murderer, using the first two murders already creating a stir in the press as a smokescreen.”

This took some swallowing by the majority. I myself was struggling to follow along and had to admit, she wasn’t convincing. This was all on account of her trying to force a reason to avoid going in the direction of another.

“This is a whole lot of
surmise
, Miss Ryder,” Gibbs said. “I suppose you know who really killed Jake Segal?”

Ryder adjusted her arm as she leaned back in her chair. “Certainly I do. That person is in my office right now.”

Yet again the room resorted to mumbling.

“Rudd, you!” Bromme said.

“I didn’t do anything!” Rudd said.

“You’re the one in league with the goddamned Mafia,” Robyn Faith said.

“Well?” Gibbs said to Ryder.

Ryder shook her head. “No, I mean someone else entirely. Someone else involved with the gang, and I suspect Mr Rudd could hazard a guess at their identity. How about it, Mr Rudd?”

Rudd gazed to his left. “I—I don’t know.”

Ryder smiled. “Indeed. How about this, then; when did the gang start to use the Gillham and Mane factory for their operation?”

“About two years ago,” he said sheepishly.

“The same time as Jake Segal’s murder.” Ryder nodded and looked to Gibbs. “I submit to everyone here, that the person who killed Jake Segal was intimate with him for a brief period of time. That she saw him every day during his duties as a mailman. After he rebuffed her and went back to his girlfriend, she followed him and killed him outside his apartment. Blade in her hand, bloodied. She would be caught in her current state of hysteria. But along came Guy Lynch. Perhaps she called for help, or Lynch had known she would resort to such action. In either case, he covered everything up—all except for removing the body, because they were interrupted. This is a guess, but I assume this was when everything changed. One of the members of the gang saw everything. After that, Lynch and the murderer were under the gang’s thumb. The gang realized not only Lynch’s use to them, but also Gillham and Mane’s.”