Frozen Stiff (28 page)

Chapter 44

W
hile I’m waiting, Heidi pops her head in and asks me if I’d like something to eat while I’m waiting, stating that there is some leftover pizza in the break room. I thank her and accept the offer, and a few minutes later she brings me two slices of nuked pizza. After scrubbing the blood remnants from my hands, I scarf the pizza down in near record time, surprised at how hungry I am.

Once I’m done eating, exhaustion sets in. It’s as if my body has completely shut down, drained of all energy by the many doses of adrenaline that have coursed through it in the past few days.

When Richmond finally returns nearly an hour later, it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.

“You look tired,” he says.

“I am.”

“I read those e-mails you had and unfortunately they aren’t what I hoped.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Smith and his cohorts are always very careful to word things in a way that leaves the meaning very ambiguous and open to interpretation. Though they are suggestive of something going on between Ackerman and Smith, they don’t point a finger at anyone or anything specific.”

“Great,” I say, dejected.

“Don’t give up all hope. The fact that the two men exchanged e-mails at all is suspicious, given that they both have ties to Hurley. So I talked to some cops down in Chicago and they’re going to bring both men in for questioning.”

“Thank you for that.”

He shrugs it off. “It’s a start, but if what you’re telling me is true, we still have a perpetrator out there somewhere who committed these crimes. And until we can figure out who that is, I think you should be in protective custody.”

“Is that a nice way of telling me you’re going to put me in jail?” Though I should probably be upset by the idea, I’m not. All I care about at the moment is having somewhere to lie down so I can sleep.

“No, I’m not going to arrest you. But I’m not letting you go home, either. If someone tried to abduct you once they may try again, so for now we’re going to put you up in a room at the Sorenson Motel with a twenty-four-hour police guard.”

“That’s fine.” As long as I can have access to a shower and a bed, I don’t care where he puts me. “Did the cops say anything about Trina?” I ask, saying a silent prayer that she’s doing okay.

“They did,” Richmond says. “She’s still in surgery but they said it looks like she’s going to survive. And thanks to you, they think she’ll still have her leg.”

“Thank God,” I say. “Can I drive myself over to the motel?” I ask him.

“No, I’m going to have an officer take you.”

“What about Carl Withers’s car?”

“You can leave it here for now,” he says. “We’ll figure out how to get it back where it belongs later. Sit tight for a few more minutes and I’ll get someone to drive you to the motel.”

Richmond leaves the room and as I’m sitting there, I remember that I have Hurley’s gun stashed under the seat in Withers’s car. I don’t want to leave it there for two reasons: one, if it’s found, it may get me into more trouble, and two, I don’t want it to mysteriously disappear. I get up and head to the front of the station. Heidi smiles at me and says, “Ron Colbert will be here in a few minutes to take you to the motel.”

“That’s great,” I say. “I’m going to run out front real quick and lock up my car,” I tell her. “Be right back.”

Though I’m afraid she might try to stop me, she doesn’t; she simply nods. I hurry out to the car before Richmond can figure out what I’m doing, unlock it, and reach under the seat for the gun and the clip. I pull them out, then stand there a minute, stymied about where to put them. The holster makes the gun much more bulky so I remove it and stuff it back under the seat. Then I put the gun and the clip in my jacket pocket.

No sooner am I done than I hear Richmond’s voice behind me. “Mattie, what the hell are you doing out here?”

“Sorry,” I say, shutting the car door and then whirling around, trying not to look guilty. “I wanted to make sure the car was locked. Turns out it wasn’t, so it’s a good thing I checked.” I take the key fob and aim it at the car, hearing the locks snap down into place. Then I hand him the keys.

“I thought you might be making a run for it,” Richmond says. He is holding a purse. My purse, I realize.

“What do you mean? I thought you said I wasn’t under arrest.”

“You’re not, yet. But until I can do some more investigating, I don’t want you running around loose. You have too great a penchant for getting into trouble.”

I start to argue this point, but then I realize that history won’t bear me out.

“Come on,” Richmond says, handing me my purse and waving me toward the door to the building. “Ron Colbert is inside waiting to take you to the motel. He’ll stay outside your door tonight and someone will relieve him in the morning.”

Ron greets me with a smile and starts to lead me out back to his squad car. But I hesitate and ask Richmond one more thing. “Can Ron drive me by my place first so I can get some clean clothes?”

Richmond considers my request a moment and then shrugs. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He gives Colbert a pointed look. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Will do,” Colbert says.

As soon as I’m settled in the front seat of the squad car, I look through my purse to see if either of my cell phones is inside. They are not and I curse Richmond.

A few minutes later Colbert pulls up in front of my cottage, the squad car’s headlights aimed at the front door. Izzy’s house is dark and at first I assume that he and Dom are asleep. Then I remember their plans to visit Dom’s family for Thanksgiving and figure they must have taken Hoover along with them.

Colbert shifts into park but leaves the engine running. “Is Izzy home?” he asks, looking over at the darkened house.

“I don’t think so. He and Dom were going to drive down to Iowa to spend Thanksgiving morning with Dom’s family.”

“Wait here a minute,” he says. “Just to be safe, I want to go in ahead of you to check things out. Do you have a key?”

I dig through my purse, find my keys, and hand them to him. I watch as he goes up, unlocks the door, and disappears inside. Lights come on and I can see him in there scouting out the place. It doesn’t take long since the cottage isn’t very big, and a moment later he is standing in the doorway, waving for me to come in.

I get out of the car and head inside. On the floor of the kitchen I see two huge bowls: one filled with water and the other filled with cat food, no doubt the work of Dom and Izzy. That means Rubbish is here somewhere and I start calling for him.

“If you’re looking for a cat, I think it ran into the bedroom when I came in,” Ron says. “I saw something furry run that way so unless you have rats, I’m guessing it was your cat.”

I walk into the bedroom and get down on all fours to look under the bed. There, staring back at me, are two glowing eyes.

“Rubbish, come on out of there,” I coo. But he doesn’t budge. After a few more attempts at coaxing him out, the muscles in my neck near where I was Tasered start to cramp so I give up. I stand and see Ron in the bedroom doorway watching me. “I think he’s spooked from being alone,” I tell him. “He doesn’t seem to want to come out.”

I roll my neck and massage the area beneath the collar of my borrowed shirt to try to get my muscles to relax.

“That Taser must have got you good,” Ron says. “It will be sore for a couple of days but then it should be fine.”

“You say that like you’ve been Tasered before.”

“I have. We had to get hit with one as part of our police training.”

“Yikes. That couldn’t have been much fun.”

Colbert shrugs off my concern. “It was quick, at least,” he says.

I walk over to the closet and drag my one suitcase out. After tossing it on the bed, I open it and then head for the dresser.

That’s when it hits me. How does Ron Colbert know I was stung with a Taser? He can’t see the mark; it’s hidden beneath the mock turtleneck collar on my shirt. I think back to my talk with Richmond and to my phone conversations with both him and Izzy back when Hurley and I were making our getaway. Though I can’t be sure, I don’t recall mentioning the Taser to anyone. The only person who knew was Hurley . . . and the person who tried to abduct me.

All of a sudden, my mind starts making connections: the fact that Colbert has a small build, the fact that he’s new to the force, the fact that he insinuated himself into every part of the investigation, and the fact that it was he who discovered Callie’s body.

My heart starts to pound, racing along at a frightening clip. As I open my dresser drawer to take out some clean underwear, my hand starts to shake. Could Colbert be the killer?

Then I remember what Izzy said about Callie’s wounds and look at Colbert’s gun belt. His gun is holstered on his left side, though that in and of itself isn’t conclusive. When Hurley was talking about holsters he said some people prefer to cross draw rather than pull from the same side. Maybe Colbert is one of those. To find out, I walk over and dump my undies in the suitcase and then open the top drawer of my nightstand. Inside is a pad and pen I use to write down information whenever I get called out in the middle of the night. I take them out and hand them to Colbert.

“Do me a favor while I finish packing, would you? I want to leave a note for Izzy since he’s been taking care of my cat. Can you just scribble something down for me that says I’m okay and I’ll be in touch?”

“Sure,” Colbert says with a shrug, and after anchoring the pad with his right hand, he starts writing the note with his left.

Chapter 45

I
watch Colbert scribble out the note, trying to figure out what to do next. I don’t want to jump to any wrong conclusions and convict the man just yet, because everything could be coincidental. But I don’t want to put myself in jeopardy either.

I walk over to the dresser to grab some jeans from a drawer. “Where are you from originally, Colbert?” I ask, trying to keep my tone relaxed and friendly.

“I grew up in Chicago.”

“Do you have family there?”

He shakes his head but offers no further explanation.

“Do you have any family here in Sorenson?”

“I’m pretty much on my own,” he says, sounding a bit terse.

“How did you end up in Sorenson?”

“Are you about done?” he asks, clearly irritated. “We need to get going.”

“Sorry,” I say, giving him an apologetic smile and carrying my jeans back to the suitcase. “I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

He makes no response and when I look over at him I find him studying me with an intense, curious expression.

“Where do you want me to put this note?” he asks.

“There are some magnets on the door of my fridge. Go ahead and stick it there. That’s where I always leave notes for Izzy.” This is an out-and-out lie since I have no reason to leave notes in here for Izzy, but I want to get Colbert out of the room. As soon as he leaves, I remove the gun from my jacket pocket and load the clip into it. Knowing how loud the slide is, and how small the cottage is, I sit on the edge of the bed, grab the slide and pull it back, holding it there. Then I lift one foot up and kick my lamp off the bedside stand. As soon as the lamp crashes to the floor, I let go of the slide, which snaps into place. With the gun loaded and ready to fire, I’m afraid to put it back in my pocket lest I accidentally shoot myself in the leg or foot. After looking around frantically, I slide it under the pillow on my bed with the barrel pointing toward the headboard.

“What the hell?” I whip around and see Colbert standing in the doorway of the room with a suspicious look on his face and his gun drawn. Had he seen me shove the gun under the pillow?

Thinking fast, I hold my hand to my forehead like some swooning damsel in distress. “Sorry, I just got very dizzy all of a sudden and nearly fell. I knocked the lamp over trying to catch myself.”

Colbert stares at me with cold, calculating eyes and an utter lack of concern for my condition. His gun is still in his hand, though it’s pointed at the floor. “You know, don’t you?” he says, moving closer. “Somehow you figured it out.”

Though there is no doubt in my mind what he’s referring to, I opt for playing dumb, hoping it might settle him down or at least buy me some time.

“What do you mean?”

For a few seconds I dare to hope because I see doubt in Colbert’s expression. But then his eyes narrow with decisive resignation and I know I’m done for. A second later I find myself staring down the barrel of his 9 mm.

“Colbert, what are you doing? Please don’t point your gun at me like that. It scares me.” I make a move as if I’m trying to lean out of his line of fire and slide my hand closer to the pillow in the process. But Colbert stops me cold by closing the distance between us and shoving the barrel of his gun against my forehead. “Move again and I pull the trigger.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and hold my breath, keenly aware that his finger is inside the trigger guard of the gun at my head and one false move on my part—or his—will leave my brains splattered all over the comforter.

“How’d you figure it out?” Colbert asks.

I don’t say a word. My mind is incapable of answering his question; it’s too busy envisioning my body spread out on Izzy’s autopsy table.

Sensing that my fear has paralyzed me, Colbert takes the gun barrel away from my head. I slowly open my eyes, only to find that the gun is still aimed in my direction, but at my chest instead of my head. And Colbert’s finger is still on the trigger.

“Tell me how you figured it out!” Colbert yells.

Every nerve in my body wants to flinch at his tone but miraculously I don’t. I briefly consider trying to play dumb a little longer but I realize it’s futile. Colbert has gone too far and there’s no way to fix things at this point.

“I never told anyone about the Taser,” I tell him. “Yet you knew. And you’re left-handed and short, two traits that Izzy identified for the person who stabbed Callie.” I know I’ve managed to prick his ego a little when he straightens up and stands taller. It’s a bittersweet victory.

“Clever girl, aren’t you?” he says with a grudging nod.

I shrug.

“But not as clever as you think. I admit I was worried when you got away from me the other night and then disappeared. But then I got a text from Smith a few hours ago letting me know you were in Chicago.” He shakes his head and
tsks
at me. “Not a smart move on your part. He planted a bug on you so we could track you.”

I’m shocked by this tidbit of information and at first I don’t believe it. But then I remember how Smith put his hand on my shoulder as I was leaving the office. I reach up and feel underneath the collar of my jacket and sure enough, there’s a tiny disc of some sort stuck to the underside of it. I peel it off and toss it on the floor.

Colbert watches me and smiles. “We don’t need it anymore anyway,” he says. “You were dumb enough to come back to me.”

I glare at him, angry that he so successfully duped me, and angry with myself for playing into his hands. “So what’s next, Colbert?”

“The plan is to kidnap you and stash you somewhere until we can figure out a way to kill you that will point to Hurley. Having you show up in Smith’s office threw him a bit. His text said he was going to plant the bug on you and follow you when you left. He didn’t want to do anything in his office because Trina was there. He got in his car and started tracking you, but when he found you, he saw Trina handing you some papers and knew the dumb bitch was betraying him. He’s been suspicious about her for a while now. He drove around the block and by the time he came back, you were gone. When he saw Trina walking along the sidewalk, he did what he had to do to silence her, figuring we could find you later with the tracking device.”

“She’s still alive,” I tell him, but if I’m hoping this news will rattle him, I’m sorely mistaken.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Smith will find a way to dispatch her while she’s in the hospital. He has a lot of connections.”

“Who hired you? Dilles or Ackerman?”

“What difference does it make?” he says with a shrug. “You’re going to be dead either way.”

Tears burn at my eyes and I struggle to keep them at bay. “Why are you doing this?”

“
I’m
doing it for the money,” he says. Then he shrugs. “As for Dilles and Ackerman, they each have their own motives, not that I care.”

This news comes as a shock. I was convinced one of the men had to be behind all this but I had no idea it was both of them. “What motives?” I ask.

Colbert considers my question a moment before answering. I can only guess that he’s debating the wisdom of revealing this information.

“Come on,” I coax. “What harm can it do to tell me if you’re going to kill me anyway?”

Colbert considers this and apparently agrees—not a good sign for me.

“Good point,” he says. “The way I understand it, Ackerman wanted to get rid of that Dunkirk woman and make sure he wouldn’t be implicated in any way. Apparently she got pregnant by him and was pressuring him about child support. He paid it for a while but he has no money of his own to speak of. It all comes from his wife. He was having trouble hiding the payments and he couldn’t afford to have his wife find out about his affair for fear she’d divorce him and cut him off. He knew about Dunkirk’s history with Hurley, so he did a little investigative work and uncovered the history between Dilles and Hurley. Once he learned how much Dilles hated Hurley, he came up with a plan that would take care of his little problem and also give Dilles a chance to get revenge.”

“How did you get involved?”

“I’ve known Connor Smith since I was a kid. Both of my parents were drug dealers and they had more than a few dealings with Smith because they got caught several times. Smith managed to get them off with light sentences the first few times, but eventually justice caught up to them. When I was thirteen they both ended up with convictions that led to twenty-year sentences. My father was killed by another inmate a year later, and my mother died of cancer two years after that. I ended up a ward of the state and did the foster home parade for a number of years, and got involved with a gang. After I got nailed and did time in juvie for a couple of robberies, Smith found me and made me an offer. He needed someone to carry out a plan for him and the men behind it had enough money to make it well worth my while. So he had one of his past clients create a new identity for me, pulled some strings, and got me into the police academy. Fortunately the Sorenson Police Department isn’t high on anyone’s list when it comes to job opportunities, and they always have openings. So it was pretty easy to get hired.”

“But why would Smith do that? Why risk his reputation and his freedom to help the likes of Ackerman and Dilles?”

“Two reasons. One, the same motivation I had: money. While Ackerman’s purse strings are tightly controlled, Dilles’s aren’t. The man has shitloads of money that’s of little use to him now, so he’s willing to use it to get the revenge he wants on Hurley. The other reason is that Ackerman somehow figured out that Smith was the man Dilles’s wife was having an affair with before she was killed. So he basically threatened to reveal that fact if Smith didn’t do what he wanted. The fact that Smith defended Dilles—unsuccessfully, no less—after boffing the man’s wife is an egregious violation of ethics. If it became known, Smith would lose his license, his community standing, his money, everything. Not only that, it might make him look like an alternative suspect and give Dilles cause for a new trial. And I think Smith knows that if Dilles found out the truth, he’d kill him.”

“A very clever plan,” I say.

“Yes, it is. Or at least it was until you screwed things up.” To my relief, Colbert takes his finger off the trigger, though the gun is still aimed in my direction. “Tell me something,” he says. “How did you know Hurley wasn’t behind these killings?”

“I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t murder someone in cold blood.”

“I see,” he says with a smirk. “And judging from what I’ve seen and heard, you’d like to know him a lot better. Not exactly an objective judgment but fortunately what you think won’t make any difference. By the time they find your body, there will be enough evidence to clearly implicate Hurley in three murders, one attempted murder, and the arson.”

It doesn’t take me long to do the calculations and figure out that the third murder will be mine. “What possible motive would Hurley have for killing me?”

Colbert looks irritated by the question and he waves the gun toward the bedroom door. “Enough with your twenty questions,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Reluctantly I get up from the bed and walk toward the living room. “What about my clothes?” I ask, knowing it’s a stupid question. But it’s the only way I can think of to try to get my hands on the gun again.

Colbert confirms my stupidity by jabbing me in the back with his gun and saying, “You won’t be needing them, so quit stalling and head out to the car.”

I continue toward the door, feeling like a red-shirted Star Trek character that just got beamed down to the planet. My mind is scrambling for a way out, for any solution that might save my life. But I’m doomed. As far as anyone knows, I’m at the motel being guarded by one of Sorenson’s finest.

I open the door, step outside, and head for the passenger side of Colbert’s squad car utterly terrified and fighting back tears. Off to my side I hear a twig snap and at first I think it’s Colbert who made the noise. Then I realize he’s directly behind me. In the next second I hear Bob Richmond’s voice holler out.

“Stop right there, Colbert.”

I turn and look in the direction Richmond’s voice came from, and out of the corner of my eye I see Colbert do the same. He instinctively points the gun that way and the second I realize its muzzle is no longer pointed at me, I know my time is now or never. I fling my entire body back and to the side, colliding with Colbert as hard as I can. The two of us go down like fallen trees and I hear all the air leave Colbert’s lungs in a giant
whuff
as my weight lands hard on his chest.

Then I hear the best thing of all: Hurley’s voice.

“Colbert, drop your weapon!”

I can tell Colbert is momentarily stunned, but he still has his gun in his hand. Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I roll off him and scramble the ten feet or so to the still open door of my cottage. As soon as I cross the threshold I dash across the living room and into my bedroom, running low and hunched over to make a less obvious target. I half expect to feel the sting of a bullet in my back any second but I manage to make it to the bed without incident. I throw myself on top of it, grab the gun from beneath the pillow, and then roll off the other side, ducking down to use the bed as a barrier.

I hear shots outside: first one, then another, then a third. Instinct tells me to stay where I am, holding my gun at the ready in case Colbert comes back inside. I hear more shots exchanged outside and since this tells me Colbert is likely distracted, I scramble out of my hiding place over to the bedroom door and carefully peek around the corner. The front door is still wide open but I can’t see much because the couch is blocking my view. As quick as I can, I leave the bedroom and crawl over to the couch. Staying close to the floor, I make my way to the end of the couch closest to the door, and peer around it.

Colbert is squatting down—tensed and ready to spring—on the passenger side of his squad car, using it as a barrier between him and the other men. Movement catches my eye out the window off to the right of the door, and when I look I see Richmond making a dash toward the squad car. In the next second Colbert pops up, sees Richmond coming toward him, and fires off a shot.