Copy Cap Murder (23 page)

Taken by surprise, I jumped back out of instinct, which was a good thing because Reese hurled a solid glass paperweight at Tyler, popping him in the ribs with a sickening thunk.

He dropped the invoice as he grabbed his side with an
“Oomph!”

“Grab the paper!” Reese yelled.

I snatched the sheet off the ground. Dancing back just before Tyler caught me with a kick in the head. He staggered forward as I dashed for the door.

“Run, Scarlett, ru—” Reese's voice was cut off with a sickening crunch.

I had no doubt if I went back, Tyler would get the paper, the last bit of evidence that Win was strangled with—and I knew this was no longer a wild guess—Tyler's necktie. I had to hope Reese could fend for herself and I had to keep going.

Now I was damn thankful for my jeans and Converse sneakers. Had I worn a power suit and heels, I never could have bolted out of Reese's office as fast as I did. There is a message there but I had no time to ponder it. Probably it was that normal people in suits don't have to run for their lives, but that's just a theory.

I glanced up at the ceiling and saw a sign that showed a white stick figure running on a green background with an arrow pointing. I assumed this meant
go this way
. I did.

The elevator was out as it would be too easy for Tyler to catch me while I was waiting for it and if he got in with me, he could strangle the life out of me before we hit the twentieth floor. It was going to have to be the stairs. I scanned the ceiling looking for more of the green signs with the little running man on them.

I was lapping the offices in the center of the floor, trying to read the doors as I flew past. I heard a shout behind me and I knew it was Tyler. He was gaining on me. I stumbled. Not helpful but terror makes me a tad uncoordinated.

Finally a severe-looking gray door tucked into the wall showed a picture of a stick figure and an arrow pointing down. I pushed through it, wondering if an alarm would sound. I heard nothing.

I debated going upstairs to throw him off then I could get out on a random floor and take the elevator down. But stairs are not my friend. Even at home, going up the two flights of steps, a total of twenty-four, yes, I counted, and my thighs burned and I was sucking wind by the time I got to the landing in front of my bedroom. It was just embarrassing.

So up was out for the thigh burning but also, what if
the doors were locked from the stairwell side, not allowing me in? I could be trapped with a killer below me and no way out. On that note, I hit the steps running.

I had just cleared the second landing when I heard the door slam open and Tyler was running down after me.

“Scarlett, give me that paper,” he yelled.

If I had any doubt about its significance, he had just cleared that up. I grabbed at the door on the landing. It was locked, so I had made a good call there. I ignored Tyler and kept going. I couldn't be distracted. I had to make time, thirty-one floors to go. I could do this. I just prayed he was in worse shape than I was.

Five more flights and I was sucking wind hard. Snot and tears were leaking from my face and I was sweating like I had just run a 10K. My knees were wobbly and my ankles felt crunched. Every muscle in my legs felt wrecked. I kept going.

I glanced up to see where he was. My heart sank. Where there had been a two-story gap between us, we were now at one and he looked like he was gaining on me. I poured the speed on, my feet flying over the steps, my hand skimming the cold steel rail as I put distance between us. I could outrun him. I decided to try and jump down the last few steps to increase the distance. Big mistake.

I did not stick the landing. My ankle turned and my leg went all noodly under me. I fell in a heap. Then I heard a noise that caused my blood to freeze into cubes in my veins; judging by how light-headed I went, the cubes caused my circulatory system to shut down. When Tyler's laughter echoed in the stairwell, I almost passed out.

Instead, I grabbed the handrail and hauled myself up. I
grunted with the effort. The pain in my ankle turned my fear tears into serious pain tears. I hauled myself up anyway.

“Scarlett, seriously stop,” Tyler said. “At this point, you're just making a spectacle of yourself.”

He had stopped running and was now standing on the landing above me, doubled over trying to catch his breath. I took great pleasure in the fact that he was winded. What can I say? When death is imminent, you take victories where you can.

I pulled out my phone and opened an app.

“Who are you calling?” he asked. “The police?”

I ignored him. I turned my back to him and snapped a quick picture of the invoice then I sent it to the first three people in my contacts, Harrison, Viv and Fee. Someone had to get this, but I didn't have time to tell them where I was. Darn it. I stuffed the invoice into my phone case, hoping it would be safe there.

“What if I am?” I asked. I held the phone to my ear, pretending to call while the message sent with its attachment.

“I'd say that's unfortunate,” he said.

“You got that right,” I said. He was at the top of the steps just a short staircase away from me. “They're going to bust you for the murder of Winthrop Dashavoy. You strangled him with your necktie and I have the proof.”

“Proof? Don't be ridiculous,” he said.

“If it's not proof, why are you so determined to get it back?” I asked. “And while we're at it, why did you kill Win?”

“I didn't—” he began but I cut him off. He was a sociopath, he was never going to admit to his crime, but I was pretty sure I had it figured.

“Your wife is a lot younger than you,” I said. “It must be hard keeping a beautiful woman like Ava faithful to you, probably keeping her doped up to her eyeballs helps. Is that what Win did for you? You kept him employed so long as he kept your wife ‘medicated'?”

It was a long shot, but I was betting I was right. His face went eight different shades of angry red, leaving it mottled and rashy looking.

“You can't prove anything,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But when I visited your wife the other day she certainly had a lot to say about Win.”

He didn't hide his surprise fast enough. I saw the widening of his eyes and I knew I'd struck a nerve.

“That's right,” I said. “Your wife knows what you did, too. And she's willing to tell the police and you will be arrested.”

I might have overplayed my hand here. Tyler laughed. It was chilling. Then he looked at me with eyes I had once thought were kind but now saw as calculating and cruel.

“I sincerely doubt that,” he said.

“Really, why?” I asked. I didn't really care. I was in full-on stall mode now, trying to weigh my increasingly limited options.

“My dear,” he said. “Who do you think I have on my payroll?”

That got my attention. I looked at him and saw his Cheshire cat smile.

“Who?” I asked. My voice was barely a whisper but it echoed in the cement walls.

“Your dear Inspector Franks, of course,” he said. “Why else do you think he came all the way from his vacation
in York if not to clean up this little spot of trouble I've found myself in?”

I gripped the handrail so tightly my knuckles went white. “You're lying.”

“No, I'm not,” he said. “And you're wrong about me keeping my wife drugged. She came to me damaged, addicted to pills, but she hid it so well for so long, and then, I found out about her condition and discovered who her supplier was. It was Win. I begged him to stop, but he laughed and said his plan was to steal both my wife and my business and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

“Then he showed up at our annual bonfire party not wearing his tie,” Carson said. “He knew it was mandatory. I told him to wear mine. He refused and taunted me about the day that he would own my company and burn all of the neckties. I was so angry. He gave me no choice.”

“Choice? You're a murderer,” I said.

“No, I'm not,” he said. “Don't you see? I had to silence him just like I tried to silence you that night on Portobello Road.”

Oh, my god! Carson was the man in the mask who had chased me. I felt sick and dizzy. The stairwell spun and I started to see spots. I was afraid I was going to faint.

Carson shook his head at me and resumed walking toward me. I had no doubt that this time he would kill me for sure. I had nothing to lose. I thrust my phone into my coat pocket and threw my leg over the handrail. I slid out of reach just as he lunged for me.

The turns were the worst part. They were very tight and I got my leg stuck the first time and barely got it out before I broke my shinbone. By the second level I had figured it
out. Slide backward and kick the legs out at the turns. The heat from the metal on the fabric of my jeans was searing but I kept going, knowing that it was the only way I could outdistance him.

Carson yelled after me and I saw him pick up his pace on the steps but he didn't try to ride the rail like I was. A few more turns and I was starting to get dizzy. If I fell off the rail, I was a dead woman.

By the fifth turn I had left Carson several flights behind and I had to close my eyes for fear that I would throw up. It was a losing battle. A whiff of smoke caught my attention and I glanced behind me to see a man standing on the landing, smoking. Behind him the door was propped open just a crack.

He saw me and his eyes went wide and the cigarette fell out of his mouth and onto the smartphone he'd been looking at.

I grabbed the rail, chafing my hands as I braked to a stop. Carson's steps were ringing out upstairs. The man on the landing was shaking the burning cigarette off his phone. I swung my leg over the rail and ran at him, ignoring the searing pain in my ankle.

“Inside!” I barked. “Inside now!”

He stared stupidly at me until I ran past him toward the door. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him with me as I yanked open the door and dragged him inside after me, closing the door behind us.

“Does the door lock?” I asked.

He stared at me, not speaking. It appeared I had shocked him into a stupor. I had no time for that either.

“Does the door lock?” I yelled.

The man blinked at me and then glanced at the room beyond me. I turned and noticed that all of the sound in the room had stopped. The office of cubicles filled the room and every person had popped up out of their designated box like meerkats on sentry duty.

A fist slammed against the door and I jumped. The door rattled on its hinges. Carson was banging on it and yelling, “Open the door, Scarlett. Open the door. You can't win this.”

“Do not open that door!” I yelled at the man, who had also jumped at the sound of Carson's fist. “The man on the other side is a killer. He will kill you all.”

Perhaps I was overdramatizing but I couldn't risk any weakness in the ranks.

A woman at the desk closest to me, with an enormous knot of black hair on her head, cleared her throat and asked, “Do you want me to call the police?”

“Yes, do it now,” I said. “Please.”

She gave me a quick nod and ducked back down into her cubby. The banging on the door stopped, and the man who'd been smoking looked at me.

“Do not open the door,” I said. “He's probably still out there, waiting.”

The man nodded, looking scared. He was young, looking to be just out of university. He had a thick mop of black hair and his face was aesthetically unshaven. I had read this was a new look that ad campaigns were using to make men look more virile. Whatever.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Adi,” he said. “I'm just an intern here. Ah, man, I burnt my phone.”

“It's okay, Adi, you're doing fine,” I said. “Can you tell me what floor I'm on?”

“You're on the eighteenth floor,” he said.

“And what office is this?” I asked. I made my voice seem very matter-of-fact when inside I was having a complete freak-out.