Molly Brown (22 page)

“What does this mean? How does this help us find Joe and Molly?” Lizzie looked from one to the other, settling on Connell for answers.

“I’m not sure, but I think we just made a huge connection.”

“In what way?” asked Gerry.

“Luther intimated that he knew who the serial killer was.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”

“I thought he was jerking me around.”

“Yet he gave you Katarina,” added Marty.

“Yeah, so he knows about both killers, he must do. He warned me that Frankie was still after Molly. How would he know that? He’s had no visitors, he doesn’t speak to anyone.”

“Molly doesn’t speak to anyone either,” said Lizzie, “but sh
e knows exactly what’s going on, before it even happens.”

Connell stared at her. “Okay, so
the newspapers must be the key here. They’re both getting information from them, but I don’t see how that helps us. We’re missing something.”

“I’ll get on to Hamilton,” said Gerry. “He and his team must be able to do something wit
h this and cross reference with known associates. They’ve got a heap of stuff at their disposal. This is just the focus they need. If Luther Pearce knew the killer, it’s odds on that Brown did too.” He turned to Marty. “Do you have the grandmother’s number? Maybe she can help.”

“I think you might be right,” interjected Lizzie, holding the photo up. “This has been cut in half. Maybe Grandma Beatrice can remember who else was in the photo and why it’s been trimmed.”

Gerry took his phone into the kitchen, seeking the small privacy it offered while he updated Hamilton. Connell paced impatiently. He needed to be out there doing something. He checked his watch. “I’m going to call Will. I can’t just sit and wait.”

The phone rang out endlessly and Connell was about ready to send it bouncing off the wall with frustration when Will finally answered.

“Hey, Tommy, you okay?” He was breathless. “You caught me in the middle of a tricky situation.”

“Will
, I need to know about Parker. Did you find him?”

“Oh yeah, good old Parker turned up and had Frankie’s gopher strung up like a Thanksgiving turkey when we found them.”

Connell smiled and gave Lizzie and Marty the thumbs up. “Did he get anything out of him?”

“Well, I guess when you have a snake on your belly, you’d pretty much give up your own mother.”

“You’re joking?”

“Nah
, the guy was pleased to see us, I can tell you that. Parker is a scary guy when he’s riled.”

“What did he say?”

“A lot, but it all came out like vomit, bits and pieces and lots of bile. He mentioned shipments. Said your guy was waiting for one last delivery. The kids are his ticket out, once he’s finished things with you. Does that make sense?”

Connell punched the air. “Yes, it sure does. I owe you one, Will.”

“I’d say you owe Parker, but be careful, Tommy. For whatever reason, this guy has it bad for you. Don’t think for one minute you can handle this alone. Stick with Gerry. Let the cops handle it.”

“This is about Joey. I can’t leave it to anybody else.”

Chapter Twenty Two

Connell kept his eyes on the ro
ad and his foot on the gas, willing the traffic to disappear and the miles to melt away. More than once he averted a collision by sheer good luck rather than skill, and his knowledge of the city streets from when he’d worked them as a cop had him weaving and dodging to miss the stop signs and the speed restrictions. Marty had told him to wait for backup, Gerry had insisted that he leave it to the professionals, but both knew that Connell would take matters into his own hands. He’d meet them there, he’d insisted, and he was making damned sure he got there before the tapes went up and police protocol forced him to watch from the sidelines.

Connell sucked in a breath. His gut churned with a whole heap of black things. He chanced a quick glance and caught Lizzie’s distraught expression. Just as he had insisted on heading out the door, against advice, so she had demanded on accompanying him. She couldn’t stay alone at the apartment, frantic with worry
, and he couldn’t leave her. She shuddered. Her hand strayed to her hair, twisting the strands between finger and thumb. Connell resisted the urge to reach out and touch. He didn’t want her to fold; he needed her strong. If he’d held her just for a moment, he would have caved in himself.

“It’s okay honey. We’ll get them back.
Frankie isn’t after the kids, he’s after me.”

He thought of Brown, dragged from the river, Gibbons with a hole where his head should be, Terry, little more than a kid himself, executed at point blank range
, and Katarina left for dead on the floor. He knew deep down that Frankie wouldn’t raise a hair over putting a gun to Joe’s head and Molly was the prize he’d been after all along.

“Frankie loves kids,” he lied. “He won’t hurt them. He’s just after a final showdown. He’
s a showman. He won’t hurt them,” he repeated desperately.
Please God
, he prayed silently,
keep them safe, just a little longer
.

“Connell, I’m so afraid. I saw the look in Frankie’s eyes.”

“Don’t be scared. I won’t let anything happen to them. The guys are right behind us. Gerry’s task force is practically champing at the bit for a piece of Frankie. It’s just a case of me keeping him talking until the cavalry show up.”

Lizzie reached out, laid a hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “I know you’ll do anything. That’s what worries me.”

He pulled the car to a halt and leaned across with a desperate kiss. He wanted one last taste of her, just in case. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenalin flooded his system. He pulled away and took a breath.

“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. She nodded, unable to speak, her hand in his, fingers slipping from his grasp as he eased himself away. “Stay in the car, lock the doors when I get out. Do not come out for anyone but me, Marty or Gerry.

*  *  *

The warehouse was bathed in sunlight, no outward sign that anything was amiss. He stood a moment
, pressed against the corrugated wall, listening to the metal popping as it expanded in the heat. He had the element of surprise. Frankie hadn’t made his call yet and wouldn’t be expecting anything but his shipment. But even so, he hesitated, desperate to get this right. He reached for the gun tucked at the small of his back and gripped it tightly. His palm was sweating, his hand shaking. He remembered Gerry’s words about courage and fear, and slowly he gathered himself together.

Moving quietly, keeping to the shadows where the walls met the weed strewn ground, he stepped carefully over the scattered debris, the broken glass, desperate not to make a sound that might give away his position. Pausing at the first damaged panel
, he peered into the dappled light of the interior. Frankie’s car was parked in the center of the vast space, and alongside it, Porter’s.

Porter scanned the space while Frankie vocalized loudly, his cell phone pressed against his ear. It looked like Frankie’s bad day was getting worse. He checked his watch, yelled some more and Porter glanced up at the overseer’s office. Connell followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of movement. He double-checked the scene at the cars, leaning in as far as he dared, squinting at the distorting effect of the scattered light. He couldn’t see Molly or Joe in either car. He adjusted his position, narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the office. If Frankie had left the kids in there, then he’d made a big mistake. Connell felt a surge of hope.

He needed a distraction, something that would ensure Porter was dispatched to investigate. He scanned the space, discounting various options that would take too long to set up. His eyes finally settled on a stack of crates at the far end of the warehouse. It was perhaps a little too f
ar from where he needed to be. He wondered whether he could make it back and up the rickety stairs before Frankie caught on. He would only get one chance. He couldn’t mess up.

Moving further along the wall
, he located the gap he’d used to gain entry the night he’d watched Katarina make her first appearance. He wondered whether she was as well as Gerry had made out to the networks. The fact that Frankie had left her for dead, just another casualty who wouldn’t lose him any sleep, hardened Connell’s resolve. He squeezed through the gap and edged his way forward. From inside, the crates seemed further away - too far. He cursed silently and glanced again at the office. Where was Marty when he needed him?

There was movement again at the window, small hands against the glass. Connell flicked his gaze between Porter
, who was now circling the cars, and Frankie still bellowing orders. When he looked back at the office, the door creaked open and Joe, no taller than the doorknob, peeped out.

“Joey
…” he muttered under his breath. If ever there was a kid guaranteed not to do as he was told, or stay where he was put, that was Joe. A chip off the block for sure. He willed him back through the door. Instead, Joe took another step out onto the unstable platform. He teetered clumsily on one leg, one hand on the doorknob. Connell’s stomach lurched. If Porter or Frankie were to turn in Joe’s direction, they would see him without a doubt and Connell was under no illusion as to what they would do to a child who proved an inconvenience. He had to make a move before Joe left the relative safety of the platform.

He’d had a good right arm as a kid, played baseball with his brother and could throw further than Will, even though Will was older and bigger. As he picked up a discarded wrench, he hoped he still possessed the skill. It reached almost as far as the crates, which wasn’t as far as he’d have liked,
but further than he had hoped, its journey halted by an oversized oil drum which magnified the noise of impact tenfold.

“There is a God,” muttered Connell as he sprung to his feet and raced for the stairs. Porter ran the opposite way, fooled by the noise. Frankie ducked behind his car and pulled out his own gun. Connell made it to the bottom of the stairs as Joe started down them.

“Daddy!” he shrieked excitedly, his high pitched voice cutting through the vast space. Porter skidded to a halt. Frankie swung his gaze, dropped his phone and raised his gun. Connell had no choice but to keep going. He propelled himself up the stairs, grabbing at the rail as the structure swayed perilously beneath his weight. Sweeping Joe up under his arm, he fell through the open door as the first of Frankie’s bullets splintered the wood.

Molly crouched in the corn
er, hands clamped over her ears, eyes tightly closed. Connell hadn’t time to do anything but bar the door. He pushed Joe away from him.

“Joey, sit next to Molly. I want you to get real close and cover your eyes.” The little boy scooted across the boards on all fours and wrapped his arms tigh
tly around Molly. “There’s going to be a lot of noise. I don’t want you to worry. It’s just grownups getting jiggy. You know, Joe, like when you don’t get your own way and you start throwing stuff around?” He pushed the heavy desk in front of the door and crouched behind it, listening, waiting for the unmistakable creaking that would announce that Porter had followed them up the stairs.

He checked his watch. Where was Marty
, or Gerry, or the army of cops that Gerry had promised would sweep in and save the day? At this rate, Frankie would have picked up his delivery and made his escape before they made it across town. He strained his ears and thought he detected the faint sound of sirens, but couldn’t be sure, and even if he were, couldn’t guarantee they weren’t destined elsewhere. In this town it seemed you couldn’t go two blocks before a patrol car cut in front of you.

He raised himself above the cover of the desk and looked through the broken window. A bullet narrowly missed his head, shattering what was left of the glass and showering him with shards. He dropped to the floor and shook his head to dislodge the
glass. It was no good. They were pretty much trapped and it wouldn’t take long for Porter to climb the stairs and force his way in. He scanned the small space, looking for options, another way out, anything that would forestall the inevitable. The office was a mess with broken furniture and shattered glass, the ceiling sagging and stained brown with damp. He studied the patch where the roof membrane above had obviously failed. Constructed in the same way as the walls, with corrugated iron, many of the sheets had dislodged and fallen to the yard below. Connell pulled a chair beneath. If the ironwork was missing, then it should be possible to break through.

It didn’t take much. A few well-
aimed blows brought the flimsy ceiling down on his head. He flexed his hand, shook out the pins and needles, and wiped his bloodied knuckles on his pants. The hole was wide enough for them to squeeze through. Sunlight beckoned them.

“Molly, sweetheart, I know you’re scared, but we have to move. There’s a bad man on his way up the stairs and we have to
climb up and out onto the roof before he gets here. Do you understand?”

“I told you, my dad would come save us,” said Joe proudly. He pulled at Molly’s hands
, freeing them from her ears. “I said my dad is here to save us from the bad men.”

Molly lifted her head
, opened her eyes and looked straight at Connell. He expected confusion and fear but instead she regarded him calmly and then, surprisingly, reached out her hand and slipped it in his.

“Good girl, Molly. Come on. Let’s get ourselves out of here.”

He heard the sirens as he lifted Joe and heard Frankie’s furious bellow a moment later. He ignored them both as he pushed first Joe and then Molly through the makeshift hatch and onto the warehouse roof. “Do not move,” he called to them as he stepped down from the chair, crossed the office and took one final look through the window.

Porter ran for his car
in a futile dash for freedom. He couldn’t hope to escape with the area surrounded by cops who were pretty much sick of being jerked around and hell bent on getting an arrest. Perhaps he realized it because, as the giant warehouse doors shuddered under the weight of steel rams, Porter skidded to a stop. Trapped, he scanned the space, running out of options and time, flicking his gaze between gun and car, a resigned expression settled on his face. He was beaten and he knew it. But Porter, being Porter, had no intention of going quietly. Connell watched impotently as he turned slowly and across the expanse locked eyes with him. He shrugged, spread his arms wide and smiled.

“Come on, Tommy,” he taunted
, “shoot me if you dare.”

Connell’s hand tightened on his own gun. He felt his gut twist as blackness struggled to be free. It would be so easy. How could it be wrong? He was the good guy after all. Even so, he hesitated, distracted by Joey calling frantically from above, by movement on the creaking stairway. He couldn’t focus. Porter or Frankie? Could he take out both and still get the kids to safety? Could he actually pull the trigger?

Porter shook his head. “Too slow, Tommy. You’re going to regret it.” He raised his gun, swung his arm and his aim away from Connell, and fired.

Connell figured Porter hadn’t really intended to hit the gas tank. After all, only a moron would initiate a situation that not only exploded the car, but almost brought the unstable building down on his head. But then again, Connell also figured Porter must
be lacking a brain cell or two to have aligned himself so comfortably with Frankie, and he was already dressed for a funeral. Either way, the smug look was wiped from the man’s face as he was flung back by the blast. Flames erupted from the car, catching at the dry timber framework. The whole building rocked perilously with the force of the explosion before settling back at least ten degrees out of kilter. The building groaned under the weight now placed on the misaligned structure. Connell felt the boards beneath him shift, and with a final glance at the burning car, he scrambled for the hatch and hauled himself up and out through the makeshift skylight.

Struggling to his feet, he found Molly and Joe crouched in a tight embrace. The roof s
tretched out beyond them, tilting alarmingly from the blast. Underfoot, the deep grooves in the corrugated iron made any movement difficult and dangerous.

He picked Joe up, the child clinging monkey-like, small arms clasped tight around his neck, skinny legs around his waist. He took hold of Molly’s hand, squeezed it reassuringly, and together they made their way gingerly across the uneven surface.