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Sealing Fate Page 6
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They refilled their coffee cups and then returned to the patio. Brian stared at the springtime beauty of the green hills behind the house, seeing none of it. He was visualizing the impending disaster when his involvement with Cathy came out. When it became clear that he slept with her last night, the last night of her life. When the evidence was delivered to the police, with his fingerprints on whatever the murder weapon happened to be, his marriage and his career would be over; he would go to prison for life, or he would die. The caller controlled all that would happen to Brian.
Brian could not allow himself to think about Cathy being dead. Survival first and then grief. He looked over at Barbara. She was staring straight ahead, consumed by thoughts of her own, undoubtedly wondering whether she should have gone along with not calling the police. There was so much that Brian knew he should tell her, so much that kept them at a distance. He knew he wouldn't tell her, at least not yet. At least not until after two o'clock.
Words exchanged were few. At one forty-five, they sat in the den watching the phone and waiting.
Barbara took Brian's hand and held it tightly. “Are you sure we're doing the right thing?” Her voice had a helpless quality to it.
“No, I'm not sure. I just don't know what else to do.” He stood up and put his arms around her. He couldn't remember the last time he had attempted to comfort her like this. “It'll be okay.” His words were soft and he hoped reassuring, even though he felt there was little to feel comforted about.
At one fifty-eight, the phone rang. Brian picked it up before the second ring. “Hello?” Barbara saw the look of frustration on his face. “I'll have her call you back later, Mom. She's in the shower.” Brian was silent as Barbara's mother spoke. “Okay, I'll tell her. She'll call you as soon as possible.” His face gave away his impatience. “Yeah, sounds good. We'll talk about it a little later when she calls you back. Bye, Mom.”
He put down the phone and checked his watch. It was two o'clock. The minutes passed slowly, and the phone didn't ring. Brian stared at it, hoping the caller hadn't changed his mind. Maybe he had called and got the busy signal. Perhaps he wouldn't try again. Brian needed to talk to him again, to figure out a way to stop all this before it came crashing down around him. It was ten after two when the phone rang again.
“Hello?” Brian said quickly.
“Brian Madsen.” It was not a question. The voice was the same.
“Yes, this is Brian Madsen.”
“I'm pleased there are no police.”
Brian instinctively looked out the living room window to the street as if he might see the man standing there, looking in at him. It was clear that someone was watching him.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want the same as you, Brian. I want things done quietly and quickly.”
“What things?”
There was a long silence, which worked effectively for emphasis. Brian was listening carefully. “I want you to kill a man.”
This time silence accompanied Brian's shock. Then he became angry. “I'm not going to kill anyone.”
“I suggest you take your time and think about it. I'll give you a couple of hours, and you want to be extremely careful because you are betting your whole life on this decision.”
“You son of a bitch! I'm not going to be blackmailed by some fucking criminal.” Brian looked up at Barbara. Her face was full of questions. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath.
“When you reflect on it, you'll see that you really don't have a choice.” The voice was calm, which only served to make Brian feel more helpless and angrier.
“I do have a choice. I can go to the police with this and let them find you.”
“You could go to the police, that's true. But that wouldn't be too smart. All roads lead to you, Brian. Remember? It won't matter much if you go to them or they come to you. The result is the same if they have the murder weapon with your fingerprints on it, wouldn't you agree?”
There was silence. Then the caller said, “Just don't make the mistake of underestimating me. If you think about what happened to Ms. Jenkins, you'll know there's not much I won't do to get what I need. Oh, and one more thing; I'll know if you talk to the police. If you do, the evidence gets delivered, and you never hear from me again. I'll call you back at five o'clock. I'll expect your decision then.”
The line went dead. Brian held the phone at arm's length and stared at it as if it might yield a clue to the man's whereabouts. Then it occurred to him that it just might. He pushed the asterisk and then numbers six and nine on his telephone. There was ringing on the other end. Brian let it ring ten times and then hung up. He thought about how easy it would be to trace the call if he called the police. Then what? Like the man said, all the evidence would point to me. The killer would see to that. Or the man could save me, leaving my tracks covered.
Brian felt a strange sensation of gratitude to the lunatic for having sanitized the apartment. The thankfulness yielded to anger at himself for making his self-preservation a priority over catching this guy, finding the truth, and owning up to his involvement with Cathy.
Barbara touched his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts. “What now?”
Brian shook his head. “I don't know. He wants me to kill a man. Maybe I'll tell him I'll do it. Then we'll have more to go to the police with.”
“We have to tell them now, Brian. We can't play games with this guy. What happens when he finds out you're not really going to do it?”
“By then we have more information for the police, so they can get this guy.” He touched her cheek. “It's only three more hours.”
Brian realized he was shaking. Maybe it was because he was trying to convince Barbara to do something he didn't want to do. He never wanted to hear the voice on the phone again. Perhaps it was the total lack of control over what was happening to him.
Barbara looked unconvinced. “We can make it three more hours,” she said as if to reassure herself. She rubbed her hands together nervously and then nodded.
The clock moved slowly. At two forty, the phone rang, and Barbara had a short conversation with her mother. Brian could see that Barbara's mind wasn't on the conversation. She had all the right words but was just going through the motions.
At four o'clock, the phone rang again. Brian stared at it until the third ring with his heart pounding. When he answered, a computerized voice asking survey questions about coffee consumption greeted him. The immediate sense of relief, of buying time, quickly yielded to frustration. Brian wondered if he would make it for another hour.
* * *
The unmarked Dodge rolled out of the police parking lot at Parker Center and moved toward the freeway. “So what do you think we get out of this guy?” asked the young uniformed officer who sat in the passenger seat. He spoke to an older man with the close-cropped hair who wore a baggy blue suit and drove like he was late for something important.
The older man shrugged. “I don't know. Probably nothing. But the only way to get to the bottom line of the investigation is to talk to everyone who hung out with or even heard of the victim.”
“Is this just the training speech, or are you about to give me something worthwhile here?” the young man tossed out, grinning.
“Did they send me a cop or a fucking comedian? There's already too damned many uniformed comedians on the street.”
“Levity is hard to come by on the street. I'm just here to lighten the load.”
The older man rolled his eyes.
“But what do you think the new congressman knows about this dead woman? What's her name? Jenkins. Where's the connection?” the younger officer asked.
“The only connection is that she did some volunteer work to help get him elected.”
“That's it?”
“Yeah, so far. He probably doesn't even know this broad.”
The young man furrowed his brow. “What did they get from the scene?”
“Not a fucking thing. Cl
eaner than a baby's newly powdered ass.”
“No shit? There's always something, right?”
“Usually. This time it was clean. I think too clean.”
The rookie's face had a perplexed look as he asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means this whole thing was likely premeditated, which means it wasn't likely any sort of a heat-of-passion killing. It doesn't look like her boyfriend caught her fucking somebody else.”
“You have a way with words, you know?” The younger man grinned. “So what are we talking about? A drug hit or something?”
“I'd be surprised. This broad doesn't fit the profile for that kind of a hit. Nothing around her looks like drug dealing.”
“Did you say fit the profile? As in psychological profile? Pretty high tech, college-type shit for a career street cop, isn't it?”
“Fuck you, junior. Shut up, and you'll learn something.”
The young man held up his hands in a halting gesture. “Okay, I yield to your wisdom, oh master. In the meantime, let's eat before we go see this guy. It's after three thirty, and I haven't eaten anything yet today. Besides, I don't think I can talk to a politician on an empty stomach.”
The older man nodded agreement and then turned the car toward Rosie's diner. “You're right. Politicians are even harder to put up with than you are.”
Brian stood alone in the front yard. He scanned the large, two-story homes of his neighbors, looking for any clue, wondering if one of them concealed a caller who would be in a position to see if the police arrived. There was nothing remotely conspicuous or unusual in the appearance of any of the houses. No one looked like he or she didn't fit. There were just normal neighborhood sounds: a couple of children going by on bicycles, the distant sound of a barking dog, and a cacophony of bird songs coming from the overhead trees.
Brian thought about Cathy. He thought about her smile and the way she had touched his hand when they were alone. He thought about the look of love on her face when she had asked him if they could go away for the weekend just last night.
Then the images changed to the photographs run and rerun by television news—vivid stains on the carpet, a gurney, and a body—her body—covered by a black sheet being taken from the apartment. In the face of the tragedy, he was denying her, trying to keep her at a distance so he wouldn't be implicated. Brian began to sob aloud. He hoped Barbara wouldn't hear him, but he couldn't stop crying.
At four-thirty, the doorbell rang. Barbara opened the door to see a man of about fifty in an ill-fitting blue suit and a uniformed police officer, whom she guessed was in his late twenties. The uniformed officer stood with his hands on his hips and waited.
The blue-suited man ran a hand through his short, gray hair before saying, “Mrs. Madsen?”
Barbara eyed him cautiously. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“Your husband home, ma'am?” He sounded politely impatient.
Barbara nodded.
“I'm Sergeant Merrick. This is Officer Palmer. May we take a few minutes of his time?”
Barbara almost asked what this was about and then thought better of it. “Sure, I'll get him. Please step inside.”
Both took stepped inside, and the uniformed officer removed his hat. Barbara turned and walked toward the living room, finding Brian there as she entered the room. She let out an embarrassing yelp at the surprise, and then heard one of the officers chuckle behind her. She turned to see the older man giving the uniformed officer a dirty look.
“Brian, these officers want to talk to you.”
He nodded and walked toward the front door. She followed him back to where the men waited.
As Brian approached the two men, he reached out a hand, first to the older man. “Gentlemen, I'm Brian Madsen. How can I help you?” He sounded serious and confident, but his heart was racing. He felt the way he thought a guilty suspect might feel when he was scared that he might give something away.
“Mr. Madsen, I'm Sergeant Merrick. This is Officer Palmer.” They nodded acknowledgment to one another.
Then Merrick continued, “I don't know if you've heard yet, but someone you know has been killed.” He waited for reaction.
Probably watching for a lie, Brian thought.
Brian nodded slightly after a moment. “We've seen it on TV. It's horrible.”
“You know her well, sir?”
He asked the big question right away. Brian knew there was no time to pause and think it over. “No, not well. She worked as a volunteer for my campaign office.”
Merrick nodded. “She work closely with you?”
Brian shook his head. “No, she worked with volunteer campaign supervisors.”
“What kinds of things did she do for the campaign?”
“Just basic volunteer stuff. Grassroots campaigning. Calling up potential voters to encourage them to vote and stuffing envelopes. That kind of thing.”
Merrick was nodding again. “So you didn't see much of her?”
Brian felt himself beginning to sweat. “No, not much.”
“Just occasionally in the office?”
“Yeah, that's right,” Brian said without hesitation.
Merrick rubbed his chin, pausing. “You ever see her outside the office?”
Jesus Christ, Brian thought, does this guy know something?
Barbara spoke up. “I think I remember seeing her at the inaugural for Brian. That's the only time though.”
“Any other times you've seen her outside of business?” Merrick asked without turning away from Brian.
“None that I can think of.” Brian crossed his arms in a nervous gesture.
Merrick shot a glance at Palmer, who remained expressionless. Then Merrick looked back at Brian. “She ever talk to you about her personal life? Anyone she was involved with? Maybe someone harassing her or a person she wanted to get away from?”
“No, I don't recall anything like that,” Brian said lamely.
“You know who she was involved with? I mean, anyone she knew intimately?”
Brian answered quickly, “No, I don't know.”
Merrick furrowed his brow. “We think she knew the guy who did this.”
As Merrick studied him, Brian felt like his legs might give out.
“She let the guy in.”
Brian shook his head in disbelief. Merrick stayed fixed on Brian for a moment and then turned to go, signaling the ever-silent Palmer with a slap on the arm. “Call me if you think of anything that might help.” He handed Brian a card and gestured a farewell to Barbara, and the two men left. It was seven minutes to five.
Chapter 8
Brian and Barbara sat at the dining room table looking intermittently at each other and then at the telephone. Barbara touched his hand and gave him a strained smile. At precisely five o'clock, the phone rang. Brian looked at Barbara, noting the nervousness in her expression.
He picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Make your decision?” There was no patience in the voice this time.
“Maybe. If I say I'll do it, how do I know what you'll do?”
“You don't. You just know what happens if you don't.” The man paused. “It's much better if we both get what we want, isn't it?”
Brian didn't know what to do. He had to buy some time. “All right. Who?”
“Jason Ross.”
“Why do you want him killed?” Brian asked nervously.
“That's not information you need.”
Brian felt a sense of doom, waves breaking over his head that would soon engulf him.
“You will do it on Tuesday night in the parking garage at 600 Fifth Street. He leaves his office between eight and ten. You'll be waiting near his car, fire two shots to the head, and then you're gone. You take the cash and credit cards from his wallet and leave the empty wallet with the body. Then you drive up to Ninth Street, turn right, and drive for about a mile. You'll open your window, drop the credit cards out, and finally go home. If anyone ever makes any
connection to you, you will say that you and your wife were home watching videos that night.”
Brian could feel himself shaking. “Why am I taking credit cards to throw them out the window of my car?”
“In that neighborhood, there's no shortage of street life. Someone will find them quickly. That someone will use them, and that lucky soul will be the suspect in the killing. Robbery will be the motive. None of it will come near you.”
“I don't know that I can kill anyone.” Brian's voice was cracking.
The voice was soft and firm. “You have no choice. At six thirty tonight, you'll pick up an envelope. It will contain what you need.”
“Look, I just don't know that I can do it!”
“Listen carefully, Brian. It's not just your future that depends on this. Think about your family. Keep them safe. I know you'll find the strength.”
“You son of a bitch!”
“Don't waste time. You have fifteen minutes to get to the corner of Third and Main. It will take you every bit of that time to get there. One of the phones on the corner will ring, and you'll be told where to go next. Got it?”
“Yes. I have it.” Brian held his head with his free hand.
“And be alone, Brian. I'll know.”
“Okay,” Brian said softly.
“One more thing. If you go to the police or get anyone else involved, I'll know. Don't do it, or the police will have all the evidence I have.” There was a brief silence before the man continued, “Have you told your wife about you and Cathy Jenkins?”
He didn't wait for an answer. The line went dead.
Brian put down the phone slowly and looked over at Barbara. “He wants me to kill a guy named Jason Ross. I'm supposed to do it Tuesday night in a parking structure downtown. You're to be my alibi if needed. We're supposed to say we were watching videos together.”
“Jesus—-”
“I'm supposed to be at a downtown phone booth in fifteen minutes for more instructions. If I don't go right now, I won't make it,” Brian interrupted.