Drop Dead Perfect Page 21

  Ellen stared. She’d wounded a perp once, but she had never killed anyone. Up until a few minutes ago, this man had been her friend.

  Dropping her weapon to her side, Ellen wept.

  CHAPTER 51

  The heavy hand on her shoulder caused Ellen to whirl and raise her gun, but Big Harv raised his hand.

  “Easy, Ellie. It’s me.”

  Ellen stepped into his waiting arms.

  “I’m sorry, honey. It doesn’t get much worse than that,” he said.

  “No, Dad, it doesn’t.”

  “We’ll try to figure it out later, but for now, we’re not done here.”

  Stepping back, she wiped her eyes, holstered her Beretta, and stood a little taller.

  “You’re right about that. Let’s get these two out of here.”

  “How touching. Father and daughter bonding like many haven’t, I suspect.”

  The voice coming from their right caused Ellen to freeze on the spot.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” said Big Harv.

  They turned together, Ellen reaching for her gun as they did.

  “That wouldn’t be wise, FT Harper.”

  Standing before her and Big Harv was a tall, good-looking man she’d never seen before, the gun in his hand pointed in their direction.

  Ellen removed her hand from her holster, trying to shake the feeling that this was all a dream. What the hell was going on here? What was next? The Easter Bunny walking in carrying an AK-47?

  The three of them stood motionless in a loose triangle.

  The stranger smiled; it was almost magical.

  “That’s better.”

  “Who are you?” asked Ellen.

  “Kyle Black at your service,” he answered.

  “That’s not what I mean. Who are you?”

  “I suppose I owe you an explanation and a thank-you of sorts,” he said.

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  He lowered his weapon.

  “Thank you for killing Steve.”

  “You’re thanking me for that?” she asked, keeping calm.

  His face contorted into an expression of pure rage, then he gained control of himself and relaxed.

  “Yes. He had it coming. He was sloppy and hadn’t learned his lessons well.”

  Ellen remembered what the FBI’s profiler had said about the killer recruiting more help. That help had been Steve Jansen.

  “He was in on this with you?” she asked.

  He flashed a quick grin. “Not truly. He was a student who wanted to learn from the master. But he simply didn’t have what it takes. So again, I thank you.”

  She thought Steve had been a psychopath, but nothing like this man. He was obviously the complete package.

  Her stomach began to dance. There would be no illusion of mercy from this one.

  “Did you kill these women?”

  “That would seem to be fairly obvious, but yes. I did.”

  “And the man hanging on the wall beside Joannie Carmen, as well.”

  Keep him talking, Harper. Use that narcissism. Maybe help is on the way.

  She watched as his eyes wandered over to the wall. “Yes. I did. His name was Damon. He was my brother.”

  The chill that ran down her spine caused her to shudder.

  “You killed your own brother?”

  “Oh, yes. The time had come. He’d become far too much of a burden.”

  “A burden?” asked Ellen.

  “Yes. Let me explain. It’s the least I can do before I finish what I came here to do. One evening, when he was seven and our mother was out on one of her drug binges, our apartment caught on fire. The accident disfigured my kid brother and propelled us into a miserable existence. We descended into a hell of desertion and isolation, leaving me to care for him because no one else would.

  “You see, our mother abandoned us, and I got stuck with him after he was released from the hospital. At first, as we moved from one foster home to another, I was the loving, protecting big brother. I wouldn’t leave him. But as I got older, I realized what a burden he’d become. He was mentally exhausting and physically, well . . . Grotesque doesn’t cover it.”

  Kyle Black had switched off the insanity and become remarkably charming. The change was unnerving.

  He grew reflective for a moment and then continued.

  “I endured it as long as I could. I wanted him and what he’d force me to remember each day to vanish. I needed to start my own life. Is that such a bad thing? Isn’t that what everyone wants? At any rate, I got him his own place and paid for everything. He lacked for nothing.”

  “So you’re the good son, huh?” asked Big Harv.

  “I was. I am. I did the best I could.”

  He looked back at Ellen. “But enough of me. I must be moving on.”

  Big Harv stepped toward him. Kyle raised the gun and held it two feet from the captain’s head, pulling back the hammer.

  “Far enough, Captain. Killing one more won’t make a difference to me.”

  “Kyle. Don’t,” said Ellen, desperate to draw his attention away from Big Harv.

  “How many, Kyle? How many have you murdered?” asked Big Harv, not flinching.

  “Details, just details.”

  “Taking lives is a matter of details?” said Ellen, raising her hand ever so slightly toward her holster.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Harper. And come now. Don’t be so dramatic. Cops kill people daily. So don’t judge. Killing served quite nicely as a way of removing morons from my life. And I do enjoy the finality of it. I was always good at getting rid of problems. Companies paid me good money for solving electrical issues because I did it better than most. I simply applied that philosophy to my personal life.”

  “You’re a warped son of a bitch, you know that? And you’re a freaking coward to go with it,” said Big Harv.

  Kyle raised the gun, his eyes wild, and fired just over Big Harv’s head, hitting the wall near Damon’s body.

  “Next time, you’re a dead man. No one talks to me like that. No one. In fact . . .”

  Ellen saw his anger escalate. She had to get him back to talking about himself.

  “Kyle. Wait. Please. Why all of this? Why the young women? Tell me,” she said.

  He rubbed his face with his free hand. Looking at her, he stepped closer. “Give me your hand.”

  She did.

  “You have beauty, Ellen Harper. So did these ladies, and I wanted Damon to enjoy that kind of woman. One who would commit to him for a lifetime. Well, let’s just say I was entrusted with the role of matchmaker for my brother and had to clean up when it didn’t work out.”

  “This was all to get Damon a woman?”

  “Simply stated, yes. And Damon did have a certain charm. Yet he lacked other qualities.”

  He released her hand and motioned for both of them to move toward the bodies on the wall.

  As she did, she glanced at Brice some fifteen feet away. He winked at her. He was telling her he was okay. But he didn’t look okay. He was hurt. It was all she could do not to take a run at Kyle. But she’d never get to him before he killed her and her dad. Then the other two.

  She prayed for a better opportunity.

  They reached the wall and Kyle tore the hood from Damon.

  “Good God,” said Big Harv.

  Ellen put her hand to her mouth. Part of his head was missing, but that wasn’t the most disturbing part. The scars were worse than anything she’d seen.

  “God had nothing to do with this. You can see why it would take a special woman to be with him. I met them, brought them here, and hoped they’d take him off my hands. That didn’t happen. None of them were the one.”

  “You really thought that would work?” asked Ellen.

  “Peopl
e will go to great lengths to stay alive. But in the end, I could see through their lies. I was hoping for more.”

  His voice took on a crueler quality. He was becoming excited and angry. Ellen knew they’d have to make a move soon.

  “I was willing to keep looking. I was actually becoming quite fond of the process. It had benefits for me, but Damon got out of line.”

  “So you killed him,” said Ellen.

  “Put him out of his misery is more accurate. It was so freeing. I should have done it sooner, but he was blood.”

  “And you like the killing,” said Big Harv.

  Kyle turned his neck, making a cracking sound.

  “I enjoy the power over life and death. Men like me should have it. But men like you will never understand.”

  He raised the gun to Ellen’s chest. “Unfortunately, we don’t all get what we want. I hate to do this, but I’m going to have to clean up this mess and get on with my life. Again, that’s what men like me do.”

  “Yeah, well, men like you should be buried.”

  Kyle jerked his head to the left just as Sanchez fired. The bullet hit Kyle in the thigh, and he returned fire.

  Ellen heard two screams. She pushed Big Harv to the floor and dove after him, pulling her weapon.

  Rolling onto her side, she did a full one-eighty and fired in Kyle’s direction without getting a good look. She prayed it was enough.

  It was. His gun hit the floor, then complete silence.

  She did not want to wait to see if he was able to come to her. Standing, she hurried toward him with her gun aimed toward his head.

  Slowly, she lowered it because he was writhing on the floor, hands around his throat, blood gushing through his fingers. She wouldn’t need to shoot again.

  For the second time in fifteen minutes, she’d shot someone. She couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done to upset God. What lesson was she supposed to learn from pulling the trigger?

  Not now, Ellie. God and you will have plenty of time to talk. You’re going to need it.

  Pushing away those thoughts, she went down on one knee beside Kyle Black just as his body relaxed and then went completely limp.

  His eyes grew wide. She saw fear, confusion, and disbelief. Then the breath escaped his lungs. Ellen knew it was for the last time. She bowed her head.

  Despite what he’d become, or maybe had always been, it was impossible not to feel a tinge of sadness. Make no mistake, she was glad to be safe, but she’d be dead herself if she didn’t feel it.

  “Hey, Harper, want to give a girl a hand?”

  Standing, she turned and headed toward Bella Sanchez.

  The detective sat on the faded floor. Her legs were spread out and she reached out her hands, looking very much like a needy toddler.

  There was a jagged streak of blood across her left forearm, but Ellen didn’t see anything else that looked serious.

  “You got it, Bella,” said Ellen.

  She reached down and helped her up, then gave her the warmest hug imaginable. “About damn time . . . And thank you,” Ellen said.

  “I got here as fast as I could. I had to get some help first, and you’re welcome,” Sanchez said softly. “Besides, if anyone gets to shoot your ass, it’s me.”

  “Help?”

  “Yeah. I ran into your friend Kate heading into the building. I had her call 911 and wait to show them where we were.”

  Just then, a stream of blues led by Butch Dillon entered the room, followed by Kate Mortimore.

  Ellen smiled at her friend. Kate nodded once and returned her smile.

  Then, with her mind refocused, Ellen broke from Sanchez. “We’ll talk more. I just remembered something.”

  “Took you long enough, gringa.”

  She didn’t answer because she was almost to Brice when Sanchez finished her sentence.

  Dropping to his side, she untied the gag. She winked as she took the cloth from his mouth.

  “Good to see you, Ellie,” he said.

  “You’re a sight for me, too, Brice. Let me get you out of this.”

  “How’s the girl?”

  “She’s still out, but breathing. Now hold still.”

  Brice nodded. “Gladly. Careful of the shoulder. Getting shot hurts like hell.”

  She bent to him and kissed him on the lips.

  “What was that for?” he asked, grinning.

  “In case you die, I’ll have gotten one last one in, you know?”

  He laughed and then winced. “We’ll have to make sure I make it then, so I can return your kind gesture, won’t we?”

  Two minutes later, Brice’s hands and legs were free. She helped him to a sitting position and removed the rope from his neck.

  “Ellie,” said Dillon, “come here.”

  The hair on the back of her neck rose. The tone in his voice scared the life out of her.

  Ellen made sure Brice was upright and stable and then hurried to where Dillon was crouching.

  Big Harv lay on the floor, unmoving, his face turning bluer by the second.

  CHAPTER 52

  Sitting in the waiting room at Chicago General Hospital, Ellen leaned back in the old orange chair and then rocked forward. It had been part of her ritual for the last three hours. She was doing her best to keep her composure.

  Talk about climbing Mount Everest.

  It had been like this for two weeks. The EMS folks had gotten Big Harv to the hospital, after losing him twice, then reviving him, but he’d been unconscious and in the ICU ever since. The surgeons didn’t want to do the bypass surgery until they were sure his heart wasn’t too severely damaged. They’d gotten lucky with that part, but the doctors were still concerned about his ability to survive the surgery. They told Ellen they wouldn’t know for sure until they started the procedure. The doctors had wanted him stronger. Much stronger. But Big Harv and she hadn’t gotten a break there: he was getting weaker.

  It also hadn’t helped that the two surgeons disagreed on whether her dad could handle the surgery. One wanted to wait and see if his strength returned; the other said he’d only get better with the surgery. They did agree on one thing, however—that he had less than a ten percent chance of making it either way.

  Ellen sipped her latest cup of coffee and then closed her eyes. In the end, she had done what her dad would have—she rolled the dice. Somewhere deep inside, she knew he wasn’t going to get stronger, so delaying things only lessened the chances that she’d hug him, alive, again. So here they were.

  She hadn’t left him for a minute—well, except once to visit Brice in the other wing of the building. As much as she wanted to see Brice, pulling away from her dad was not an option.

  Rocking back and forth again, she decided to stretch her legs. Ellen walked to the large picture window, crossed her arms, and tried to ward off thoughts of the Grim Reaper coming to visit.

  Death had been far too close a companion lately. She needed it to stroll past her and keep walking this time.

  The door from the outside hallway opened, and Brice walked through, his shoulder in a sling, accompanied by Bella Sanchez. She was carrying a stuffed bear the size of California. Brice had a small bouquet of flowers.

  She had to smile. The only really good thing about this ordeal with Big Harv had been how these two had refused to leave her alone for any length of time.

  Once Brice had been released from the hospital, he spent as much time here as his doctor would allow. He looked a little pale, but he was healing quickly, and God knew he was just what she needed.

  Bella Sanchez.

  The woman had been relentless in her effort to make sure Ellen didn’t spend too much time “overthinking,” as she tended to do. Her wound from Kyle’s gun had been superficial, so here she was, as big as life. Ellen had appreciated Bella’s presence. She actually liked her,
rough edges and all.

  Throw in Kate’s visits with George some three or four times a day, and no one could have been given more support.

  “We brought you something . . . Well, this is for Big Harv. Romeo brought the flowers,” said Sanchez.

  The subtle implication that Big Harv would pull through raised her spirits.

  “That’s kind of big,” said Ellen.

  “Yeah, well, I think it matches his alter ego. You know, big and soft.”

  “Don’t let him catch you saying that,” said Brice.

  “I’d love to have him catch me saying that,” Sanchez answered in a softer tone, biting her lip.

  Ellen knew what she meant.

  Moving closer, Brice set the flowers on the scarred coffee table and took her hand. “Nothing yet, huh?”

  She shook her head. “They said it will be hours before they know the full story. So far, no news is good news.”

  Then she squeezed his strong hand and released it.

  Is that really true? No news is good news?

  The door to the waiting room opened and Kate rambled in, George right behind her. The big woman walked straight to the three of them.

  “Hello Brice. Bella. Good to see ya.” She gave Ellen a bear hug, the stepped back. “Any word yet, darlin’?”

  “Not yet, Kate. Soon, I hope.”

  “It’ll be fine. He’s a tough old coot.”

  “He is. It’s just that, well—”

  “Let’s all get our minds off this for a minute,” said Sanchez. “I got an update from your department on that shithead Jansen.”

  “Now, Bella?” asked Brice.

  “No. It’s okay. Go ahead. I want to know how he got tangled up with Kyle Black,” said Ellen.

  “I’d want to know, too. Two of your techs told me they finally got all the phone and text records back from the phone company. Since old Stevie boy ain’t talking, they had to piece it all together.”

  “So what’s their best guess?” asked Ellen.

  “Like I said, it’s sketchy. Kyle Black was smart, and he was able to cover his tracks, mostly. But apparently they met after your sick-ass employee was working a murder case and found some evidence that led him to Black. Instead of having him arrested, he sought him out and their relationship went from there. Jansen, based on some details from his private e-mail, had killed a woman in Detroit while he was on a trip to some conference and, well, liked it.”