Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (19 page)

So he couldn’t tell what he knew.

A
leksi Afoniki had chosen
an interesting place for their first—and last—meeting. Gladys couldn’t think why he’d finally decided to meet her. He had to know—but perhaps he didn’t. He was old, possibly senile. That would make it less satisfying. And possibly make her a bit more careful.

She watched him for a while, knowing he would never expect it to be her. He would have noticed her twenty, possibly even ten years ago. She’d had that something until she fell into the middle age of invisibility. After that it didn’t matter if you knew how to dress and do your hair. You were just gone.

Aleksi had probably always liked his women real young. A dirty old man who had one thing she wanted, needed and then no one could stop her. No. One.

She turned from the river drifting past. It was hot and she felt the sheen on her face. Why did these meetings have to happen on hot days? Couldn’t Leblanc have dropped his bomb on her when it was cooler? Now she studied the people drifting about the below the Moon Walk. None of them had that look she’d come to recognize so well.

He really had come alone, well, he’d needed someone to push his chair and help him to the bench. The same bench where Phineas had drawn his last. She hadn’t killed him, more’s the pity. His wife had done that, if the papers were right for once. It felt right to bloody the bench for herself. Seal the end of the wise geezers’ rule and the beginning of hers.

She strolled closer, still watching for signs of interest. She didn’t expect any bodyguards to be in black, but there was a walk, a certain watchfulness that would give them away. But all she saw were tourists, some towing fretful kids. The calliope was wailing from the river, calling people to board the
Natchez
. She used the sound to cover her approach, but she didn’t need it. He didn’t even look at her until she sat down. Despite the heavy heat, he wore a coat and had both hands thrust in the pockets, denying her a peek at the prize she’d come to claim.

She didn’t look at him, not until the song ended. Then she shifted, turning so he could see her, if he had the wits to
see.

Aleksi scowled, as if to drive her away, but the scowl faded. And then he laughed.

“That old devil.”

She eased her purse down just enough to give him a glimpse of the silenced gun she held.

“Am I supposed to raise my hands? Be a bit conspicuous, don’t you think?”

His open mockery made her grit her teeth.

“So, you are what is left of Zafiro. I think he would be as disappointed as he was with your…grandmother?”

The gun coughed without conscious thought. His body jerked, but his eyes showed life when she shoved the gun back in her purse and moved in. She pulled one hand out. No ring. The other—her chin jerked up hard enough to jiggle her jowls.

“Where is it?”

He laughed once, then coughed. “Checkmate.”

N
o one knew
, no one but she and Leblanc.

And yet, he’d
known
.

And then he’d laughed at her. Gladys’s hands curled into fists in her lap, swaying slightly as her car took a corner a little fast.

And then he’d laughed at her great-grandfather. The man he’d murdered.

Checkmate.

He’d actually said it to her, like he’d known—the Queens had so much power on the board, but it was Kings who had to be checkmated to win. She tried to breathe. She hated chess. It was a stupid game.

Leblanc. She hadn’t talked, so it must have been him.

But he hadn’t told them everything, or she’d never have gotten close to the old man.

Had he warned the old man? Just because he wasn’t wearing the ring, didn’t mean he’d given it away.

But she knew he had. She’d seen it in his disgusting old gaze.

Checkmate.

There were other ways to take back what was hers, but they’d take too long. If that old man had meant to cheat her then why tell her? She frowned.

Unless…Dunstead? He’d given her some odd looks the last time they met. Like he found her familiar in some way.

She looked in the mirror of her compact. Adjusted a few strands of hair. She looked like him. She had pictures. Not good ones. She’d had to find them online. The only reason no one noticed was because they weren’t expecting it, weren’t looking for it. That’s one reason she’d wanted them at her house, at her party. To see if they’d see. But they hadn’t.

Had Dunstead gone through her things? She had the secret board with the photos of her grandparents, of what she found in public files about that side of her family. And she had the rings and those papers, the brick from the coffin. That had been taken on impulse, because there’d been nothing there to find. At least they’d all wonder if they’d missed out. She’d read something similar in a book. There was that old man who’d looked at her in the morgue. Janitor or something. Couldn’t have been him.

Dunstead or the lawyer?

Drawer of her desk was locked, but he was a criminal. Probably knew how to unlock things. Get past her security.

There’d been something about her desk that had bothered her when she went to get her gun. She’d pushed it aside, so eager for the meeting with Aleksi.

If Dunstead had been in her house…

He’d been ignoring her calls. Avoiding her since promising to kill Hannah Baker.

What if he’d been lying about that? She’d never read any book where a mob war was launched by killing a cop’s sister. She’d checked because, well, because. Not that she was wrong or could be fooled. She’d been distracted with so many things. That’s all.

That cop, the doctor’s brother, he’d been the one who took Dunstead down.

She gritted her teeth. He’d needed her, because she was the Red Queen.

He needed money. Couldn’t run that far. But if he’d been the one to rat her out to Aleksi then he probably had money. What he didn’t have was payback. Helenne was out on bail. And Alex Baker? Back on the job. Dating Bett’s granddaughter, she’d heard, which was rather amusing. He must like that in whatever part of hell she’d sent him to.

She’d done that. Killed two of the most notorious organized crime heads in the city.

She had done what no one else could.

So what if Dunstead had slipped his leash. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need the ring. She would get what she wanted. She’d earn the name and then she’d take it.

Gladys Zafiro.

She’d show him, she’d show them all she was her great-grandfather’s true heir. That she had his will and guts and his ruthlessness. In fact, she’d show them she was better. And stronger. And smarter.

And she’d start with today’s other disappointment.

If Dunstead was trying to hit at Alex Baker, that’s where she’d find him. He might even try to pretend he was doing it for her. But she couldn’t wait for him to come to her. She’d find him by finding Alex Baker.

Gladys might not have the ring, or what went with it, but she did have one thing that Leblanc hadn’t taken from her, that all the good wise guys—even the female ones—in the best books had.

She had his snitch.

F
erris couldn’t believe
it when the call came. They’d barely finished at the Leblanc scene. Hadn’t even had time for lunch. He had a bad feeling about the location—a bench on the Moon Walk in the Quarter—even before they got a name to go with their victim.

Aleksi Afoniki, the last wise geezer. It was kinda historic.

They couldn’t get the car close to their scene, so Alex told Hannah she’d have to come with them.

“You can sit in the CSU van while we process the scene,” he said, scanning their surroundings before nodding for her to get out.

Ferris hadn’t known Hannah long enough to know if her abstracted compliance was typical or not. Alex wasn’t looking at her. He looked for threats and was probably already thinking about the crime scene.

Weekday in the Quarter, so the crowds were light. Still too many people about. She was too exposed for his liking. Couldn’t even enjoy the way the sun ignited the gold in her hair or watch her walk, because he had to look around, assess for possible threats.

It had been an unusually silent ride, with only necessary exchanges of information among the three of them. He could feel Hannah’s wheels turning and see that thinking look in her eyes when he’d looked back. He’d seen it, as if she’d said it out loud, that she thought he regretted hugging her. He didn’t. He was too worried about what might happen next to regret anything except that he wished he’d hugged her longer.

She’d talked about that clock ticking down to something bad? Well, it was like a hammer inside his head, ticking down to what? Why had she been targeted at all? Who was after her? His gaze caught the edge of Alex’s grim scowl. What if it wasn’t about her? Dunstead had been bailed out by someone. He could be going for some payback, using Hannah to sideswipe Alex. If it was that, well, it was a well-aimed low blow. Alex pretended his siblings annoyed him, but he was a fierce and protective big brother.

A rueful smile edged his mouth. He had a feeling that when things settled down he’d find out just how protective.

Hannah stumbled over an uneven edge, and he caught her elbow. He had questions for her, too. What had she been doing with her dad? Had she seen Charlie? If she had, what had she learned? He needed time alone with the woman, time for information exchanging and time for kissing and holding. Nothing like almost losing a woman to focus your attention.

Interesting he could pick up on her relationships signals, but had no clue what she thought about everything else. In that sense she was an enigma wrapped in a long, cool drink of water.

Alex turned and studied the layout, then said, “Sit in the meat wagon, out of sight.”

Hannah made a face at him, but complied, though not with any speed. Partially hidden by the open rear doors, she stopped by her sister, Ingrid, in her CSU tech uniform.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Ferris heard her say, before he had to follow Alex up the slope to the body slumped on the bench just above them.

I
t hadn’t been
easy to find a spot with decent sight lines. The area was a mess of flashing lights, milling people, and Baker’s crime scene up on the levee. He’d hoped for something better when he’d begun shadowing Ingrid Baker’s CSU van earlier this morning. Lots of interesting radio traffic today. She’d been on another scene when the call came through on Leblanc’s murder. A pity about that one. Based on the address, it would have been ideal.

Dunstead had thought about just going for the oldest Baker, but that would be too quick. He wanted him to suffer. He wanted him to know that actions had consequences for the people you cared about. He wanted him locked in the only jail Dunstead had the power to send him, one of guilt, grief and remorse. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. For now. After he served his time, maybe he’d put him out of his misery.

His vantage point wasn’t great. He might not make it out. That made the shot all that much more important. He’d almost taken it when she was by the body, but then he heard Baker get the call. He wanted him there. Wanted him to see it. Even if it cost him his way out, he wanted to see Baker’s face when his sister went down instead of him.

So he watched and waited. Followed her with his sight, but without the targeting turned on.

No one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes.

“
A
lex seems
to have calmed down some,” Ingrid observed, working on labels for a series of small evidence bags. She propped a hip against the edge of the CSU van and slanted a look over her shoulder at Hannah. “At least he hasn’t killed the boy toy. Yet.”

“Thanks a lot.” Hannah’s legs hung over the edge of rear, swinging slightly. It was muggy hot, but it could be worse. She could be stuck in the back of the car while they worked the scene. Since she did see dead people most every day, this was a decent change of pace. This side of the crime was also new to her, which made it interesting. And the fact that Ferris was part of the view, well, that was a bonus. And he’d managed to squeeze her hand during the walk without Alex noticing, so triple that bonus.

There were always people who hung around, unable to leave scenes of bad things until the scenes left them, but the crowd was thin. It was a week day, not a weekend. The van was parked down by the tracks, cut off from the river by the levee, so not a lot of air movement, and the air that did move past was heavy with the smell of car exhaust. Every now and again she caught a whiff of something sweet from Café du Monde, reminding her they had yet to get lunch. She supposed she’d have to go Dutch with the guys, which meant a light lunch here at the end of the pay period.

Too bad she didn’t have the temperament to be a girl toy. She’d have liked all the benefits from the girl toy part. Except the hanging with the bad boys.

“Is he as tasty as he looks?”

“If we could get time alone, I might find out,” Hannah said, feeling that scrupulous honesty was not required when the subject was possible romantic entanglements, even with a sister who wouldn’t tell the brothers but would totally tell the sisters. There should be such a thing as privacy, or so she’d heard. And time to change the subject. “Anything interesting in that?” She nodded toward the vic who was currently being fitted for a body bag.

Ingrid shook her head, accepting the change of topic, though not without shooting her sister a sister-ish look. “Bullet through the heart.”

“Not the head?”

“I’d guess the perp was sitting next to him on the bench.”

The other two wise geezers had been shot by someone standing behind or over them, Hannah recalled, hence the head shots.

“Boring. Glad I’m on leave. Tired of digging through wise geezer brains. Don’t imagine a wise geezer heart would be interesting. Except for the surprise he had one.”

Ingrid chuckled. “Empty coffins weren’t enough of a distraction?”

Hannah laughed. “Nope. Witnesses?” More to keep the chat on the scene and off her than a real desire to know.

“Not really. Not sure how long he was here before anyone noticed he was dead.”

“What?” Hannah mimicked shocked. “You don’t have an exact time of death already? I’m so embarrassed for you.”

“I always was a slacker—who could seriously use some lunch. Or least a
beignet.
” She cast longing look toward Café du Monde.

“You can take my place for lunch and a disapproving silence with Alex.”

Ingrid stowed her stuff and then turned to grin at Hannah. “I feel your pain.”

Hannah saw something, like a bug dance around, then settle into a red spot on Ingrid’s chest. Hannah was leaping at her, even before her brain fully processed that it was a targeting dot. The shot cut through the racket. They hit the pavement hard enough to knock the breath out of Hannah as two more shots hit the van.

She was distantly aware of shouts, some returned fire. Still trying to cover her sister, she groped for her neck, feeling for a pulse…

D
unstead tossed
the gun aside and scrambled for the edge of the building, dropping down to the ground. Almost he’d aimed at the doc, but the sister gave him a clearer shot. His last look, though, he might just have gotten a twofer. They both looked like they went down. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath after the drop. Rubbed his face and straightened his clothing, then gave himself a shake and headed for the corner. Time to exit this scene—

She came round the corner before he could. Her gun was ready. It spat twice. He sagged against the wall. Shocked, but not…

She stood looking down at him for several seconds. Then she sighed and from a swiftly growing distance, he heard, “I told you I don’t like failures. Or those who betray me.”

With neat movements, she stowed the handgun in her capacious purse and retreated. Glancing around, she saw some uniforms running toward her and made a
moue
of frustration. In the books, there was always time for a speedy retreat. She sighed and adjusted her face to shock and fear. Waved at them and called, “There’s a man here. Looks like he’s been shot!”

It’s not like they’d think she did it. She glanced around. And scripted her dialog while she waited.

Yes, officer, I saw a man running that way. And no, I didn’t get a good look at him. I was so shocked. I’ve never seen anyone die, well, except my dear Harold, but he had a heart attack. But she’d never seen anyone who had been shot before….

Speaking of Harold, she hoped this didn’t take too long. His funeral was set for five, and it’s not like she could tell them that. It would look very odd that she’d come to the French Quarter. Though if she had to, she could come up with something clever. Something about since he’d donated his body to science, she’d come here to his favorite spot to say goodbye….

They’d believe her. She was a middle-aged woman. They’d barely remember what she looked like after she walked away.