Final Breath (40 page)

The taxi driver nodded.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go back and--"

The driver was still nodding. "Going to West Seattle, right? 1939 Henley Court?"

Eli broke into a grateful smile. "Yes, sir. You bet. Thank you."

He quickly climbed in back. As the cab pulled into traffic, Eli felt such overwhelming relief. It lasted about thirty seconds. That was how long it took for him to realize where he must have dropped that piece of paper with Demick's address on it.

In the stairwell, of course.

"Well, Sydney, it's about time you called me. I only gave you my cell phone number--like last week!"

The pretty, twenty-two-year-old brunette salesgirl behind the counter at Beautiful Blooms had been chewed out on several occasions for chatting on her cell phone while at work. But Jill was the only one in the flower shop at the moment. There weren't any customers, and Glenn, the gruff fifty-something owner was out making a delivery.

Jill had developed an instant crush on Sydney Jordan when he'd first walked into Beautiful Blooms about two weeks ago. She thought it was cool how he spelled his name that different way. For someone so cute and funny, he had kind of a sad job. He'd explained to her that he helped people with the estates of their recently deceased relatives. He worked all over the country: Portland, New York, Chicago. He was always sending his new customers flowers with sympathy cards. It was a pretty sweet gesture. Jill had waited on him a few times now, and always flirted up a storm. She couldn't believe he'd finally called her on her cell, and he was asking if she'd like to go out with him.

"You mean, like a date?" she teased.

"You bet, like a date," he said. "I want to take you out to breakfast tomorrow around 9:30."

"Oh, I'd love to, but I have to work," she said, crestfallen. "Can't we make it another time?"

"Well, can't you call in sick?" he countered. "I'd really like to see you, Jill. And if we meet for breakfast, we'll have the rest of the day together--if we want. I know it's what I'd like."

Jill let out an exasperated, giddy, little laugh. "I'm tempted..."

"C'mon, let's do it," he urged her.

"I guess I could call in tomorrow with some excuse," she said, leaning on the counter.

"That's my girl," he said on the other end of the line.

Jill felt absolutely light-headed while he explained that he'd pick her up in front of Seattle's Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park. It wasn't too far from her apartment. And they could walk or drive to the Coastal Kitchen for brunch--depending on their mood. And then they'd see where the day took them.

"Sydney, that sounds awesome," she said into the cell phone. A customer walked into the flower shop, but Jill turned her back to her.

"Then it's a date," he said on the other end of the line. "Listen, I need to cancel that order from yesterday, the one to Mrs. Joseph McCloud at number nine, Tudor Court in Seattle. It didn't work out with the client the way I planned. Did that order go out yet?"

"Not yet," she replied. "We'll just credit it back to your account. You still have a lot of money left over from that cash deposit you made."

"I may have a couple of more orders for delivery tomorrow," he said. "One will be to a Seattle address and another to someone with the last name Finch in Evanston. I'll phone them in later today. But if we don't connect, we're still on for brunch tomorrow morning, aren't we?"

"We sure are," Jill replied. "It's a date, Sydney."

The overly tanned, forty-something blond woman answering Mr. Demick's front door was wearing a tennis outfit. A pair of sunglasses were perched on top of her head. "Yes?" she said, with a slightly icy look.

Standing on the front stoop in his tie and short sleeve shirt, Eli wondered if she, too, thought he was a Jehovah's Witness. He showed her the manila envelope. "I have something here that requires a signature from Mr. Burton C. Demick."

She nodded. "Oh, well, come on in." She called over her shoulder. "Honey, you need to sign for this! Burt?" There was no answer. With a big sigh, she rolled her eyes. "Wait here just a minute," she muttered, heading off to a room on her right. "Burt? Burt, for Christ's sake, I'm going to be late for my tennis lesson. You've got to sign for this..."

Her voice faded. Eli waited in the front hallway, a very pale green foyer with a marble floor and a sparkling crystal chandelier overhead. Demick's house was one of those newly built "McMansions"--set back from the street on an isolated piece of property with a lot of trees.

During the cab ride here, Eli kept thinking about that man.
I'm a friend of your dad's
, the guy had said. If he was really a buddy of his father's, why was he sneaking around like that? How come his mom hadn't recognized him when she'd first spotted him in their driveway?

The taxi here had cost twenty-two bucks, which had practically cleaned him out. Eli had paid the driver, and sent him away. Now he wasn't sure how he'd get home.

Eli heard footsteps, and he glanced up to see Mr. Demick coming down the hallway. He wore a turquoise golf shirt, white shorts, and sandals. His legs and arms were tanned and hairless. Demick's eyes locked onto his, and he seemed to balk at the sight of him.

Eli nervously cleared his throat. "Hi, Mr. Demick. My name is Eli. I don't know if you remember me from yesterday--"

"Yes, I remember you," he said. He had a strange half-smile on his face that didn't quite conceal his irritation. "My wife thought you were a messenger boy. What are you doing here?"

"Um, I just had one more question for you, sir," Eli said. "I was wondering if Earl or Mrs. Sayers ever mentioned someone named Chris."

"
Chris
," he repeated.

Eli nodded. "It might even be short for Christine. I'm not sure if it's a man or a woman." He reached inside the manila envelope and pulled out the old Hallmark card. "Y'see, the reason I got interested in Earl and his mother was because I live in their old place by the beach at Lake Washington. And I found this card today."

Demick frowned. "I don't have my glasses. Come on into my study."

Eli followed him down the hall and into a room with a big, mahogany desk. A state-of-the-art computer monitor sat on top of it, along with a large antique lamp that had a bronze golfer figurine as its base and a golf-ball design on the shade. On one wall there were old framed prints of people golfing and some framed diplomas. Behind the desk was a floor-to-ceiling picture window with individual little panes; a few of them had stained-glass designs. But it didn't obscure the view to the large, well-manicured backyard. There was a patio just outside that window with some wrought-iron furniture.

"I don't remember Earl or his mother ever talking about someone named Chris," Demick said, retrieving his glasses from a pile of paperwork on his desk. He slipped them on, then reached for the Hallmark card. "Let's have a look at that..."

Eli handed it to him. "You know how you said you weren't sure at first if Mrs. Sayers killed Earl and herself. Well, this Chris person could have done it. I mean, he's really mad in that letter. And the postmark is just a few days before Mrs. Sayers and Earl were killed."

Demick opened the card and read it. A sour look passed over his face, and he heaved a sigh as he closed the card and handed it back to him. "You're right, Eli," he said finally. "I think we should show this to the police. Have you contacted them?"

Shrugging, Eli shook his head. "I haven't even told my uncle about this yet. In fact, would it be okay if I called and told him where I am? I just want to let him know I'm okay."

"Certainly," Demick said, nodding at the phone on his desk. "Help yourself. Sit down. I can leave if you want some privacy."

"No, this is fine," Eli said, walking around to his side of the desk. He reached for the phone. "Thanks very much."

Demick opened the top side drawer. "I have this police lieutenant's business card in here..."

Eli was about to dial his uncle's number when he noticed a yellow legal pad on Mr. Demick's desk. He'd scribbled some notes, and at the bottom of that top page, Eli read:
"Despite everything, I recommend that all parties concerned..."
It was the exact same sloppy script that had scrawled those words,
"Despite everything, I still love you..."

Eli glanced at the antique brass name plate on the fancy pen holder:
Burton Christopher Demick.

He turned toward Mr. Demick, and froze.

Loretta and Earl's killer had a gun in his hand.

"It was you," Eli murmured. The receiver fell out of his hand. "But you--you were Earl's
friend
..."

With an icy stare, Demick nodded. "And the poor sap had no idea I was fucking his bitch mother for over a year."

All at once, he reeled back, then brought the butt end of the gun down on Eli's head. "Snoopy little bastard," he growled.

It was the last thing Eli heard before he collapsed to the floor.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

Sydney gazed at Joe's handsome profile and the Band-Aid covering the cut from the piece of glass that had hit him on the train platform. She sat in the front with him in his Honda Civic as they drove along Mannheim to O'Hare. Joe's eyes were riveted to the road ahead.

He'd spent most of the day answering questions and trying to convince his fellow cops that this morning's sniper incident might not have been gang-related. He hadn't won any converts with his theory of a hero-killer. He hadn't mentioned anything about the hero-killings to the press. "There just isn't enough evidence to go public with it yet," he'd explained to Sydney. "Besides, you're the one who should tell the story, not me."

Both she and Joe would be on the news tonight.

Sydney had done her best to stay focused on the Chloe Finch story. She'd managed to finish editing and scoring the segment by 3:25--with only minutes to spare before its deadline. The segment would run on tonight's national news. She wasn't too crazy about the piece and thought her
It's a Wonderful Life
angle might have been too corny. But she'd shown it to Chloe, who had loved it.

Within a few hours, Chloe Finch would be another one of her
heroes
. And while Sydney didn't want to frighten her too much, she'd warned Chloe to be on her guard for nutcases and stalkers. "Now that you're going to be famous, you need to be extra cautious, okay?"

She was hoping after tonight, Chloe wouldn't have to be looking over her shoulder. They were a lot closer to tracking down this maniac. Joe had managed to make some calls and traced the flower delivery orders. Both had originated from a florist in Seattle called Beautiful Blooms. Sydney knew the place. It wasn't far from Kyle's house.

"I hate sending you back to Seattle alone," Joe said, following the airport signs for Departures. "If I can get out from under this El-shooting business, I'll catch an early morning flight there tomorrow." He took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at her. "Would that be okay with you?"

Sydney smiled at him and nodded. "That would be more than okay. It would be terrific."

He once again focused on the traffic ahead, but reached over and took hold of her hand. "Listen, I hope you're not too angry about this, but I asked a buddy to watch over you and Eli."

"For tonight?" she asked.

"For the last couple of months," he admitted. "Luis has been checking in on you from time to time ever since you moved to Seattle."

"What?" Sydney murmured.

"I just wanted to be positive that Crowley, Mankoff, and Rifkin hadn't sent some hood to Seattle to tie up loose ends."

"Luis," she said. "Is he a Latino guy with an eye infection of some kind?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, he was complaining to me the other night that he wasn't getting any sleep. He said he must have broken a blood vessel or something."

"How come I don't know this guy?"

"Well, if you knew him, he wouldn't have been able to follow you around. Luis is a good guy. He used to be a street kid, and I plucked him out of this gang when he was about sixteen. Now he wants to be a cop."

Sydney rubbed her forehead. "Good Lord, I thought he was a stalker--or possibly this hero-killer. Was it really necessary for him to follow us around everywhere?"

"Actually, he started out checking on you just occasionally. But about three weeks ago, he noticed someone sneaking around outside your apartment. So Luis increased his surveillance. He isn't sure if this guy's an obsessed fan or what, but he's been very elusive. Luis still hasn't gotten a good look at him yet." Joe sighed. "When you told me last night about this guy fixated on you and killing heroes, I figured that's the creep Luis has seen."

Sydney just nodded.

Now it made sense why Luis--Number 59--had sneered at her when she'd first glimpsed him. If the guy was a friend of Joe's, he probably thought she was a mega-bitch for leaving her wonderful hero-husband. It was a bit unsettling, but at the same time, she took solace in knowing this Luis person was keeping his one good eye on Eli right now.

Joe pulled the car over to the curb in front of the terminal entrance. Shifting into Park, he turned to her and smiled sheepishly. "So are you mad at me for getting you a bodyguard without asking you?"

Sydney shook her head. "No, it's very reassuring. I'll sleep better tonight."

He climbed out of the car and helped her with her luggage. They embraced, and Sydney kissed him on the lips.

"I'll see you tomorrow--in Seattle," he whispered.

"I hope so," she said, grabbing her bags.

"Kiss Eli for me," he said.

Nodding, Sydney gave him one last smile, and then headed inside the terminal.

Eli's head throbbed so badly, he thought he might throw up.

But he couldn't. There was a gag in his mouth. It took Eli a few moments after regaining consciousness to realize why he couldn't move or feel his arms. Hog-tied behind him, they'd fallen asleep. He lay facedown on the Oriental rug in Demick's study, feeling sick and utterly helpless. Blurry-eyed, he tried to focus on Demick, who stood over him. But Eli was in so much pain, he couldn't lift his head to see Demick's face.

A weird, high-pitched ringing filled his ears. He didn't quite hear everything Demick was saying. He'd mentioned something about his wife not being back for another two hours, and by then, they'll have taken a little drive to Snohomish National Forest.

"It might be months before anyone finds your body there," Demick said.

That part Eli heard--very clearly.

Demick explained how--thirty-five years ago--he'd started having sex with Loretta Sayers while she was still married to Mr. Landau. Their affair had become even more intense after she'd left Landau and moved to Number 9 at Tudor Court. Earl had never caught on to what was happening between his sixteen-year-old buddy and his mother. "I'd come over there and hang out with him. She'd cook us dinner," Demick explained. "Then I'd leave--and a few hours later, usually around one in the morning, she'd meet me at a motel--or sometimes the beach--and we'd fuck our brains out. It was the best, hottest sex I've ever had. We had a damn good thing going. Nobody knew. The closest we came to getting caught was when she occasionally slipped and called me Chris in front of her kid. That was Loretta's pet name for me. She used to call me that in bed."

His face pressed against the carpet, Eli only had a view of Demick's feet and his tan, hairless legs as he paced in front of him. Beyond that, Eli saw raindrops slashing at the big window. The awful ringing sound kept coming in and out while Demick went on about how Loretta had unceremoniously dumped him.

From what Eli could understand, Demick had gone over there to see Earl on a Saturday night. It had been after he'd sent Loretta that card. Every moment he'd caught Loretta alone, he'd begged her to meet him later, but she'd refused. So on Sunday night, he'd broken into the Sayers' town house apartment. He'd known where they'd hidden their extra key outside. And he'd known where Loretta had kept her gun. But he didn't use it on Earl.

"I slit his throat while he was sleeping," Demick said. He stopped pacing. With his foot, he nudged Eli and turned him onto his back. "You wanted to find out what happened, so I'm telling you. Eli." Demick stared down at him. Eli saw that he had a big sofa pillow in one hand and his gun in the other. "There was a lot of blood, and it got awfully messy. Fortunately, I was wearing her dishwashing gloves. If I had to do it over again, I would have smothered Earl with his pillow. It's much neater. He didn't die right away. He struggled for a few moments. But I kept a hand over his mouth. He wasn't able to make a sound. We didn't wake up Loretta down the hall. She was still sleeping when I crept into her room."

A tiny smile flickered on his face. "I woke her with a kiss on the cheek. Then I put my hand over her mouth and led her into the bathroom. She saw I had the gun. She didn't struggle or try anything. I made her strip and get in the tub. Then I shot her in the head."

Horror-struck, Eli listened to him. He kept wondering what Demick planned to do with that pillow.

"You know, Eli, I'm not proud of what I did. I was sixteen years old, and just went crazy that night." He shook his head. "I can't believe Loretta held on to that letter. For the first few weeks afterward, I kept thinking the cops would find it. Finally, I was able to convince myself it was okay. I haven't had to think about Loretta and Earl for a long time--not until you and your uncle walked into my office yesterday." He sighed, and put the gun down on the edge of the desk. Demick's back was to the window as he stared down at him. "It's funny, but you remind me a bit of Earl. And like I say, if I had to do it over again, I would do it the neat way..."

Demick crouched down close to him. "It'll be easier if you don't struggle."

Just over Demick's shoulder, Eli glimpsed something past the rain-beaded window.

The dark-haired man in the red shirt crept toward the house. Eli watched him grab a wrought-iron patio chair.

Then all at once, Eli couldn't see anything. Demick pushed the pillow down on his face. Eli tried to turn his head away, but he couldn't. It felt as if the man was smashing his nose in. Eli couldn't breathe. He thought he might swallow the gag. There wasn't any air coming into his lungs at all.

Suddenly, he heard a deafening crash. The pillow slipped away in time for Eli to see the patio chair toppling inside the room amid an explosion of glass.

Demick got to his feet, swiveled around, and grabbed his gun from the edge of the desk. To Eli's utter horror, he turned toward him and fired. A shot rang out.

Panic-stricken, Eli tried to roll to one side, but it was too late. He felt a sharp pain searing through his arm.

The dark-skinned man, his dad's buddy--Eli now realized that was true--picked up the patio chair again.

Demick spun around and shot the man. But the bullet didn't slow him down. The dark-haired stranger smashed the chair over his head.

Loretta and Earl's killer fell onto the floor, just missing Eli.

Gasping for air, Eli watched his dad's friend clutching at his side as he reached for the phone. Blood seeped between his fingers. "Operator, I need an ambulance right away," he said, catching his breath. He worked up a smile for Eli and nodded to him.

"You'll be okay, kid. Hang in there..."

"Hey, Chloe, I saw you on the news tonight."

Chuck, her neighbor from downstairs, was coming up from the basement with a load of laundry. Chloe had just stepped into the lobby of her apartment building. It was a three-story, old-world charmer with thirty units. Most of the neighbors knew each other.

And now most of her neighbors--along with the rest of the nation--knew that she'd been on a beach contemplating suicide night before last. Everyone also knew about her unwitting participation in a fraternity dogfight. For the interview, she hadn't said anything about having had sex with Riley, but she'd admitted that she'd been interested in the son of a bitch. Compared to Derrick De Santo's pregnant girlfriend and his rich, airhead wife, Chloe came out as the one least-duped. The way Sydney Jordan had put the segment together, Chloe felt she'd emerged as a hero, and the
It's a Wonderful Life
spin on her story gave her a newfound optimism.

Still, Chloe knew there would be some backlash--mainly people treating her like a mental outpatient. But she'd gotten past the worst of it. She'd warned her mother yesterday about what she'd revealed in the interview. Her mom had called about a half-hour ago, right after the broadcast. "I guess it wasn't so bad," she'd finally concluded. "But you'll start seeing a therapist soon, won't you, honey?"

Chloe had watched the news in a bar, and had been both happy and oddly disappointed that nobody in the place recognized her as the woman up on the TV. She'd had a Cosmopolitan by herself and toasted herself.

It sure beat being dead.

She worked up a smile for Chuck, a sweet, slightly nerdy guy with glasses and receding brown hair. For a while, Chloe had entertained the notion he might like her, but there was no spark.

"So--did I come across as a pathetic loser or a major psycho?" she asked, leaning against the mailboxes.

"None of the above," Chuck replied. "I really like the way you were so honest. And c'mon, you're a hero. I think you did great."

"Well, thank you," she grinned. She got her mail out of the mailbox--mostly bills. "I hope you'll tell everyone else in the building the same thing when they're talking about that nutcase, Chloe, in 307."

She started up the stairs.

Lugging his laundry basket, Chuck followed her. "I think they're just happy all those reporters stopped hanging around outside the building this morning," he said. "Then again, maybe they
all
haven't gone. I saw some guy lingering around earlier tonight. Hey, by the way, I Tivo'd the broadcast. Want me to save it for you?"

Chloe paused on the second-floor landing. "Well, thanks, Chuck," she smiled. "But Sydney Jordan gave me my own DVD copy."

"I'm saving it anyway," he said. Then he started down the hallway. "Take care, Chloe!"

"You, too!" she called to him. Then she continued up to the third floor.

Stepping into her apartment, she flicked the hallway light switch. But nothing happened. In the darkness, Chloe hesitated before moving into the living room and switching on the lamp. She saw her computer monitor's fish-tank screen saver was on. She almost always turned off the monitor before stepping out. Something wasn't right.

Chloe wondered about that man Chuck had seen lingering outside the building. And she remembered Sydney's warning about stalkers.

Warily, she checked the kitchen and tried the back door. It wasn't locked. She'd locked up before leaving earlier--she was almost certain. Yet it didn't look as if the lock had been tampered with. Chloe opened the door and glanced out at the back stairs: no one. Leaving the door open a crack, she went to investigate the rest of the apartment. She peeked into the hall closet, then headed toward her darkened bedroom.