The Legacy: A Kimberly & Sykes Mystery Novel (15 page)

Sykes gave Lauren a call to bring her up to speed. His lips curved and his eyes glinted at the sound of Lauren’s voice.

“Hey, Sorry I haven’t been in touch; I needed some space but all I have been able to think about is who could have killed my dad... but…anyway…How are you?”

Sykes could hear the strain in Lauren’s voice and felt an immediate need to cheer her up. “The good news is, what we found at Wendy Barton’s was a prototype, and, the engineers can get it operational. The bad news is: the Russian mafia have got the real McCoy.”

Lauren’s intake of breath sounded like a whistle. “And the diamonds? What about the diamonds? My father didn’t steal them did he – you found them?”

Sykes knew how important it was for her to know her father wasn’t a thief. “You hit the nail on the head when you asked how we knew your father was given the diamonds. Daniels didn’t give the diamonds to him. He kept them, and more.”  

Lauren spoke softly and Sykes had to press the phone hard into his ear to hear her. “Oh, God! I’m so glad he has been vindicated. What are the – just a minute, someone is knocking at my door; give me a second.”

Sykes heard the sound the deadbolt opening. He wanted to tell her to be careful, however, no sooner had the thought passed through his mind than he heard Lauren shout, “Daniels? Stop! What are-”

A cold hand gripped Sykes’ heart and his stomach flipped. “Lauren, LAUREN!” he roared into the phone as he ran for his car. A feeling of dread swept through him. Sykes heard Lauren’s shouts and sounds of a scuffle but Lauren didn’t come back on the phone. Swinging open the driver’s door, he dropped the phone on the passenger seat and gunned the engine into life. The tires threw up dirt and gravel as he spun out of the car park and beads of sweat ran from his brow making their way down the side of his face and soaking in his shirt collar. He wiped his arm across his head as the fear sent his stomach into a spin.

Sykes pulled up to Lauren’s apartment but couldn’t find a parking space. He noticed a narrow space between two cars and spun around, driving into the space with his front end up on the sidewalk. He left the engine running and pounded up the steps. A woman clutched a small dog close to her chest, stepping back, out of his way. Sykes pushed every button on the intercom and several people buzzed him in. Leaving the door open in his wake, he ran past the elevator and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

When he got to the fourth floor, he stopped at the top of the stairs and placed his back against the wall and stuck his head out to check the hallway. It was empty. From his vantage point, he could see Lauren’s door hanging wide open. A cell phone lay broken in front of the open door. Sykes reached into his jacket and removed his gun from the shoulder holster and walked on tip toes along the hallway. He edged into her apartment and checked each room but there was no sign of Lauren.

Sykes holstered his gun and retraced his steps to the front door and retrieved Lauren’s phone from the floor. The screen was smashed. Sykes held her phone in both hands as if it could somehow tell him where Daniels had taken her.

Closing Lauren’s apartment door he gave it a push to make sure it was locked. Daniels had just made the biggest mistake of his life; Sykes would make him wish he had never been born.

Sykes’ car was still running, and he chided himself for not taking the keys. It could have been stolen, and then he would be in trouble. He took a few seconds to retrieve his phone from underneath his seat where it had fallen. Using one hand on the steering wheel to back off the sidewalk, Sykes used the other to put the phone in the holder, activate his speaker, and call Hart.

“She’s alive!” Hart said to Sykes when he walked in the room.

“What? Daniels’ called, when? Tell me exactly what he said!”

Hart had worked fast and his helicopter picked up Smith, Bertold, and St. John from the downtown office and whisked them back to his place. Bertold and St. John were sitting together, eyes wide, like deer in headlights. One look at them and Sykes knew they would be no help in finding Lauren. Smith pointed to Hart, “Max spoke to him.”

“Lauren? Did you speak to Lauren?” The words rushed out of Sykes’ mouth and he wanted to take Hart by the shoulders and shake the information from him.

“Slow down Sykes. Lauren is OK. Just slow down and let’s figure this out.”

Hart motioned them to sit at the table as his wife Matilda arrived with a three-tier trolley laden with sandwiches and two silver coffee pots. Sykes wasn’t ready to sit down, this wasn’t the time for social niceties. He stood rocking on the balls of his feet, clenching his teeth so hard that his jaw was shooting with pain. 

As soon as Matilda left the room, Sykes placed his folded knuckles on the table and leaned forward. “Fuck the niceties! I don’t have time for this! How long was it since Daniels called? What did he say? Where’s Lauren?”

Sykes’ head snapped to the right as Bertold answered: “He says the girl is fine.”

“And? Come ON! What else did he say? How do you know Lauren is alive?” Sykes knew he was sounding frantic. His heart was beating in his ears, the sound of his blood pounding through his veins almost deafening. The four men sat in front of him looking solemn. Sykes closed his eyes to concentrate knowing the way he could save Lauren was to stay focused and keep his feelings in check. He needed to think clearly if he was going to get her out of this unharmed. Opening his eyes, Sykes looked around the table. Only Hart would meet his gaze.

“Daniels said he would call back. He wants to speak to you. There’s nothing we can do until he calls back. We’ve ruled out the police. At least until he calls and we find out what the hell he thinks he’s doing.”

Sykes sat down with a thud. “I’ll. Ask. You. again. Tell me exactly what he said word for word!”

Hart’s voice was soft with compassion. “Sykes, he said nothing. He asked for you, I said you were on your way, and he said he would call back. The call lasted ten seconds at the most.”

“Then how do you know Lauren is OK?”

“He called. He will call back. If Daniels hurt her, or…” Hart cleared his throat… “If she is hurt, Daniels wouldn’t be calling. He wants something, and we will find out what when he calls back.”

*****

Time dragged by leaving Sykes more agitated with each passing moment. The security staff was pulled in from everywhere to focus on finding Daniels. So far, there was no sign of him at any of his regular haunts. Sykes checked his watch frequently before he took it off and tucked it in his pocket with Lauren’s smashed phone.
“Let’s go over this again,” Sykes said. “We are working on the assumption she could walk freely. There is no way he could have gotten her out of her apartment building otherwise.” Sykes thought he was re-stating the obvious, but four heads nodded in agreement, as though it was a new idea.

“I hope she is at least comfortable.”

Sykes, astonished, looked at Smith. He tipped his head to the side, the shape of an idea fermenting at the back of his mind. Smith was sitting comfortably in an overstuffed armchair with another fresh cup of steaming coffee in his hand, courtesy of Matilda.

“That’s it!” Sykes jumped up, his heart rate climbing, and rushed for the door. 

Hart stopped him with a shout. “Wait. Wait. Have you figured out where he is?”

“He’s at his club! Daniels loves his home comforts!” Sykes said hurriedly. “I’m going to get Lauren.” He flew out of the door.

Sykes kicked himself for not thinking of the Bermannus sooner. His security teams were widely dispersed in their search for Daniels, yet not one of them was near the club. He contemplated calling Detective Harrigan, dismissing it almost immediately as unworkable. The police would want to sit down, talk, and ask too many questions. Sykes knew where Lauren was. The sooner he could get into the Bermannus, the better it would be.

Rush hour traffic filled the roadways as Sykes criss-crossed through town. Highway 60 or the I-10 would normally be faster, however, this time of the day both are bumper to bumper. The city streets would be faster if he could hit the green light wave. Driving his TT to its limits, the engine laboured, the tires spinning sharp bend. Sykes put his foot down to the floor, desperate for more acceleration power. Horns sounded in his wake as he pushed through the smallest of gaps in the traffic and left a slew of disgruntled and terrified drivers behind. He was oblivious to everything other than the color of the traffic lights; so far they had all been green, he had hit the wave.

The TT lost power when Sykes barrelled down the first clear stretch of road. Stomping his foot on the accelerator, he begged it to respond. “Come on! Come on! Just another half mile, come on!” Sykes scanned the dashboard and turned his head slightly so he could better hear the engine. Then he saw it. His fuel gauge showed empty. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel as the car spluttered to a stop.

Ignoring the shouts from the pedestrians jumping out of his way, Sykes’ arms and legs pumped rapidly as he ran down the road. Turning his head from side to side he looked for back alleys and shortcuts.

By the time Sykes reached the Bermannus he was out of breath. He paused at the entrance to the parking lot and leaned forward, hands resting on his bent knees as he surveyed the scene and figured out his next move. His eyes scanned the parking lot for signs of Daniels’ car.

He wasn’t surprised he couldn’t the car in the parking lot, yet, he knew this is where he would be. The Bermannus provided Daniels with everything he needed to hold Lauren– absolute privacy, and all the comforts he would need without having to go outside.

Sykes straightened and brushed his hands down the front of his jacket and sleeves. He adjusted his shirt collar as he walked slowly around the edge of the car park. He couldn’t afford to look suspicious if security caught his image in the cameras. Sykes had to get inside the club and there was only one way to do it without being seen. He had frequently been a guest at the club and knew the manager maintained a presence close to the door. It would be next to impossible for him to walk in and find Daniels.

Sykes skirted the trees and worked his way around to the back of the building. As he expected, the kitchens were easily identifiable from the noise of the cooking activity,  aromas wafting through the screened windows, and finally, the large bins labeled ‘Organic Compost’ lined up next to the back door.

He crept closer to the kitchen and found a small gap behind the compost bins. Tucking himself out of sight, he examined the building facade, looking for a way in. Built by one of the city’s founding fathers, a former residential mansion, the Bermannus was graced with Victorian style architecture and large cornerstone outcroppings. If Sykes could climb up to the second floor, he could gain access to the building through one of the open windows.

The only way Sykes could get a foothold on the rugged stones of the building facade was to drag a garbage bin over to the wall to give him a way to get a leg up. He put his shoulder to the bin and gave it a push. Nothing happened. Using the wall for leverage, Sykes pushed with his legs and put his shoulder to the bin and heaved. The bin didn’t move an inch. Checking that the coast was clear, Sykes stuck his head out and bent down to examine the front wheels. A long metal bar anchored the wheels to a concrete block effectively stopping the line of bins from moving.

Sykes was weighing his options when he heard voices from inside. He retreated behind the bin, further into the shadows. A few seconds later, the back door was flung open and three men, wearing calf length white kitchen aprons emerged pushing and pulling a large freezer on an appliance dolly.

The men grumbled back and forth about the chef, unhappy they had to move the broken freezer. Sykes hunched lower as they manhandled the huge appliance past his hiding place heading towards a storage shed at the other end of the yard. When they were several feet away, Sykes sprinted for the kitchen door.

The kitchen was empty, save for one man sharpening a boning knife with his back to Sykes. A narrow hallway was off to the right. Walking sidestep and holding his breath, Sykes made his way to the passage without being spotted. On the balls of his feet, he quickly started up the dark stairs leading to the next floor. He had found the old servants stairs used in bygone days so the hired hands could go about their duties unseen.

For the first time in a while, Sykes felt some hope. Muttering a silent “Yes!” he moved slowly step-by-step up the staircase taking care to place his feet on the outer edges and so prevent the inevitable creaking that old stairs made.

He made it to the top of the stairs without making a sound. They opened onto a small passageway that was obviously not in use. The smell of dank mold permeated the air and only one light bulb hung from the solitary fitting in the centre of the passage. The light was switched off, the only light coming from a narrow window at the far end. It was enough to reveal a narrow door.

Sykes crept up and placed his ear against the door. There were no sounds coming from the other side. Behind him, he heard a flurry of conversation down in the kitchen. The reluctant freezer movers were back. Sykes ears were on hyper alert, one tuned to the noise from the kitchen below, the other listening for activity behind the door. His eyes were closed so he could focus on one sensory perception.

The sounds of chopping intermingled with the regular noise of cooking and soon a quiet hum of conversation drifted up from the kitchen. Sykes tried the door handle and smiled when it turned with ease. He carefully opened it, aware the hinges were old, He needed have worried, the door had been well oiled and opened smoothly. Sykes stored that titbit of information: perhaps the old stairs were used more than he thought. Slipping through the door, he found himself in a bright hallway, lighted from several Victorian style lights suspended from the high ceiling by brass chain.

A thick carpet covered the floor and six doors were evenly spaced along the walls. Sykes knew that he wouldn’t find Lauren behind any of these doors. Daniels would want to be as far away from anyone as possible and these rooms were too close to the kitchen. If Lauren could scream, the kitchen staff would hear her.

Turning on his heels, he went back in the direction he had come. There had to be another set of servant stairs to third floor.

Sykes’ eyes readjusted to the dim light and he saw what he was looking for. A heavy curtain to his left shielded the next flight of stairs from view. A layer of dust escaped from the heavy velvet as he edged the curtain aside. The sneeze came so suddenly and unexpectedly that Sykes was unable to block the noise. He stood perfectly still, listening for movement from below. Mercifully, the clatter continued as before, his sneeze unnoticed. Reaching in to his pocket, he pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose. He passed through the curtain and up the next flight of stairs.

Sykes prayed that these stairs were as well maintained as the first flight. Once again, he placed each foot on the far edge of the tread where there was less likely to be squeaks. With each step, the noises from the kitchen receded. By the time Sykes reached the door at the top of the stairs, he was surrounded by absolute silence. He put his ear to the door to listen; once again, all was quiet on the other side. The door opened noiselessly.

The same thick carpeting lined the floor and only two doors lined the walls, one on each side of the passage. Sykes was thankful for the thick carpet as he inched his way to the door on the left. He leaned in and listened before tiptoeing across to the opposite door to listen there. This too proved unfruitful. It was deathly quiet. Sykes was about to move away from the door when he realised his ear was warm. Lightly placing the palm of his hands on different parts of the door he felt warmth. This room was heated, which could only mean one thing, it was occupied.

Kneeling, he looked through the keyhole. In a dresser mirror was a clear reflection of Frank Daniels sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. Sykes grasped the door handle lightly in his right hand and gave a gentle turn. It was locked. He stood up and examined the door. There was no point picking the lock; Daniels would hear the scratching of the pick tools.

The door looked solid, but the single lockset was modern. Sykes knew from experience that a well placed kick could pop the catch. He focused his eyes on lockset and began to countdown. On each count, he inhaled and expelled a deep breath. On the count of three, he stood on the balls of his feet and gently flexed his quads. On his last count, he launched his foot at the door.

From there, everything happened in slow motion. Sykes propelled into the room and saw Daniels jump up and hurl a glass in his direction. He ducked as he rushed forward and heard the shatter of the glass behind him. Daniels and Sykes collided in midair, falling heavily. Sykes landed awkwardly, his right arm behind his back, trapped under the weight of Daniels’ body on top of him. He felt a surge of pain run from his lower back all the way up his spine. With Daniels’ full weight crushing his bent arm, Sykes knew he needed to free himself.

He raised his torso and managed to raise one knee, keeping his foot planted on the floor. Using his bent knee and thigh as leverage to lift his hips Sykes wrapped his good arm around Daniels’ head and tried to pry him off. Daniels’ heavy frame was surprisingly muscular and Sykes couldn’t budge him. Daniels sent a volley of punches to Sykes’ head, grunting with the force behind each blow. Sykes tried to ward off the blows, but it was futile. Daniels’ early wrestling career gave him the edge, the blows landed hard and Sykes felt a barrage of pain to his head and face.

Sykes did the only thing possible with the limited movement he had. When Daniels’ his face was exposed as he pulled his fist back to deliver another punch, Sykes head-butted him square in the face.

Daniels cried in pain and fell back, clutching his nose as blood poured through his fingers. Blood splatter landed on Sykes’ face and he wiped it from his eyes with his arm while simultaneously twisting his body and lifting his hips to dislodge Daniels. Daniels fell back, still crying in pain and clutching his nose with both hands. Sykes aimed a kick at Daniels’ ribs but Daniels bloodied hands deflected the kick, and he lunged again for Sykes. With only one good arm, Sykes knew he was in trouble. As Daniels’ hands reached for his neck Sykes leaned back and pivoted out of the way. Daniels’ momentum carried him past Sykes and his punch caught the side of Sykes’ head.

Daniels fell to the floor where he rolled back on his feet at the same time as Sykes stood up. Both men clinched together, each trying to overcome the other. The blood from Daniels’ nose had made its way into his eyes, blurring his vision. Sykes took the first opportunity and landed another head-butt to Daniels’ swollen nose. Daniels dropped soundlessly, out cold.

Sykes saw a movement in his peripheral vision and spun around, but not before he felt a searing pain in the back of his head. His eyes fluttered as he dropped next to Daniels on the floor. The last thing his brain registered was the startled look of a man in a white apron holding a frying pan.