Fixed in Fear (20 page)

Abraham looked up. “I believe I've supplied you with all the information I have, Detective. I know you want more, but the simple fact is I have nothing more to give you. I'm not a man given to idle speculation. I deal in facts and proof. I see no reason to waste my time or yours playing guessing games as to what might have happened to Carlton. Now if you'll excuse me, shall I have Frank see you out?”

Was the protective shell that Smydon had built to fend off the pain of losing his wife and daughter worth the isolation his behavior surely brought? Mort thought not. “No need. I'll let you know if I have any more questions.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Your son-in-law is the finest man I've ever known. The two of you are living the same grief. You said you've loved two women. From what Larry's shared with me from your daughter's journals, Helen felt that way about three men. Now one of them is dead. I'm sure it would make Helen proud to know the remaining two men she loved so very much were there for each other.”

Smydon's gaze locked with Mort's. Once again Mort thought he saw a flash of warmth. Once again he saw Smydon's iron will extinguish it. “It's a left out the door and straight ahead to the entry hall.”

Mort pulled himself straight and looked across the room. Larry was standing in front of one of Abraham's bookcases, his left arm braced against it, his right hand holding something.

“Ready, Larry?”

Larry stood stock-still. A concern stirred in Mort's gut.

“Larry? You okay, buddy?”

Larry held his right hand out. “Where did you get this?” he asked Abraham Smydon.

Larry was holding a woman's brooch. From where Mort stood, it looked about the size of a silver dollar. Pink stones were intermixed with diamonds to give the look of a fanciful salmon leaping out of the water.

“This is Helen's,” Larry told Abraham. “Where did you get it?”

Smydon pushed himself away from his desk, stood, and walked five quick steps to where Larry stood.

“Don't you think I know the history?” Abraham snatched the brooch out of Larry's hand. “I had this designed for my wife. To mark our company's expansion into Alaskan waters. Olivia worked so hard. I left Helen's raising solely to her. She sacrificed so much as I was building the business. I wanted her to know our success was as much her doing as mine.” He tilted the brooch this way and that, allowing it to pick up what little light was available on the cloudy day. “Olivia loved it.” A smile crossed the aging man's face. “She wore it everywhere. Even pinned to her pajamas that first week.” His smile faltered. “She wore it on her deathbed. And when Olivia died I gave it to our daughter.”

“And Helen cherished it,” Larry said. “She used to tell me she could feel her mother's presence whenever she put it on. She wore it to your party. I remember teasing her that it was a bit dressy for the jeans and hoodie she was wearing. She just laughed and told me she wanted her mother to enjoy every minute of your birthday celebration. I remember laughing with her when she said it, and then I kissed her. It wasn't with the property the police gave me after her body was released. I always assumed Kenny Kamm or maybe his accomplice had stolen it. I thought I'd never see it again.”

Abraham closed his fist around the brooch, killing the light that played off it. He brought his closed hand to his lips. Then he set the brooch back on the shelf where Larry had found it.

“All these years I thought it was you who returned it to me,” Abraham said. “It arrived one day. By courier, I think. It was so long ago. Like you, I made my own assumptions. Mine was that you knew the family history. I've held a good thought for your kindness in returning the brooch to its rightful owner.” His eyes hardened. “Apparently I was wrong.”

Mort rested his hand on Larry's shoulder. “Time to go.”

The two of them left the room without saying goodbye. They walked down the long hall as Frank Shelby approached them. The houseman escorted them through the entryway and opened the front door.

“You fellas get what you come for?” he asked. “Sure would have made for a better visit if you'd tried some of Alice's salmon chowder. I'm telling you, that old girl may look plain on the outside, but there's a first-class chef hidden behind those aprons of hers.”

Mort promised they'd try something next time and bid Frank goodbye. In silence, the two friends got in Mort's Subaru.

“Something's off,” Larry said.

Mort felt it, too. “What do you think kept Carlton from that lunch meeting with his brother?”

“I don't know.” Larry stared out the side window at Abraham Smydon's massive, costly home. “And who sent Abraham Helen's brooch?”

Mort chose his words carefully. “That was a long time ago, buddy. And the toughest time of your life. Any chance Abraham was right? Might you have returned the brooch to him?”

Larry shifted in his seat to look directly at Mort. “I remember every moment of that time. It's something I fear I'll be forever unable to forget. I wanted so desperately to see that brooch again. I wanted to hold something that had been so precious to Helen. Something that had been with her when she died.”

Mort understood. The acrid smell of the emergency room where his Edie died was still in his nostrils, always waiting to grab his attention if he let it.

“Kenny Kamm couldn't have sent it,” Larry said. “He was arrested immediately. Do you think that woman Kenny was involved with…what was her name? Kara?”

“Clara,” Mort corrected him. “Clara DuBois. Maybe. But that doesn't make any sense. According to Kenny, Clara was always looking for anything that could get her to her next high. I don't see her shipping off a piece of jewelry worth that much money out of the kindness of her sentimental heart.”

“Well then, who did?” Larry demanded.

Mort turned the key in the ignition. “That, good buddy, is a question that has just been added to my to-do list.”

“What's the longest you ever sat on a stakeout?”

Jimmy DeVilla took a huge bite from the ham sandwich he'd pulled from the cooler he'd brought with him when Rita Willers picked him and Bruiser up at the station that Friday morning. DeVilla had called Chief Willers the evening before and let her know he'd reached out to Jerry Costigan's parole officer to request an updated address. Rita hadn't felt like waiting. She'd tracked down the overworked man at home and got the information herself. She probably should have called Mort, but since he'd ask DeVilla to update her, she'd follow along with his chain of communication.

“I once sat two days in a bush blind, tracking three wolves who were making my neighbors' chicken coops their own personal buffet wagon.” She pointed to Jimmy's cooler. “Coulda used something like that.” Rita reached an arm into the backseat and stroked Bruiser's flank. Bruiser kept his eye on the ham sandwich. “And it wouldn't hurt if I'd have had this guy along, either. He's good company.” Rita didn't want to offend her fellow officer. “As are you.”

“That back on the reservation?” DeVilla handed the remainder of his sandwich to Bruiser. “Mort told me you were quite the tracker.”

Rita didn't answer for a moment. Her gaze stayed locked on the run-down clapboard building across the street from her parked SUV. According to Costigan's parole officer, the recently released man moved into the third-floor walk-up six weeks ago, after Costigan's last apartment had been declared uninhabitable by the city. His new home was in the warehouse district. The building sat in the middle of the block, flanked by a plumbing supply warehouse to the east and a city impound lot to the west. The street-level offices of Costigan's building held a tattoo parlor and a bail bond office. Rita and DeVilla had arrived on scene at seven twenty that morning. There had been no answer when they'd knocked on Costigan's door, so the two of them and Bruiser had taken their position and waited.

“The skill comes in handy in this line of work,” Rita finally answered. “People are animals, after all. We like to think we've evolved into something…I don't know…something separate. But we're animals, sure enough. An animal gets scared, he's liable to do some things you'd least suspect.” She glanced back toward her stakeout companion. “But then again, if he gets scared enough, instinct kicks in. That's when he does some pretty predictable things. If you know what's instinctive for any animal, it helps in the catching.”

DeVilla pulled a bottle of water from the cooler and offered one to Rita. She thanked him but declined, as she had his earlier offer of a sandwich and his even earlier offer of doughnuts and coffee. She had no idea how long it would be until Costigan showed. She didn't need to be filling her belly or bladder with anything that might cause her to lose sight of her target.

“You find those wolves?” DeVilla asked. “The ones that were tearing up your neighbors' chickens?”

Rita thought of the three wolf pelts hanging in the reservation's teen activity center. She'd not liked killing the intelligent and beautiful animals, but they'd been hunting too close to humans. She'd witnessed the natural progression of wolves comfortable with populated feeding grounds. If they got hungry enough wolves wouldn't discriminate among a chicken, a pet dog, or an eighteen-month-old toddling away from an inattentive sitter. She recalled squatting in that bush blind watching the trio approach. She was downwind of them. They hadn't sensed her yet. She became mesmerized by the graceful lupine dancers approaching on silent footfalls. She offered up her respect for the animals and her wish for a smooth passage to what lay next in their journey.

Then she fired three times and watched them drop to the forest floor.

“I did what needed to be done,” she told Jimmy.

Rita watched an overweight woman of medium height approach Costigan's building. The woman wore bright pink polyester pants and a flowered pink and yellow blouse. Rita thought it an odd choice for this late in September but appreciated the flash of color on such a gloomy day. The woman fumbled with her keys before unlocking the front door of the bail bond office. Seconds later the interior lights blinked on, and Rita watched the woman settle in behind a government surplus desk as gray as the overcast skies.

“You got a limit on how much time you want to invest in this before we call it a day?” DeVilla asked. “For all we know, Costigan's taken off for Canada. Or maybe he's just on a three-day binge. No reason to think he'd be sitting around waiting for us to pick him up. What d'ya say we give it till noon? If Costigan doesn't show up we'll turn it over to patrol.”

Rita felt the vibration she always got when whatever she was tracking was near. Costigan hadn't run. She didn't know how she was certain, but she was. She'd find him. And she'd find him today.

At 10:45 three people approached the building. Two men and a woman. Both men were dressed in leather, and the woman wore a long garment built from multiple layers of flowing jewel-tone fabrics. The trio entered the tattoo parlor, turned on the inside lights, and at two minutes to 11:00 the neon
OPEN
sign was lit.

At 11:03 Bruiser pulled himself from his give-me-a-belly-rub position into full attention. Rita heard a low rumbling from the backseat.

A man stood across the street. Rita checked the photograph taped to her dashboard. It was Costigan. A block and a half from the front door of his apartment building. Approaching at a slow enough pace to suggest he didn't have a care in the world.

Rita and DeVilla popped open their car doors in unison.

“I'll take the front, you and Bruiser take the rear.” Rita and DeVilla had both come in plain clothes. On instinct she touched her hand to the small of her back and reassured herself her service revolver was in place. “I'll speak first. Could be a woman won't spook him as much.” She turned to Bruiser. “If this bad boy gets running, feel free to have at, buddy.” She glanced toward DeVilla. “You ready?”

DeVilla nodded.

Rita headed to her right, ready to approach Costigan as he neared the single door between the bail bondsman and tattoo parlor. DeVilla and Bruiser headed left, in position to stop Costigan if he tried to retreat.

Rita crossed the street before DeVilla. She walked rapidly toward the man who hadn't looked this tall in his photographs. He looked up at her when he was about four steps from his front door.

“Jerry Costigan.” Rita's voice was loud and firm. “I have a few questions for you.”

Costigan didn't wait to hear any more. He looked behind him, saw DeVilla and Bruiser, and tore off running across the street.

For a large man, Costigan moved quickly. Rita sprinted across the street and jumped into her SUV as DeVilla and Bruiser ran after him. She drove west and took the first right turn, grateful for the light midmorning traffic. She traveled two blocks and took the next right, past a mail-sorting facility. She glanced across the large parking lot and saw Bruiser five lengths ahead of DeVilla. There was no sign of Costigan. She turned left, up one block, then another right. She squealed to a stop against the curb, exited her car, sprinted to the corner of an abandoned department store, and flattened herself against the wall. She counted her heartbeats. When she got to four, she heard running footsteps. Reaching behind her back, she drew her weapon and pivoted around the corner.

“Stop there!”
she yelled, leveling her gun at Jerry Costigan.
“Now!”

Costigan froze. He looked behind him, then back toward Rita, his face twisted in manic rage.

“Down on the ground!
Now!
”

Costigan sneered, leaned a shoulder forward as though ready to make a running tackle…and was thrown facedown to the ground when a 110-pound German shepherd crashed into him. Costigan cried out in fear as Bruiser stayed on top of him, snapping his jaws less than an inch from the back of Costigan's neck.

Rita held her gun steadied on her target and stepped nearer.

“Hands out wide to your side! Spread your legs!”

“Get him off me! This son of a bitch is going to
kill
me!” Costigan's shrieks were laced with true terror.

“Not unless I tell him to.” Jim DeVilla huffed out his warning as he trotted up to the scene. He walked over to his dog, who held his position on top of Costigan. “Bruiser, down.”

The giant animal stopped snapping and laid himself full weight on top of the man he'd tackled. DeVilla kicked Costigan's legs apart before grabbing Costigan's right wrist.

“I'm going to call him off you now,” he said. “I want you to bear in mind two things. First off, I want you to see that Chief Willers here has her gun trained on your skull. This woman dances with wolves. I don't think I'd question her ability to land a bullet within a centimeter of her intended target. The second thing I want you to keep thought of is how well Officer Bruiser here responds to commands and how easy it would be for me to call out an order leaving your balls halfway down his throat before you even felt the pain. Now you ready? All you have to do is lay there nice and still.”

“Just get this son of a bitch off me!” Costigan shrilled.

DeVilla called “Bruiser hold!” and the dog instantly stepped off Costigan and sat one yard away. “You can go ahead and wiggle yourself into a seated position if you'd like,” Jimmy told his prisoner as he cuffed the trembling man's hands behind his back. “But don't try to stand. Bruiser hasn't had his lunch yet and my guess is that red neck of yours is looking mighty tasty.”

Rita Willers enjoyed watching Costigan maneuver himself into a seated position while his hands were chained behind his back, still pleading with them to keep the big dog away from him. DeVilla didn't seem interested in the show. He approached her with a grin.

“Damn, Chief. How'd you know where he'd go?”

Rita kept her eyes and her gun on Costigan. “Like I said. We're all animals. A scared animal runs on instinct. Doesn't scheme or plot. A running animal will turn right first when making an escape. It takes planning to turn left. Gotta override that natural instinct. And when an animal's scared it's not planning.”

DeVilla let out a low whistle. “You oughta teach a class, you know that?” He nodded over his shoulder to the frightened tough guy inching his way away from Bruiser. “You want me to babysit him while you call this in?”

Rita shook her head. “This is your turf. Bring in the troops.” She called out to her other partner. “Come over here, Bruiser. Sit by me.”

The furry behemoth trotted over and assumed the spot beside her. Rita smiled. “This is the finest partner I've ever met.”

DeVilla nodded as he pulled out his cellphone. “You won't get one dissent from me on that one, Chief.”