Face of a Killer

36

She knew better than to ignore Topper’s instincts and she walked over to the door, peered through the peephole.

Donovan Gnoble and his aide walked up the steps, Donovan carrying flowers.

Her breath caught. She stepped away, thinking this couldn’t be good. Where the hell were the spooks, the guys who were supposed to be watching her place?

She looked around, saw her things, the drawing, the notes, the photo. Okay. Stop, think. Not the time to panic. Surely, if what Scotty said was true, that Gnoble or someone in his office was really trying to kill her, they wouldn’t do it in broad daylight.

Like she was going to sit around and find out?

She grabbed her gun from the counter, shoved it in the waist of her jeans at the small of her back, then pulled her sweatshirt over it.

A sharp rap on the door sent her pulse racing. Topper barked.

She glanced around, saw her sketch, shoved everything inside the briefcase, dropping the lid on it, snapping the clasps closed. And then she grabbed her cell phone, stuck that in her pocket.

Now or never. They tried anything, she’d blast them.

She clipped Topper’s leash to his collar, then opened the door, holding the dog tight with one hand, while the other was placed casually on her hip, just inches from her weapon.

She tried for a pleasant look of surprise. The surprise part was easy. The pleasant part another matter entirely. “I was just leaving. What on earth are you doing here, Uncle Don?”

“We heard about your accident last night, and I called your office.” He held up a very large bouquet of mixed flowers, arranged in a cut-glass vase. He smiled, stood there, no doubt waiting to be invited in.

She came to her senses. “They’re lovely. But you caught me at a really bad time. I need to take Topper for his walk.”

His aide said, “We’ll just be a little while.”

“Wish I could, but he gets very cranky when he’s been cooped up all morning.”

“It’s a beautiful morning,” Donovan said. “Why don’t we put the flowers inside. We could walk with you. I actually came here to talk to you about something important.”

“Perfect.” She stepped aside, let them in, making sure the front door was wide open, and she was standing well within it and view of the street.

Donovan set the flowers on the coffee table, stood, took a look around, his gaze catching on the painting of flames. “ What on earth is that?”

Prescott stepped in to look as well, crossing his arms, a perplexed look on his face. “It’s very… unusual.”

“Just an abstract I’m working on.”

“Do you have others?” Prescott asked. “I’m a closet painter myself.”

“I didn’t know you painted,” Gnoble said.

“I have a lot of interests.”

Sydney glanced out the door, saw a man walking up the sidewalk, his casual glance toward her apartment giving her a semblance of hope he was someone from the surveillance team, and not some neighbor out for a walk. “Against the wall in the kitchen. But really, I need to get this dog on his walk.”

Gnoble slowly reached out toward Topper. “Does he bite?”

“Never bit me,” Sydney said, watching as Topper eyed the back of Gnoble’s hand with an unusual amount of wariness. Just in case, Sydney reached down, grabbed Topper’s collar, and scratched him behind his ears with her other hand. “Good boy. He’s okay.” Not.

Topper allowed Gnoble to pet him, and she was vaguely aware when Prescott stepped around the corner to look at the paintings. “Ready?” she said, uncomfortable that he’d left her sight.

“Some of these are good,” Prescott called out from the kitchen.

“The dog?” she said, jiggling Topper’s leash. “He really needs to go out.”

“Oh, sorry.” Prescott popped out from the kitchen, walked toward them, making kissing noises. “Hey, puppy.”

Topper growled, and Prescott yanked his hand back.

“Easy, boy.” Sydney patted the dog’s head. “Like I said, he gets cranky when he hasn’t been on his walk.” She held out her hand, indicating they should precede her out the door. When they did, she grabbed her keys and was about to step out, when she thought of the way Prescott had walked into the kitchen. Since the two men were halfway down the steps, she quickly walked into the kitchen, looked around, but didn’t see anything but her paintings stacked against the wall beneath the kitchen window. No bombs hidden beneath the table, and he certainly didn’t have enough time to get into her fridge, poison her food.

Deciding she was right, if they were up to something, they weren’t going to try it now, she followed them out the door, stopping only long enough to lock it behind her before heading down the steps. Gnoble’s driver, a tall burly man with a crooked nose, got out, started walking around to open the door for him, but Gnoble waved him off. “We’re going for a walk,” he said, just as a Siamese cat sauntered past and Topper strained at the leash, wanting to give chase.

“Stay,” Sydney ordered, waiting until the cat was past before starting up the hill. The sidewalk was a bit crowded and Gnoble walked beside her, while Prescott walked in the street. Though a thin fog layer usually shrouded her neighborhood, today the sun shone down, which made it a bit surreal to think that she might be walking with someone who had placed, or was going to place, a hit on her. Then again, perhaps she had nothing to fear. People who paid someone else to do the killing didn’t want to get their hands dirty, which meant she probably had less to fear from them at the moment. And now that they were outside, she felt fairly certain Scotty’s surveillance team was on top of things. Surely they wouldn’t have let the senator get up to her door if they thought there was any danger?

A car drove past and Sydney glanced at it, wondering if it was one of the men. She told herself to relax. Pretend as though she didn’t know a thing, which only made the silence as they walked all the more noticeable. “So, how goes the election?” she asked, when they came to Topper’s favorite fire hydrant.

Gnoble sighed. “Too busy. This time of year always makes me wish I’d listened to my mother and gone to work with my father. Of course, if I lose, I might just want to step into the family business.”

Prescott gave an exaggerated shudder. “Bite your tongue. You do not want to leave politics.”

Like many politicians, Donovan Gnoble came from old money, which begat more money. His father had owned a very successful chain of convenience stores in the Midwest, probably the largest, the fortune making Gnoble the fourth richest senator on Capitol Hill. Having that to fall back on wasn’t a terrible thing, and it certainly came in handy when it came time to seed campaigns or cull political favors where needed.

“That day may come, when I have to leave,” he said, staring at the ground. He looked up at Sydney, smiled, then said, “Not that you care about that. You’re probably wondering why I really came.”

“It crossed my mind.” Topper tugged on the leash and they continued up the hill.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said regarding the man who killed your father.”

She tried to keep her voice casual. “Have you?”

“About your thoughts that he might be innocent. I can’t help thinking that what if he is, and that’s what I built my platform on, then I’m committing the most grievous of injustices.”

She looked toward Prescott, wondering what he thought of all this. And Gnoble, apparently reading her look, said, “I’ve already spoken to him about it. As far as Prescott’s concerned, what’s done is done, and looking into the matter will only hurt my campaign, not help it. But, to his regret, I’m sure, this isn’t his decision to make.”

“If you want my opinion,” Prescott said, “drop the whole ball of wax on the governor’s lap. Let him deal with it.”

Gnoble said, “He’s right in that sense. We do need to take it to the governor. But before I do, I need to know everything about the case.” He stopped, put his hand on Sydney’s arm, and asked, “What, exactly, do you remember about that night?”

She thought of the sketch in her briefcase, wondering if that was truly Wheeler’s father, and if this had something to do with Gnoble’s interest.

Whether she trusted Donovan or not, she couldn’t help but think about that night. Perhaps it was the warmth of the sun on her back that helped spur the memories, but they came to her in a flash. She wasn’t even supposed to be there that night, but her mother had been called into work at the hospital, to cover another nurse’s shift. Sydney had been thrilled, since it meant video games galore, until it was time for bed. And bed consisted of the loveseat tucked behind the door in her father’s small office. That’s where she’d been when her father was killed. And all she really remembered about that night was when her father came to check on her long after he’d sent her in to sleep, kissed her, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, saying they’d be going home soon. Just a few more things to finish…

She decided it couldn’t hurt to tell Gnoble that much, and so she related a short version of this.

“And after that?” Gnoble asked.

She looked over at him as they walked, tried to determine if this was mere curiosity on his part, or something more, but his gray gaze told her nothing. “Flames. That was pretty much it.”

“You woke up to the fire?” he asked. “Not before?”

She closed her eyes, tried to remember, and realized something else woke her, made her notice the fire… “I remember the couch was behind the office door, which was open, and I looked through the crack in the door, saw the flames… and the front door closing.”

“Someone was leaving?” Prescott asked.

She was sure of it, and she couldn’t say why. Nor did she want to say why. “I have no idea,” she lied. “Who knows what it was. I was thirteen, for God’s sake. I don’t remember a thing.”

“It must have been Wheeler,” Gnoble said. “Right after he broke in through the storeroom, then killed your father.”

For twenty years she’d kept the past at bay, and allowing it finally to intrude tired her mentally and physically. She didn’t want to think about what had happened anymore, and she gave the leash a slight tug. “Let’s go home, Topper.”

But once they rounded the block, she became acutely aware that she did not want either of these men in her apartment. Thankfully they seemed to have other plans, because as they neared the Town Car, Gnoble told Prescott, “I’ll be there in a minute. I’d like to have a word alone with Sydney.”