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13
Home of Kahn Oliveras
Carnavan Heights
Porte Franklyn
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Kirra whispered over and over, “Come on, Ryman, move under the light, just a step closer, so I can see you both together.” She couldn’t believe it when she saw Ryman pull into the Oliveras driveway. She quickly set up the parabolic mike she always carried in her turbocharged Audi and left his baby parked a quarter of a mile away. She’d situated it in a thick copse of oaks and maples between the sprawling stately homes in Oliveras’s wealthy neighborhood just outside Porte Franklyn. She knew no one could see her, the properties were set too far apart. She’d been here listening two times before, hoping to overhear Kahn Oliveras’s conversations, hoping another big crime lord who’d gone untouched for years would be careless. And tonight Ryman was here. What would this be about? Her heart pounding, Kirra aimed her mike carefully at the front door and turned on her recorder.
Oliveras opened the door, paused a moment to look out over his large front yard, and stepped onto the porch. He looked back over his shoulder, probably checking to be sure his wife was nowhere close.
His deep accented voice came through clearly. “Well, is it done?”
“Misel is enjoying the flames of hell,” Ryman said with a bark of laughter. “Let’s go inside. I need a whiskey. Thirsty work.”
Oliveras said, “Not this time, wife’s in the kitchen. Believe me, she doesn’t need to see you. You made it look like an accident?”
“Of course, everything went just as you wanted. The cops will determine Misel had too much to drink, lost control of his car, and went flying over Jaspar Cliff. Two hundred feet down.”
Kirra was so shocked she jumped and almost dropped her cell phone. She checked to be sure the recorder was still running. Ryman Grissom had just murdered Misha Misel, Oliveras’s accountant? She didn’t know much about Misel, only that he must have been doctoring Oliveras’s books for him. What had he done to have Oliveras want him killed? He’d probably wanted a bigger cut.
Ryman said, “I was hoping for an explosion but nothing like that happened.”
“That’s only in the movies. Did you go down and check?”
“No, no need, the car struck the cliffside at least three times before landing bottom-up on a pile of boulders, breaking apart, parts flying everywhere. Don’t worry, no one could survive it. A pity, his mistress was with him, a pretty girl, dancer at Pillys.”
“How long before they’re found, I wonder?”
Ryman laughed. “Who knows? A hiker might spot the wreck in a month or two. Don’t worry. Misel is done and gone.”
“Good. The bastard deserved it, threatening me. I thought he was smarter than that. It’s not like I didn’t pay him very well, the fool. There’s no one to report him missing, except Ewing.”
Ryman said, “Ewing will be a piece of cake. I’ll take her up to Green Hills National Park, bury her deep enough no one will ever find her.” She heard his fingers snap. “She’d be gone. Like she just picked up and left.”
Oliveras reached into his pocket, pulled out a fat envelope, and handed it to Ryman, who tucked it in his jacket pocket. “No, don’t kill her, not yet. I want you to go over to Ewing’s house, tonight. Tell her she’s my accountant now, she’ll be doing all of it. She won’t be seeing Misel anymore. She won’t report him missing. Make my job offer to her. If she doesn’t accept, then you can kill her, and we’ll make other plans. You clear on that?”
“Not a problem. Consider it done. Accept or join her former boss.”
“Good. Tell me how your father’s handling this situation.”
As the men spoke, Kirra pulled out a burner phone, texted Jeter, reported the murder of Misha Misel. She started to text about the girlfriend when Grissom whirled around and looked up. “What was that? I heard something. Over there, in the trees! Someone’s watching us!”
Kirra grabbed the parabolic mike and ran all out, crashing through the thick trees, back to the road. She dropped her cell phone, heard it slam against a rock in the bushes. She felt around but couldn’t find it. Frantic, she fell to her knees, swept her hands through the leaves and the undergrowth. She couldn’t leave without the phone, everything was on it, all the proof she needed to send both Oliveras and Ryman to prison. She heard Ryman Grissom yelling as he ran toward the trees, toward her. He fired two shots from a distance, then two more, from closer this time. No phone, no phone. She had no choice, she ran. Kirra looked over her shoulder back to where she’d dropped her phone, memorizing its location. She ran to her Audi, threw the parabolic mike in the passenger seat, and jumped in. She heard another gunshot and floored it. She saw Ryman Grissom burst out of the trees in her rearview, his gun raised, but he didn’t fire again, she was too far away. Even if he ran, it would take him time to get back to his own car. She was safe.
Kirra was nearly home before her heart stopped its wild tattoo. She took a deep breath when the garage door closed behind her and locked into place. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Too close, it had been way too close. She couldn’t get her head around what had almost happened. How had Grissom known she was there? What had he heard? Her texting Jeter on her burner phone? Not even a bat could have heard that. Had he seen light reflected off her parabolic mike? Maybe, maybe, there was a half-moon, clouds off and on. But Grissom had heard or seen something. Grissom had also seen her Audi when he’d come out of the trees. Had he caught her license plate? No, that was impossible, she was too far away.
But she’d failed. She’d known who and what Ryman Grissom was, but she hadn’t known he worked for Oliveras as well as his own father. She’d been lucky enough to overhear him admitting he’d murdered two people. But without her cell with its recording, she had no proof. She knew Jeter would question both Ryman and Oliveras, but it wasn’t enough, there wasn’t proof.
She knew she had to go back and find her cell phone. No choice.
Kirra’s garage connected to the kitchen, but she’d dead-bolted the kitchen lock. She was safe in her garage, but now she’d have to open the garage door again and go outside, enter through the front door. She laughed at herself. Idiot. She hated that she was afraid, her heart still pounding. Bless Jawli, he’d taught her to fight, and she practiced at Master Su’s dojo religiously three days a week. And here she was, sweating with the fear of going outside. Kirra banged her fist on the steering wheel, disgusted with herself.
She walked fast from the garage around to the front door, quickly slid the dead bolt into place when she got inside, and leaned against the door. She turned on the lights, walked to her kitchen and pulled a bottle of her favorite chardonnay out of the fridge. She walked back to her living room, sat down on her red velvet Victorian love seat, and slugged down half a glass. Kirra closed her eyes, tried to remember everything she’d heard them say. Okay, she could do this. She opened her laptop and got to work. She typed everything the two men had said to the best of her memory. Then she went online. It didn’t take her long to find the name of Misel’s girlfriend at Pillys. Lulu had a Facebook page. She was blond, very pretty, built, and only twenty-two years old, and now she was dead. Kirra looked at the half-dozen photos Lulu had posted together with Misha Misel. She discovered after only a bit more research Lulu’s real name was Nancy Jance of Vandenville, Ohio. She then punched up Misel’s accountancy firm’s website, saw his assistant’s name was Corinne Ewing.
Kirra pulled out another burner cell phone and texted Jeter again.
OLIVERAS PAID RYMAN GRISSOM TO KILL MISEL. GRISSOM RAN HIS CAR OVER THE JASPAR CLIFF. WITH MISEL WAS HIS YOUNG GIRLFRIEND, LULU, AKA NANCY JANCE. CORINNE EWING, MISEL’S ASSISTANT, MAY BE NEXT. RYMAN GRISSOM’S ON HIS WAY TO OFFER HER MISEL’S JOB. IF SHE REFUSES, OLIVERAS TOLD HIM TO KILL HER. HURRY. WILL TEXT FURTHER DETAILS. SORRY, NO DEFINITIVE PROOF. YOU’VE GOT TO MOVE FAST. ELIOT NESS.
She read over what she’d written then added what she’d remembered of the men’s conversation, pressed send. She smashed the burner and tossed it in the trash. There was nothing more she could do tonight.
A least she might have saved Ewing’s life. Jeter was good. She hoped he’d be able to finesse Ewing into rolling on Oliveras. She’d been complicit, so cutting a deal, handing the books she still had access to over to the police would be to her benefit. Maybe Jeter could swing witness protection for her. If anyone could make it happen, it was Jeter.
Kirra pulled on her flannel pajamas and a pair of thick socks, turned on her fireplace, and curled up on her love seat with a cup of black tea. What a night. One thing she now knew for certain, Ryman Grissom was as big a monster as his daddy.
Tomorrow she’d go back and find her cell phone. She knew there’d be no more conversations between the two men for her to record. Oliveras and Ryman would never be that careless again. The cell phone and everything on it might be her only chance to be sure they’d join Ryman’s father in prison.
