Accidents Waiting to Happen (37 page)

Josh shook his head.
 
“No, I didn’t.
 
He was going to kill me and someone else killed him.”

“Who?”

“James Mitchell.
 
He ran him down, then shot him and must have burnt him and the car.
 
I was out of there once the killing started.”

“But I thought Mitchell was trying to kill you, not rescue you.”

“That’s what I thought, but I really don’t have a clue now.”

Kate wrapped her arms around him.
 
“Oh, Josh, what have you got us into?”
 

The word
us
stung.
 
His actions, his deceits, his mistakes, had dragged his family and friends into the sinkhole with no bottom.
 
It was his fault and his alone, but he’d affected everyone close to him.
 
His only comfort was she still thought of them as an
us
, not as individuals.
 
He hoped he could keep it that way.

“I don’t know.”
 
He pulled her back.
 
“But I think it’s connected to Margaret Macey, the woman who got the threatening phone call.
 
Someone wants both of us dead.
 
I’m going to see her.”

“No, Josh.”

“But I’ve got to.
 
I might be able to save her and she might explain to me what’s going on.”

“No, Josh.
 
That’s what the police are for.”

“But they won’t be interested until I wind up face down in an alley with a bullet in my head.”

Kate flinched.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“Josh, I’m scared.
 
I don’t want you leaving this house tonight.
 
The more involved you get the more things go wrong.
 
People are dying.
 
I don’t want you to be next.”
 

“I can’t just do nothing.
 
I have to go.”

“If you go, I won’t be here when you come back.
 
I mean it.”

***

The professional lounged on the bed in his motel room with pillows propped behind his back, the remote control in one hand and a cellular phone in the other.
 
He watched his handiwork, the cremated car and the mutilated body, on the television.
 
Not bad for a spur of the moment effort
, he congratulated himself.
 
It was him they were talking about.
 
He dialed the number and the phone was answered immediately.

“Dexter Tyrell.”
 

He hit the mute button on the TV, but continued to watch the newscast.

“You dumb fuck, Tyrell.”
 
The professional was cool, showing no hint of the anger boiling up inside.

Feebly, Tyrell muttered something in the way of ignorance.

The professional chopped him off short.
 
“Don’t play the innocent.
 
You know why I’m calling.
 
You sent a second man in to finish my work.
 
Didn’t you?”

Silence filled the telephone line except for a roaring hiss that made Tyrell sound like he was in a wind tunnel.

“Yes, I did,” Tyrell admitted.

“I’m glad you admitted it.
 
It shows strength of character when a man can admit his mistakes.
 
Don’t you think?”
 

The television report went back to the studio and the program moved on with its schedule.
 
Disinterested in the mute talking head, the professional switched the TV off.

“How is he?”

“Funny you should ask.
 
I’ve just been watching the evening news.
 
Your man is one of the top stories tonight.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes, he is.
 
Don’t worry, it’ll be some time before they can make a positive I.D.”

The professional grinned.
 
He thought he heard an audible wince down the phone line.

“It was lucky I was there or he would have robbed me of my fee.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was about to kill Josh Michaels, but luckily, I interceded.”

“You stopped him?”

“Of course, Mr. Tyrell.
 
It was my assignment.
 
Mine to carry out.
 
Mine to finish.”

“But Michaels will go to the police,” Tyrell said, his voice rising in pitch.

“No, I shouldn’t think so.
 
It wouldn’t be in his best interests.”

Tyrell paused before answering.
 
“What’s your plan?”

“My plan?
 
I’ll do as I was assigned.
 
Within the next forty-eight hours, your request will be fulfilled.
 
I’ll confirm my plans tomorrow.
 
And then…we should discuss terms.
 
A new arrangement after your breach of trust.”

“Of course.”

“I think we should meet face-to-face.”
 
The professional made the simple request sound ominous.

“Let…let me know when you…you’re ready,” Tyrell stammered.

“Goodnight, Mr. Tyrell.”
 
The professional hung up.

The professional switched the television back on and flicked through the stations for something to watch other than news.
 

He knew Tyrell would be panicking over whether the man he hired would kill him after the assignment was complete.
 
He could almost smell the businessman’s fear.
 
He stopped the channel surfing when he came to the PBS channel.
 
A Cheetah had just brought down a gazelle and was reveling in its new kill.

***

Gently, Dexter Tyrell put the cell phone on the passenger seat next to him.
 
His focus drifted from the road users and the road ahead to the phone call he’d received from the professional.
 
In the years he’d dealt with the killer he’d never believed their relationship would take a turn for the worse.
 
But it had now.
 
He found it difficult to think straight.
 
For the first time, he hoped it would take some time before Josh Michaels and Margaret Macey were dead.
 
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

Involuntarily, his foot eased down on the gas pedal.
 
In hindsight, which was always twenty-twenty, he’d made a mistake bringing in another contractor.
 
Hiring Smith seemed like a good idea at the time and he’d come highly recommended, but never for one minute did Tyrell think he’d be killed two days after meeting him.
 
He shot out of the lane and blew by a Greyhound bus at eighty-five.

Tyrell’s Mercedes continued to increase in speed.
 
He considered the situation.
 
If his professional could take out a man like Smith, how difficult would it be for the hit man to take care of him?
 
The answer—it wouldn’t be hard.
 
Different thoughts, scenarios, and questions flashed inside his head like icons on a slot machine.
 
Maybe he was jumping to conclusions assuming the professional would want to kill him.
 
He was a businessman as well.
 
It didn’t make good business sense to bite the hand that fed him or to tear it off in spite.
 
Tyrell was deluding himself and he knew it.
 
He just wished he knew what the professional was thinking.
 
In the financial world, people were as easy to read as a book, but the professional was written in a different language.
 
He pressed the accelerator pedal into the carpet.

The siren wail made Tyrell jump, waking him from his living nightmare.
 
The police cruiser’s blue and red lights flashed excitedly in his rearview mirror.
 
He looked down at the speedometer.
 
It read a hundred and five.

Chapter Twenty-five

Kate’s threat was a kick in the guts.
 
Josh never thought for one moment that Kate would consider leaving him.
 
But there it was, if he went to see Margaret Macey, Kate would leave him.
 
So he did as he was told and stayed home, threw his clothes in the hamper, had a bath and put the eventful day behind him.

But that was yesterday.
 
Today was a whole new day.
 
Kate was at work, Abby was at school, and he was at home, alone.
 
Kate would never know if he slipped out of the house and visited the old woman.
 
Someone twisted the blade of guilt between his ribs.
 
He’d been deceitful to Kate before and the deceit had come back to take its revenge.
 
But he had to find out what Margaret Macey knew about this conspiracy and do it without being caught.
 
He knew the price and consequences of failure.
 
If he screwed up, he lost Kate and Abby—he lost everything.
 
He was gambling with higher and higher stakes.
 
He raised the bet one more time.

Josh guided his car down the street and brought it to a halt outside Margaret Macey’s house.
 
He remembered the address Bob had told him, though he knew his friend wouldn’t approve of what he was doing.
 
From the appearance of the street, he couldn’t imagine this woman was worth murdering.
 
He crossed over to the other side of the street and went up to the front door.

He rang the doorbell.
 
It didn’t work.
 
Josh wasn’t surprised.
 
He knocked on the door.
 
No one answered.
 
“Shit,” he murmured.
 
He hoped she was in.
 
He didn’t want to hang around all day waiting.
 
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, a blur darting back from the window.
 
He knocked again.

“Hello,” he said.

No one responded.

“Mrs. Macey?
 
Margaret Macey?
 
I know you’re in there.
 
I saw you moving.”
 
Josh had his head close to the door and spoke loudly.

Realizing how sinister he must sound, Josh glanced behind him into the street.
 
He hoped the neighbors hadn’t heard, put two and two together and come up with five.
 
The last thing he wanted was to give the cops another nail for his coffin.
 
He saw no one.

Whoever was in the house didn’t move or make a sound.

“Margaret, can I call you Margaret?
 
I’m here as a friend.
 
I need to speak to you.
 
It’s about the insurance company, Pinnacle Investments.”

“Go away,” she shrieked.

Shocked by the sudden outburst, Josh’s head snapped back from the door and he took one step back.
 
He peered through the grubby window to the right of the door and only made out shapes in the gloom.

“Mrs. Macey, I’m here to help.”
 
A tinge of resignation clouded his resolve.
 
This isn’t going to be easy
, he thought.

***

Ever since the pizza boy incident, Margaret Macey had made herself a recluse.
 
The evil man on the phone had called twice since then.
 
Now, she’d feared the phone, the outside and people.
 
She’d never seen her tormentor and he could be anyone.
 
He could be the man standing next to her at the bus stop, the man who packed her groceries at Albertson’s or the man at the front door right now.

The police had told her they’d spoken to a suspect.
 
By going to the cops had she aggravated the wound, only making the situation worse for herself?
 
Maybe if she told the cops to drop the investigation he would leave her alone.
 
She would do anything for peace.
 
The man at the door interrupted her train of thought.