And Ricker’s. And Jan Kurtz’s.
“Screw you.” Ricker half-dragged Kurtz toward the van, walking backward as the woman stumbled along with him. Her billed hat had landed in a puddle by a concrete post, and one lock of curly blond fell into her face.
Another step closer to the van. Another.
“She’s got the keys, she’s gonna drive me the hell outta here,” Ricker said. “You back the hell off. I didn’t do anything. This is bogus.”
In about four more steps, Jake figured, Kurtz would be at the van’s open driver’s side door. The multihinged mechanical garage door, Jake could see from a patch of daylight glistening on the damp concrete floor, was also open. What if-
“Don’t even think about closing that frigging garage door.” Ricker spit out the words.
“Ricker.” Jake kept the weapon pointed at him. Kept his voice as calm as he could. Focused. “Where do you think this is gonna go, right? You’ve made a decision, now unmake it. Let her go, we can talk.”
“Talk about what?” Ricker said. Two more steps.
Kurtz had pressed her lips together, the tears still coming. Jake saw her eyes close, then open, looking at Ricker in panic.
“Jan, stay strong. You’re doing great.” Jake nodded at her, as if he believed it. Actually she was, given the situation. She certainly realized she was a split second from… “Curtis, listen to me. Look at me. We can talk about it.”
Jake knew Ricker could almost touch the van door. He made his arm into steel, his weapon an extension of his hand. The rest of the garage disappeared as Jake focused on one man. One moment. Waiting for his one chance.
“Last time we ‘talked,’ you arrested me for-who cares. We’re done.” Ricker yanked Kurtz another step toward the open van door. “We’re outta here.”
He’ll have to put Kurtz inside. There’ll be a moment when Ricker’s alone. His plan isn’t going to work. He’ll see that. And that’s when I’ll take the shot.
“Let her go, and I’ll drive you,” Jake said. “This is between you and me, Ricker. She’s a girl. You gonna take a girl? You don’t need this. Let her go. I’ll drive. I’ll drive you right out of here. Then we can talk.”
Ricker blinked. Jake saw the gun hand waver, just a fraction.
Almost enough.
“Ricker. This ain’t gonna work. You can’t get her into the car. You see that, right? You’re done.” Jake kept his weapon pointed at Ricker’s center mass. Steady. If Ricker freaked, didn’t mean Jake had to kill him. One more try. “Give her up. I’ll protect you.”
“Shit,” Ricker said.
“Yeah,” Jake said. Okay. This was going to be okay. Ricker was in deep trouble. But he wouldn’t be dead. And they could go from there. “Good call, Curtis. Now let her go.”
Jake saw Ricker’s arm drop-and in that fraction of a second, Kurtz leaped away, rolled across the grimy concrete floor, and disappeared under a parked crime scene van.
At the same instant, a blast of light and sound. Ricker buckled to the floor, a burst of bright red blooming in his chest. Jake heard the clunk of skull on concrete. Saw the red spill onto the gray.
“What the hell?” Jake whirled, lowering his weapon. “Who the…”
Behind him, Hennessey, red-faced and breathing like he’d just had a heart attack, still clenched his gun, now pointed at nothing. Behind him, a dozen cops rose to watch, like startled prairie dogs popping from their holes.
“Son of a bitch had it coming.” Hennessey’s chest rose and fell. “He can’t do that to my partner.”
“Did you get the feeling Ella was going rogue? By calling you and arranging the meeting?” Carlyn Beerman stabbed the dwindling fire with a metal poker, then added another split log. She’d listened as Tuck and Jane described their coffee shop discussion with Ella Gavin. An ember cracked, then popped in a flash of orange. Carlyn jumped back, then poked again. “Did you get the impression the Brannigan people knew about it? Maybe they sent her. To assess your reaction. See if you’d be angry.”
Jane shook her head, no, looked at Tuck for confirmation.
“Not at all,” Tuck said. She pushed the sleeves of her turtleneck up to her elbows, then pulled them down again. “That’s what was so… I don’t know. She’s a mouse of a girl, and seemed devoted to the Brannigan. But this was unauthorized. I thought, at least. She was nervous. She flipped out over the bracelet. Right, Jane?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t stay the whole time, but when Tuck showed the bracelet, she freaked. All I can say. She had a whole pile of-Hey. Carlyn? Do you have a set of documents from the Brannigan? Wait, though.” Jane interrupted her own question. “Why’d you ask about Ella Gavin in the first place?”
“She called me. Today. This morning.” Carlyn looked at a shiny brass clock on the end table. “Gosh, a couple hours ago. She left a message.”
“Really?” Had Ella discovered something on her own? “So you know her? Did you keep the message?”
“Yes, but it won’t matter.” Carlyn set the metal fire screen back into place. “And no, I don’t know her. She didn’t say where she’s calling from. Or anything about the Brannigan. That’s why I was so surprised when you said her name.”
“Can you play the message for us?” Jane had to interrupt. Lillian Finch was dead. Niall Brannigan was dead. And clearly she and Tuck were right in the middle of whatever it was. Carlyn, too.
Had Ella been calling to warn Carlyn? Or to threaten her?
“On speaker? So we can all hear?” Tuck said.
“If you think it’ll help. I suppose. Phone’s in the kitchen.” Carlyn pointed. “That way.”
She led them through a chintz-draped dining room, billowing curtains, circular table covered in a muted scarlet cloth, a pot of spidery white chrysanthemums in the center. Into the kitchen, rubbed copper pans on cast-iron hooks, glass-fronted cabinets, seafoam green walls. In one corner, a bookshelf haphazardly stuffed with cookbooks, a to-do list tacked to a mini-bulletin board, and a tiny desk with a silver wall phone.
“Sit.” Carlyn gestured Jane and Tuck toward wicker stools beside the counter. She punched some buttons on the phone. “I’d been getting strange hang-ups today. Annoying. Probably telemarketers.”
Jane fired a look at Tuck behind Carlyn’s back, told you so.
Tuck shrugged, waved her off.
“But this one, it didn’t sound like a telemarketer call. Frankly, I didn’t know what to make of it. And hadn’t deleted it yet.”
There was an amplified beep, then a whisper, and then a woman’s voice.
“Mrs., um. Miss, Beerman? I’m so sorry to bother you, I, this is Ella Gavin? I’m at the, well, um. I wonder if we might-If you have a chance, could you-”
Jane strained toward the phone, struggling not only to hear, but to understand what Ella was trying to say. Jane’s own phone rang, from somewhere deep in her tote bag, but she ignored it. Ella, her voice muffled and hesitant, seemed unable to finish a sentence. Jane thought she heard-music? And someone else’s voice?
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Yes, I know it’s starting. Mrs. Beerman, I guess this is not the time to-”
And then Ella hung up.
Carlyn punched a button on the phone console, and it went silent. “So you see. Or-hear. That’s why I probably looked like I’d seen a ghost when you mentioned the name,” she said. “So she’s from the Brannigan.”
“Sounds like she wanted to tell you something,” Jane said.
“Then didn’t,” Tuck said.
“It sounds as if she were interrupted.” Carlyn leaned against the kitchen counter, eyelet lace curtains covering the window behind her. The window framed lofty pine trees piercing a cloudless blue sky. “She calls, then you two show up. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Well, no. I mean, yes,” Tuck said. “But it was just the-you know. Bracelet. So maybe that’s what Ella Gavin was calling about, too. To tell you they sent the wrong girl.”