What Shadows Lie
Chapter 3: The End of the Beginning
By: Chris Ward
It had been over four hours since Ray’s ex-partner and former lover, Rita Chambers,
had been murdered by the mysteriously vanishing Angus Sullivan. Tru, who had known
her only a brief time, was in a state of outraged shock. The killer’s sadistic laugh as he
took Rita’s head kept playing through her mind. Ray, however, was inconsolable. He
sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and staring blankly at Rita’s body, with tears
carving their way down his cheeks. Occasionally, a fresh wave of grief would
overwhelm him and his six foot frame would again be wracked with sorrow.
Watching him with sympathy and understanding, Tru also wept. Her tears were not only
for the loss of a woman she might have called friend, but also the agonized sorrow
Ray, who was as much friend as partner, was suffering. She could still hear him
screaming Rita’s name as they ran into the room. She could still see Rita’s body, slowly
and with a macabre grace, collapsing as her murderer made his escape.
Dimly, as if from a distance, she heard a voice call, “Detective Ransome?”
Pulling her mind away from the immediate past she blinked for a moment as she
gathered her thoughts, focusing on the man trying to get her attention. “Sorry, Captain.
Didn’t realize you were here.”
“I can see that.” Looking around, he shook his head in disgust. “Now, do you suppose
you could tell me just what the fuck happened here?”
Drawing a deep breath, she told him everything. When she reached the part about Rita
having identified Angus Sullivan as the lawyer, Regis Fortun, who had set up the deal
for Mickey Finnigan, he swore. “Why was she with you?”
“You know how it works, Captain. Anti-Crime lost three of their own, not to mention an
informant, with this morning’s safe house murders. Rita was also the only reason Ray
and I were there in the first place; she contacted us shortly after she contacted
dispatch. There was also the very real possibility, which turned out to be fact, that she
had information we might need. We were going to end up with someone from AC
anyway, so we decided to go with someone we’d already established a bit of a rapport
with.”
“Fine. He gave you the slip at the docks.” Looking over to where Tris was preparing
Rita’s body for transport, he said, “How the hell’d he get away this time?”
Grimacing at what she knew was coming, Tru could only shrug helplessly. “I wish to
God I knew, Captain.”
He lowered his voice in disbelief, uttering the question through lips thinned in anger.
“You wish you fucking knew? What the hell does that mean?”
“With all due respect, Sir, I meant exactly what I said. Me and Ray were clearing the
rest of the apartment at the time it went down. We heard her scream, and ran into the
room. By the time we made it in, he was gone and she was dead.”
“And now he’s in the damned wind?”
“Not entirely. I’ve still got a couple things to check on.”
From the phone table in the living area, a woman with the Crime Scene Unit called out,
“Detectives? You may want to see this.”
Moving into the room, Tru took a small black notebook from the investigator. The first
page contained a series of names, addresses and phone numbers. Beside most of
them was a dollar amount, usually in triple figures. Beside three listings, however, the
dollar amount had been replaced with a single dark red mark. Her eyes widened in
shock when she ran across Luke Gallantine’s name on the list. The red mark beside his
entry was covered with a black X, with an asterisk beside it.
The bottom of the page contained Mickey Finnigan’s name, along with the address for
the safe house. Beside the listing was the red mark covered by the black X. The major
difference was that he had written the number one inside the mark, and there were a
pair of asterisks beside it.
Flipping to the next page, she found the reason for the asterisks.
* 1/7 12:25 AM: Contract executed. Single collateral; Contract’s wife
** 1/13 1:10 AM: Priority Contract executed. Triple collateral; Police guarding Contract.
Flipping to the third page, she found yet another list. Some of the entries were
addresses, others were phone numbers. Beside each entry was a small group of
letters. Running her eyes down the list, she found the address for the apartment they
were currently in. Beside the entry was the grouping SH1.
“Shit! Ray?” Turning around, she saw that he was still in the bedroom. Swearing under
her breath, she handed the book back. “Hold this for a minute please.”
Walking back into the bedroom, she crouched down beside her partner. After watching
Tris work for a minute, she looked over at him. “Ray?” When she got no response, she
turned so she was facing him. After checking to be certain nobody was watching she
struck his face with the back of her hand.
Jerking upright with a startled curse, his eyes cleared as he grabbed the cheek she
had just assaulted, and choked out, “Son of a bitch!” Turning his head to look at her,
he asked, ‘What the hell’s the big idea?”
Standing up, she held out a hand. Helping him to his feet, she replied, “I needed my
partner back. You can fall apart later, Ray; right now we have work to do.”
Back in the living area, she showed him the book. “Is this what I think it is?”
Thumbing through the book, he rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I guess that
depends on what you think it is. The amounts look like payments; probably hush
money. The marked names are probably a hit list, especially when you combine the fact
that two of them are dead with the information on the second page.”
Almost before he finished, Tru pulled out her radio and identified herself. Reading
over his shoulder, she gave the remaining three addresses and said, “We need a unit
for each one. We have reason to believe that they’re in immediate danger.”
While she was doing that, Ray was looking through the third page. Pulling out his own
notebook, he copied the information. Briefly closing his eyes, he set aside the
memories of Rita that were flashing through his mind and focused his thoughts on the
man who had killed her. There would be time for tears and grief later. As Tru had so
forcibly reminded him, right now was the time for investigation. He pulled about
himself the cold calculation and almost icy calm that was his trademark.
“Anything?” The woman’s voice came from directly beside him, startling him with its
unexpectedness.
“Christ, Tru!” Regaining his composure, he nodded. “Possibly.” Handing the book back
to the investigator, he led Tru out of the apartment. Glancing at his watch, he shook his
head. “You hungry?”
“A little, I guess. Why?”
“Because it’s after 5, and I haven’t even had breakfast. If it’s all right with the Captain, I
thought we’d pick up the Gallantine file and compare notes over dinner.”
The Captain had just stepped out of the apartment, and overheard this last. “Why do
you need it?”
Ray glanced at the list. “Because some of this looks extremely familiar, and I’m almost
positive I’ll find confirmation there.”
Scratching the base of his throat in thought, the Captain was silent for several
minutes. “All right.” Looking directly into both detectives’ faces, he placed a slight, but
obvious, angered stress on each word as he ordered, “If, however, something pops on
this, call it in. Do not pull this Rambo shit again, understand?” When they agreed, he
waved them out. “Good. Now get outta here.”
********************
When the meal was nearly finished, Tru glanced across the table at Ray. “Are we really
certain we can trust what all’s in that thing?”
“Think the notebook’s a plant?”
Nodding, she said, “We’ve both seen some incredibly stupid skells, but this seems
worse than normal. I mean, he kept virtually everything in a single notebook that was
barely hidden?”
After considering it for several minutes, he disagreed. “I don’t think the book is likely
to have been a planted.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t well enough hidden.” When she threw him a confused look, he explained.
“Planted evidence is done so because the skill’s expecting it to be found. It’s usually
done in such a way that it’s certain to be discovered, but not easily. He’s anticipating
that the officer who uncovers the evidence will be convinced of its authenticity
because it was so difficult to locate.” Shrugging, he finished. “The notebook CSU
found was placed in a drawer near the phone, wasn’t it? When you combine that with
the extremely limited coding involved, I think the book’s the real deal. I seriously doubt
he meant to leave it for us to find.”
After considering that for several more minutes, Tru brought up her last major
concern. “I think we can safely assume that the SH listings are our guy’s safe houses.
Do we have enough for warrants?”
Scratching the back of his neck, Ray laughed uncomfortably. “The warrants shouldn’t
be a problem. The real question is, how do we stop a guy who can just fucking vanish?”
In utter seriousness, Tru flashed a wicked, almost avid, little grin. “Shoot off his balls?”
Wincing in sympathetic pain, he laughed, “Christ, Gert!”
“He wouldn’t pull his vanishing shit on us would he?”
Leaning back in his chair he chuckled. “Jesus! Just how many brutality complaints
have been filed against you again?” When she simply flashed that grin again, he
chuckled and moved on. “I was actually wondering about using tasers.”
“Do you honestly think they’d do any good against him?”
Half shrugging, he stood up and took the check. “Honestly? I doubt it. On the other
hand, there’s at least a chance of getting more than screams of pain if it does.”
After paying they headed to the car, where Tru made the necessary calls for the
warrants and backup.
********************
Roughly two hours later, shortly after 9, they were seated in the dark and silent car,
watching the house listed as SH2. A pair of cruisers, also with their lights off, pulled up
near them. The two officers stepped out of their cars and met Ray and Tru as they
stood as well.
Handing the warrant to Ray, the taller of the two said, “DA says you better pray to God
your perp’s in one of these buildings. She claims she had to burn incense and sacrifice
a couple virgins to get the judge to sign.”
The other officer handed over a couple tasers. After reading through the warrant, Ray
stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. Looking at the pair of uniforms, he gestured
around the house. “You two go around back. Let us know once you’re in place. When
everybody’s ready, Tru’ll give the go ahead. It’s a No Knock, so just kick through the
door and search the place. This perp’s got a tendency to kill first and ask questions
never, so tase on sight. Understand?” When they nodded, he told them to get going.
While the officers moved around the house, Tru contacted the teams standing by to
raid the other safe houses on the list. When everything else was ready, they moved
into position and waited for the uniforms to get in place. After another minute or two,
the call came over the radio.
Taking her radio in one hand, and her taser in the other, Tru looked over at Ray. When
he nodded, she keyed the radio. “All units go!”
Even as she clipped the radio back on her belt, Ray kicked in the door. Slipping
through the space he provided for her, Tru went in low while Ray went in high, just as
they had always done in practice. With the tasers at eye level, the weapons pointed
everywhere they looked. After clearing the entryway and coat closet, they entered the
living room of the house.
A small glass, half full of a caramel colored liquid, sat on an end table near the recliner.
Pulling out a white handkerchief, Tru picked the glass up and sniffed the distinct aroma
of good brandy. She also smelled traces of a cigar, possibly Cuban. Turning to her
partner, she found him looking toward the kitchen, head cocked as if listening to
something.
Catching her stare, he motioned her to keep quiet. With a small series of gestures, he
let her know that he wanted to investigate a noise in the kitchen. Narrowing her eyes
in thought, she looked toward the kitchen. Using her hands, she asked if he wanted
the same high-low entrance routine.
When he nodded, she slipped to the entrance, crouching on one side of the frame
while he stood pressed against the other. Dropping the taser to her side in her left
hand, she gripped the frame in her right in preparation. Every muscle tense and ready,
she kept a watchful eye on her partner’s raised hand. When it dropped, she threw
herself into the kitchen, raising the taser into a two handed grip even as she rounded
the corner.
The layout of the kitchen was fairly standard. It contained an island in the center, with
cabinets, the refrigerator and other major appliances along the walls. As she moved
along one wall in an effort to clear the area around the island, she could hear Ray’s
soft tread behind her. After another half dozen cautious steps she heard the familiar
quiet popping sound of suddenly displaced air. At virtually the same moment, Ray’s
cautious footsteps ceased. Turning around with mounting dread, she found herself
facing a broadly grinning Angus Sullivan, his hands tightly gripping Ray’s head.
“Well now, isn’t this just an awkward situation?” Indicating the island with his chin, he
said, “Why don’t ye just go ahead and toss the weapons over there?”
Complying, Tru asked, “What the hell do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious, girlie? I want ye to get me th’ hell outta here.
Glancing at her partner, she saw his eyes close with resignation at what was in her
face. “You’re not getting out of here, Angus. Too many cops want your hide.”
Narrowing his eyes in anger, Angus shifted his grip on Ray’s head. “That’s where ye’re
wrong, Officer. Ye’ve got a choice; either ye help me out of here, or yer partner here
ends up dead.”
Lost in thought for a moment, Tru pondered how best to pull this desperate stunt off.
Finally, she decided to be straightforward, and hoped she could be fast enough to
save her partner’s life. “There’s something you forgot, Angus.”
“An’ what would that be?”
Even as she began the motion, she realized there was simply no way she’d be fast
enough, and desperately wished there was some way to stop him from killing ray. Even
so, she ripped her service pistol from its holster on her hip. Even as the weapon left
the holster, time seemed to slow down, and she saw everything with crystal clarity. She
watched Ray’s eyes open as he nodded acceptance of his fate, and she saw Sullivan’s
eyes reflect his shock and rage.
Suddenly something seemed to burst within her. Even as her weapon swung into a two-
handed grip, something within built and crashed out from her as a giant wave,
seemingly carrying with it her very essence. As the pistol seemed to crawl into firing
position, the wave swelled unnoticed over Sullivan, doing God alone knew what. With
the weapon leveled in front of her eyes, she watched with horror as his briefly
narrowed in concentration.
Taking a microsecond to aim, Tru squeezed the trigger at the same moment Sullivan’s
eyes widened in horror. As the bullet sped across the short distance, the intangible
wave withdrew, leaving Tru with the intense feeling that something within had been
altered forever. Time resumed its normal pace as, leaning against the wall due to
sudden vertigo, she watched the bullet dust both sides of Sullivan’s exposed
shoulder. Uttering a scream of pain and rage, he released Ray and grabbed the wound
as both uniformed officers ran in, weapons out.
Spinning around, Ray grabbed his arm and threw him face first to the ground. Retaining
his grip on the arm, he drove his knee into the wounded shoulder. Slapping at his belt,
he realized that he had forgotten his handcuffs that morning. Holding out his free
hand, he looked at the officers. “Cuffs?”
Grinding his knee into the shoulder, he slapped the handcuffs around the secured
wrist before wrestling the other arm into position and slapping the handcuffs on that
one as well. Grabbing the imprisoned wrists with one hand, and the ruined shoulder
with the other, he forced Sullivan to his feet. Dumping him in a nearby chair, Ray
looked at the officers. “Read him.”
Stepping to the sink, he washed his hands. “Tru?” Hearing no response, he looked
over his shoulder and saw that she was still leaning against the wall, oblivious to what
was happening around her. Drying his hands on his jeans, he raised his voice. “Hey,
partner?” Seeing her eyes clear, he nodded toward Sullivan. “Wanna call this in?”
Shrugging, she pulled out her radio. Identifying herself and the address, she said, “All
units, suspect in custody. Repeat; suspect in custody. Send a bus, he’s been injured.”
Putting the radio away, she leaned back against the wall and stared at their new
prisoner in complete exhaustion. He stared back with undisguised hatred. “What th’
fuck'd ye do t' me, ye ruddy git?”
As she heard the sirens approach, she pushed off from the wall and walked to the
kitchen door. From there, she looked through the window into the darkness. “I wish I
fucking knew.”
********************
Shortly after midnight, as Tru lay wide awake and trying to answer to that question, Ray
was asleep and dreaming.
He found himself walking through a plain door into an anonymous motel room. Along
one wall a series of television monitors sat on a long folding table. Nearby was a stack
of printouts, a type writer and a set of electronic surveillance gear. Beside the table
was a wheeled dry erase board, similar to the type used in some university classrooms.
“Recognize anything?”
Spinning around at the unexpected voice, he found himself staring at Rita Chambers.
She no longer looked like the woman who had been murdered by Sullivan. Wearing a
pair of tight hip hugging jeans and a daringly cut, form fitting blouse, this was the
woman as she had appeared when he had first fallen in love with her. Her hair was no
longer cut to barely shoulder length, but flowed down past the small of her back in
flowing ebony curls, stopping just as they flirted with the enticing curve of her
buttocks. The swell of her breasts, completely unmarked by blade, bulged
provocatively over the cut of her blouse. Her face was no longer cast in the bitter
caution which had marked her since J-Ray’s betrayal. Instead, he found himself staring
into the much softer face of a woman both happy and content, with the slight edge that
came from knowing damn well she was the best.
Sinking to a nearby chair in confusion, he asked, “What the hell’s going on?”
Moving to the bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled as she gestured around the room. “Everything here comes from you.
Recognize it?”
Glancing around the room, he smiled in memory. “Of course I do, Rita. This was the
base the two of us used when our team took down Los Guerreros De La Sangre.”
Looking at the bed, his smile broadened. “As I remember, that was also the bed where
you and I first made love.” Looking back into her face, the smile faded and tears began
to fall. Sitting beside her, he grabbed her hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
For several minutes she held him as he wept. When he was finally able to look into her
face, she wore a small half smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby.” Looking down at herself,
she quickly laughed. “Thanks for giving me this body, by the way. I like it much better
than the one I died in.”
Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he looked at her in surprise. “Excuse
me?”
Laughing at his reaction, she stood from the bed. As she did so, the jeans and blouse
morphed into a sheer, ivory negligee he remembered quite well. Spinning on one bare
heel, the negligee became a black leather micro skirt, thigh high black boots, and a
midriff baring, skin tight halter top that barely covered her breasts. The new look,
which he remembered from one of their few actual dates, was complimented by a tight
braid and makeup that gave her an exotic, almost dangerous, look. “Baby, none of this
is real. Everything you see is a dream.”
“You mean I’m making all this up?”
“Not exactly. Everything you see is based on memory; your memories of this place and
your memories of me.”
“But why? Why this place? Why you?”
“I think we’ve already covered why I’m here. You felt the need to apologize for letting
me die, even though there was absolutely nothing you could have done. You also
needed a friendly face right now. As for why you’re in this room?” Walking to the other
side of the room, she said, “Take a look over here.”
Climbing to his feet, he followed her to the surveillance table. Standing beside her, he
found himself automatically assuming the once familiar position they had taken so
many times, with his arm draped around her shoulder and his hand gently cupping her
left breast while she wrapped her right arm around his waist. As they stood, a memory
of happier times, Rita pointed to the monitors.
As if caused by the gesture the monitors powered on, except for the final one. The first
monitor was showing the murders of Luke and Marie Gallantine. The second showed
the safe house murders of Mickey Finnigan, and the Anti-Crime officers Asia Charlotte,
Rick Borden and Shawn Crawford. The third showed Rita’s murder as well as the
ultimate capture of Angus Sullivan.
Watching the final events with an almost disturbing level of interest, Rita cocked an
eyebrow. “Your partner’s an unusual girl.”
Snorting out a laugh, he replied, “Tell me about it.”
“Any clue how she stopped him?”
In response he shook his head. “Not a clue. I asked her about it on the drive home.
She doesn’t seem to have a clue.”
“Like I said, unusual girl. Anyway, those showed what you actually know happened.”
Gesturing to the final monitor, which powered up in the same way as the others, she
finished with, “This, however, will show you what can be surmised by what you know.”
This monitor, unlike the others, did not have a clear picture. The images were hazy and
indistinct. Picking up the nearby headset, Rita gave it to Ray so he could hear as well
as see the events. He watched as Sullivan offered money to Luke Gallantine and
several others. In nearly every case, the money was accepted and an agreement,
mostly involving regular payments of a smaller amount, was reached. In three cases,
including Luke’s, the cash was refused. During this sequence, the notebook was
repeatedly shown with Sullivan’s hand making notations.
The next sequence was of Angus on the phone. “Most took the money… Three only…
Warning or clean?... Ye want proof?... Understood… Right away, boss.”
After the conversation ended, the monitor flashed to yet another call. Unlike the
previous conversation, this time both sides were heard. Rita also handed him a
standard transcript. With a sense of mild amusement, he realized that the dream had
chosen to cast the voice on the other end of the call as Dr. Claw from the old Inspector
Gadget cartoons.
Voice: That idiot you recommended, Mickey Finnigan, got his ass caught in a raid.
Sullivan: What happened?
Voice: He called from jail. He wants me to get him out, or he’ll open his damned mouth.
That doesn’t happen.
Sullivan: So, what’s the plan?
Voice: You’ve done it before, though not here. Pretend to be the lawyer. Get them to
move him somewhere other than the jail, and then finish it.
Sullivan: Do you want it to serve as a warning, and do you want proof?
Voice: Yes, and yes.
Sullivan: Twenty-four to forty-eight, tops.
When the phone disconnected, the monitor and audio powered off. Ducking out from
under his arm, Rita, now wearing a form hugging, strapless black dress, with a neckline
cut to her navel and the hem falling mere inches down her thighs, put the headset
away. Turning to face him, she shook her head when he asked, “Is that everything?”
Leading him to the board, she made her magical gesture again. “This is every
connection you’ve made, either alone or with Tru’s help, as well as the specific
questions raised.”
The center of the board contained a standard hierarchy chart. It showed an
unidentified profile at the top, with three lines descending. They terminated in three
blocks marked Angus Sullivan, Devnet Cormac and Torin Fergus. Sullivan’s block was
the only one containing an image. There were several hand written notes down the
sides of the board as well.
Shayna Noel Industries=Front Organization?
Boss enjoys anagrams (Regis Fortun=Torin Fergus) and basic transposition codes (437-
3323=He’s Dead)
What was being moved through the docks?
What did Mickey Finnigan know?
Is the Boss Irish, or just the soldiers?
Unique MO sig. Look for other unique homicides.
Also needs financing? Look for unique thefts.
“So this is everything I either know or at least think I know?”
Smiling, she turned to face him having once again changed outfits. She was now
dressed only in black lace panties and a shear black bra that was doing an inadequate
job of containing her breasts, with her ebony hair framing them before stopping just
where the sheer lace of the bikini cut became interesting. “Basically. There are only
three things left to say.”
Barely able to concentrate on what she was saying as she swayed seductively toward
him, he cleared his throat. “And they are?”
Carefully herding him across the room, she said, “First, the only hope to stopping what
is yet to come will be found in both you and Tru.”
Grinning when she saw him bump against the bed, she wrapped her arms around his
waist, and drew herself against him. “The second thing is that I left you a little thank
you gift in my will. And the third thing?”
Her grin altered and became distinctly naughty. Pulling his head down, she met his lips
with hers in a passionate kiss, shifting weight at the same time so that they fell to the
bed, with her on top. Kneeling back, even as their clothing dissolved, she began to
gently rock her hips as she brought his hands to her breasts. Looking down into his
astonished face, allowing her hair to fan over their entangled bodies, she breathed,
“This is the third thing. Consider it my way of saying goodbye, as well as saying that you
have no share of the blame for my death.”
His final thought, before allowing the heated passion to overwhelm him, was to wonder
just how much of this was a dream based on memories, and how much was something
vastly different.
Chapter 3: The End of the Beginning
By: Chris Ward
It had been over four hours since Ray’s ex-partner and former lover, Rita Chambers,
had been murdered by the mysteriously vanishing Angus Sullivan. Tru, who had known
her only a brief time, was in a state of outraged shock. The killer’s sadistic laugh as he
took Rita’s head kept playing through her mind. Ray, however, was inconsolable. He
sat on the floor, leaning against the wall and staring blankly at Rita’s body, with tears
carving their way down his cheeks. Occasionally, a fresh wave of grief would
overwhelm him and his six foot frame would again be wracked with sorrow.
Watching him with sympathy and understanding, Tru also wept. Her tears were not only
for the loss of a woman she might have called friend, but also the agonized sorrow
Ray, who was as much friend as partner, was suffering. She could still hear him
screaming Rita’s name as they ran into the room. She could still see Rita’s body, slowly
and with a macabre grace, collapsing as her murderer made his escape.
Dimly, as if from a distance, she heard a voice call, “Detective Ransome?”
Pulling her mind away from the immediate past she blinked for a moment as she
gathered her thoughts, focusing on the man trying to get her attention. “Sorry, Captain.
Didn’t realize you were here.”
“I can see that.” Looking around, he shook his head in disgust. “Now, do you suppose
you could tell me just what the fuck happened here?”
Drawing a deep breath, she told him everything. When she reached the part about Rita
having identified Angus Sullivan as the lawyer, Regis Fortun, who had set up the deal
for Mickey Finnigan, he swore. “Why was she with you?”
“You know how it works, Captain. Anti-Crime lost three of their own, not to mention an
informant, with this morning’s safe house murders. Rita was also the only reason Ray
and I were there in the first place; she contacted us shortly after she contacted
dispatch. There was also the very real possibility, which turned out to be fact, that she
had information we might need. We were going to end up with someone from AC
anyway, so we decided to go with someone we’d already established a bit of a rapport
with.”
“Fine. He gave you the slip at the docks.” Looking over to where Tris was preparing
Rita’s body for transport, he said, “How the hell’d he get away this time?”
Grimacing at what she knew was coming, Tru could only shrug helplessly. “I wish to
God I knew, Captain.”
He lowered his voice in disbelief, uttering the question through lips thinned in anger.
“You wish you fucking knew? What the hell does that mean?”
“With all due respect, Sir, I meant exactly what I said. Me and Ray were clearing the
rest of the apartment at the time it went down. We heard her scream, and ran into the
room. By the time we made it in, he was gone and she was dead.”
“And now he’s in the damned wind?”
“Not entirely. I’ve still got a couple things to check on.”
From the phone table in the living area, a woman with the Crime Scene Unit called out,
“Detectives? You may want to see this.”
Moving into the room, Tru took a small black notebook from the investigator. The first
page contained a series of names, addresses and phone numbers. Beside most of
them was a dollar amount, usually in triple figures. Beside three listings, however, the
dollar amount had been replaced with a single dark red mark. Her eyes widened in
shock when she ran across Luke Gallantine’s name on the list. The red mark beside his
entry was covered with a black X, with an asterisk beside it.
The bottom of the page contained Mickey Finnigan’s name, along with the address for
the safe house. Beside the listing was the red mark covered by the black X. The major
difference was that he had written the number one inside the mark, and there were a
pair of asterisks beside it.
Flipping to the next page, she found the reason for the asterisks.
* 1/7 12:25 AM: Contract executed. Single collateral; Contract’s wife
** 1/13 1:10 AM: Priority Contract executed. Triple collateral; Police guarding Contract.
Flipping to the third page, she found yet another list. Some of the entries were
addresses, others were phone numbers. Beside each entry was a small group of
letters. Running her eyes down the list, she found the address for the apartment they
were currently in. Beside the entry was the grouping SH1.
“Shit! Ray?” Turning around, she saw that he was still in the bedroom. Swearing under
her breath, she handed the book back. “Hold this for a minute please.”
Walking back into the bedroom, she crouched down beside her partner. After watching
Tris work for a minute, she looked over at him. “Ray?” When she got no response, she
turned so she was facing him. After checking to be certain nobody was watching she
struck his face with the back of her hand.
Jerking upright with a startled curse, his eyes cleared as he grabbed the cheek she
had just assaulted, and choked out, “Son of a bitch!” Turning his head to look at her,
he asked, ‘What the hell’s the big idea?”
Standing up, she held out a hand. Helping him to his feet, she replied, “I needed my
partner back. You can fall apart later, Ray; right now we have work to do.”
Back in the living area, she showed him the book. “Is this what I think it is?”
Thumbing through the book, he rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I guess that
depends on what you think it is. The amounts look like payments; probably hush
money. The marked names are probably a hit list, especially when you combine the fact
that two of them are dead with the information on the second page.”
Almost before he finished, Tru pulled out her radio and identified herself. Reading
over his shoulder, she gave the remaining three addresses and said, “We need a unit
for each one. We have reason to believe that they’re in immediate danger.”
While she was doing that, Ray was looking through the third page. Pulling out his own
notebook, he copied the information. Briefly closing his eyes, he set aside the
memories of Rita that were flashing through his mind and focused his thoughts on the
man who had killed her. There would be time for tears and grief later. As Tru had so
forcibly reminded him, right now was the time for investigation. He pulled about
himself the cold calculation and almost icy calm that was his trademark.
“Anything?” The woman’s voice came from directly beside him, startling him with its
unexpectedness.
“Christ, Tru!” Regaining his composure, he nodded. “Possibly.” Handing the book back
to the investigator, he led Tru out of the apartment. Glancing at his watch, he shook his
head. “You hungry?”
“A little, I guess. Why?”
“Because it’s after 5, and I haven’t even had breakfast. If it’s all right with the Captain, I
thought we’d pick up the Gallantine file and compare notes over dinner.”
The Captain had just stepped out of the apartment, and overheard this last. “Why do
you need it?”
Ray glanced at the list. “Because some of this looks extremely familiar, and I’m almost
positive I’ll find confirmation there.”
Scratching the base of his throat in thought, the Captain was silent for several
minutes. “All right.” Looking directly into both detectives’ faces, he placed a slight, but
obvious, angered stress on each word as he ordered, “If, however, something pops on
this, call it in. Do not pull this Rambo shit again, understand?” When they agreed, he
waved them out. “Good. Now get outta here.”
********************
When the meal was nearly finished, Tru glanced across the table at Ray. “Are we really
certain we can trust what all’s in that thing?”
“Think the notebook’s a plant?”
Nodding, she said, “We’ve both seen some incredibly stupid skells, but this seems
worse than normal. I mean, he kept virtually everything in a single notebook that was
barely hidden?”
After considering it for several minutes, he disagreed. “I don’t think the book is likely
to have been a planted.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t well enough hidden.” When she threw him a confused look, he explained.
“Planted evidence is done so because the skill’s expecting it to be found. It’s usually
done in such a way that it’s certain to be discovered, but not easily. He’s anticipating
that the officer who uncovers the evidence will be convinced of its authenticity
because it was so difficult to locate.” Shrugging, he finished. “The notebook CSU
found was placed in a drawer near the phone, wasn’t it? When you combine that with
the extremely limited coding involved, I think the book’s the real deal. I seriously doubt
he meant to leave it for us to find.”
After considering that for several more minutes, Tru brought up her last major
concern. “I think we can safely assume that the SH listings are our guy’s safe houses.
Do we have enough for warrants?”
Scratching the back of his neck, Ray laughed uncomfortably. “The warrants shouldn’t
be a problem. The real question is, how do we stop a guy who can just fucking vanish?”
In utter seriousness, Tru flashed a wicked, almost avid, little grin. “Shoot off his balls?”
Wincing in sympathetic pain, he laughed, “Christ, Gert!”
“He wouldn’t pull his vanishing shit on us would he?”
Leaning back in his chair he chuckled. “Jesus! Just how many brutality complaints
have been filed against you again?” When she simply flashed that grin again, he
chuckled and moved on. “I was actually wondering about using tasers.”
“Do you honestly think they’d do any good against him?”
Half shrugging, he stood up and took the check. “Honestly? I doubt it. On the other
hand, there’s at least a chance of getting more than screams of pain if it does.”
After paying they headed to the car, where Tru made the necessary calls for the
warrants and backup.
********************
Roughly two hours later, shortly after 9, they were seated in the dark and silent car,
watching the house listed as SH2. A pair of cruisers, also with their lights off, pulled up
near them. The two officers stepped out of their cars and met Ray and Tru as they
stood as well.
Handing the warrant to Ray, the taller of the two said, “DA says you better pray to God
your perp’s in one of these buildings. She claims she had to burn incense and sacrifice
a couple virgins to get the judge to sign.”
The other officer handed over a couple tasers. After reading through the warrant, Ray
stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans. Looking at the pair of uniforms, he gestured
around the house. “You two go around back. Let us know once you’re in place. When
everybody’s ready, Tru’ll give the go ahead. It’s a No Knock, so just kick through the
door and search the place. This perp’s got a tendency to kill first and ask questions
never, so tase on sight. Understand?” When they nodded, he told them to get going.
While the officers moved around the house, Tru contacted the teams standing by to
raid the other safe houses on the list. When everything else was ready, they moved
into position and waited for the uniforms to get in place. After another minute or two,
the call came over the radio.
Taking her radio in one hand, and her taser in the other, Tru looked over at Ray. When
he nodded, she keyed the radio. “All units go!”
Even as she clipped the radio back on her belt, Ray kicked in the door. Slipping
through the space he provided for her, Tru went in low while Ray went in high, just as
they had always done in practice. With the tasers at eye level, the weapons pointed
everywhere they looked. After clearing the entryway and coat closet, they entered the
living room of the house.
A small glass, half full of a caramel colored liquid, sat on an end table near the recliner.
Pulling out a white handkerchief, Tru picked the glass up and sniffed the distinct aroma
of good brandy. She also smelled traces of a cigar, possibly Cuban. Turning to her
partner, she found him looking toward the kitchen, head cocked as if listening to
something.
Catching her stare, he motioned her to keep quiet. With a small series of gestures, he
let her know that he wanted to investigate a noise in the kitchen. Narrowing her eyes
in thought, she looked toward the kitchen. Using her hands, she asked if he wanted
the same high-low entrance routine.
When he nodded, she slipped to the entrance, crouching on one side of the frame
while he stood pressed against the other. Dropping the taser to her side in her left
hand, she gripped the frame in her right in preparation. Every muscle tense and ready,
she kept a watchful eye on her partner’s raised hand. When it dropped, she threw
herself into the kitchen, raising the taser into a two handed grip even as she rounded
the corner.
The layout of the kitchen was fairly standard. It contained an island in the center, with
cabinets, the refrigerator and other major appliances along the walls. As she moved
along one wall in an effort to clear the area around the island, she could hear Ray’s
soft tread behind her. After another half dozen cautious steps she heard the familiar
quiet popping sound of suddenly displaced air. At virtually the same moment, Ray’s
cautious footsteps ceased. Turning around with mounting dread, she found herself
facing a broadly grinning Angus Sullivan, his hands tightly gripping Ray’s head.
“Well now, isn’t this just an awkward situation?” Indicating the island with his chin, he
said, “Why don’t ye just go ahead and toss the weapons over there?”
Complying, Tru asked, “What the hell do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious, girlie? I want ye to get me th’ hell outta here.
Glancing at her partner, she saw his eyes close with resignation at what was in her
face. “You’re not getting out of here, Angus. Too many cops want your hide.”
Narrowing his eyes in anger, Angus shifted his grip on Ray’s head. “That’s where ye’re
wrong, Officer. Ye’ve got a choice; either ye help me out of here, or yer partner here
ends up dead.”
Lost in thought for a moment, Tru pondered how best to pull this desperate stunt off.
Finally, she decided to be straightforward, and hoped she could be fast enough to
save her partner’s life. “There’s something you forgot, Angus.”
“An’ what would that be?”
Even as she began the motion, she realized there was simply no way she’d be fast
enough, and desperately wished there was some way to stop him from killing ray. Even
so, she ripped her service pistol from its holster on her hip. Even as the weapon left
the holster, time seemed to slow down, and she saw everything with crystal clarity. She
watched Ray’s eyes open as he nodded acceptance of his fate, and she saw Sullivan’s
eyes reflect his shock and rage.
Suddenly something seemed to burst within her. Even as her weapon swung into a two-
handed grip, something within built and crashed out from her as a giant wave,
seemingly carrying with it her very essence. As the pistol seemed to crawl into firing
position, the wave swelled unnoticed over Sullivan, doing God alone knew what. With
the weapon leveled in front of her eyes, she watched with horror as his briefly
narrowed in concentration.
Taking a microsecond to aim, Tru squeezed the trigger at the same moment Sullivan’s
eyes widened in horror. As the bullet sped across the short distance, the intangible
wave withdrew, leaving Tru with the intense feeling that something within had been
altered forever. Time resumed its normal pace as, leaning against the wall due to
sudden vertigo, she watched the bullet dust both sides of Sullivan’s exposed
shoulder. Uttering a scream of pain and rage, he released Ray and grabbed the wound
as both uniformed officers ran in, weapons out.
Spinning around, Ray grabbed his arm and threw him face first to the ground. Retaining
his grip on the arm, he drove his knee into the wounded shoulder. Slapping at his belt,
he realized that he had forgotten his handcuffs that morning. Holding out his free
hand, he looked at the officers. “Cuffs?”
Grinding his knee into the shoulder, he slapped the handcuffs around the secured
wrist before wrestling the other arm into position and slapping the handcuffs on that
one as well. Grabbing the imprisoned wrists with one hand, and the ruined shoulder
with the other, he forced Sullivan to his feet. Dumping him in a nearby chair, Ray
looked at the officers. “Read him.”
Stepping to the sink, he washed his hands. “Tru?” Hearing no response, he looked
over his shoulder and saw that she was still leaning against the wall, oblivious to what
was happening around her. Drying his hands on his jeans, he raised his voice. “Hey,
partner?” Seeing her eyes clear, he nodded toward Sullivan. “Wanna call this in?”
Shrugging, she pulled out her radio. Identifying herself and the address, she said, “All
units, suspect in custody. Repeat; suspect in custody. Send a bus, he’s been injured.”
Putting the radio away, she leaned back against the wall and stared at their new
prisoner in complete exhaustion. He stared back with undisguised hatred. “What th’
fuck'd ye do t' me, ye ruddy git?”
As she heard the sirens approach, she pushed off from the wall and walked to the
kitchen door. From there, she looked through the window into the darkness. “I wish I
fucking knew.”
********************
Shortly after midnight, as Tru lay wide awake and trying to answer to that question, Ray
was asleep and dreaming.
He found himself walking through a plain door into an anonymous motel room. Along
one wall a series of television monitors sat on a long folding table. Nearby was a stack
of printouts, a type writer and a set of electronic surveillance gear. Beside the table
was a wheeled dry erase board, similar to the type used in some university classrooms.
“Recognize anything?”
Spinning around at the unexpected voice, he found himself staring at Rita Chambers.
She no longer looked like the woman who had been murdered by Sullivan. Wearing a
pair of tight hip hugging jeans and a daringly cut, form fitting blouse, this was the
woman as she had appeared when he had first fallen in love with her. Her hair was no
longer cut to barely shoulder length, but flowed down past the small of her back in
flowing ebony curls, stopping just as they flirted with the enticing curve of her
buttocks. The swell of her breasts, completely unmarked by blade, bulged
provocatively over the cut of her blouse. Her face was no longer cast in the bitter
caution which had marked her since J-Ray’s betrayal. Instead, he found himself staring
into the much softer face of a woman both happy and content, with the slight edge that
came from knowing damn well she was the best.
Sinking to a nearby chair in confusion, he asked, “What the hell’s going on?”
Moving to the bed, she sat on the edge of the mattress and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
She smiled as she gestured around the room. “Everything here comes from you.
Recognize it?”
Glancing around the room, he smiled in memory. “Of course I do, Rita. This was the
base the two of us used when our team took down Los Guerreros De La Sangre.”
Looking at the bed, his smile broadened. “As I remember, that was also the bed where
you and I first made love.” Looking back into her face, the smile faded and tears began
to fall. Sitting beside her, he grabbed her hand, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
For several minutes she held him as he wept. When he was finally able to look into her
face, she wore a small half smile. “Don’t worry about it, baby.” Looking down at herself,
she quickly laughed. “Thanks for giving me this body, by the way. I like it much better
than the one I died in.”
Wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he looked at her in surprise. “Excuse
me?”
Laughing at his reaction, she stood from the bed. As she did so, the jeans and blouse
morphed into a sheer, ivory negligee he remembered quite well. Spinning on one bare
heel, the negligee became a black leather micro skirt, thigh high black boots, and a
midriff baring, skin tight halter top that barely covered her breasts. The new look,
which he remembered from one of their few actual dates, was complimented by a tight
braid and makeup that gave her an exotic, almost dangerous, look. “Baby, none of this
is real. Everything you see is a dream.”
“You mean I’m making all this up?”
“Not exactly. Everything you see is based on memory; your memories of this place and
your memories of me.”
“But why? Why this place? Why you?”
“I think we’ve already covered why I’m here. You felt the need to apologize for letting
me die, even though there was absolutely nothing you could have done. You also
needed a friendly face right now. As for why you’re in this room?” Walking to the other
side of the room, she said, “Take a look over here.”
Climbing to his feet, he followed her to the surveillance table. Standing beside her, he
found himself automatically assuming the once familiar position they had taken so
many times, with his arm draped around her shoulder and his hand gently cupping her
left breast while she wrapped her right arm around his waist. As they stood, a memory
of happier times, Rita pointed to the monitors.
As if caused by the gesture the monitors powered on, except for the final one. The first
monitor was showing the murders of Luke and Marie Gallantine. The second showed
the safe house murders of Mickey Finnigan, and the Anti-Crime officers Asia Charlotte,
Rick Borden and Shawn Crawford. The third showed Rita’s murder as well as the
ultimate capture of Angus Sullivan.
Watching the final events with an almost disturbing level of interest, Rita cocked an
eyebrow. “Your partner’s an unusual girl.”
Snorting out a laugh, he replied, “Tell me about it.”
“Any clue how she stopped him?”
In response he shook his head. “Not a clue. I asked her about it on the drive home.
She doesn’t seem to have a clue.”
“Like I said, unusual girl. Anyway, those showed what you actually know happened.”
Gesturing to the final monitor, which powered up in the same way as the others, she
finished with, “This, however, will show you what can be surmised by what you know.”
This monitor, unlike the others, did not have a clear picture. The images were hazy and
indistinct. Picking up the nearby headset, Rita gave it to Ray so he could hear as well
as see the events. He watched as Sullivan offered money to Luke Gallantine and
several others. In nearly every case, the money was accepted and an agreement,
mostly involving regular payments of a smaller amount, was reached. In three cases,
including Luke’s, the cash was refused. During this sequence, the notebook was
repeatedly shown with Sullivan’s hand making notations.
The next sequence was of Angus on the phone. “Most took the money… Three only…
Warning or clean?... Ye want proof?... Understood… Right away, boss.”
After the conversation ended, the monitor flashed to yet another call. Unlike the
previous conversation, this time both sides were heard. Rita also handed him a
standard transcript. With a sense of mild amusement, he realized that the dream had
chosen to cast the voice on the other end of the call as Dr. Claw from the old Inspector
Gadget cartoons.
Voice: That idiot you recommended, Mickey Finnigan, got his ass caught in a raid.
Sullivan: What happened?
Voice: He called from jail. He wants me to get him out, or he’ll open his damned mouth.
That doesn’t happen.
Sullivan: So, what’s the plan?
Voice: You’ve done it before, though not here. Pretend to be the lawyer. Get them to
move him somewhere other than the jail, and then finish it.
Sullivan: Do you want it to serve as a warning, and do you want proof?
Voice: Yes, and yes.
Sullivan: Twenty-four to forty-eight, tops.
When the phone disconnected, the monitor and audio powered off. Ducking out from
under his arm, Rita, now wearing a form hugging, strapless black dress, with a neckline
cut to her navel and the hem falling mere inches down her thighs, put the headset
away. Turning to face him, she shook her head when he asked, “Is that everything?”
Leading him to the board, she made her magical gesture again. “This is every
connection you’ve made, either alone or with Tru’s help, as well as the specific
questions raised.”
The center of the board contained a standard hierarchy chart. It showed an
unidentified profile at the top, with three lines descending. They terminated in three
blocks marked Angus Sullivan, Devnet Cormac and Torin Fergus. Sullivan’s block was
the only one containing an image. There were several hand written notes down the
sides of the board as well.
Shayna Noel Industries=Front Organization?
Boss enjoys anagrams (Regis Fortun=Torin Fergus) and basic transposition codes (437-
3323=He’s Dead)
What was being moved through the docks?
What did Mickey Finnigan know?
Is the Boss Irish, or just the soldiers?
Unique MO sig. Look for other unique homicides.
Also needs financing? Look for unique thefts.
“So this is everything I either know or at least think I know?”
Smiling, she turned to face him having once again changed outfits. She was now
dressed only in black lace panties and a shear black bra that was doing an inadequate
job of containing her breasts, with her ebony hair framing them before stopping just
where the sheer lace of the bikini cut became interesting. “Basically. There are only
three things left to say.”
Barely able to concentrate on what she was saying as she swayed seductively toward
him, he cleared his throat. “And they are?”
Carefully herding him across the room, she said, “First, the only hope to stopping what
is yet to come will be found in both you and Tru.”
Grinning when she saw him bump against the bed, she wrapped her arms around his
waist, and drew herself against him. “The second thing is that I left you a little thank
you gift in my will. And the third thing?”
Her grin altered and became distinctly naughty. Pulling his head down, she met his lips
with hers in a passionate kiss, shifting weight at the same time so that they fell to the
bed, with her on top. Kneeling back, even as their clothing dissolved, she began to
gently rock her hips as she brought his hands to her breasts. Looking down into his
astonished face, allowing her hair to fan over their entangled bodies, she breathed,
“This is the third thing. Consider it my way of saying goodbye, as well as saying that you
have no share of the blame for my death.”
His final thought, before allowing the heated passion to overwhelm him, was to wonder
just how much of this was a dream based on memories, and how much was something
vastly different.