Once a Killer (38 page)

“Linguine okay with you?” Brian asked, unpacking the shopping bags as Amanda finished her last call. “No more calls now, please. This is supposed to be a weekend away, remember?”

“They’re all done,” she said, making sure he saw her putting the phone down on the kitchen counter. “Pasta sounds good. Shall I open the wine?”

“Let’s try some of that J. Lohr merlot we just bought. It looks good.”

Two bottles of wine later, they went upstairs to bed, leaving the cleaning up for the next day. Within fifteen minutes, they were both asleep.

“I say we go now,” Bull Neck said, ten minutes after the bedroom light went out. “It’s getting cold in here.” He rubbed his giant hands together.

“Not yet,” Glass Eye said. “Let’s head back to the coast and kill some more time.” He looked at his watch: eleven twenty. “There are still too many cars around right now.”

Bull Neck sighed then started up the engine and drove the few blocks back to the waterfront road, where they’d waited most of the evening. He found another quiet spot to park and left the engine ticking over so he could run the heater.

He reached for the radio. “I get to choose the station this time. There’s only so much of that eighties crap I can listen to.”

Glass Eye was in no mood for an argument. He lit up a cigarette while Bull Neck found a light rock station.

Glass Eye winced at the choice of music. “What’s this?”

“Kasabian. They’re a British band.”

“I’ve heard of Linda Kasabian from Charles Manson’s little group.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” Glass Eye turned the heater off. “It’s getting stuffy in here.”

“Maybe stop smoking.” Bull Neck shook his head. “Who are these people we’ve followed out here, anyway?”

“No one you need to tax your brain cells over.”

“It helps me to know who I’m dealing with. Okay?”

“She’s an investment banker. I don’t know what he does.”

“That explains the expensive house in the Hamptons. How do these people get to make so much money without breaking the law? That’s what I don’t get.”

Glass Eye shrugged. “Beats me.”

An hour later, they returned to Hill Street, parking the car a couple of hundred yards away from the Etlings’ property. Under the cover of darkness, they slipped into the garden of a neighbor’s house. There was no car on the drive, so they figured they weren’t home. After clambering over the wooden fence, they sat at the back of the Etlings’ yard and watched the house for any sign of activity. A wind chime, hanging off one of the apple trees, made a sound as it swung in the slight breeze coming off the ocean.

The moonlight enabled Bull Neck to work his magic on the back door while Glass Eye kept watch from the deck. Once they were in, Glass Eye turned on his flashlight, and they scanned the kitchen. A faint smell of garlic hung in the air, and there were two dirty dining plates sitting in the sink and a couple of empty wine glasses on the side.

“Not exactly a wild party,” Bull Neck whispered.

Glass Eye shone the light into the hallway. It looked like expensive pieces of art were hanging on the walls; they certainly weren’t prints. The staircase led off the hallway, just in front of the front door. A car passed by on the road outside, and Glass Eye killed the flashlight.

“I’ll leave this off,” he said.

They waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark before slowly making their way up the stairs. As Bull Neck climbed the steps, the wooden boards creaked underneath his weight. Glass Eye shook his head and gave him a look as if to say, “Keep the fucking noise down.”

They stood on the landing for a few seconds. A man was snoring in the bedroom at the end of the corridor. Glass Eye pointed toward the bedroom door and then watched Bull Neck take a pistol from the inside pocket of his leather jacket before taking out his own.

The snoring stopped, and the two men stared at each other, relaxing only when the noise started up again.

“Okay?” Glass Eye asked, reaching for the door handle. He waited for Bull Neck to nod.

Suddenly, a light went on inside the bedroom. The men could see the white strip under the door. Then they heard a woman’s voice.

“Let’s go,” Glass Eye said, bursting into the room.

Amanda Etling screamed.

Her husband bolted upright then started to reach for his bedside cabinet.

Bull Neck let a round off, blowing Brian’s head open and scattering blood and brain tissue against the back of the bed.

Amanda placed her hands in front of her face, shrieking.

Glass Eye shot two rounds through the back of her hands, penetrating her skull, her head cracking as it hit hard against the wooden bed frame.

Pointing to the watch and pocketbook on the bedside cabinet next to Brian’s body, Glass Eye said, “Grab those.” Meanwhile, he scooped up the diamond earrings next to Amanda’s side of the bed then pulled the two rings off her left hand. “That’s enough. Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the men were in the Mercedes and heading back toward I-495.

Chapter 54

G
RANNIS
H
EDGE
F
UND’S
W
EST
C
OAST
T
EAM
occupied a small part of the forty-fifth floor of 555 California Street in San Francisco’s financial district. The building, once known as the Bank of America Center, was home to some of the country’s most prestigious fund managers, investment bankers, and management consultants. Although he’d blanched at the exorbitant rent when he’d committed to the space six years ago, it massaged Rondell’s ego to know he was rubbing shoulders with some of the nation’s financial and intellectual elite. He had plans to move into similar upscale surroundings in back New York once the current lease at Cedar Street had expired, but that was another three years away. While business was good and he could have afforded to break the lease if he wanted, wasting money, particularly his own, was low on his list of priorities.

The cab had a handwritten, white sign on the dashboard—GRANNIS—and was waiting for him at the foot of the concrete steps outside the office tower. Rondell gave the driver details of the restaurant where he was meeting his host—another sucker he was about to blackmail into feeding him secret information on corporate deals—and then sat back and watched the lights of the city as night fell. It had been a good session with his team this afternoon. Their results were ahead of plan and, more importantly, ahead of what he’d promised Anthony Liquorish.

Rondell’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, alerting him to a new text message. He took it out and read it:
Both matters dealt with. Need anything else?

Rather than trying to text a reply in the back of a moving vehicle, he hit one of his speed dials. “I thought it was quicker to speak,” Rondell said when the phone was answered. “But I haven’t got long before I meet our new friend for dinner.”

“Do you think he has any idea what you’re about to hit him with?” Glass Eye’s breathing was loud and heavy.

“No. He thinks I’m a potential new client. I told him we’re thinking of moving all of our work. Laid it on real thick.”

Glass Eye snorted. “Make sure you enjoy a good dinner on him first.”

“I will. He’s taking me somewhere expensive.”

“Don’t they all?” Glass Eye gave another smoker’s cough. “The photos print out okay at your end?”

“Crystal clear. I have them in my briefcase, but I don’t expect him to show too much of a reaction in a crowded restaurant.”

“Maybe show him the one where he’s wearing the fake cuffs first. That’s still my favorite.”

“The one with the redhead?”

“Not that you can tell from that angle, but he’ll get the message.”

“I’m sure he will.” Rondell watched the driver to make sure he wasn’t listening to his conversation, even though he was careful not to be specific about anything he said. “Any problems I ought to know about on the subject of your text?”

“None. Both went as planned. Long Island was a little messy.” Another phlegm-filled cough.

“I can live with that. What about our friend from Federal Plaza? Did you learn anything?”

“Enough to confirm that you were right to be suspicious.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I was going to brief you when you return. There’s a lot to tell you.”

“Give me the headlines now.” Rondell glanced out of the window to check where he was. “I still have a bit of time.”

“Turns out the guy we had words with was taken off the job weeks ago. Right after we paid him a home visit.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I think so. The head man over there is still sniffing around, convinced something’s going on. Apparently, he’s heading up the thing himself now and won’t let it drop.”

“Did you get a name?”

“Yep. Got all the details for you here.”

“Anything else?”

“Looks like you were right about Mr. H, too.”

“Our old friend from Chicago?”

“Right.”

“He’s done more than visit a Jersey tattoo shop recently.”

“What did I tell you?”

“Your instincts were spot on. He’s been in and out of Federal Plaza. The slimy bastard’s working closely with the new guy, setting something up.”

“Anything you can tell me now?”

“We didn’t get that much. My guess is it’s related to that deal he had for you. The one you said he oversold.”

“I knew it. Hold on.” Rondell stepped out of the cab when it pulled up outside the restaurant. He threw the driver twenty bucks and wandered down the street to finish his call. “Sounds like a set-up,” he said, his voice barely disguising his irritation.

“We tried to find out, but it turns out the kid didn’t know any of the details. As I said, he was no longer working on it, so he only had half the picture.”

“Make sure no one trades on that deal. I mean no one.”

“Already taken care of. I put a hold on everything until I could brief you.”

“Good. What do we know about the man who’s taken over?”

“You’ll recognize the name when we give it to you.”

“But did you learn anything about him that can help us?”

“Oh yeah, plenty. I have some of the guys working on that now. I have a couple of ideas I’d like to run by you when you’re back.”

An energetic young man in his early thirties walked past Rondell. He was wearing a sharp, navy blue suit and carrying a leather attaché case.

Rondell smiled at him and mouthed, “I’ll see you inside.”

The man waved and walked into the restaurant.

“Listen, he just arrived. I have to go. I want you to concentrate on this new guy. We need something fast. We can’t have him fucking this up.”

“What about Mr. H?”

“Leave him to me.”

“You don’t need me to do anything more to step up the pressure on him?”

“No. Long Island should be enough of a lesson for now. I’ll handle things with him.”

“You seem remarkably calm about it.”

“Don’t worry. I have plenty of ideas for him—when the time is right.”

Rondell terminated the call then stood outside the restaurant, staring into space. He wanted to wring Danny Boy’s neck. When he was no longer useful, he’d take great pleasure in doing exactly that. But, right now, he needed the scheming little shit alive, at least until he’d found others capable of generating equally good deals for the fund. The woman from Corton Zander wasn’t enough, by a long way. While her murder would serve as a first lesson, next time, it would be one of his daughters.

You’re lucky to be alive, Danny Boy
.

Chapter 55

C
AROLINE
A
ND
M
ICHAEL
S
HARED
A P
APA
G
INO’S
vegetarian special thin crust pizza while the girls had pepperoni on thick crust. As usual, their daughters struggled to get through half their meals, having insisted on their own individual pizzas, rather than sharing. When the waitress took the remaining food away, promising the girls she’d have them boxed up for later, Michael looked around the busy restaurant. His mind turned to the last time he’d been here, right after Rondell’s men had first confronted him at the community college. Even though it had been less than six months since that fateful meeting, it seemed like a lifetime away.