Blood Money

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Merselus stood at the door, listening.

He’d turned off the noisy air conditioner to hear better, and the dark room was becoming an oven. He was too focused to care or even notice. He knew that there were twelve units on each floor in this wing of the complex, all facing the parking lot. An old motor lodge was anything but soundproof and, judging from the direction the sound had traveled, he determined that the police officers had started with apartment 112 at the other end of the wing and were working their way down in order. He’d counted three distinct rounds of knocking so far. By his estimation, they were still at least six units away from apartment 102.

“I need to breathe,” said Sydney.

She was still sitting on the floor near the closet, toward the back of the room, hands bound behind her back and double pillowcases over her head. She sounded so weak and frightened. It was the kind of pleading that would have been a sexual turn-on for Merselus in another setting. Under this kind of pressure, it made him angry beyond control. Merselus hurried across the room, yanked the pillowcases off her head, and dropped to one knee. He grabbed her by the throat so hard that the back of her head slammed against the wall.

“Do you want to end up like Celeste?” he said in a voice that hissed.

Beads of sweat rolled down her face, and wet wisps of hair were matted to her red cheeks and forehead. Her breathing was quick, shallow, and shaky.

“Do you?” he repeated. His tone was even harsher, and his grip tightened, silencing her breathing. Sydney’s eyes bulged with that telltale struggle for air. She shook her head in reply, and Merselus released her throat. She rolled her head back and gasped for more air as Merselus rose from his knee.

“Why,” she started to say, and paused. Then she somehow managed to get out the rest. “Why did you hurt Celeste?”

He dropped to his knee again and grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Because I thought she was you.”

She stared back at him, frightened and confused. He released her jaw, curious to hear her response.

“You wanted to kill me right there?” she said. “Right outside the jail?”

“Yeah, because you snubbed me.”

“What?”

“You were supposed to throw yourself in my arms when you saw me, remember?”

“I did. By the airplane on the runway.”

“But you didn’t when I found you in the parking lot.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“I was watching Faith Corso on my mobile, and she said you had been released into the crowd. Things were getting dangerous. I went to you. I told you my name. I said let’s go, I’ll take you to the plane.”

“But-”

He grabbed her arm, silencing her. “You looked at me exactly the way you’re looking at me now-like I’m a creep, and like you never heard of anyone by the name Merselus. The second I took your arm,” he said, squeezing tightly to make his point, “you tried to run.”

“But-that wasn’t me.”

“Celeste sure looked like you. And after all I went through to get your cute little ass out of jail, I was not going to be snubbed by some bitch who turns and runs.”

Merselus heard another round of knocking. It sounded like the police were right next door. He quickly tore off a strip of duct tape and covered Sydney’s mouth. Then he went back to his position at the door and listened.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he heard one of the cops say to the neighbor in apartment 103. Then he heard the door close, followed by a pair of approaching footfalls on the sidewalk. Then they stopped.

“Check that out,” the same cop said.

“Looks like blood,” the other cop replied.

The old man’s blood. Merselus hadn’t noticed any on the other side of the threshold, but splatter was always a risk.

Three booming knocks rattled the door. “Miami-Dade Police Department. Open up.”

Andie was on the phone with MDPD Sergeant Jake Malloy. In her other ear she had her SWAT team leader, who was awaiting her confirmation that local police had ceased the door-to-door sweep. Andie was making no headway with Malloy. His response was to share an update that, in his mind, confirmed that MDPD’s plan was working.

“Two of my patrol officers just reported blood outside the door to apartment 102.”

“We know that already,” said Andie. “Our SWAT unit spotted it in the first sweep. But the plan isn’t to walk up and knock on the door. Pull your officers back!”

The crack of four quick gunshots ripped through the night. Andie heard it three ways-her radio communication with SWAT, her cell connection with MDPD, and the echo that reverberated down the black Miami River to the parking lot behind the vacant warehouse where Andie was standing. The next thing she heard came over her cell, a man shouting to MDPD Sergeant Malloy.

“Officer down!”