Blowout (28 page)

Savich was at the door in an instant, his I.D. out. “Agent Savich. Where is she?”

A woman stepped forward. “I’m Detective Orinda Chamber, McLean PD, Agent Savich. We just got here. There was an initial charge into the place, so the scene’s a mess. I’ve tried to keep everyone out after I saw she was dead. She’s in the kitchen. I hear she was on the phone to you and you heard him attacking her?”

Savich nodded. “Please get all your people combing the woods, look for his car. Agents will be here very soon to help you, along with a helicopter and the Washington SWAT team. He’s a big guy, probably in his fifties, white. He has to have had some sort of transportation, so let’s get everyone on it.” He paused a moment. “Detective Chamber, this is the man who murdered Justice Califano.”

Orinda Chamber reeled back, then steadied and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m on it.”

Sherlock had run past him, pushed past the three men who were standing in the kitchen looking down at Eliza Vickers. She was lying on her side, her long straight hair tangled over her face, but Sherlock saw her eyes through the veil of hair, still bulging wide. Terror and surprise no longer filled them. They were empty now, empty even of the memory of life. Sherlock fell to her knees beside her, gently pulled her hair away from her face. “Eliza, I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, lady, who the hell are you? What is—”

Savich shoved his I.D. in the officer’s face. “She’s FBI. Back off. Go outside and help find this bastard.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the other officers said, and pulled the officer away.

Sherlock was leaning over Eliza, her hands shaking her shoulders, trying to awaken her, trying to make her empty eyes fill with life again. Tears streamed down her face. “Oh no, Eliza. I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry.” Sherlock pressed her face against Eliza’s hair, sobbing.

Savich came down on his haunches beside his wife. He rubbed her shoulders, didn’t say anything, just gave her what comfort he could. He felt like crying himself. This bastard, this Günter freak, had killed her, knowing she was on the phone to him. Savich would never forget as long as he lived what the man said in the background after the phone had crashed to the kitchen floor: “Well, she’s dead now, isn’t she? You hear me, Agent Savich? This will be the only time. You’ve got
nada, rien, nichts.
” And he laughed. Savich had heard him still laughing as he’d picked the phone up off the kitchen floor and thrown it across the room, and walked out of there, the sound of his footsteps clear for Savich to hear. Savich had continued to listen, for the sound of a door opening, a window, anything. But there was only silence. And he’d known Eliza Vickers was dead and that he’d been helpless to do anything about it.

Günter had sounded as American as the apple pie they’d baked for dinner. American. No regional accent. Savich was aware of Ben and Callie standing in the kitchen doorway, keeping the other officers out.

Of course Günter was long gone. Savich knew in his gut they wouldn’t find him, not this time. Too much cover in all the maples and oaks behind the condo complex, too many places to hide a car, a motorcycle, or even to run a mile to someplace near the highway.

He closed his eyes against the pain of Eliza’s death, realizing he could hardly bear it either. He’d never seen Sherlock like this. She looked beaten down, crushed. Eliza Vickers, so smart, so very real, and he’d heard her die on his damned cell phone. He knew he would live with that forever. He lowered his head, holding both his sobbing wife and Eliza Vickers, who wasn’t there anymore to care.

Suddenly, Savich reared up and yelled, “Ben, Callie, we’ve got to get over to Fleurette’s house. Call her, tell her to hide. Call 911, have as many squad cars there as fast as possible to canvas the area, stop everyone who’s alone in a car. Take her to my house. Hurry!”

Ben didn’t hesitate. Both he and Callie were out the door. Ben tossed Callie his address book as he jumped into the car. “Fleurette’s number, quick!”

She read it out, and he dialed. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Finally, Ben heard her voice. “Hello?”

“Fleurette?”

“Yes, who’s this? It’s after midnight, who—”

“This is Detective Ben Raven. No, be quiet and listen to me. Is your house alarm set?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a gun?”

A slight pause, then, “Yes, a twenty-two revolver.”

“Loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get the gun and come back to the phone.”

After a short pause, she said, “Okay, I’ve got it.”

“Now keep it close until Callie Markham and I get there. Find a place to hide where no one can surprise you, and stay there. If a man gets into your house, I want you to shoot to kill, you got me? Don’t hesitate, shoot to kill. You’ll be hearing sirens any minute. Keep inside. We’re on our way. But don’t let anyone in until you’re sure it’s me. Hurry!”

“But—but what’s going on here, Detective Raven?”

“We’ll tell you when we get there. Open your front door only to me, you got that? And don’t shoot me. I’m going to be taking you over to Agent Savich’s house in Georgetown. Do you understand?”

“No, and this is very frightening.”

“It’s good to be scared. Keep that gun close, and listen for any sound inside your house. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Ben punched off his cell phone, dialed 911, told the dispatcher he’d instructed the potential victim to keep her gun handy. The officers converging on the brownstone were not to go roaring in or she’d shoot them.

He punched off his cell phone again. “I sure hope they pay attention. I don’t want her to kill anyone.”

He slammed on the siren, and the Crown Vic roared onto the Beltway on-ramp. The roads were nearly empty, thank God. They were at Fleurette’s brownstone in under twenty minutes. Several police cars had already arrived, their lights flashing, officers milling around the brownstone. Thank God none of them had gone up to the front door. “Stay in the car, Callie. I’ll get Fleurette.”

Ben ran up the walk, banged on the front door, calling out as he struck it with his fist. “Fleurette, it’s me, Detective Ben Raven. You can let me in. Don’t shoot me.”

Fleurette opened the door immediately and stepped back. She was holding a small .22 at her side. “So now will you tell me what’s going on here, Detective?”

“Get inside, Fleurette.” He turned to see Callie running up the walk, and waved her in. “Hurry.”

Fleurette grabbed his arm. “All these cop cars. Detective Raven, what’s happened?”

He searched her face as he said, “Eliza Vickers was just murdered.”

Her face went utterly white. Her eyes went blank. Then she whimpered, deep in her throat, and sank to her knees on the floor.

Ben closed the door behind Callie and flipped off the light switch. It was completely dark inside the brownstone, not even a shadow for Günter to shoot at. He eased up the window a crack and yelled out, “We’re okay in here. Spread out and check the neighborhood, we’ll be leaving here soon.”

“That you, Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep down. There’s no sign of anyone here, but we’re on it.” He recognized Sergeant Teddy Russell’s voice.

Ben held his gun at his side. “Fleurette, push your twenty-two over to me.”

He heard the small gun slide across the marble tile. It hit his boot. He put it in his belt holster.

“Detective—”

“No, no, stay quiet for a while longer.” He pulled out his cell and called Captain Halloway, who answered like he’d been awake for hours. Ben quickly told him what was happening.

“Just keep the women safe, Ben. I’ll handle everything else. Do you know the lead officer at Ms. LaFleurette’s house?”

“It’s Sergeant Teddy Russell.”

“He’s a good man. He’ll get things done. Hang tight, Ben, hang tight and protect the women. We’ll get you out of there soon enough.”

Ben punched off his cell, then leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes a moment and let the events of the evening race through his brain. Incredible, all of it. At least Fleurette was alive. He said, “Let’s stay down, and stay quiet. We don’t know if the guy’s out there yet. He’s good at losing himself in the shadows.”

Ben heard Callie moving toward Fleurette. “Stay down,” he said. He opened his cell to call Savich while they waited. “We made it, Savich. Yes, I told her about Eliza. She’s holding up. We’ll be at your house as soon as I’m certain it’s safe to take Fleurette outside.” He heard Savich speaking to someone in the background, Sherlock, probably. “Okay, I hear the cops coming up the stairs. I’ll see you at your house.” Ben slowly rose. He went to the front door, stood to the side, and identified himself as he opened it. “Hey, Teddy, good to see you. Is it clear?”

“Not yet, Ben. Stay inside a few minutes longer until the rest of my men check in.”

Ben nodded. “I spoke to Captain Halloway. He said he told you he was sending more squad cars.”

“Yes, we’re all spread out now, canvassing everything within a mile of the house, but it’s tough, folks who live in this area like to party on Friday night.”

“The guy we’re looking for is American, probably in his fifties, white.”

Sergeant Teddy Russell, a twenty-four-year veteran, put his beefy hand on the butt of the Smith & Wesson 1911 holstered at his belt, and looked from Ben to the two women. “Boy, you guys in Metro sure like to live on the edge.”

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, D.C.

EARLY SATURDAY MORNING

F
LEURETTE SAT
at the kitchen table, a hot mug of coffee held between her hands, her head down, her blond hair straggling out of its ponytail. She was wearing an oversized cable knit navy sweater, blue jeans, and boots. An orange duffel bag and oversized purse lay at her feet.

“Thank you, Agent Savich,” she said at last, still not looking up. “You probably saved my life.”

“I’m just happy that Ben got there in time. You’ll be staying with my wife and me for a while, all right?”

Fleurette shuddered. “Thank you.” She raised her head and looked from him to Sherlock. “Do you often have people like me staying with you?”

“No,” Sherlock said, pouring more hot coffee into her mug, “not often. Here, drink this down, Fleurette, you need it.”

Callie was leaning into Ben. She looked dazed and absolutely exhausted. She said, “I’ve got to call Mom, tell her what’s happened.”

Savich said, “No, not yet, Callie. She doesn’t need to know right now. Let her rest, let her have a bit more recovery time before we hit her with Eliza’s murder. We’ll go over tomorrow.” He watched Sherlock walk quietly out of the kitchen. He nodded to Ben, said to Fleurette, “Keep drinking that hot coffee.”

He found his wife sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, her face in her hands. He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms.

In the kitchen, Lily and Simon were cutting slices of apple pie and heating them in the microwave. Lily said, “Fleurette, you need sugar, it will help calm you.”

“I really don’t want—”

“I know it’s not chocolate,” Simon Russo said, “but it’s a good excuse to eat the best apple pie in the universe and not feel guilty about the calories.”

Fleurette actually smiled. It fell off her face quickly enough, but it was a start. There was enough left for all of them to have a small slice. For a while, there was only the sound of chewing in the kitchen.

“D
ILLON
?” Sherlock’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m falling apart like this. It’s just that—”

“If you weren’t falling apart, then I would be,” he said, and kissed her hair. “It’s tough, sweetheart, really tough. I’m as sorry as you are. Eliza was special.”

“Yes. Dillon, I liked her so very much and I’d only met her. Just twice and the funeral.”

“But all three times were emotional, the kinds of meetings that draw people together. I really liked her, too, I really did.” He drew a deep breath, kissed her again. “Why did he feel he had to kill her?”

“This time, we don’t even know. Maybe she knew something after all, and he was afraid she was going to break. And she did break, she called you. Oh God, Mr. Maitland brought in the agents too soon.”

“It was after Justice Califano’s funeral, everyone believed it was over.”

Ben stood alone in the archway of the living room. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s something I forgot to tell you. When Callie and I went to see Fleurette at the Supreme Court Building this morning, only Eliza was there. She was cleaning out Justice Califano’s stuff, and constantly answering the phone, really harried. We spoke for just a few moments. Before we left, I asked her if there was anything I could do. She hesitated, I’m sure of it. She looked sort of undecided, like there was something on her mind, but then the phone rang again and she waved us out. Damn, Savich, I didn’t think anything about it.”

“So maybe she did know something,” Sherlock said. “But what? And he was there, in the condo, with her. Do you think he let her pick up the phone, dial you, speak to you?”

Savich said, “I wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe he needed to take a risk again, and so when he heard her on the phone to me, that was it, this time. And then he garroted her, just like Justice Califano and Danny O’Malley.”

Sherlock said against Dillon’s neck, “And Fleurette was helpless, just like Eliza.”

“Yes,” Ben said. “She did have a gun, a twenty-two revolver, but he wouldn’t have given her the chance to get to it.”

Sherlock said, “Eliza was strong, probably stronger than Danny O’Malley. She must have fought him.”

Both Ben and Savich were silent for a moment. Ben felt Callie come up behind him. He hadn’t heard her, but somehow he knew she was there. She leaned against him, but said nothing.

Savich said, “Yes, I’ll bet she did fight him, fought him as hard as she could. They took her to Quantico. Dr. Conrad went out there to do the autopsy. Since we were there so quickly, I doubt Günter took the time to remove all evidence of himself. Maybe we’ll be lucky and she managed to scratch him. Something, all we need is something.”