One Kill Away Page 10

  Seth was no more than two feet from the entrance door, unlocked by the looks of it, and he couldn’t move his feet.

  What if Dory had set up an enemy of his? Seth still had no way of knowing for sure. He knew the muscular build, the approximate height, just not the face. But how would Dory have known that? Somehow Seth had to see Blake Kaufman.

  He went inside and cringed as the solid door closed behind him with a heavy sound that set off a cavern-like echo through the building. Nothing like alerting the neighbors.

  He looked around. The place was cleaner and quieter than he’d imagined. To his right, a set of cement stairs, covered in a black runner, rose to the first floor. Another set on his left descended to the basement and he smelled laundry detergent or fabric softener drifting up the stairwell. Heard the fast ticking of a hard object tumbling inside a dryer.

  Seth removed his sunglasses and hung them off the neck of his T-shirt, pulled the bill of his cap down even lower on his forehead. He grabbed hold of the railing and started up the stairs.

  The hallway on the first floor had four doorways, two on each side. At the far end, another stairwell went up and down.

  Seth checked the numbers on the doors, realizing each floor had two mirroring apartments. The units on this floor were numbered three and four. Eight had to be at the very top.

  He took to the stairs again. Somewhere below him, he heard a phone ring in one of the apartments and someone scramble for it. The third ring cut off abruptly with a muffled, “Hello.”

  Seth frowned. The paper-thin walls, combined with the close proximity of the neighbors, made it too risky. If Kaufman turned out to be the man he wanted, he’d have to get him outside somewhere. Alone.

  He reached the top floor and found apartment eight on the right side of the hallway. Slowly, he walked past the door, keeping his head averted from the peephole. He listened for noises inside and could hear what sounded like a movie playing—gunshots, screams, and an animal’s deep growls intermingled with an evil and frantic soundscape.

  Suddenly, he jerked his neck around at the sound of the entrance door downstairs slamming shut, footsteps thumping up the staircase. Then everything went quiet. Whoever it was must’ve lived on the first floor.

  Breath held, Seth waited for the shut of an apartment door. Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Then the feet were on the stairs again, only at the back of the building this time, and coming up fast.

  Seth hurried to the opposite end of the hallway and stopped. The footsteps were almost to the top now. He pulled out his cell phone from his front pocket and slid out the keyboard from the side of it, ready to pretend to be typing a text to whoever showed up.

  Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw a woman enter the hallway. She paused briefly when she saw him, as if startled to find someone there. Seth tapped his thumbs on the keyboard, looking busy.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  Seth swallowed, turned toward her, only slightly to keep her from seeing his scar. He saw the tan blazer and black slacks she wore. Saw the blonde curls hanging to her shoulders. Saw the black notebook in her hands. A door-to-door canvasser? Salesperson, maybe? No, wait. There was a gun on her hip. A badge clipped to the front of her duty belt. A cop. But not any cop. Only detectives wore clothing like that. Shit.

  Fervently, Seth prayed she wouldn’t recognize him. Her department had pictures of him. He had looked a lot different then, another man in another life.

  “Do you live here?” she asked.

  Seth managed to shake his head and hook his thumb toward apartment #7. Hoped to hell she wasn’t going there.

  “Visiting,” he said.

  Something flickered in the cop’s face or maybe Seth imagined it. Maybe she knew he was bullshitting her. She seemed to scrutinize him further, eyes running up and down his body. Definitely cataloging details.

  At last, she flashed a smile. “Okay, I gotcha.”

  She walked over to Kaufman’s door and rapped her knuckles on the wood. Seth became utterly still. He watched with anticipation.

  A rough voice on the other side of the door asked, “Who is it?”

  “Police.” The cop held her credentials up to the peephole “I need to speak to Mr. Blake Kaufman. It’s very important.”

  Seth licked his lips. He heard the scrape of a safety chain slide across a metal latch. Then the door opened to reveal a brawny young man with a diamond-shaped face and a chin curtain outlining his jawline. He wore a white tank top, khaki cargo shorts, and a black bandana cap.

  “Fuck’s going on?” he said.

  “Mr. Kaufman?” the cop asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t seem to notice Seth standing down the hallway, more focused on the disturbance at his door. His left arm bore a huge tattoo of a skull in a top hat with flaming eyes and a smoking cigar clamped between its teeth. But it was the tattoo on Kaufman’s neck that Seth found himself staring at. A black scorpion with large pincers and a tail arced over its head. Just like Todd Dory had.

  There was no doubt now. This was the man.

  Seth felt his pulse charging up, boiling the blood in his circulatory system. He moved his gaze to Kaufman’s face and blinked once, like a camera clicking, searing the image into his brain.

  16

  Dartmouth, June 9

  4:48 p.m.

  “Can we talk inside?” Audra asked.

  “‘Bout what?”

  “You know.”

  Blake Kaufman tipped his head back, flexing the thick cords in his neck. He gave her a look she’d seen on many thugs—callous and disinterested—a look that said she wasn’t worth his time right now, and probably never would be.

  “Do you really want to talk out here?” Audra glanced down the hallway to where the slim man in the Red Sox cap had stood. Only gone now. She frowned. Who was that? He’d looked so familiar.

  Kaufman stepped aside and Audra crossed the threshold into a small living room decorated with leather furniture and a huge plasma TV. On a corner of the sofa slouched a young woman in brown corduroys and a black T-shirt with the words Kill ‘Em With Your Awesome on the front. She was slim, fair-skinned, and had dark hair with a coppery tint. Folded laundry occupied the seat beside her.

  She watched a movie on the television where a man was screaming, “Where’s my father? Where’s my father?”

  Audra turned to the screen as Bernicio Del Toro, restrained in a straitjacket and bound to a chair, was dunked backwards into a pool of icy water.

  “What are you watching?” Audra asked her.

  The woman rolled her eyes at the question. Then she twisted her mouth to one side and bounced an annoyed look off Audra’s face.

  “Wolfman,” she muttered.

  “Any good?”

  The woman’s gaze was back on the screen. “Meh.”

  Audra tilted her chin up, sensing the cold shoulder. No surprise there. Cops weren’t welcome here and Kaufman probably knew Audra and Allan were the ones who had put away two of his fellow gang members for the Ruben Gamble shooting last year.

  And here she was stuck in the same room of a man who had spent as much time behind bars as he had in the outside world. A man who, aided by his posse, had poisoned the streets of Halifax with all manner of crime for the past several years.

  Kaufman stood in the kitchen doorway just off to her right. His arms were crossed, his lips tightened into a straight line.

  Audra asked, “Can we have a minute? Alone.”

  Kaufman narrowed his eyes and made one sharp clack with his tongue to show his discontent.

  “Hon, give us a minute,” he said. “Won’t be any longer than that.”

  The woman blinked at him, frowned. Then she picked up the remote and paused the movie. She brushed past them and went into the kitchen. There came the suction sound of the refrigerator door opening, the rattle of glass jars on the shelf.

  “You want one?” she called out.

  Kaufman peered through the doorway at whatev
er she was talking about. “Yeah, okay.”

  Audra looked down at her shoes, back up again when the woman walked into the room again holding two beers. She handed one to Kaufman. On the far end of the living room, a hallway split in opposite directions. The woman went there and hooked a right. Moments later, Audra heard a door close.

  “Tell me,” she said, flipping open her notebook.

  “Tell you what?”

  “Whatever you know. Give me some news.”

  As Kaufman popped the tab on the beer can and swung it sideways out of the way, Audra noticed tattoos running across the knuckles of both hands: Live Once.

  “News?” The tone of his voice changed, deeper, huskier, dripping with anger and sarcasm. “Someone hacked up my boy with an axe.” He tipped the can to his lips and slugged back the beer.

  Audra stared at him. Inwardly, she felt herself wince. How’d he know that fact? Wendy Drummond. Had to be. Damn it.

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Is it true?”

  “What?”

  “The axe?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “A little bird.”

  “Chirped it in your ear, huh?”

  Kaufman’s expression remained flat. He took another hit of beer; the sound of it gurgling down his throat was loud in the quiet of the room. His murky eyes never left hers.

  “I know people,” he said.

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Is it true?” he repeated, insistent.

  Audra drew a breath. “You know I can’t get into the particulars of a murder investigation, Mr. Kaufman.”

  He shrugged.

  “When did you see him last?” she asked again.

  “Saturday.”

  “What time of day?”

  “Mid-afternoon. We met at Bearly’s. Had a couple beers and some ribs. After that, we went over to Dooly’s for a round of pool.”

  “Did he seem different to you? Tense? Fearful?”

  “Todd? Fuck no.”

  “Just the two of you there?”

  Kaufman rubbed a hand over his jaw, filling the air with the scratch of bristles against his skin.

  “No,” he said. “Three of us.”

  “Who was the third person?”

  “Lee.”

  Audra paused, looked up from her notebook. “Lee Higgins?”

  Kaufman nodded. “That’s right.”

  He seemed to read something in her face, or maybe something in her silence because he added, “It’s not what you think. We don’t do that shit no more. What’s the word? Defunct? Yeah, we’re defunct.”

  “The Black Scorpions are no more?”

  “That’s right.”

  Audra didn’t know what to think. Somehow she didn’t believe him. She remembered the gun, drugs, and money she’d found at Dory’s apartment. Wondered what items could be hidden in this place.

  “So you all decided to turn over a new leaf?” Audra said. “Straighten up and fly right?”

  Kaufman never answered her. His eyebrows slanted inwards and his nose wrinkled briefly as if he smelled something foul. Then he chugged the last of the beer.

  Audra expected him to crush the empty can in his hand to show his resentment, but instead he stepped through the kitchen doorway and set it on the table four feet away. When he returned, he leaned a shoulder against the jamb and folded his arms.

  “Got myself a new life here with my girl, Nikki.” He tipped his head toward the hallway. “Hard for you to believe that, isn’t it?”

  Audra regarded him a moment. If it were anyone else, then no. A leopard cannot change its spots and the notion of Blake Kaufman suddenly shedding his criminal behavior didn’t seem plausible.

  Audra spread her hands. “Hey, if you say so.”

  “Yeah, right. Why’d you come here?”

  “I thought you might be able to help me.”

  “Help you?” One corner of Kaufman’s mouth lifted and he shook his head.

  Audra could almost hear his thoughts. Yeah, I’ll help you. Right off the edge of a cliff.

  “You and Lee were closest to him.”

  “Have you talked to Lee yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can’t see him talking to you at all.”

  Audra visualized a phone call happening once she left here. “Who would hurt Todd? Do you know anyone at all? Give me a name.”

  She knew asking that sounded redundant. There was probably a long list of people from Dory’s past capable of committing the murder. People who probably wanted to see him dead.

  “A name?” Kaufman raised his eyebrows. “You think one person did this? From what I heard, didn’t sound like it.”

  Audra paused, chewing on the inside of her mouth. How much had Wendy Drummond told him?

  “What else have you heard?”

  “That my boy was tied to a chair and had an axe taken to him. One person did that? Don’t think so.”

  Audra remembered the lone man on the security video, the shotgun evidence. She surmised two possible scenarios: one, the suspect was known by Todd Dory; or two, a ruse had been used to get inside the apartment.

  There was no sense asking Kaufman his whereabouts on the night of the murder; his physique just didn’t match the man in the video. Not even close. Kaufman had him by a few inches and he carried a good forty pounds more on his frame. And Lee Higgins was as big as Kaufman, if not bigger.

  “Do you think rival gang members were behind this?” Audra asked.

  “Could be.”

  “Who?”

  She caught the smile slink across his face, could see something at work behind those dark eyes of his. She wondered if he and Lee Higgins had someone in mind, if plans for a reprisal were already in motion.

  “If you know something, tell me.”

  “I don’t know anything. But your minute ended ten minutes ago.”

  Audra shut her notebook with a sigh. Screw this. Coming here had been a waste of time. If Kaufman had information, he wasn’t going to give it up. And Lee Higgins would be even less helpful.

  She took out her card and handed it to Kaufman, felt like a fool by doing so. “Here, take this. Please call me if you hear anything.”

  He stared at the card. “Lieutenant Audra Price. Who’s that other one I know of? Stanton, isn’t it?”

  Audra walked to the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Yes. Lieutenant Stanton.”

  Kaufman put his hand on the edge of the door. “Tell me. Is it a sow?”

  Audra frowned, turned to him. “Excuse me?”

  “What they call a female pig?” He smiled menacingly. “Yeah, that’s it. A sow.” And he slammed the door in her face.

  Audra stared at the door for a moment, a bit stunned at first. Then she turned around and laughed. It was all the comment warranted. No anger. No hurt feelings. No flipping the bird. Just walk away and laugh.

  She reached the end of the hallway and headed down the stairs. As she stepped outside, she suddenly felt the day in her bones, gnawing at the marrow like a hungry scavenger.

  She checked her watch. 5:14. Closing on nine hours already and so much more work to do.

  17

  Dartmouth, June 9

  5:05 p.m.

  Seth felt nauseous as he sat behind the wheel of his rental car. Every nerve in his body seemed to be electrified by the adrenaline rush. He couldn’t stop shaking.

  He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, visualizing the face of Blake Kaufman. The man was another pustulant boil on humanity. He deserved to die in some horrible and bloody way.

  Nothing but a wooden door stood between Seth and certain justice. Yet he was powerless without a weapon. His greatest fear was falling short and dying at Kaufman’s feet, one kill away from getting the man he wanted most—Lee Higgins.

  Seth inhaled deeply through his nostrils when he detected a bouquet of familiar fragrances in the car’s interior. Clean and floral and spicy with powdery undertones. It smel
led like Flower, the perfume Camille had worn all the time.

  Seth smiled and leaned his head back against the seat, basking in the fond smell of her. Wishing he could hold the warmth of her body next to his again.

  “You just need time,” people had told him. “Give time, time. It heals all wounds.”

  Seth realized that wasn’t true. Time had done nothing for him. The guilt and anguish still squeezed his heart as if it all had happened yesterday. In the months since Camille’s death, Seth missed her more, not less. He wished every day he could change places with her so the world could continue to experience her smile, laughter and elegance.

  Fingertips, cold and feather-like, brushed across Seth’s right cheek and someone whispered his name into his ear, so close he could feel the breath. All at once, his eyes snapped open and his hands came up swatting.

  At nothing.

  Heart pounding, he peered into the backseat, around the windows of the car. Nobody was there. He put a damp palm to his cheek, the sensation of the fingertips still lingering there.

  “Jesus.” He shook his head, swallowed. “Jesus Christ.”

  He met his eyes in the rearview mirror and they looked confused, scared. Sweat glistened on his face. He took off his ball cap and dropped it to the passenger seat, wiped a hand over the coarse stubble of his scalp.

  He needed his medication before he lost it completely, while his brain still had the ability to navigate him home through the logjam of suppertime traffic.

  Around him, he saw the neighborhood was getting busier with cars and pedestrians. The longer he sat here, the greater his risk of attracting a second glance by someone in the surrounding buildings. If he hadn’t already.

  In his paranoia, Seth imagined a hand picking up a phone, a finger poking 9-1-1. He’d return tomorrow night in a different rental car, find a better vantage point, wait for Kaufman to come outside. Maybe Seth would get a chance to take him by surprise in the rear parking lot. Shoot him dead with the shotgun and leave the body where it fell. Escape before anyone saw him.

  But Seth wanted more than that. He wanted Kaufman to see him right before he died. He wanted to see that shock, that final understanding register in his eyes.