The Perfect Crime (25 page)

CHAPTER 33

READER TOOK A MOMENT to enjoy the fruits of his labor. Ten years of planning had gone into this and he was going to savor it.

But not too long. There was no telling if someone had heard the gunfire, even way out here in the boonies.

He shoved Castro’s body out of the way and leaned into the limo.

“I thought so,” he said, talking to himself and reaching for one of the cigars in the special humidor by the wet bar. He drew in the rich aroma and then licked it all over. Lighting a match, he inhaled deeply, savoring the feel of the smoke as it reached deep into his mouth.

“Nothing like a good Cuban cigar, eh, Castro?” he said, looking down at his dead foe.

He took another slow drag and then quickly got to work. The money was right where it was supposed to be, in the false bottom. He walked swiftly to behind the house where his Cavalier was parked and drove it back, parking it next to the limousine. Working methodically, but with a deliberate speed, he transferred the bundles of greenbacks. They were all hundreds. He’d hit the jackpot. There was even more than he’d counted on. More than six million, it appeared, by his quick estimate. It took up the whole of his back seat where he had his own false bottom rigged. The back seat lifted out easily. It should have--all it was was a balsa frame with a seat cover stitched over it. Not something you could sit on. A piece of art, courtesy of Bobby, just another of his gifts. He’d switched it with the regular one just before driving over from New Orleans. It was a tight fit, but he was able to get all the money in and get the seat back in place. Looking at it, no one would ever guess that there was a king’s ransom beneath it.

The next thing he did was pop open the trunk of the limo. It would have been a chore to get at the jack if someone needed to fix a flat. First, they’d have to move over fifty bags of cocaine.

It was tempting. Reader stared at the coke for long seconds and then he just shut the lid. Fuck it. He had what he wanted. No use being greedy. He got stopped with that stuff, it was all over. No, the money was enough.

Reader took a last puff of the cigar and threw it down, opened the door to his own car and climbed behind the driver’s seat. He was just about to turn the ignition key when a voice spoke from the open window of the passenger side.

“Hold it right there, Kincaid. Hands on the wheel. Now!”

“You!”

That was all he said. For a second he thought about trying for the gun nestled against his back but knew that was fruitless. He’d think of something.

***

Sitting in one of Titus Fuller Derbigny’s overstuffed chairs in the drawing room, Charles “Reader” Kincaid looked up at his captor and snarled, “So, how’d you figure it out, fucker?”

He was handcuffed in back and his feet were tied as well.

“Watch your mouth, punk,” Grady said. “There’s a lady present.”

“Where?” he retorted, cocky as a mallrat teenager, even though he was helpless.

Whitney looked over at Grady and smiled.

“Let him talk,” she said. “He doesn’t bother me. When he opens his mouth all I hear is a slug with a limited vocabulary.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” was his reply.

“See?” Whitney said. “That’s half his vocabulary, right there. And he wonders how he got caught.”

They weren’t the only ones in the room. They were just the only live ones. The owner of the mansion was sitting in his wheelchair, over by the big bay window, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Over in a corner, a middle-aged woman in a blood-covered maid’s uniform lay sprawled with her throat cut. In a quick search of the house, Grady had found two other bodies in similar circumstances. One in particular was interesting. Another middle-aged woman, but this one was dressed in clothes that would have covered Grady’s annual salary when he was on the force. The other dead person looked to be the handyman.

“You’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you, Kincaid? Who’s the lady back in the bedroom? Looks like you had a little fun with her before you finished her off. Could that be the old guy’s granddaughter?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, sullenly. “Like I said, how’d you figure it out?”

Grady walked over, pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards, facing the criminal.

“A newspaper article.”

“What?”

Grady looked at Whitney, standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. “How long did they say?” he asked.

“Half an hour,” she replied.

“And the stuff?”

“They’ll bring the stuff.”

Satisfied, Grady nodded and turned back to Reader. “A newspaper article. A very small article. Not more than three, four lines.”

Reader gave a derisive snort. “What the fuck you talking about, Popeye?”

Grady stared at the man.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this house, is it?”

Whitney came up to stand beside Grady, her hand on the back of the chair.

Reader’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “No shit. Who you think killed these assholes?”

“I’m not talking about today, Kincaid. I’m talking about thirty years ago. Thirty-three to be exact. That lady back there--if I were a betting man, I’d say that was Sarah Derbigny.”

Reader stared murderously at the ex-cop. Then, he looked away and his shoulder slumped.

“It wasn’t about the money. It was never about the money.”

“I know.” Grady lighted a Marlboro medium, and extended it to Reader who looked at him oddly, then took a drag.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“Research,” Grady said. “Being a bulldog. It’s what I’m known for. Actually, it was Whitney here who’s responsible for finding it. Titus Derbigny was your foster father, wasn’t he? After you killed your father.”

Reader got a strange look on his face. He was staring at the doorway that led into the kitchen, but it was obvious he was seeing something else.

“Bastard fucked with me.”

“I kinda figured that,” Grady said. His voce was soft. “Beat you, didn’t he?”

“He did more than that. He did things...” His voice trailed off. All of a sudden, he didn’t seem like the big, bad genius criminal. He sank into himself, became smaller. “Fuck him. I got even.”

Grady rose. “Yes, you did. Whatever he did, I’d say you got even. Was it worth it?”

Reader looked over, caught his eyes and held them. “Yes. A hundred times over. It was worth every fucking scream that motherfucker made. My only regret is that I couldn’t keep him alive longer. At least he got to see his precious granddaughter die.”

“Oh!” Whitney’s hand rushed to her mouth.

Grady began talking to the man, his voice easy, almost tender.

“You almost got away with this. If Whitney hadn’t found that article, I would’ve kept following the trail you put out for everybody. The one everybody else that got involved in this deal followed. As soon as I read about a boy who took a baseball bat to his foster father and who got turned in to the police, it all started to make sense. Five years for assault. That’s a lot, even for down here. Especially for a kid.”

“Yeah. I think of it as college.”

“But you killed your own father,” Whitney interjected. “Before that. You weren’t some choir boy.”

Reader’s lip curled. “You’re right, lady. I killed my father. I guess I got tired of him fucking up my mother. And me. He wasn’t no different from Titus. Just had less education, less money.”

“You know what?” Grady said. “I kind of figured that out, Kincaid. It almost made me feel sorry for you. Almost. But then, I thought about my brother. My brother never did anything to you. You just killed him to cover your tracks.”

“So sue me,” Reader said, his eyes hard again.

“Naw,” Grady said. “I got a better idea.”

“I guess the cops are coming, huh?”

“Yes and no. There’s some cops coming, but not to arrest you. Maybe later. That’ll be up to you.”

“What the fuck you talking about?”

Grady ignored the question. “I kinda feel sorry for you, Kincaid,” Grady answered. “You had a rough time when you were a kid. I thought I’d give you an option. You’ll see. You might be able to save your ass after all. Besides, I don’t think I want to turn in this money you went to all this trouble for.”

“You’re taking my money? What kind of a cop are you?”

“A smarter one than I used to be,” Grady said. “I got to figuring. Well, me and my lady friend here got to figuring.”

“You see,” Whitney said, taking up the conversation. “We talked about how scum like you are always getting off.”

“Finding some loophole in the law,” Grady said.

“Getting out on a technicality,” Whitney resumed. “So we came up with kind of a solution to all that. A way to let the good guys come out on top.” She paused. “We’re the good guys here, Reader, in case you were wondering.”

Before Reader could say anything someone knocked on the front door.

CHAPTER 34

“CHRIST!”

Sally held two large cardboard boxes in his arms and surveyed the room. Veronica came in behind him, her sawed-off at the ready.

“Loks like the St. Valentine’s Day massacre,” she said to Grady. “You got, what, four bodies outside, two in here? And looky here--there’s ol’ Reader!”

“There’s two more in the back,” Grady said, taking the boxes from Sally and setting it down on the rug. “One of them is Sarah Derbigny.” He began poking through them, inspecting each item.

“My God!” Sally exclaimed. “You mean this guy killed the old man
and
the granddaughter? He’s not ever gonna get out of Angola. We’re looking at a dead man for sure.”

Veronica walked over and sat on one of the overstuffed chairs. “Man! Must be nice to live like this.” She leaned forward, stared at Reader. “Hi,
Babe
,” she said, emphasizing the “babe.” “How’s it hangin’?” She laughed at the sight of his lip curling.

“Fuck you, you fat bitch,” he said.

She laughed again. “Yeah, well I may be fat...but you’re
fucked
!” She cackled and everyone else in the room except the one who was handcuffed smiled.

“You the one caused Castro to send a couple of guys after our friend Grady here?” She addressed Reader, who just looked away, giving her her answer.

“Is it all there?” Sally said to Grady.

“Looks like. Thanks.”

“Sure.” He reached in his shirt pocket and got out a toothpick and put it in his mouth. “What now?”

“Go home. I’ll take care of everything here. Take Whitney with you. My car’s in Covington. She’ll show you. Take it back to the rental. Here.” He handed Whitney a credit card. “Use this. There should be enough left on it to cover what their insurance doesn’t. I’ll bring yours back later, honey.”

Veronica stood up. “Well, then, that’s that. What about him?” She jerked her head toward Reader.

“Give me a couple of hours. Then, call your friends, tell them you got a tip. Tell them they might want to check out the Derbigny place.”

“And don’t mention you.” Sally switched his toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

“And don’t mention me,” Grady said. “I don’t exist. Whitney can fill you in on the ride back.”

“So,” Veronica said, as they all walked toward the door, “This was all just a showdown between the bad guys, eh?”

Grady pulled Whitney to him at the door and hugged her. He stepped back and answered Veronica. “Looks like that, doesn’t it. After all the bullshit, it was all about revenge. Think your buddies will buy it?”

Sally held his hand out and Grady shook it, then grabbed his friend and pulled him to him in a bear hug. He stepped over to Veronica and embraced her too. She smelled like lavender. He hadn’t smelled that since his mother died.

“Yeah, except for the mystery guy. It’s gonna be obvious Kincaid didn’t handcuff himself.”

Sally said, “I don’t think the boys are going to look too hard for any mystery guy. In fact, I can just about guarantee it.”

Grady clapped him on the back. “I’m counting on it.”

“Good guys win,” Sally said, going through the door behind the two women.

“Good guys win,” Grady echoed softly to himself, watching the three climb in Sally’s car. He gave a wave as they turned around in the drive and headed back down the lane. He closed the door and went back into the sitting room.

“Well, ol’ buddy. It’s just you and me. Time to get to work.”

***

Grady talked as he worked. “You and me, ol’ buddy, we’re gonna make us a drug deal. You’ve made drug deals before, haven’t you?” He didn’t figure the man to respond and he didn’t.

Reader lay on the bed, spread-eagled, his arms and legs secured to the brass posters by handcuffs.

“I know you know I was a cop,” Grady said. “But did you know I used to work on the bomb detail? No? Well, I did. I know electronics, too. Used to help my brother out all the time. I probably unpacked that Futaba you just had to have.”

He went over and got a sitting chair from the corner and brought it over by the bed where he could be comfortable while he was explaining to Reader what the man needed to know. He looked around for an ashtray but didn’t see any. Hell, the floor was fine. He lighted a Marlboro medium and sucked in the smoke. Damn! That felt good. It was going to be hard to quit something he enjoyed so much, but he felt it was time to give up the habit. That was just one of a lot of changes in his life he was looking forward to. It’d be nice to not end up like that Pelkerson guy. Especially when the future looked so...
promising.

“I’ve been thinking about something, Kincaid.” For a second, he considered giving his prisoner a drag on the butt. Nah. He ought to quit, too. His future wasn’t nearly as rosy as Grady’s. He sure didn’t need lung cancer on top of it. He went on. “I’ve been thinking a lot about justice. Not the kind courts deal out these days. Good old-fashioned justice. Street justice. The kind you’re familiar with.”

He stood up, ground the cigarette into the carpet.

“I gotta go get some things. You just relax here for a while.”

It took him a good ten minutes to unload Reader’s car, put most of the money in the trunk of Whitney’s Taurus. Another ten, working fast, to transfer the dope from the limo into Reader’s fake back seat. All except two of the plastic bags. Those he took with him back into the house. Along with a couple of packets of the money. He was sweating when he walked back into the bedroom.

“Whew!” he exclaimed, walking over and throwing the bags of dope up between Reader’s outstretched legs. “This drug stuff is hard work!”

“Fuck you,” Reader snarled.

“Why, Kincaid,” Grady smiled. “I do believe my lady friend’s right. You don’t have much of a vocabulary, do you?”

“What do you think you’re doing, you fuck.”

“Well, see, Reader, here’s your drugs. We’re going to do us a little deal. That’s my part of the deal. I got to count the money, see if you held up your end of the bargain. That’s the standard procedure, isn’t it?”

He took one of the packets of bills and rifled it. They were all hundreds.

“Yep,” he said. “Seems to be all here. Minus what I’m keeping.”

Reader craned his head around as far as he could to watch him, his eyes mean and small. Reader said, “There’s six million. Three apiece.”

Grady laughed. “Why would I split with you, Reader? Looks to me like I’ve got all of it.”

“Because you’re smart. Looks to me if you were going to turn me in, the cops’d be bustin’ down toor by now. Same way with killing me. I think you woulda done that, too, by now. I’m something of a gambler, you know? I think I can read a poker player and that’s the way I read you. I think you’re going into business for yourself. Can’t say as I blame you. But you know what? You’re a jackass moron cop and that means you’ve only got so much smarts. You take the whole six million and I’ll find you. It won’t be that hard. All I got to do is figure out what beach you got in mind. It may take a while, but I’ll find you. I’m gonna kill your sorry ass. First, I’m gonna take out your other eye. Split with me and I’ll be happy, leave you alone.”

My, Grady mused, the guy could talk! Regular chatterbox. He’d figured him to be a bit more reticent. Grady threw both packets of money up next to the cocaine between Reader’s legs. He went over to a small table, brushed the knickknacks on it off onto the floor, picked it up and brought it over alongside the side of the bed.

“Like I said, Reader, I’ve been thinking.”

He reached in his pocket and got his cigarettes. Damn. Only one left.

“You got any squares? No? Well, what the fuck. I’ll get some later.” Grady reached over and plucked a bill loose from one of the packets. He lighted it with a match he took from his pocket and used the bill to light his cigarette.

“I’ve always wanted to do that. How ‘bout you? You ever do that? I did it once when I was a kid. Only it wasn’t a hundred dollar bill. It was a single. I did it on a dare. My brother dared me. We used to dare each other to do a lot of shit. After I did it I was sorry. This is different. This time I don’t feel sorry. It’s only paper.”

“Fuck you. You want to burn up your share, go ahead.”

Grady took a last drag, stubbed out his cigarette and stood up again.

“Actually,” he said. “That was one of yours.”

He laughed.

“Share? You got this share thing on the brain, Reader. You have got to forget that nonsense. Hey, I got some things out in living room I need to get. You lie back and relax. You’re gonna get a kick out of this.”

When he came back in with the other box, he saw that Reader’s T-shirt was twisted up around his stomach and the man was perspiring.

“You trying to get loose? Well, buddy, you can give it a shot, but I don’t think you’re gonna get too far. Go ahead, though, be my guest. Give it the ol’ college try.” He dumped the contents of one of Sally’s cardboard boxes on the bed beside Reader.

“What’re you doing, man? What’s that stuff?” Reader twisted his head around to see.

“Why, Reader,” he said, showing him. “You’re asking
me
? You know what this is. It’s a pipe. You’re familiar with pipes, aren’t you? These have a million uses. Kinda like a Swiss Army Knife. Let’s see...you can use them to blow up dogs, you can use them to blow up bankers...by the way, did you finally blow up Mr. St. Ives? Nah, don’t answer that. I can guess. These little babies, you can use them to...well, you probably know way more uses than I do.” He picked up a pair of wire cutters.

“I admit this is probably not as fancy a setup as you’d make, but I’m new at this game. I was usually the guy took stuff like this apart, not hooked ‘em up. One’s about the same as the other, though, way I figure it.”

He stepped back and looked at his handiwork. It looked about right.

“I know what you’re thinking, Reader. Fucking amateur. I suppose you could’ve put it all together in two seconds, blindfolded. Well, I‫m slow, but I’m thorough. And you know what? You’re gonna get a blast out of this.” He slapped his knee. “That’s good, isn’t it! A blast!”

Reader snarled, “You’re not going to blow me up, cop. You’re not the type. You woulda done it by now. You think you’re scaring me? Fuck you, you puke. You better take the deal I offered.”

Grady placed the pipes bound together with electrician’s tape on Reader’s stomach and wound the three connector cables first under his stomach and next under his crotch and the last one around his neck, clicking the IDC connectors into place in turn.

“I’ve got a better deal in mind, Reader.” He winked at the man and took a last glance at his work. Perfect.

“Well, Reader, looks good to me. Whaddya think? Well, I think it looks fine. I put mine in a different place than you did yours, but I think it’ll do the trick. I guess you’re like most of us, you like your balls. I didn’t use quite the same setup you did, though. I used the streamlined model, no Plaster of Paris, no Bondo. I don’t think it matters in this case. Do you?”

Reader said, sullenly, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, pal. You’re not going to kill me. I told you, you’re not the type. And you’re not going to turn me in or the cops would’ve already been here. So what’s this little deal all about? Doesn’t make sense. Why don’t you take half the money and get the hell out. Let me go. Fuck. Take it all. I don’t care. I’ll find you.”

Grady stared at him. “You don’t think I’ll blow you up, is that what you’re saying? Or that I’ll kill you? Well, maybe not right away, but you wait. You don’t think I’m the type, huh? Maybe you psychoanalyzed me all wrong. Maybe I like killing as much as you do.”

The funny thing was the more Grady got into this thing, the more he did like it. He kept seeing a vision of Kincaid erupting in a geyser of blood and bone and pieces of his organs and it was giving him a feeling he hadn’t known he was capable of. No, that was wrong. He’d felt this way before about other murdering slime.

“Got another surprise for you, Reader,” he said and reached down beside the bed.

“What the fuck’s that?”

Grady smiled at him. It was a telephone wrapped in a bundle of cord which he began unwinding.

“What’s it look like, Reader? It’s a telephone. Only it’s not a regular phone. This one’s special. This one has a number programmed into it. My friend Sally hooked this up for me. And something else.” He reached down and picked up the last item. “This is a speaker, Reader. Hooks right into the phone. Lots of executives have these. You’re an executive, I figure. You plan things, hire people, do stuff executives do, don’t you? I figure you’re an executive all right. Well, this here’s your executive phone.”

He connected the speaker to the phone. He took the cord, plugged it into the base of the phone and walked over and plugged the other end into the phone jack alongside the bed, replacing the phone that was there. He came back over to the bed.

Grady’s grinned hugely. “You wouldn’t believe how hard some of this shit is to get. It pays to have friends.”

Reader’s face was murderous. “I don’t get it. If you’re gonna call the cops what’s wrong with the phone that’s here?”

Grady was busy attaching the phone to the bedstead with wire.

“Because I’m not calling the cops. You are. Well, maybe. There.”

He’d finished his wiring.

“See? You can jusarely reach it with your hand. You want to make a call, flip the receiver off and push that button. You can do it if you stretch your fingers.” He put his finger on the button to show him. “Don’t worry, you can’t talk into the receiver. That’s only for you to hear. I thought you’d enjoy hearing the conversation. That button activates a recording. You’ll hear a woman’s voice on it. Kinda disguised, though. I don’t think anyone will recognize the speaker. Tells where you are and all that. Tells them to expect a bomb so they’ll send the right guys.”

“What’s the number?” Reader’s voice sounded hollow.

“I’m glad you asked that, Reader. You push that button, the call rings down at the Covington police station. This real nice sergeant, trained for emergencies like this one, will answer.”