An Empty Hell Page 16
The electricity coursing through his body molded together into a lead ball which settled in his stomach.
“There was this Halloween gift outside my front door. A little plastic skull with a top hat on. It was very weird. It’s a little late for Halloween gifts. It’s Christmas season.”
Herrick sat back on the couch and took his arm off of her.
“What?” she asked. “I just thought it was funny. We’re allowed to laugh a little. Weird things happen in New Jersey, right? When I was a kid…”
“Was there a note? Something else?”
“No, just that.”
The jingle of Taylor Swift emanated into the room. Muffled. Sarah’s ring tone. She jumped up off the couch and went to it.
She grabbed her purse and said, “It’s still too early to be work.”
Herrick’s phone started to ring too. Sweat formed behind his ears, and his breath was ragged. Sarah found her phone and answered before Herrick could get to his.
He saw the unknown number.
Sarah said, “Oh my God. Oh my God! Is everyone else all right?”
Herrick didn’t answer his phone yet, turning to her. He could see tears welling up in her eyes.
“My apartment has been broken into. One of the doormen got beat up,” she said. “I have to go home. I have to go. The ambulance is there.”
She stood up and stuffed her phone back in her purse. Herrick held up a hand and told her to wait, he was going to come with her.
Then he answered his phone.
The voice was clipped. “You think I’m fucking around? You’re lucky she wasn’t home.”
The line disconnected, but Herrick didn’t need to hear any more.
They grabbed their jackets and rushed to Sarah’s car.
ALEX ROBINSON stared at his phone.
He willed it to ring, but it rested on his desk, silent. Both Mosley and Carver had promised to get in touch with him. Carver needed to give him the keys to his trust fund; otherwise, he was in deep trouble.
The tea kettle whistled—he couldn’t even afford Starbucks Earl Grey or Johnny and Hanges today. And if he didn’t get a case soon, he’d be living out of his office. That didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was Herrick and Donne and finishing this.
Trusting the Mosleys was smart; they knew the terrain—based in DC, but came up here often. And they were efficient. But Robinson hadn’t foreseen Steve Mosley being killed—he hadn’t expected rage to play a factor. He got up and fetched himself a cup of tea.
But, he thought, when revenge is in play, rage is always a factor.
Outside, buses honked and brakes squealed. No collision, just a normal day in Kearny.
The phone rang and Robinson nearly spilled his coffee trying to get back to it. Caller ID scrolled across the screen of the cordless.
Mosley.
He picked up.
“They’re back,” Mosley growled.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. Jackson Donne and Matt Herrick are back in New Jersey.”
Robinson switched ears. “Are they dead?”
Mosley huffed. “Have you ever spoken on the phone before? Someone could be listening.”
“No one is listening.” His stomach burned. No one trusted him. Carver was sure he was followed and now Mosley thought his phone was tapped.
“They’re around,” Mosley said.
He had time to find the money to pay Mosley still. With a dead brother, the guy would probably ask for double. He needed to spread this out.
“Don’t kill them yet.”
“You’re an idiot. A mega-fucking-idiot.”
The fire in Robinson’s stomach exploded.
“Don’t talk to me that way! I am your boss. I’m paying your salary.”
“I should have been paid already.”
Robinson stalked over to his window and looked outside, scanning the sidewalks for Mosley. No sign of him.
“Where are you?”
Mosley didn’t answer.
“It’s not that I don’t want them dead,” Robinson said. “It’s that I want Herrick to hurt.”
“What do you have against him? Haven’t I hurt him enough already?”
“Herrick destroyed my life. I want him to have to live with the same sort of destruction.”
Mosley said, “You want him to live?”
“Temporarily.”
Robinson laid it over the phone, the plan that had come to him the night before. They all thought he was stupid? This would change that.
When he was done talking, Mosley said, “And you wanted me to play a psychopath. You’re a sick man, Alex.”
“You have to make sure the two of them are together.”
“I already have an idea for that.”
They hung up. Robinson stared out the window for a long time. Carver never called. Another bus pulled up and three people got off, including a bearded man. The gait was familiar to Robinson, but he pushed it away.
There was too much else on his mind.
DETECTIVE WORK via the train in New Jersey wasn’t easy. There wasn’t a constantly running train that Donne could catch at any time—like a subway. To try and map out a full bus route could take half the afternoon away. Donne found himself on the 1:15 to Lyndhurst, however. From there he hoped to catch the 2:07 bus to Kearny, and then he planned to knock on Alex Robinson’s door.
The plan worked, and Donne found himself on the sidewalk just outside Robinson’s office. The snow flurries had stopped, but the wind was still kicking, and the dark clouds sat overhead like unwanted visitors. Donne rolled his neck and felt it crack like a knuckle, releasing some tension he’d built on his trip across northern New Jersey. Then he pulled the glass door open, went inside, and climbed the steps to Robinson’s office. The building smelled like mold and fried chicken.
Donne hit the intercom buzzer on the outside of Robinson’s office door. As he waited for a response, his body wavered as if it’d been recovering from an aftershock. It had been years since he’d seen Alex Robinson. Years since he sat on the stand and pointed out Leo Carver. He hoped to never see them again.
That hope had slipped away very quickly over the past forty-eight hours.
He heard the voice he hadn’t heard in years crackle through the speaker. It sounded far away and raspy.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to hire you for a very important case.”
The door buzzed and Donne walked into the one-room office. There was a water cooler, a hot plate with a tea kettle on it, two filing cabinets, a desk covered in scattered papers, and Alex Robinson leaning back in his chair behind it. Donne waved. It took Robinson a second. Maybe it was the beard.
Then he got it.
“Oh no way!”
He nearly toppled out of his chair.
“Hi, Alex.”
“Jackson, you gotta get out of here, man. I didn’t do anything to you.”
Donne pulled out the chair across from the desk and sat in it. He watched Robinson’s hands.
“How about we sit right, Alex? And keep the hands where I can see ’em.”
“That a threat?”
“No. I’m not going to hurt you, Alex. But I don’t particularly want you hurting me either.”
Robinson straightened up and put his fingers on the edge of the desk. He’d put on some weight since Donne had last seen him. His fingers looked like hot dogs, and a gullet hung underneath his chin.
“Uh-huh. So why are you here?”
“I want to talk about the last ten years.”
Robinson nodded. “Sure. Old times. Old times. Some of ’em were pretty good. But who says I want to just sit here and reminisce?”
“Doesn’t look like you have much more else on your plate.” Because you probably ate it.
Robinson lifted his hand and Donne tensed. He didn’t have a gun on him, no weapons at all. But Robinson didn’t know that. Donne exhaled when Robinson pointed at his landline.
Donne spread his hands. “Talk until they get here and lock me up?”
“That doesn’t sound like you. Thought you were a runner.” Robinson held the phone, but didn’t dial.
“I got older. Knees hurt.”
“Haven’t we all?”
Donne nodded toward Robinson’s hand. “I think it’s time you converted to wireless.”
Robinson put the phone back in the cradle. “I hate dropped calls.”
“Explains the amount of business you seem to do. Most of this shit is online and you don’t even have a computer.”
“You gonna kill me or what?”
Robinson’s left fingers were still on the desk, but his right hand was just out of sight. Donne swallowed and tried to think of a way to get the hand back where it should be. Words like that weren’t coming, however. Because Donne was caught up on what Robinson had just said.
“I’m not going to kill you. That’s not what’s going on here. You hired a guy to find me.”
Robinson blinked. “Because I wanted to find you before you found me and took me out.”
Donne leaned forward. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve been minding my own business for the past year. And now all of a sudden, I’m gonna pop up and take you out? You’re not hard to find. I could have done it years ago.”
Robinson didn’t answer immediately, and Donne’s muscles tensed even more. He really wanted Robinson to put his hand back on the desk.
“You killed Bill Martin.” Robinson’s tongue tripped him up around the word killed and he needed to stop for a moment before saying Martin’s name.
Donne shook his head. “You know better. You wouldn’t hire someone to find me, and hire someone else to kill me. That’s just bad business, man.”
For an instant, Donne thought he’d played it wrong and said too much. Robinson rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, gathering himself.
“Man, fuck you.”
The whole room felt wrong. Robinson’s left hand had beads of sweat on it. Full beds. Donne didn’t think he’d ever seen that before.
“You didn’t think I was going to kill you,” Donne said. “You wanted to flush me out.”
Robinson’s nostrils flared. “That’s the cops’ job.”
“And when they gave up?”
Donne saw Robinson’s right shoulder twitch, and he moved quickly. Instead of backing away, he leaped across the desk and grabbed Robinson’s shirt. He yanked hard and pulled Robinson against the wood. He slapped Robinson with his left hand.
Robinson said, “Ow.”
“We need to take a ride,” Donne said. “That’s why I’m really here. Let’s make this reunion complete.”
Robinson exhaled. Realization flashed across his eyes. “You really don’t want to do this.”
“Take me to see Leo,” Donne said. “I miss him.”
HERRICK WADED into the muck.
Flashing lights, people talking, someone crying, the crackle of a police radio, and the click of an iPhone taking photos lined the sidewalk outside of Sarah’s building. She was at his side, clutching his elbow as he pushed through the crowd trying to get to the front door.
At the front of the crowd, two cops were taping off the stairway leading to the front doors. Herrick could see the dark stain of blood—a shade of red so deep it looked almost brown—on the top step. Next to it was a plastic skull with a top hat. That was drenched in red.
Sarah saw it too and whispered, “Oh my God.”
The grip at his elbow became a vise, pressing down on his nerves and muscle. He didn’t dare shake her loose, however.
A cop approached them, holding up a hand.
“Can’t go in there,” he said.
“I live here,” Sarah said.
“Sorry, ma’am, it’s a crime scene.”
Herrick said, “I’m a private investigator. I think this may have something to do with a case I’m working on.”
The cop froze, and then pulled the receiver attached to his uniform close to his mouth. He uttered something Herrick couldn’t quite make out due the rumble of the crowd.
“Wait here,” he said.
TEN MINUTES later, someone had brought both Herrick and Sarah coffee. They were sitting in the back of the police cruiser waiting to talk to the detective in charge of the case. In Hudson County, towns didn’t have their own homicide detectives; they used county cops who worked out of Jersey City.
Sarah sipped her coffee and didn’t speak. The steam from the cup fogged the windows. Herrick drank some coffee and checked his email on his phone. Nothing but spam. He deleted it and went back to the bitter coffee. Someone had gotten a Box O’ Joe from Dunkin’ Donuts and it’d been sitting out. The things cops suffered through for the love of their jobs.
The front passenger door to the cruiser opened and a hefty man in a light gray raincoat slid in. The seat groaned underneath him. He had thinning black hair and compensated for it with a thick mustache. He wiped at it, coughed, and then smiled at them.
“I’m Chaz Martinez,” the detective said. “This is my case.”
Herrick nodded at him.
“So, lemme get this straight.” He pointed at Sarah. “You live here.” He pointed at Herrick. “And you’re working a case that might tie into this attack.”
Herrick said, “Yes.”
At the same time, Sarah said, “Is Lionel okay?”
“I don’t know,” Martinez said. “The ambulance took him to Clara Maass fifteen minutes ago. I haven’t gotten an update yet.”
Sarah nodded. “If you hear anything, please.”
Martinez uttered something sounding like an affirmative, and then turned his attention to Herrick.
“What’s your case?”
Herrick told him.
“The guy who killed the senator?”
Herrick shrugged. “He was involved.”
“I thought they cleared him.”
Herrick shrugged. “I think he’s officially wanted for questioning. They don’t brief you on this stuff?”
“Not really my jurisdiction. And you can’t trust the news.” Martinez coughed into his fist. “So is he the guy who attacked—what was his name? Lionel? Was it Donne?”
The crowd was off to Herrick’s right. He could still see them loitering, watching cops take pictures and do whatever it was cops did at a crime scene. He took another sip of coffee, the steam filling his nose with the sweet smell.
After swallowing, he said, “I don’t think so. At this point, almost a week ago, a man attacked me. I have reason to believe his name is Lucas Mosley. He’s a bounty hunter.”
Martinez typed something into his phone. “I’ve heard of the Mosleys. They haven’t been around in a while though. They’re efficient guys who run up and down the coast. We think they took out a couple of Bloods downtown last year.”
“Steve is dead. Up in Vermont.”
Martinez said, “How do you know that?”
Herrick shrugged again.
Sarah stared at him. He could feel the heat from her eyes on his neck. He tried to ignore it. Talking to the cops wasn’t going to help end this case any more quickly, and it didn’t appear Martinez was going to give up much information voluntarily, so Herrick had to hand something over.
“I was there last night. And Lucas Mosley told me.” Sounded true enough. “He’s been calling me, threatening my friends. Threatening me. My basketball team.”
Martinez let the comment go, but Sarah didn’t.
“The team?” Sarah gripped his arm tight. “The kids?”
“I told the cops in Jersey City, there’s plenty of extra protection. We’re not in any danger.”
“My doorman just got beat up. Someone left a skull outside my door. If I hadn’t come to see you this morning…”
“I know, I know.” Herrick had been trying not to think about that aspect since he got the phone call.
“You should have called us,” Martine
z said.
“I just said I told the Jersey City police.”
Martinez shook his head.
“What happened to Lionel?” Herrick asked.
“Not exactly sure. Someone was trying to get into the building. When he was found, they said Lionel was mumbling that he just tried to stop them. Or him. Witness couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying. The responding officer said Lionel’s face was pretty messed up. Surprised he could talk at all.”
Sarah put her hands in her face and let out a long sigh. She’d held it together longer than Herrick expected.
Martinez opened his mouth to ask another question. The words were drowned out, however. All the sounds, the static from the police radio. Ambient crowd noise. It all faded away.
Herrick felt the shock wave first, as the back windshield shattered. Then the heat rushed over him, licking his face. The smell of smoke rushed into his nose and thunder filled his ears. Everything was hot and loud. His muscles went tight and his mouth was open. He could have been screaming for all he knew.
The car rocked up off its left wheels and then back down again.
He pulled Sarah into him close and went toward the seat to protect both of them. Her nails dug into his chest.
The apartment building went up in a ball of flame.
SARAH’S MOUTH was wide, her eyes were closed, and her hands were balled into fists. But no sound came out of her mouth, at least as far as Herrick could tell. Then again, the entire world had gone silent, save for an intense ringing in his ears. He brought his hands up to his ears. Everything was wet and sticky. He pushed himself back away from Sarah.
He tried to say “Are you okay” and felt the vibrations in his throat. But Sarah didn’t respond.
Looking down at the back of his hands, he could see they were covered in blood and glass shards. The rear windshield had blown out and scattered all over them. If he hadn’t fallen on Sarah, it might have been much worse.
He turned toward the front seat and saw it was much worse for Martinez. The front windshield had blown as well, in much larger shards. One had embedded itself in Martinez’s head. He was shuddering and shaking like he was having a seizure.