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17
KIRRA
THURSDAY, LATE MORNING
Before Kirra left Justice Plaza, she called Oliveras’s office in midtown Porte Franklyn and was told Mr. Oliveras wasn’t available. Kirra grinned, punched off her burner cell. Mr. Oliveras wasn’t available because he’d left for the police station to get grilled about the violent death of his accountant, Misha Misel, and Misel’s girlfriend, Nancy Jance, and the murder of Misel’s assistant, Corinne Ewing. Everyone in Justice Plaza knew about it. She wondered how Jeter would handle Oliveras and Ryman Grissom since they’d be flanked by their top-drawer lawyers. But she knew regardless of how Jeter went at them, he wouldn’t get far because he didn’t have any proof, except a tip from an overheard conversation by someone who wouldn’t come forward. That was all on her, her fault because she’d dropped her blasted cell phone. When she’d heard Corinne Ewing had also been shot dead in the middle of the night, she’d finally made up her mind. She called her shared assistant, Julie, told her she’d be at home seeing to a personal matter, and left.
She had to find her cell phone. She reviewed her plan for the umpteenth time. When she drove her Audi past Oliveras’s property she saw a silver Miata in the driveway of the big house. Mrs. Oliveras’s car? Probably. She drove a couple of hundred yards past the house and pulled over, close to where she’d parked before. She saw no one. The next huge home was a hundred yards farther up Thornton Road. She tucked her hair under a ball cap, pulled on the sneakers she kept in the back seat, and stepped out. The air was chilly, the sun making a valiant effort to be seen through building rain clouds. Kirra followed the trail of crushed leaves and broken twigs she’d left on her mad run through the thick oak and maple forest the night before. She stopped every few steps and listened, but she heard no human sounds, only birds, the trees rustling in the light breeze, a squirrel scurrying through the underbrush. When she knew she was close to where she’d dropped her cell, she slowed, careful to stay on the path she’d run last night. It had to be somewhere nearby. She’d never forget the sound of it crashing against a rock.
She’d thought finding it would be easy, but now she saw rocks everywhere, many of them hidden beneath leaves and vegetation. Her next cell phone wouldn’t have a black casing, nope, it would be red, the brighter the better. She thought of calling her number, but she couldn’t take the chance someone would hear. There, finally she spotted it, half hidden under the edge of a rock, its screen broken. As she leaned down to pick it up she heard heavy footsteps coming toward her and froze. A man called out, “Billy said there’s a dark blue Audi parked up the road. It was a dark car last night, so maybe it’s the same one.” Another man said, “But why would he come back? Doesn’t make any sense.”
They were maybe thirty yards away from Kirra. She grabbed her cell, stepped away as quietly as she could, then ran all out back the way she came. When she burst out of the woods onto Thornton Road, she heard their footsteps behind her, coming fast. She dug in, ran as fast as she could to her Audi, fobbed the door open from ten feet away, and jumped inside. She screeched away so fast her head fell back against the headrest. Thank you, turbocharger.
Kirra looked back and saw the two men burst out of the woods, guns raised, close enough they’d see she was driving an Audi. They ran after her, stopped when they realized they weren’t close enough to shoot at her. Her heart was pounding, she couldn’t get spit in her mouth, but she was safe. They’d be able to describe the Audi to Oliveras, and they’d know it was the same car Ryman saw last night. At least she’d had the foresight to muddy up the license plate. At least she’d tucked her hair under the ball cap, and she knew she didn’t run like a woman, Uncle Leo had seen to that. They might report they’d seen a man. Thank you, Uncle Leo.
She wondered why Oliveras had set guards. He couldn’t have known she’d dropped her cell phone, or that she’d come back. Maybe they’d been there last night and she’d been lucky she missed them. Or more likely he was taking extra care now—smart of him—and had them patrolling the grounds. At least she had her cell phone, resting snugly in her jeans pocket. She prayed the broken screen didn’t mean the recordings were compromised. They had to still be playable. They had to.
Kirra let out a breath when she pulled into her garage. She said a prayer, pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket, and punched open the recorder. She heard static, then Oliveras’s jumbled voice, “Is it done?,” then only a high-pitched hum until she heard Ryman Grissom saying clearly, “Jaspar Cliff.” There was no video she could find.
For a moment, Kirra sat back in her car seat. She wanted to scream and pound her fists on the steering wheel. At least she had their voices, and some of their words. Was it enough? It was a start, enough to raise questions, maybe enough for voice recognition. Eliot Ness could transfer the file to a burner phone and text it to Savich and Jeter. They’d tell her soon enough what they could do with it. But she couldn’t drive her Audi anywhere for a while. She ordered an Uber to take her to a nearby car rental. Thirty minutes later she drove back home in a rented black RAV.
When she neared her condo, she saw a big honking black Ford F150 in her driveway, Jeter leaning negligently against the door, reading something on his cell. She pulled in behind him, wishing at that moment he was a thousand miles away. She climbed out, called, “What are you doing here? I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
Jeter tried to calm himself. When Hendricks called him, told him Kirra was on the move, headed to Oliveras’s house, he’d been scared to his boots, knew she’d gone after her cell phone. Hendricks had followed, called him to assure him she was safe. Jeter knew he wouldn’t be convinced until he actually saw her in one piece. And here she was, smiling at him. He wanted to shout at her, shake her once or twice, tell her she’d been lucky today, but he couldn’t, not after he’d promised Savich he’d keep his mouth shut.
He said, ignoring her question, “I tried to reach you at your office, but Julie said you were at home, she didn’t know exactly why. So you’ve been dealing with getting a rental car?”
For a moment, her brain went perfectly blank. Her uncle Leo had taught her many things, but he hadn’t taught her how to lie clean. “Yeah, my poor Audi, I had to take her to the garage. Pretty cool rental, don’t you think?”
He said slowly, the way he started interviews with a suspect, “I hope it isn’t a big problem. Your Audi is still under warranty?”
“Yes. I think it’s an alignment problem. Come in, Jeter, I’ll get you a beer. It’s past noon, right?”
He looked down at his watch. “I’m on duty, but maybe something else? I have some news for you.”
Jeter looked again at the RAV SUV. She was afraid the men at Oliveras’s property had seen the Audi and so she’d hidden it away fast. He remembered when he’d pinned down Hendricks, demanding every detail, he admitted she’d come running out of the woods like a bat out of hell, two men with guns after her, jumped back into her Audi, and hightailed it out of there faster than he could follow her. He’d asked Hendricks again, and for a third time, to keep it all under his hat. He wondered if she’d found her cell phone, if Eliot Ness would be texting him the recording that was on it.
Kirra unlocked the front door, waved him in, pointed to the living room through an arched doorway. “Have a seat, Jeter. I’ve got some iced tea.” In her small kitchen, Kirra drew in a deep breath. Jeter knew her too well. He’d know something was off. Uncle Leo had always laughed at her when she’d tried to lie to him, though she’d practiced in the mirror. Of course, he knew her better than anyone in the world, even better than Jeter did. She’d thought about confiding in each of them, getting their advice, but she knew if she told Uncle Leo, he’d drop everything and fly over, make her stop. And if she involved Jeter, he’d be putting his career at risk if he helped her. So it was a no go. She had no one else. She was on her own.
Kirra popped the tabs on the cans of tea, handed Jeter his, and sat down opposite him on a lovely fake Chippendale chair she’d found at a flea market.
He watched her take a sip, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. “I still see you sometimes as a twelve-year-old kid, you know, skinny as a parking meter—you were so brave.”
It nearly broke her. “T-thank you, Jeter. I remember holding on to you that night.” She got herself together, set her can on a newspaper, and changed the subject. “I heard all about Misel and the poor girl with him before I left work. Everyone’s talking about it. But not much about Corinne Ewing, the other woman who was killed. Have I got her name right?”
He nodded. “We got to the wreckage very quickly. Eliot Ness”—he looked up at her—“texted me Ewing might be next.” He dropped his head, clinched his fist between his thighs. “It frosts me, Kirra. If only I’d brought her right in last night, kicking and screaming if necessary, it would have saved her life.”
Kirra said, “Maybe in the short term, but before any trial Oliveras would have had her killed. You know that, Jeter.”
“I would have protected her.”
She stared at Jeter until he said, “Okay, even with the best people, it’s tough to guarantee complete protection, but, Kirra, her murder is still my fault, it’s squarely on my shoulders. The only smart thing I did was to assign Clint Foxxe to sit across the street from her house. Still, the killer got in the house and shot her. Foxxe was fast on his feet, he pulled out his cell, and snapped photos of the fleeing car. It was a cherry-red Camaro. Our techs sharpened them up enough we could make out the Virginia license plate. The car belongs to the mother of an ex-con named Aldo Springer.”
Kirra let him brood a moment. “Tell me about Aldo Springer.”
“He’s a bad dude, recently released from Red Onion after spending a dime for attempted armed B&E. The owner dropped him with his gun and called 911. Now all we have to do is find him. I didn’t tell you, but Ewing also had a gun. They shot each other, but his bullet found her heart. How badly is he hurt? I don’t know but I don’t want him dying. I want him to tell us Oliveras hired him.”
“If he’s still alive and driving that Camaro you should pick him up in short order.”
