Stay of Execution (25 page)

 

Chapter Seventy-­Eight

“B
ALDWIN HASN'T BEEN
seen since he left the hospital. Being a Sunday, his office is closed.” Talbot turned the corner. He drove up to the white house with the blue shutters and parked on the street.

Cancini craned his neck to look back at the two-­story Colonial. The driveway was empty, and no activity was visible through the windows. The house appeared vacant. “He left the hospital almost two hours ago.”

Both men got out of the car, Talbot with a search warrant in hand. “Yeah, and you should know the priest at St. Benedict's confirmed he only saw Baldwin at the beginning of the ser­vice in the back row. No one remembers seeing him after that.”

“So, we think he went to the ser­vice and slipped out after a few minutes.”

“Right. The Walsh house is about three miles from the church. He could have been there by nine-­ten at the latest.”

Cancini and Talbot walked up the sidewalk, pausing as a team of agents circled to the backyard. Talbot drew his gun, pointing the barrel upward. Cancini rang the bell. After several minutes and no answer, Talbot's men opened the door and spread out among the rooms.

Cancini headed upstairs where he inspected the three bedrooms one by one. He guessed the first was a guest room, furnished with only a double bed and single nightstand. A second bedroom held a treadmill, bike, and TV. The hall bathroom was clean except for one towel crumpled on the floor. Slipping on a pair of gloves, Cancini picked it up by the corner. It appeared used and smelled musty. He dropped it back on the floor. The master bedroom was also empty. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room. No books on the nightstand. No television set. No pictures on the walls or framed photographs. The bed was haphazardly made, but otherwise, the room was clean. The walk-­in closet held rows of suits, shirts, and shoes. A clothes hamper stood against the back wall of the closet. Cancini lifted the lid. It was empty.

He found Talbot in the kitchen.

“All the trash has been emptied,” Talbot reported. “There's a thin layer of dust on the countertops and bookcases. I'd say he's been living elsewhere for the last few days.”

Cancini opened the refrigerator. It was mostly empty except for a ­couple of take-­out cartons, some bruised fruit, and a half-­empty carton of milk. The date on the milk had passed. “I'd say you're right.” The Baldwin family owned several properties. It seemed reasonable that Teddy would have access to all of them. “How many other residences do they own?”

“Four. One is at a ski resort in West Virginia, about two hours from here. One is in Virginia Beach. And there's a house in Florida. I've got ­people checking out those places.”

“And the fourth?”

“The big house on campus. It's usually reserved for visiting professors, guests of the president, ­people like that. But with the evacuation, it's been sitting empty.”

Cancini followed Talbot back to the car. They rode in silence to the campus. Cancini leaned forward, rubbing the base of his neck. The dull ache that had started at the hospital had grown to a pounding throb that spread over the back of his head. He recognized the pain as penance, as a physical reminder of the evidence he'd missed, the mistakes he'd made. How could he have missed Baldwin for so long? How could he have he have missed the shifty eyes behind the amiable, good ol' boy politician? He slammed his palm into the dashboard. “Goddammit. He was right in front of us the whole time!”

“Maybe,” Talbot said, his tone noncommittal.

“What do you mean maybe? Nikki identified him as her attacker.”

“Yes, she did, and we can get him on that when we find him, but as of now, we can't link the other attacks to Nikki. The evidence we have in those cases is still circumstantial, like it or not. It no more incriminates Baldwin than it does Spradlin or me. No matter how you look at it, the return of Spradlin and the new attacks is still suspicious. No one has pointed that out more than you.”

Talbot was right. Spradlin was hiding something back then, and he was hiding something now. Why make a show of coming back and then disappear if you have nothing to hide? The road was lined with thick trees and bramble and he rolled the window down. The colors had changed in the last several days. Green had turned to gold and rust and red. Spradlin and Baldwin. Baldwin and Spradlin. Cancini had once thought he'd understood them both. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Cancini's mind returned to the girl lying in the hospital bed, struggling for her life. “How many guards do you have outside Nikki's room?”

“Two. He can't get in, but just to be sure, I took an extra precaution.”

“Oh?”

“Baldwin got a message from a friend. She told him the girl didn't make it.”

Cancini nodded. “Good move.”

“Yeah, one of the few lately.”

They pulled onto Blue Hill Drive, parking in the long circular drive. They piled out and circled the house. One by one, the agents checked in with Talbot on their walkie-­talkies. Cancini looked up at the grand house. It struck him as immodest, hardly the type of house he envisioned for a servant of God. He thought of Father Joe's small parish apartment, the one he'd lived in for more than thirty years. It didn't have columns or sweeping lawns. It wasn't grand in any sense. This house was everything Father Joe's apartment wasn't.

Loud static erupted from the walkie-­talkie in Talbot's hand, and a deep voice boomed from the speaker.

“Sir, there's someone on the line from the
Washington Herald
for Detective Cancini. He says it's urgent.”

Talbot handed the walkie-­talkie to the detective.

“Cancini here.”

“Detective, this is Norm Jensen. I'm from the
Herald
, Julia Manning's editor.” His voice shook, the words rushed. “She's missing, and she said she loved me and—­”

“Slow down, Norm. Start at the beginning.”

“Oh God,” he sobbed. “I hope we're not too late.”

Cancini's heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

Norm struggled to speak. “Julia. She's not the melodramatic type. That's me,” he said, stifling another sob. “Look, she sent me this text message.” He read it to the detective.

“There's a package for me in her safe?”

“Yes, but she's not there. I've had my assistant call the hotel three times. They found some clerk who said Julia left the hotel before the sun came up. Why would she do that?”

“I don't know, Norm.”

“You've got to find her. That message . . . I've got a bad feeling.”

“Okay.” He waved for Talbot. “Stay on the line and let one of these officers get your information. We'll get back to you as soon as we know something.”

Cancini spoke quickly, his right hand on his gun. “That was Julia's editor. She's the reporter I told you about, the one who's been meeting with Spradlin.”

“And?”

“And she's missing. I need you to send someone to her hotel. There's a package addressed to me in her room safe.”

“I'll send someone now. Where will you be?”

“I'm heading west in the direction Spradlin was last seen,” he said over his shoulder. “How fast can you trace a cell number?”

 

Chapter Seventy-­Nine

E
VEN THROUGH THE
noises of the storm, they both heard the snap of branches outside. “He's here,” Leo said, cocking his head toward the door. “I don't know how, but it doesn't matter now. He's trying to catch me off guard.” He pushed Julia away from him. “Get under the bed. Hurry.”

She nodded and dropped to the floor. The dust under the bed stuck to her sweaty skin. Stifling a sneeze, Julia pulled her blouse up over her nose.

A chair scraped the floor near the back of the cabin. Leo would wait in the shadows, the rifle in his lap.

Footsteps sounded on the wooden steps. She clicked record and inched backward, pressing the small of her back into the wall. The front door slammed open, then shut again. “I'm here, Leo. What do you want?”

The silence stretched out until Julia didn't think she could hold her breath a moment longer.

“I want things to end. It's got to end,” Spradlin said finally.

Baldwin snickered. “Jesus, Leo, how many times have I heard that before? That's what you always fucking say.” He moved forward in the cabin. “Why don't you come closer so we can talk? We haven't been able to do that since you got back.”

“Where were we going to talk, Teddy? In town? At the diner? I'm a pariah in this town, and you know it.” Baldwin found the chair Leo had placed near the front door. The legs creaked. He must have sat. She pictured the two men facing each other, seated on opposite sides of the room. “We both know being seen with me wouldn't be good for your image.”

“I'm sorry about that,” Baldwin said with a sigh. “I'm sorry about a lot of things.” Spradlin snorted. “Believe what you like. Look, I did the best I could. I tried to help you.” Another snort. “I made sure you had the best lawyers available.”

“It was the least you could do. You were walking around on the outside. You got elected mayor. You got to live. What did I get?”

The rain came down harder, beating on the roof. “If the truth had come out, we both would have been in jail. Is that what you wanted?” Baldwin answered.

“When? Then or now?”

“Leo, it doesn't have to be this way. I don't want to be enemies, not now, not after everything . . . you're free, aren't you?”

Lightning cracked in the distance, and the thunder that followed made the cabin shudder. The winds had picked up and blew through the old boarded walls.

“I'll never be free, Teddy, and you know it. Neither of us will ever be free.”

“You need to fucking lighten up, Leo.” Silence. “Where's the girl? The reporter?”

“Gone. She knew too much for her own good.”

“Really? Now you're sounding like the man I used to know.”

“I don't want do this anymore, Teddy. Why'd you do it? Why'd you start again? I warned you, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you warned me. So what?” A match sizzled, followed by the distinct odor of cigarette smoke. “You don't get to fucking tell me what I can and can't do. Don't you get it? No one has ever suspected me, Leo. No one. And there've been others. In Florida. Out West. I wore a mask those times. I had to be careful. They were usually whores, and nobody gave a crap about them anyway. They weren't as good as the college girls, but I needed them. They were my prizes for good behavior.”

“Did you kill them, too?”

“No. I could've, though.” His tone wistful, he added, “I should've.”

Julia's heart pounded, thumping so loudly she was afraid Baldwin would hear it. She willed herself to be still and quiet.

“So, what changed? You used to be squeamish about that sort of thing.” Leo's voice sounded flat, almost bored.

Baldwin chuckled. “Yeah, I was, wasn't I? Leo, let's sit over at that table where we can talk—­like old times.”

“No.” And then, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy it?” Baldwin said the words slowly as though the idea was new. “Not at first. I was going to do it your way, you know, with the first girl. I was gonna break her neck in one clean stroke, like you, but then someone was coming. I had to improvise.”

“You hit her.”

“You could say that. I fucking bashed her head in.” Julia bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. “The second one, I did her neck. Wasn't as clean as yours, but it was good. It was damn good.”

“So now you think maybe you do enjoy it?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Julia detected a smile in his voice. She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Maybe we're even more alike than you thought, Leo. Maybe I'm the stronger one now.”

“I never enjoyed it, Teddy. I did what I had to do.”

“Really, Leo? Are you trying to convince me or yourself? I am so fucking sick of hearing about how you protected me.” Scorn tinged his words. “I can't let Teddy get caught. Teddy's gotten himself into a mess again. I can't let that happen. I can't let Cheryl or Theresa or Marilyn talk. And there was only one way to keep them quiet, wasn't there? Poor you. You got to wrap your hands around all those fucking little necks and snap them in half like twigs. You showed 'em, didn't you? Don't try to tell me you didn't get off on it. You got off as much as I did.” His voice grew pensive. “God, I loved putting those stuck-­up girls in their places.”

Julia held her breath, her eyes wide in the darkness under the bed. She recognized Ted Baldwin's voice, but she didn't know him. Was he mad?

“You're wrong.” Leo said.

“What? So, now you're trying to tell me you felt bad when you killed those bitches? Oh, please.”

“No,” he said. “I'm trying to tell you I felt nothing. I didn't feel guilty, but I didn't enjoy it, either. I just did it.”

“For me?”

“I guess.”

“But not anymore.”

“No.”

A minute ticked by. The wind whistled, and the rain thumped. The storm almost drowned out their words. Careful not to make a sound, Julia pushed herself away from the wall a few inches, straining to hear. She held the recorder closer to the voices.

“Okay, so what happens now?” Baldwin asked.

“It's got to end.”

“Sure. Okay.” He spoke as though he were thinking out loud. “The FBI doesn't have anything anyway. I've been keeping tabs on the whole investigation. There are a ­couple of loose ends I need to tie up, but after that I'll stop for sure. Then, after a ­couple of weeks, maybe months, everything will go back to normal.” The front shadow shifted, and the chair legs moved. Baldwin stood now. “Sound good?” he asked.

Leo stood, too. “No, that's not how it's going to end.” A click let her know he had cocked the rifle. “Turn yourself in, or you die.”

Baldwin laughed, braying like a hyena standing over his prey. “You're out of your fucking mind, Leo.”

“Don't do it, Teddy.”

Julia's hands and legs shook and she held her breath. The silence gave no clues to what was happening and then, “The jacket stays on, and leave your hands where I can see them.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Julia slid forward until she could see the room and the backs of Baldwin's legs. He shuffled forward a few steps. “But you've gotta know I'm never going to turn myself in. Why the fuck should I? I've been the mayor of this town for a long time, and I plan to keep it that way. Believe it or not, I'm pretty damn good at it. Besides, you would never kill me, and we both know it. You might not be willing to protect me anymore, but you won't kill me. I'm your brother.”

“I can, and I will.”

Baldwin snickered again. “Goddammit, Leo. Why do you have to be such an asshole? Let me walk outta here, and I promise it will be done. I'll stop.”

“I can't do that.”

“Leo, you're not fucking listening to me. I'm never turning myself in. I'm not going to prison. That is not fucking happening. Put the rifle down.”

“No.”

Rain lashed against the tiny window and roof, popping like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.

“Okay, Leo. This is how we're gonna do it. Forget your ideas. This is much better for both of us.” Teddy took one step backward. “I'll turn around and walk out of here. You let me go back to my life, and I'll help you go anywhere you want. I'll set you up, make sure you have money, make it so you can disappear. You're an innocent man according to the law. You can spend the rest of your life on an island somewhere, living the good life.” He took another step back. He was halfway across the room.

Lightning cracked over the cabin, throwing a hazy light across the floorboards. Baldwin froze. Thunder boomed, the sound echoing in the small room. When the rumbling faded, Cancini stood in the doorway, gun in hand.