Sealing Fate Read online

  He sat on the couch and grabbed the remote. He hit the power button, and the set roared to life with an electrical gasp. He hit the channel button until he found the news. Brian didn't have to wait long to confirm his worst fears.

  A balding man with a bushy mustache stood outside the police station, speaking into a large microphone. “Police have now confirmed that a fireplace tool recovered early this morning was the murder weapon in the brutal slaying of local businesswoman Cathy Jenkins. Although not confirmed by police sources, it is believed they have a suspect in the killings based upon fingerprints and other forensic evidence taken from the tool.” A picture of the fireplace poker flashed across the screen.

  “We'll keep you posted as more is received on this breaking story. For now, we can only say that the police expect to have more to report within the next few hours. This is Hank Morales, reporting for NBC News.”

  Brian turned off the set. They now had his fingerprints. It wouldn't be long before the police swarmed the house and his office. He grabbed a coat from the hall closet and walked out the front door. There were distant sirens as he opened the car door. He knew the sirens weren't for him. There would be no warning when they came for him. It was just a grim reminder of what was to come.

  Chapter 21

  It was five forty when Brian arrived at the International Resources building. He parked and walked around the outside of the imposing structure. The familiar feeling of impending disaster had returned. And why not? he thought to himself. He was about to go to jail. He had fleeting thoughts of a pronouncement of guilt for first-degree murder. He was the last man to see Cathy alive, to sleep with her, and to be with her within the hour before her brutal death. Brian visualized the pictures of her bashed-in skull that would be passed around to a jury, the same jury that would have no trouble finding the motive, his need to cover the undisclosed affair from the constituents and his wife. He envisioned himself in chains and prison garb, being walked toward a small room where the lethal injection would be administered. He felt a pain in the pit of his stomach.

  He brought his thoughts back to the present, and he spotted what he'd been looking for, an elderly man of slight build wearing a custodian's one-piece jumpsuit with International Resource embossed on the breast pocket. The man worked alone, applying polish to the expansive gray marble that decorated the lower fifteen feet of the structure. Brian stood beside the man before his presence was noticed. Then the man looked at him with a serious expression and gave a single nod of acknowledgment.

  “Looks like hard work,” Brian said.

  “Hard enough,” the old man said without slowing the circular movement of his polishing arm.

  After a few moments of watching the man work, Brian tried to engage him again. “What time you work till?”

  The man studied him for a moment. Then he said, “Eight o'clock. Why do you need to know?”

  “Oh, I don't know. Just figured that there might be a way I can help you.”

  “Help me?” the man asked.

  “Yeah, that's right.” Brian put a finger to his lips as if to appear thoughtful. “I bet there's things you'd rather be doing.”

  The man nodded. “Damn straight. Most anything.”

  “So how about if I relieve you and you take the day off?”

  The man studied him and furrowed his brow. “Is this some kind of a test? You with personnel or something?”

  “No, I don't work for the company.”

  The man regarded Brian skeptically. “Why do you want to give me time off? Besides, you don't look like no janitor.”

  Brian smiled as he noticed that the name on the shirt said Willie. “Well, Willie, let's just say I'd like to do you a favor. No one will know.”

  The man looked down at his shirt and then back up at Brian. “My name's not Willie. It's Carl. This is just a backup shirt cuz mine's in the wash.”

  Brian nodded. “Okay, so what do you think, Carl?”

  The man stared at him. The skepticism was as clear as ever. “I don't think so, mister. I need this job more than I need a couple of hours off.”

  Brian nodded. “That's fair. How about if you had the time off and a hundred dollars?”

  The man's eyes flew open. “You're gonna give me a hundred dollars and finish my job for the day?”

  “That's right,” Brian said, grinning slightly.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to try your job. I've never done it before. And like I said, I want to do you a favor.”

  Carl stood there transfixed, as if unsure of what he was getting into. “I don't think so. Things might go wrong.”

  “Nothing will go wrong, Carl. I'll do a damned good job for you.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out three bills. “Three hundred dollars to have me fill in for you. You won't get a deal like that again.”

  Carl's eyes opened wide as he gazed at the three bills Brian fanned out in front of him. After about thirty seconds of silence, he took the money and began telling Brian where the supplies were. Brian listened, nodding periodically. His thoughts traveled to what was to come. When the man was done, Brian assured him he had it all.

  “Now let me have your uniform,” Brian said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I need your uniform. I can't run around here doing your job dressed in a suit, can I?”

  “Yeah, I know, but my uniform, man. That's awfully personal.”

  “Personal?” Brian pointed to the pocket inscribed with “Willie.” “You're no more Willie than I am. What's so personal about a uniform with some other guy's name on it?”

  The man frowned.

  “Besides, I'll put it in the supply room before I leave, all right?”

  After a slight hesitation, Carl nodded his assent.

  Within five minutes, Brian wore the uniform and rubbed at the marble where Carl had stopped. Upon satisfying himself that Brian was doing the work, Carl waved the money and said thanks. Then he turned and moved toward the employee parking area. Brian watched until Carl disappeared from view and then moved quickly to the front door of the building.

  Brian placed what he needed in the uniform breast pocket. Then he checked it to make sure the flap closed over its contents. He walked through the lobby of the building, still carrying the polishing rags. He whistled what he thought would sound to others as the unfathomable tune of the preoccupied as he walked past the guard in the direction of the supply room Carl had told him about. Through peripheral vision, he saw the guard stand and look in his direction. Brian just kept going until he saw the man sit back down, apparently satisfied that the unknown face was a new custodian. When he saw the guard turn away his attention, Brian made a right turn and headed for the main elevator bank.

  To his relief, Brian rode up to the executive floor alone. As he stepped out of the elevator, he checked his watch. Six fifteen. He followed the directions to Michael Hayward's office that Jason Ross had supplied. Everything was as described. He walked down the main corridor to the “T” junction and then turned left. The suite of offices in the corner would belong to Hayward. Brian chided himself for having come this far without knowing whether Hayward was even in the building. The police would already be looking for him, and there would be no second chance.

  As he entered the outer office of the suite, Brian saw an attractive woman on the telephone. He picked up his pace and walked toward her, on his way to the inner sanctum. He looked away from the woman as he approached and then walked past her toward the interior door. He still carried his polishing cloth.

  The woman put down the telephone and stood. “Just a minute, please,” she called after Brian. “You can't go in there. The business day isn't over.”

  Brian felt a sense of relief. Her concern meant that Hayward was probably inside. Brian continued walking.

  The secretary came around the desk and ran toward Hayward's door. “You can't go in there yet.”

  Brian recognized the voice. It was the woman who had called
him back after the caller had hung up. He glanced at her, wanting a better look at the face that went with the voice. She wore a long green and black skirt and a full-collared white blouse befitting the executive image. She had a slightly turned-up nose, and her full lips were fashioned into a frown. There was determination on her face.

  Brian stopped. “Look, lady. I just go where they send me.”

  “Well, you can't go in there while Mr. Hayward is working.”

  “Nothing I can do, ma'am. I got my orders.”

  “Now you look,” she said and hesitated, looking at his breast pocket, “Willie. I have my orders too. And my orders are that no one goes in without the boss's approval.”

  Brian shook his head. “You don't want to get me fired now, do you, ma'am?”

  “You go in there, and I can almost guarantee that's what happens.”

  Brian nodded. “All right. I understand. Can you call my boss and say so?”

  She looked wary.

  “If I go back without explanation …” Brian shrugged, leaving the likely horror to her imagination.

  She nodded. “Okay, who do I call?”

  “Umm, Bob Galvin in maintenance.”

  She walked back to her desk and picked up the phone. “What extension?”

  “I'm new. I can't remember. Can you look it up?” As he finished speaking, Brian heard voices coming from the inner office. One sounded like a woman's voice.

  The secretary rolled her eyes. She nodded and opened her top drawer for the corporate directory. As she looked at the directory, Brian reached into his shirt pocket and hit a button. The secretary had just found the number for the maintenance department when Michaels Hayward's door opened. Brian quickly walked inside.

  Brian stopped inside the office. The room was enormous. To his right was a conversation area made up of a sofa and overstuffed chairs. To his left, a massive fireplace of green marble took up half the wall. Straight ahead, but about twenty feet away, a man sat behind a desk, looking up at him. His salt-and-pepper hair and mustache and prominent features gave him the look of an aristocrat.

  He furrowed his brow. “Can I help you?” His words exuded confidence and control.

  Brian stared at him for a moment and then said, “It took me a while, but I found you.”

  “You found me?” Michael asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “You still don't know who I am, do you?” Brian asked.

  Michael regarded him curiously. “Judging by your shirt, I'd say you're Willie.”

  The secretary was suddenly beside Brian. She spoke in a stern but controlled voice, a voice that he was sure was the right one. “Sir, you'll have to leave.”

  Brian didn't move. He stared hard at Michael.

  “It's okay, Sheila,” said Michael without taking his eyes off Brian. He gave her a nod, and she turned and walked from the room, giving Brian an incredulous look as she passed.

  “Let me know if you want me to call security,” she said.

  “I'm a busy man, Willie. How can I help you?” Michael asked him.

  “You son of a bitch! The name's not Willie. It's Brian Madsen. You know it well.”

  Michael was caught off guard. A look of panic came over him and then just as quickly disappeared as he regained control. “What can I do for you, Mr. Madsen? And why are you masquerading as one of the building staff?”

  Brian walked directly toward Michael, who stood and waited. Brian stopped and looked at the man across the massive desk. He felt a wave of anger from deep within him as he said, “You killed her. You murdering son of a bitch, you killed her to get to me! To get me to get to Jason Ross.”

  There was silence as they stared at one another, Brian in anger and Michael evaluating him.

  “You killed her for a fucking job?” Brian shouted.

  Michael didn't look away as he said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Brian hit the desk with a fist. “Cathy Jenkins, someone who never harmed you. Your battle with Jason Ross. Your phone calls to me. I know your voice, and I know your game.” Brian reached into one of the pockets of his overalls and pulled out the Saturday night special he was supposed to have used on Jason. He threw it loudly on the desk and then pointed at Michael. “You're going to jail, you bastard!”

  Michael slowly shook his head and then said calmly, “Me? You said it yourself. She never harmed me, and I had no motive to hurt her. Besides, who was hiding an affair? Whose fingerprints are on the murder weapon, which the media tells me is in the possession of the police now? Seems to me that you're living on borrowed time.”

  Brian didn't hesitate as he said, “It won't work. The police will know everything. I'll admit to the affair, but the phone calls were yours. I know it, and my wife knows it.” He thought he detected a grin on Michael's face, but he kept talking. “And someone else knows it.” Brian thought of the woman who had called him back, the secretary outside the door. “I know that at least one of the calls was made from right here. Isn't that right?”

  He watched the grin disappear and Michael's expression transform to one of concern. “You made a mistake, Hayward. You left a couple of loose ends that you can't talk around.”

  Michael hesitated. Then to Brian's surprise, he grinned more widely than before. “It won't happen like that, Brian.” It was the same threatening and confident voice he had heard so many times on the telephone. “Even you won't testify against me.”

  Brian was now convinced that the man had lost his grip on reality. “You're done fucking around with people's lives. You're going away for a long time.” He felt a sense of relief overtaking him. He had the killer, and he had the man before the police closed in on him.

  Michael shook his head. “No, I'm not, Brian. At least not alone.”

  Brian's confidence dwindled, and he asked shakily, “What does that mean?”

  “It means that, if I go to jail, your wife goes too.”

  “What?” Brian asked. His confusion was evident from his expression.

  The bathroom door on the far side of the office opened, and Barbara stepped into the room. She looked at Brian and then at Michael. Sadness was in her eyes, but she didn't speak. Brian stared at her, waiting for some explanation.

  Michael spoke first, “Ask her, Brian. She'll tell you about it. Your wife's been in on it from the beginning.”

  Brian looked at Barbara, waiting for a denial. She wouldn't look at him. He suddenly felt sick. His knees weakened, and for a moment, he felt that they might not hold his weight.

  Michael watched him reeling. “You see, Brian, Barbara and I met at the inauguration. It was shortly after I saw you and Ms. Jenkins upstairs in the bathroom. At first, Barbara just needed a friend to talk to, to help her deal with a disloyal husband. But we soon discovered we had certain mutual needs.”

  Barbara spoke for the first time in angry tones, “Shut up, Michael.” She still didn't look at Brian.

  Michael ignored her. “I needed Jason Ross out of this company. Barbara needed Cathy Jenkins out of your lives.” He drew a breath. “Not at first. It took a while. When I first told her what I'd seen upstairs, she was sick about it, but she was convinced it was a one-time mistake that wouldn't go any further. She had faith in you, Brian. Then when you kept it going—-” Michael raised his arms in a shrugging gesture. “She had to satisfy herself that there was no other way. When she followed you to the beach, well, that's what did it. Anyway, she had to stop the affair.” Michael sat in his chair, leaning back comfortably with hands locked together behind his head.

  Brian felt like he might fall down and had to hold on to the outer edge of the desk to steady himself. He looked over at Barbara, waiting for her to tell him it wasn't true or to offer some explanation. Silently she stared straight ahead in Michael's direction.

  “Anyway,” said Michael, “it's time you knew all about it, just to make sure you stay quiet.” He spoke slowly and calmly. “So Barbara got what she wanted. Cathy Jenkins was out of your lives. You were suppose
d to do what I needed. Then it would all be over.” He shook his head and smiled. “I never thought you'd hold out through all of it. Your wife should be credited with some great ideas, Brian. The car explosion? That was hers. A gem, don't you think?”

  He slapped the desk and nodded in admiration of the feat. Michael stood and leaned over the desk toward Brian. “So you see, it's something of a standoff. You're not going to accuse me of anything unless you're okay with the idea of your wife spending the rest of her life in jail.”

  Brian looked over at Barbara's profile. “All of it?” He shook his head involuntarily. “Killing her? Setting me up as the killer? Making me think a car bomb almost killed you? And Lindsay. Oh God, Barbara, you almost killed Lindsay.”

  She looked at him for the first time with a pained expression on her face. “You weren't going to be set up as a killer. You were going to be protected. Everything that linked you to her was taken so that you would never be accused. And no one was supposed to get hurt—-”

  “What's wrong with you? You killed a person and wanted to kill another. And nobody's supposed to be hurt? Your niece was just released from the hospital, and they're still not sure there won't be some permanent damage to her nervous system.” Brian grabbed his face with both hands and closed his eyes. It was all a hideous nightmare. He opened his eyes, still facing Barbara. “And Bob. Where's he?”

  Michael said, “Your friend was a problem. Something had to be done with him.”

  “Oh my God,” Brian said again, feeling another wave of nausea. His head hurt. He could feel the blood rushing through his skull, like floodwaters about to overcome a dam. “You told him whatever I did,” he said to Barbara with surprise and pain in his tone. “You called and told him when I called Bob and when I wanted to send you away in the rental car so you'd be safe. You made me think he was watching us …” His voice trailed off into silence.

  Barbara slowly nodded. A sad expression was on her face, and she spoke in a pleading tone. “I did it for us, Brian, to get you back.” A tear was in her eye.

  Brian's face flushed with anger. “For us? You killed a wonderful human being in a pact with this wacko son of a bitch for us? Just to get what you both wanted?” He looked at Michael. “You sent them the murder weapon with my fingerprints on it. So now I get arrested and prosecuted for Cathy's murder while you just watch?”