Spider's Web (36 page)

“Put the gun down, Bill!” he shouted.

Stokes stared at him. “Bill?” he asked, frowning, tilting his head a bit. “Who the hell is Bill. My name is—”

“Bill Derringer,” Mitchell said loudly.

Tanessa’s eyes opened. Would she get the reference? Would she know what to do? She had to, or she was lost.

There was a moment of stillness as Stokes stared at Mitchell, trying to figure out what he was talking about. Tanessa seemed woozy, unsure. She wasn’t up to it, Mitchell thought in despair, measuring the distance to Stokes. Would he be able to charge the man? It was worth a shot…

Then Tanessa dropped her head forward and smashed it back, hitting Stokes’s face—just as she’d done to Bill Derringer, all those years ago.

Stokes screamed in pain, blood spurting from his nose, and Tanessa stumbled forward. Mitchell knelt, grabbed his gun, aimed, and fired three times.

His aim was bad; he was dazed, his body pushed way beyond its capabilities. Two shots missed completely. The third clipped Stokes in the shoulder. He whirled, his legs buckling as he tipped backward into the void…

And then his knees bent and he fell forward instead, crashing to the roof. Mitchell leaped forward, realizing he didn’t have handcuffs with him. He could just shoot Stokes, get this over with. He pointed his shaking gun at the fallen killer.

“Mitchell, don’t!” Zoe shouted.

“You’re under arrest,” he said, his own voice far away. “Put your hands over your head.”

He knelt by Tanessa, who lay on her back, blinking.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so,” she mumbled. “Thanks, Mitch.”

“Sure,” he said, sitting down. Two cops barged through the door and onto the roof, shouting, one of them aiming his gun at Stokes. Zoe began talking quickly to both of them, explaining. Mitchell couldn’t really fathom what it was all about. He just held Tanessa’s head in his lap and shut his eyes.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Tanessa was watching TV when Mitchell dropped by. She was immensely relieved to see him. Staying with Mom and Dad was taking its toll, and she was one “Why don’t you marry a nice young man” away from matricide. When her mother had asked her if she wanted to stay with them for a couple of days, she’d happily agreed. She hadn’t wanted to sleep in her bed, where Jovan had grabbed her and stuck a needle into her neck. She hadn’t wanted to be alone at all, in fact.

But now she recalled that her mother was not the nurturing kind of parent that Tanessa occasionally heard about. Her mother was the kind of parent who sucked out her children’s energy and joy, to teach them about the misery of life. On the plus side, sleeping alone in an apartment from which she had been kidnapped began to sound quite attractive.

“Mitchell!” Tanessa heard her mother’s sing-song voice intone as she opened the door. “How lovely to see you. You’re here to see Tanessa? Of course. Why else would you come visit us?”

Tanessa gnashed her teeth. Mitchell came there almost every weekend. You never could win with this woman.

Mitchell entered the living room, smiling, sadness deep within his eyes. Real sadness, not the fake stuff he used in the interrogation room.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” He sat down. “What are you watching?”

She shrugged and turned off the TV. “Nothing. How are you?”

“They want me off duty for a few more days,” Mitchell said. “But I’m feeling much better.”

“Ricky Nate called you a real American hero in her article,” Tanessa said.

“That’s me. Definitely an American.” He looked at her. “What about you?”

“Oh, the usual,” she said, smiling a thin smile.
The usual
. Nightmares, fits of crying, moments of intense anxiety. Just anyone’s usual day, really.

“The feds are taking Jovan to stand trial in Boston,” Mitchell said. “Too high profile for Glenmore Park, I guess.”

Tanessa nodded. She didn’t want to talk about Jovan Stokes.

“You asked about the guy in the elevator…” Mitchell hesitated.

“Yeah?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

“He died yesterday. They couldn’t save him.”

Tanessa stared at the floor.

“This job, Tanessa… It takes a toll, you know?”

“I know,” she said sharply. Damn it, she knew. She’d gone through a very intense education spree lately, just to learn this fact.

“But for what it’s worth… you’re really good at it,” Mitchell said.

She lifted her eyes in surprise, meeting his stare. He wasn’t smiling; his face was dead serious.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

She leaned forward and hugged him. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Zoe sat patiently on one of the two chairs in the bare room. In front of her was a white table, and beyond it another chair. The room was lit by a bright, bare bulb. It was dirty, the walls gray. Everything pulsed with hopelessness and boredom, which was only to be expected in the Massachusetts Correctional Institution.

Finally, a guard walked him in and sat him in front of her. He wore the gray scrubs that all the prisoners there wore. He was unshaven, his eyes red. She was happy to see that prison life did not seem to agree with him.

“It’s you,” Jovan Stokes said.

“It’s me,” Zoe nodded.

“What do you want?”

She shrugged. “Just to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” he sneered.

“We haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Zoe Bentley, and I’m a forensic psychologist,” she said. “I was hoping that we could have a couple of conversations.”

“Why?” Jovan asked. “So you can use me as your study material? Fuck off.”

Zoe nodded. She’d expected this. She knew how to handle it. She stood up. “Just one question,” she said. “How do you think it ends for you?”

He smiled and said nothing.

“We’re in Massachusetts,” she said. “There is no death penalty. You’re about to receive life without parole, and you’ll spend the rest of your days in this prison with nothing to live for, nothing to wait for, nothing to…” She drew out the sentence, half grinning. “…Anticipate.”

The smile disappeared from his face.

“Maybe you think you’ll be able to kill yourself. Let me promise you one thing: I’ll have you put on suicide watch. You won’t get a chance, Jovan, not one chance. You can’t even anticipate that moment. No. The only thing you can anticipate are my short visits. If you behave, I’ll even bring something nice to eat with me.”

She could see the horror in his eyes as she obliterated his fantasy world.

“Goodbye, Jovan,” she said, and turned to the door.

“Wait!” he said.

She opened the door and left, closing the door behind her.

“Wait!” she heard him shout. “Please!”

She smiled as she left the prison. She had the opportunity of a lifetime. And she planned to take full advantage of it.

She already felt the anticipation for her next visit.

Enjoyed this book? The sequel
Deadly Web
, out on June 24th, is already available for preorder at:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4AL7V0

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About the Author

Mike Omer is the author of the Glenmore Park Mystery Series. He has been in the past a journalist, a game developer and the CEO of the company Loadingames. He is married to a woman who diligently forces him to live his dream, and the father of an angel, a pixie and a gremlin. He has two voracious hounds that
wag their tail quite menacingly
at anyone who comes near his home.

Mike loves to write about true people who are perpetrators or victims of crimes. He also likes writing funny stuff. He mixes these two loves quite passionately into his mystery books.

You can contact Mike by sending him an e-mail to [email protected]

Acknowledgments

Like every piece of drivel I manage to write on paper, this would never have become a novel without my wife, Liora. She is my developmental editor, my cheerleader, my most avid reader, my brainstorm partner. How do other writers write books without her? I must assume they have cloned her. Please stop cloning my wife.

Thanks to Christine Mancuso for providing invaluable comments which helped shape this novel into something coherent and engaging.

Thanks to Axel Blackwell and my dad for their extremely helpful beta reading input.

Thanks to Richard Stockford who answered all of my questions with the patience and diligence of a saint.

Thanks to Tammi Labrecque for editing this novel. Without her, half the words of this novel would have been
that
or
was
, and that would have been a confusing thing to read.

Thanks to all of the authors in Author’s Corner, for being there every step of the way, giving me endless much needed advice, cheering me on, and helping me when I needed them the most.

Thanks to Shai Pilosof and Gil Wizen for figuring out with me what happens when a body is buried in a park for several weeks.

Thanks to my parents for both their invaluable advice and their endless support.