Fais Do Do Die, page 13
Sarah knew she was stalling with the questions. Things had to be happening outside. She had to give them time. More than anything, she wanted to see Cal and his team burst in.
“Of course,” the old lady said, composedly. “But,” she said, directing her formidable gaze in Vlad’s direction once again, “you need to release the innocent. You know not all of these people were here last time.”
Vlad opened his mouth, perhaps to tell Maisie what he’d told Sarah—that they’d make good victims—but he closed it again and, after a pause, he nodded.
“How do I know you won’t let killer leave?” Vlad asked, though without much force.
“You have my word,” she said, composedly.
He nodded again, a sort of reluctant respect in his gaze.
“Can I call and let them know outside that some people are coming out?” Sarah asked. It would really suck if the good guys shot them.
He reached for his cellphone, but Sarah, pulled out hers and held it up. Vlad took it, verified that it was not recording them and handed it back.
Sarah looked at it, hesitating.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“Should I call nine-one-one?”
“That will take too long,” Maisie said. “Call Nell and ask her to have someone call you.”
Sarah looked at Vlad and he nodded again. Maybe he really was trying to clear his name.
“Put on speaker,” Vlad directed, as she started to dial.
Now it was Sarah’s turn to nod.
The phone was answered on the first ring and Nell’s voice seemed to echo around the room.
“Sarah! Are you all right?”
“I need you to help me out, Nell. Can you get my number to someone in command outside?”
“Then it’s true—”
“You’re on speaker, Nell. Can you help me out?”
A silence.
“Of course.” A pause. “Love you, Sarah.”
“Love you, Nell.” Sarah pushed the button to cut the connection and then set the phone on the table. “It shouldn’t take long,” Sarah said, with a large measure of hope that she was right.
“While we wait, let’s separate out those who aren’t involved in this, shall we?” Maisie said.
Vlad gave her another searching look and then stood back in much permission. The other three exchanged looks, but didn’t speak. Maybe Maisie’s look had gotten to them, too.
Cal shifted from one foot to the other. They’d checked out all the rooms on the ground floor and were now back watching the doors of the main ballroom. The waiting was the hardest part. He had a new kind of appreciation for this kind of waiting, the kind when you had someone inside…
“Big Chip,” he murmured into his radio. “SitRep?”
“We’ve got another team inside—” he broke off, and then, after a pause said sharply, “Hold. We’ve got intel they are letting some people go.”
Cal signaled to the team and they moved deeper into the shadow of the ladies’ room. He hoped no one needed to use it…
The group had mostly been divided when the call came through. Sarah sought visual permission from Vlad before answering—on speaker.
“Miss Burland?”
Sarah didn’t recognize the voice, but the fact that he knew her name—and called her “miss”—gave her hope she hadn’t got a spam call at the wrong time.
“Yes.” She had to clear the huskiness, or perhaps it was fear, from her throat. “This is Sarah Burland.”
“We’re happy to hear from you, ma’am,” the calm voice said. It was deep and soothing, but it wasn’t Cal. Of course it wasn’t Cal. No one knew she was dating Cal. And he was probably deployed somewhere waiting to bust in. No time to chat. “Can you give us some insight into your situation?”
Sarah got another sharp nod from Vlad, but also a warning look.
“Some people are going to come out. It would be nice if you didn’t shoot them,” she said.
Vlad’s nod this time was approving.
“What—” The voice began.
Vlad reached down and closed the connection.
“That is enough.”
Some signal passed between the four men, then one of them began to herd the lucky ones toward the doorway. He produced some keys and they shuffled out of sight.
Sarah couldn’t look at the ones still waiting. Maisie had accomplished what Sarah couldn’t, but now what?
Light from the ballroom doors changed the pattern of lights in the foyer and there was a murmur, a very low murmur of voices accompanied by the sounds of shuffling movement.
Cal was flattened against the wall, but he risked a look when the sound grew louder. About twenty people had reached one bank of outer doors, stopped as someone worked on the lock. He couldn’t see Sarah in the huddle. Didn’t mean she wasn’t there, even though his gut told him she wasn’t.
The ballroom door swung closed and there was the closer sound of a key being used. It would have been a bad time to act anyway. The perps would have been on high alert with the door open.
Whoever was using the key on the outside door was pushed back by someone, then the door finally opened and the huddle of people tried to push through the opening all at once. Some cops ran forward and began to sort—and cover them—urging them toward the safety of the police cars. One of them tried to turn and lock the door, but the cops half dragged her away protesting.
Cal and the team waited to see how the perps would react to this—or if they’d bothered to watch. That was not a position Cal would have liked. Big Chip knew that he and BuzzKill were close and so was a sniper.
“As soon as you’re clear, deploy your eyes,” Big Chip told him.
chapter 13
This time Vlad went and got a chair and dragged it over to the table, then seated himself between Sarah and Miss Maisie. He leaned back in the chair as if he were also glad to be sitting, but his air of alertness had not stood down.
This close, his body gave off a sour, almost acrid smell. It could have been fear, or maybe he hadn’t showered after getting bailed out of jail. Or maybe she blamed him for the fear that was actually emanating from the hostages—of which she was one, she reminded herself.
Into this mix of nasty, came a soft powdery floral that had to be Miss Maisie. Her faded gaze was calm, reflective even. She looked at Vlad and finally spoke.
“I need a glass of water, young man.” She lifted a thin wrist and studied the tiny, loose-fitting watch. “I have to take my medication.”
After a short pause, Vlad signaled to the youngest of his brothers. “Take her to get water for old…lady.”
Since he pointed at Sarah, she took this to mean she was to fetch the water, though why the thug couldn’t fill a glass…
“I’ll be right back,” Sarah assured her. She was taken into the kitchen by the thug, so worried by her act of bringing Miss Maisie to the goons’ attention, she didn’t notice anything off with her current goon until he spoke.
“You are not a bad looking broad,” he said, giving her a look that was decidedly lascivious.
“I have a boyfriend,” she said, turning back to the sink and filling a glass as quickly as possible. She turned to face him, holding the glass up between them—while planning what to do if he didn’t take her back to the ballroom.
Maybe the look in her eyes dissuaded him—she was almost old enough to be his mother—because he turned with a shrug and held the door open for her. Wow, manners of a sort. Sarah made sure they didn’t touch as she slipped past—yeah, this one had a stench going on, too.
Back inside the ballroom, Sarah was struck by the tableau-ness of it. The AC had caught up and passed the occupancy. It was cold and somehow stale, though that wasn’t the right description either. It was…wrong. It smelled off and ominous. Did ominous smell?
There were the two sinister goons pacing around the huddle of hostages with their weapons pointing at them. The wilted important people were almost too weary to be afraid anymore. They stared at their captors with despair. And then there was Miss Maisie and Vlad seated at the delicate table, like Miss Marple and whatever cop she was about to astonish with her deductions.
Agatha Christie would have liked the setup. It lent itself to a reveal and a confession—if the suspects hadn’t been so wrong. It was as if the show had switched players with a romantic comedy or something.
And Miss Maisie didn’t, she couldn’t, have a deduction to pull out of her big purse. At best, all she could offer were some insights or suspicions.
Sarah crossed over and set the water down in front of her as the young goon rejoined his brothers on patrol.
Maybe something in his brother’s face or the way he moved caught Vlad’s attention because he shot him a stern look. The young man hunched a shoulder like a surly teen.
“He was not rude?” Vlad asked Sarah.
Sarah hesitated—was it rude to be told she wasn’t bad looking?—and finally shook her head. Much as she’d liked to have sewn the seeds of discord with these guys, she couldn’t see how it would help them.
Vlad did not look convinced and sent his brother another stern look.
It was…interesting that Vlad had sort of set himself up as her protector—of sorts. He hadn’t ruled out shooting her, she reminded herself.
While these thoughts ran through Sarah’s head, Miss Maisie opened her capacious bag and extracted a bottle of pills—not the weapon Sarah might have wistfully wished for. With some fumbling, she managed to open the lid and shake two out into a hand that had a hint of a tremble to it. She placed first one, then the second into her mouth and lifted the glass, sipping delicately once, then twice more.
The skin of her throat was so thin, Sarah would have sworn she saw both pills go down. She set the half-full glass back on the table and folded her hands on the tabletop in an attitude of interrogation.
“Now, where were we?”
Before Vlad could voice a demand, Sarah cut him off. “I’m so sorry for getting you into this, ma’am,” Sarah said. “It’s just that—”
“You weren’t getting very far, were you?” Miss Maisie said, the kindness in her eyes robbing the words of reprimand. “It’s an unfortunate situation.”
“Yes,” Sarah said, a bit bemused. “And sadly, you are the one person here who knows everyone and—” she stopped herself from saying, “where all the bodies are buried.”
“You were here also when Bonadventure died,” Vlad said, unexpectedly. “Which of these—”
“Basile Bonadventure,” Miss Maisie’s tone was acidic enough to override Vlad’s despite the low tone, “died of a heart attack.” That tone might have indicated “and good thing, too.” Or perhaps, “and not before his time.”
Vlad might have blinked. Sarah knew she did. Cal had told her this but how did Miss Maisie know? Stupid question. She always seemed to know.
“Dimitri Afoniki’s death was clumsy, no question, an impulse of the moment,” Miss Maisie said, almost reflectively. “When one gets older, one’s impulse control is lessened.”
Sarah found her brows pulling in. Was she—Sarah glanced in Valentin’s direction and saw a look of such tender sadness on a face that had dealt for years in fake emotion. Valentin?
“But it would be most inappropriate to let the innocent—or even the far from innocent be involved,” she said, the acid back in her voice.
She was right. It was hard to call any of this lot innocent.
“No one should suffer or pay a price for something they did not do,” Miss Maisie said, her voice gentle again.
“Yes, this is why we come,” Vlad said.
Maisie’s gaze turned in his direction and the wisps of her brows rose.
“Is true,” he insisted, though with less force. “We are”—her look turned stern—
“—not guilty of…this crime.” His tone had weakened even more.
“While justice might be served by having you…indicted for Afoniki’s death, my sense of personal honor would be offended,” Miss Maisie admitted. “I was brought up to take responsibility for my own actions.”
Sarah glanced at Valentin again. Was this lecture for him? Was she hoping he’d do it, say it himself? He looked so sad, but he just shook his head when he looked at her as if she was the one who didn’t understand.
She turned back to Miss Maisie, her thoughts swirling and unformed. The old lady swayed a bit and grabbed the edge of the table.
“I must have misjudged how long it would take for the pills to take effect,” she said. “Age does that to one. Mistakes. It is time to end my work.”
Her…work? Sarah swallowed. Her glance at Vlad showed he still hadn’t got it—if she had. Because Sarah still didn’t believe Miss Maisie…
Sarah reached out and covered the trembling old hands. The ice had taken them over already. Sarah could see…death…creeping across her face.
“You killed him, Miss Maisie?” Sarah said, unable to keep the quiver out of her voice. She sensed, rather than saw Vlad turn sharply, bringing the gun up.
“Wait,” she said. “Let her talk. Let her finish.”
He hesitated, then nodded. But he didn’t lower his weapon.
“I knew no one would know,” Miss Maisie went on, as if they hadn’t spoken. “It was an impulse, not like the others.”
“The…others?” Sarah asked, faintly.
“I tried to show restraint,” she said, panting a little between her words now. “Just one a year, though there are so many people who aren’t good, aren’t there?” She looked at Sarah now and the sweetness was still in her gaze—along with a little crazy and the shadow of death. “It is nice to be able to say it after so long.”
How long?
Vlad’s gaze, meeting hers, was as startled as Sarah felt.
“I lost him, you know?” she murmured, sagging to one side. “I loved him and they killed him.”
“They?” Sarah prompted.
“His so-called friends. They were drunk. It was an accident they said. It was a choice, I told them, and they brushed me off. So I killed them, oh, not right away. Slowly, over the years. Once they were gone I just…kept doing it. I only killed those who weren’t nice.”
“I’m sure you did, ma’am,” Sarah said, sliding her chair over so she could support the beginning-to-sag old woman. It didn’t take much effort.
“I killed Dimitri for you, Sarah. He was always bothering you.” A trembling hand freed itself from Sarah’s clasp and patted her hand. It felt like an ice claw against her skin. “You’re a nice young woman, Sarah. You deserved better.”
The lids fluttered down and her breathing shallowed. Only then did it occur to Sarah to ask, “What did you take, Miss Maisie?”
But it was too late. There was a series of shallow pants and then it stopped. And suddenly Miss Maisie was a surprising deadweight in Sarah’s arms.
Dead weight. Dead.
She looked up and met Vlad’s gaze.
“Now you know,” she said. What next? “What’s your exit plan?” Did they have one?
Vlad was still shocked. Sarah looked at the other hostages. She was pretty sure Valentin was the only one who knew what had happened. Tears tracked slowly down cheeks that sagged now as if from a blow. He must have known, but this didn’t seem like a good time to mention that.
Not too eagerly, Sarah’s attention returned to Vlad. The shock was beginning to fade, his gaze almost dispassionate as he studied the body Sarah still clutched, awkwardly now that the life had left it.
His gaze rose to meet hers and something in there spread a new level of cold fear through her body.
“You know many police,” he said. His gaze studied what of her body he could see. “Perhaps I even let you live if you please.”
The chill turned to a sick churn.
“Is safer for you if you cooperate,” he added, as if he sensed she was not on board with him.
“Safer?” Sarah’s voice was not as calm as she’d have liked. A definite squeak there at the end.
He reached out, his hand massive with thick, square fingers, and took her hand.
“Is better to cooperate,” he said.
The image from his filament eyes was not as sharp as he’d have liked. Cal adjusted the focus, sharpening it on Sarah and the people at the table with her.
She seemed to be clutching the old lady who looked slumped in her arms. Then the thug reached out and took her hand, bringing his weapon up to the level of her face. The sick look of fear in her eyes reached across the distance. Cal felt his gut clench as instinct took over.
“Something’s going down. We need to move now,” Cal said. “I’m pretty sure one of the hostages is dead or injured.”
“We should—” Big Chip began.
“Trust me, something has changed. It’s gonna go south.”
The body language of the three thugs standing watch over the other hostages had changed, too.
There was a short pause, then Big Chip said, “Go.”
In a smooth movement, the six of them divided into teams of two and stacked near the three double doors. Cal and BuzzKill were on either side of their doors, each with a hand on the handle to pull the door their way.
There was a silent countdown and they yanked the doors open, looking for targets as they ran in. Cal aimed at the thug with Sarah.
As if he had a sixth sense, he turned toward them. The force of Cal’s rapid fire slammed him back. He crashed onto the table and slid to the floor.
Cal turned for another target, but the other three were already down. With FunSize and Pluto providing cover, the others approached each downed target and secured their hands and weapons.
Cal kept his sights on the thug by Sarah until he was secured, then finally lowered his weapon and lifted his goggles so he could see Sarah. And she could see him.
She was so pale, she could have been a ghost. She swayed, taking a half step toward him, then stopped, glancing around. But she managed a wisp of a smile.
