Cross Bones (39 page)

Steady red told me her foot was slammed to the brake.

The oncoming car veered wide, away from the Citroën. Action and reaction. The Citroën also veered wide, and again bit gravel.

Purviance cut hard to the left and regained the blacktop. Inexplicably, the car then surged back to the right. The Citroën bounced from the road, and careened off the guardrail. Sparks flew.

Panicked, Purviance fought to go left. The Citroën hit slickness, hydroplaned, and spun.

The oncoming car was now hurtling toward us, tires straddling both lanes. I could see the driver’s head. I could see a passenger.

I braced for the impact.

Jake jerked the wheel. We shot right and our front tire dropped.

The car thundered past.

Our rear tire dropped.

Jake’s leg pumped, his hands death-locked the wheel.

We bolted and pitched, stones and gravel peppering the guardrail.

I planted both hands against the dash and tried to keep my elbows flexed. I dropped my chin to my chest.

I heard metal slam metal.

I looked up to see the Citroën’s headlights lurch sideways. They hung a moment, then nose-dived into darkness.

I heard an eruption of metal, sand, and dirt. Another. A wailing horn. Steady. Terrible.

Our speed choked back. The guardrail clicked past slower and slower.

The truck had barely stopped when Jake flipped open his cel phone.

“Shit.”

“No signal?”

“Piece of crap.” Jake tossed the phone on the dash and jabbed at the glove box. “Flashlights.”

While I found Mag-Lites, Jake dug flares from the back of the truck. Together, we sprinted up the tarmac.

The guardrail gaped jagged and curled. We peered past, down the hil . The fog was a dense ocean, swal owing our beams.

As Jake set flares, I hopped the barrier and scrambled down the slope.

In the basin, my light picked out a trail of shapes. A hubcap. A side panel. A side-view mirror.

The Citroën was a pitch-black hump in the darkness. I probed it with the Mag-Lite.

The car had impacted, flipped, and landed on its roof. Every window was shattered. Steam or smoke hissed from under the crumpled hood.

Purviance was half in, half out the driver’s-side door, twisted like a rag dol tossed to the floor. So much blood smeared her face I couldn’t see skin. Her jacket was saturated.

I heard crunching, then Jake was beside me.

“Jesus Christ!”

“We’ve got to get her out,” I said.

Together, Jake and I tried to ease Purviance free. Her body was slick with mist and blood. We kept losing our grip.

Above, a truck braked to a stop. Two men got out and started shouting questions. We ignored them, concentrated on Purviance.

Jake and I changed sides. Nothing worked. We couldn’t get a good angle.

Purviance moaned softly. I grabbed my light and ran the beam the length of her body. Flecks of glass glistened on her clothing and in her blood-soaked hair.

“One foot’s wedged among the pedals,” I said. “I’l go in through the other side.”

“No way.”

I didn’t wait to argue. Circling the Citroën, I sized up what remained of the passenger window. Big enough.

I dropped my light, doubled over, and squeezed through head-first. Pul ing with my elbows, I wriggled to the driver’s side.

Groping like a blind man, I determined I was right. One of Purviance’s feet was broken and jammed behind the brake.

Using outstretched arms, I tried gentle twisting. The foot remained lodged. I shoved harder. No go.

An acrid smel was irritating my nose. My eyes were watering.

Burning rubber!

My heart thudded my rib cage.

Bel ying closer, I dropped my upper body over the seat, yanked the zipper of Purviance’s boot, grabbed the heel, and tugged.

I felt some give.

Another hard pul and Purviance’s heel was loose. Using my fingers, I shoehorned her foot.

“Now!” I screamed when the toes slid free.

As Jake tugged, I wormed the foot through the pedals. Then I muscled back-ass out the window.

Smoke was pouring from the engine.

Voices were shouting from the highway. I didn’t need a translator.

“Get back!”

“It’s going to blow!”

Circling the Citroën, I grabbed Purviance under one arm. Jake had the other. Together we tugged her free and eased her to the ground.

Jake dived for the car.

“We’ve got to get clear!”

Jake was enveloped in smoke. I could see his lanky form darting forward and back.

“Jake!”

Jake was a madman, racing from one shattered window to the next.

“I can’t do this alone!”

Jake left the car and helped me drag Purviance another five yards. Then he raced back to the Citroën and began kicking its trunk.

“It’s going to blow!” I was screaming now.

Jake’s foot pistoned again and again.

Something popped. The hissing grew louder, the smoke thickened.

Were we stil in range? A powerful blast would turn auto parts into deadly missiles.

Grabbing Purviance by her upper arms, I turned and began inching backward. Her body was dead weight. Was she already gone? Was I doing her more harm than good?

Foot by foot I dragged.

Three yards.

My hands grew slippery with blood. My palms and fingers were cut by mil ions of glass slivers.

Five.

Sirens whined in the distance.

My fingers tingled. My legs were dead. But I was hyped on adrenaline. Some fierce internal energy pushed me on.

Final y I decided I was far enough. I al owed Purviance to settle to the ground. Dropping to my knees, I felt her throat.

A weak pulse? I couldn’t be sure.

Ripping Purviance’s jacket. I searched for the wound that was pumping out blood. A black crescent slashed her bel y. I pressed a palm to it.

At that moment, a blast tore the night. I heard the awful sound of metal shearing metal.

As my head snapped up the Citroën exploded in a bal of light. Fire burst from the engine, strobing white geysers into the blue-black fog.

Dear God! Where was Jake?

I ran toward the Citroën.

Twenty feet out the heat stopped me like a wal . I threw up an arm.

“Jake!”

The car was an inferno. Flames licked its underbel y and leaped from its windows. No sign of Jake.

“Jake!”

I felt ash and sweat on my face. Mist. Tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Jake!”

A second depth charge blew metal and flames into the sky.

A sob rose in my throat.

Hands gripped my shoulders.

I was yanked roughly back.

40

I’LL TELL YOU RIGHT OUT THE GATE. EVERYONE SURVIVED.

Change that. Everyone survived but the guy in the shroud. He went from being bone to being bone ash.

Jake burned his hands and singed his brows. No big deal.

Purviance lost a lot of blood and fractured some ribs and a foot. Her spleen was removed in pieces, and she’d need hardware in the ankle. But she’d recover. And serve time.

The Citroën would not recover. Its remains were barely worth hauling for scrap.

Purviance was unconscious for a day, then the story dribbled out.

Slowly. As Ryan suggested variations based on info from Kaplan and Birch.

My mental mapping was spot-on. Ferris and Purviance had been an item. Birch found the usual at her apartment in Saint-Léonard. Man’s robe in the closet. Extra Bic and Oral-B in the medicine chest.

The affair started shortly after Purviance began working for Les Imports Ashkenazim. As the years passed, she increased the pressure on Ferris to divorce Miriam. He kept putting her off. She also increased her hold on the business.

Purviance was familiar with operations at the warehouse. Read: she knew everything and was involved in everything. She overheard Ferris’s cal to Kaplan asking him to middleman the Masada skeleton. She overheard his conversations with Father Morissonneau and Tovya Blotnik, and learned of the skeleton’s history. She resented Ferris’s working this deal on his own and freezing her out.

Not long before, she’d overheard Ferris’s conversations with the travel agent. Ferris was planning to vacation in sunny Florida with his wife. It was the last straw. Ferris was working a score without her and was trying to rebuild his marriage. Purviance confronted her lover about his priorities.

Tired of guilt, or tired of the stress of maintaining the balancing act, Ferris decided to cut Purviance loose. Les Imports Ashkenazim had hit a rough patch, but, al in al , was doing wel . His relationship with Miriam was improving. He didn’t need Purviance. Sure, the business was riding some economic bumps, but the sale of the skeleton would take care of that. It would be better if he fired Purviance. Ferris promised her six months’ severance pay, and told her to clear out.

The first cal to Boca during beach week had been Purviance begging Ferris to reconsider. Ferris curtly cut her off. She’d real y, truly been dumped. She was without lover and without job.

The second cal to Boca was Purviance delivering a threat. She was wise to the skeleton and its value. She wanted a piece of the action or she’d enlighten Miriam about their affair and inform the authorities about the skeleton. Ferris laughed at her.

The more Purviance thought about it, the angrier she became. She’d built Ferris’s business. She’d taken him to bed. And now she was being tossed like last week’s garbage. Ratting him out to wife and cops would harm him but gain her nothing. And it wouldn’t harm him enough. Ferris would have to pay a much bigger price. Primed onCSI, Law & Order, andNYPD Blue, Purviance decided to hire a hit man. Dispose of Ferris and take control of the business.

Nice Jewish girl, total y unconnected. She didn’t know any hit men. Who you gonna cal ? Kaplan was an ex-con who did il egal work. Purviance had his number from the cal er ID on the warehouse phone.

Kaplan was a felon, al right, but not a kil er. He saw a real pigeon and a profit opportunity. He took Purviance’s money and provided no services.

Scorned lover. Discarded business associate. Duped consumer. Purviance was seething. Driven by an obsessive rage, she decided to act. Knowing her neighbor kept a gun in his car, she stole it and kil ed Ferris herself.

Her fury, however, obstructed her strategic thinking. After putting two bul ets into Ferris, Purviance wrapped the Jericho in his fingers and fired overhead.

More TV cop show savoir faire. With a self-inflicted gunshot wound, the doc finds trace on the hand. Only, Purviance made a major blunder. She left the weapon, but col ected the bul et casings, eliminating any chance of a ruling of suicide.

In the end, SIJ found a bul et fragment in the closet, created during the keyhole entry into Ferris’s skul . Another bul et was dug from a wal in an outer hal way. With the earlier bul et from the closet ceiling, and the fragments recovered from Ferris’s head, that demonstrated three shots. A bal istic reconstruction suggested Ferris was hit while facing the door. He was probably oblivious to Purviance’s homicidal intent when she entered the closet and circled behind him.

What next for Courtney? She had quite surprised herself with her coolness in dispatching Ferris. Now to score two for one. Get out of Dodge, and recoup economic losses. Purviance booked it for Israel, using the name Channah Purviance, the pre-Canadian version on her Tunisian passport. The discrepancy al owed her to slip under the radar.

Knowing Ferris had phoned Blotnik, Purviance dropped in at the IAA, claiming to represent her boss and wanting to firm up the method of payment.

More injustice awaited her. Blotnik hadn’t received the Masada skeleton. Purviance bluffed, saying she knew who’d taken it. She could deliver if Blotnik had money or something of value to trade. Blotnik showed her the shroud bones. Agreeing that these had significant cash potential, Purviance struck again, and bagged the new bones.

Kaplan’s story was simple. Miriam Ferris had always been kind, a friend even while he was serving time. Miriam sent him chocolates. Wrote him letters.

The note we’d found in Kaplan’s apartment was just one of many encouraging him to keep the faith.

Kaplan knew from Purviance about her affair with Ferris. It had been his first question when she’d contacted him to kil her boss. In their negotiations, Kaplan came to believe Purviance was treacherous and without conscience. If cornered, he figured she’d throw up a smoke screen to save herself. Who more vulnerable than the betrayed wife? Fearing Purviance might point the finger at Miriam, Kaplan slipped me the photo of Max to steer the inquiry in another direction.

Kaplan also feared Purviance might implicate him. Or worse. She’d planned to have her lover kil ed. If she swung into action herself, why not also off the weasel who’d scammed her three grand? And Kaplan’s buddy Litvak was pissed because Kaplan had promised the Masada skeleton and then defaulted. Like Purviance, Kaplan saw the opportunity for a twofer. Make yourself scarce local y and mend fences in Israel. He, too, booked it.

Why had Blotnik stolen the shroud bones? On that one Jake was probably right.

Blotnik had been a prodigy in his grad school days in New York. Articles in prestigious journals even before completion of the Ph.D. Then the opus, three hundred pages onEcclesiastes Rabbah, a rabbinic commentary from the Talmudic era. Job offers flowed like wine at Cana. Blotnik moved to Israel, married, scored permit after permit to dig coveted sites. The world was his.

A junior col eague also decided to be his. Giddy while it lasted, the affair ended badly. Blotnik’s wife left him. His lover left him.

Maybe it was embarrassment. Maybe loneliness. Maybe depression. After the divorce, Blotnik largely disengaged. He organized a few excavations, published a few articles. A thin work on the ancient baths of Hammat-Gader. Then, two decades of nothing.

Ferris’s cal must have come like manna from heaven. Masada bones missing for over four decades? During his many years in Israeli archaeology, Blotnik had heard rumors of such a skeleton. One can only speculate what else Kaplan or Ferris told him, or what had been whispered among his col eagues. The bones were those of an important figure in first-century Roman Palestine? A biblical VIP? Blotnik must have seen his future light up like a Hol ywood marquee.