Witness to Death (23 page)

“What are you doing?” Michelle asked.

Christine held up a finger as if to say one minute and placed the cell phone to her ear. Seconds later she said, “I have her. We’ll be there in about two hours.”

She snapped the phone shut and turned toward Michelle.

“Shut up,” she said. “For the next two hours, I don’t want to hear a word.”

“You pulled a gun on me. You’re going to blow up my friend.” Michelle tried to sound flippant, at ease. At the same time, when she said “blow up,” her vision blurred a bit.

She prayed the police would get there in time.

“What are you involved in, Christine?”

“I told you to shut up.”

Michelle could smell Christine’s perfume, a Dolce brand. The last time she’d smelled it was when she was just starting her junior year of college. Her father was having a party at Fleming’s in Edgewater, celebrating his deal with France to import weaponry for their military.

She had been standing at the bar, waiting for her apple martini to be made when she looked up to see a woman yelling at her father across the room. Michelle couldn’t hear the words, but the woman was hunched over, arms pressed into her sides. Her father was scanning the room. He finally caught a security guard’s eye. The guard rushed over and grabbed the girl by her arm.

The girl screamed “No!”

The room went quiet. The partygoers stopped talking and turned toward the scene. Her father didn’t react other than to jam his hands in his pockets.

The girl who was being dragged out broke the quiet and yelled, “But I’m your daughter!”

Michelle felt like she’d swallowed a rock. She downed the martini the bartender had just handed her and followed the girl outside.

The girl was standing next to a Dumpster, tears and mascara staining her cheeks.

She wore a long gown, a small black pendant around her neck. She looked up at Michelle who stuck out her hand.

“I’m Michelle, Robert Sandler’s daughter.”

The girl hesitated a moment, then took her hand and introduced herself as Chistine Verderese. They started talking. Christine had always wanted to know who her blood father was and hired a private detective to find out. Robert was the answer.

Michelle told her to wait for her, she was going to go in and get her coat. Michelle got it, and also drink two more martini’s before going back out again. Christine was still there.

She was three years younger than Michelle, but looked older than eighteen. She was a runner, and had the figure for it, slim with strong calf muscles. She wore too much perfume, however, as if she was experimenting with it. Trying it out to see how it worked. Michelle would have called it an utter failure.

For most of the conversation Michelle asked questions and Christine shrugged.

“What are you doing after high school?” Michelle asked.

Again the shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Thinking about college?”

“Maybe. I was good in track, but I got kicked out of school after my mom died. Too many fights.”

The rock in Michelle’s stomach felt like a boulder.

“This is awful,” she said. “Your dad’s an asshole.”

Michelle flushed. “He’s—um—your dad too. But yeah, I kind of agree.”

Christine shook her head. “I should
not
have come.”

“Why did you? Why now?”

Christine shook her head. “I thought I could sneak in and blend in. But once I saw him all I wanted to do was tell him to fuck off. God, this is horrible. I’m—”

Michelle wished she had another martini, let the cold liquid coat her throat.

“What are you going to school for?” Christine asked, her anger gone in a flash.

Michelle almost choked, but forced the saliva down. Christine’s face was emotionless, flat, like she was done talking about the weather, and moving on to some other benign topic. The whole situation was bizarre, but Michelle couldn’t help but talk to her. Her father wouldn’t. No one else would.

“Teaching.”

“A lot of studying?”

“I’m doing my practicum now. Once a week in the classroom.”

“You like it?”

“It’s tough, but I’m starting to get the feel for it. The kids are good, but the lesson planning’s a pain in the ass. Remember back when you were a kid and the teacher let you grade your own test, how fun that was?”

Christine nodded.

“Yeah. Not as fun when you have to grade one hundred and twenty of them.”

“Social studies?”

Michelle shook her head. “Language Arts.”

“I always liked math.”

Michelle took a deep breath. “Let’s try this. Why don’t you come up and visit me at school next weekend. Maybe we can talk some more.”

Christine wiped beneath her eyes. “I’d like that.”

Michelle wondered what had happened in the six years since. She hadn’t seen Christine since that college weekend.

“Christine, this wasn’t a smart move. But let’s go back and get John. Let’s figure this out. We’re family.”

Christine put her hand on the gun in her lap. “Shut. Up.”

“What happened to Ashley? None of this makes any sense. I have only pieces of this. And now you’re here. People are dying Christine, and now you’re here with a gun.”

“No more!”

“I’m going to get out then.”

Michelle reached for the car door, actually got her hand on the handle before Christine grabbed her by the hair and tugged. Michelle’s scalp felt as if it had been snared by a dozen fish hooks. Her arms shot out in front of her, and tears filled her eyes. Duct tape was pressed over her mouth.

Christine said, “I have a taser in the console. Try that again, I’m putting volts through you. Believe me, it’s no fun.”

Michelle blinked the tears from her eyes and felt something dig into her wrists. She looked down to see the same type of plastic straps Christine had used on John being wrapped around her wrists. She tried to fight against it, but couldn’t.

“You should have listened to me,” Christine said and pulled out of the motel parking lot.

****

A couple of hours later, Christine pulled up to a warehouse, just a few miles from the New York State border in Northern Jersey. Michelle hadn’t made a sound since Christine pressed the gray tape over her mouth. She sat up straight, stared directly ahead, and the hints of tears in her eyes had long since vanished.

If anything,
Christine thought,
she seemed to get tougher.

Christine reached over and tore the tape off Michelle’s mouth. Michelle’s eyes widened and she opened her lips, taking in air. When she exhaled, she opened and closed her mouth, as if trying to get the feeling back into her lips.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” Christine said, “you’re going to do what I say and we won’t have any problems.”

“You told me that already,” Michelle said, shaking hair out of her face.

Christine said, “We’re going into the warehouse.”

Michelle didn’t say anything.

Christine undid Michelle’s seatbelt, got out of the car, and walked around the front to the passenger side door. She pulled it open and then nodded toward the door of the warehouse. Michelle didn’t speak, twisted in her seat and dropped her feet on to the ground.

She walked ahead of Christine. At the door, Michelle stopped and Christine opened it. It smelled much like stale potatoes. She pushed Michelle through the open door into the middle of the empty room. As Christine followed, she noted it was as cold inside as it was outside.

“I have to go,” Christine said.

“Why are you doing this?”

Christine smiled and rubbed her index finger and thumb together.

“Money? That’s it? You killed my friends. And this is about money?”

Christine didn’t want to talk to Michelle, but she couldn’t help it. She felt her stomach tighten. Michelle never made any sense.

“Not only money,” she said.

“You hated our father,” Michelle said. “Now you’re working for him? He sent you?”

Christine shook her head. “I don’t like you either. Remember Nick Partkis?”

Her ears felt like they were on fire.

“That was college! That was six years ago!” Michelle shouted.

Michelle was shivering now. Christine hoped she froze.

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds.”

Michelle didn’t say anything.

“You thought, despite everything, that Dad always loved you,” Christine said. “He was always there for you.”

Michelle looked off to the corner of the room. Christine waited for her to say something, to rebut the words, but Michelle just stared. Michelle didn’t understand how much of Christine’s life had been ruined. Even when people tried to help, they just screwed it up even more. And each time she pictured the people who messed things up for her the most, she saw Michelle and Robert Sandler.

Christine thought about O’Connor taking her to the firing range. Giving her Tae Kwon Do lessons. Teaching her how to embrace violence. The warmth that came with learning a new technique rushed through her in the middle of the warehouse. She felt the corners of her lips curl upward.

“I’m going to have to leave you here for a while,” Christine said. “I’ll be back. Don’t try to leave. There’s nowhere to go.”

Michelle still didn’t speak. She returned Christine’s glare. And her dark eyes made Christine’s calves tense. Made her want to punch a hole though a wall. Or through Michelle.

“And when I come back, I’m going to bring you to Dad’s hangar. And, I promise you, it’s not going to be a fun family reunion,” Christine said.

Michelle’s eyes didn’t waver.

“You’re going to hurt your own sister?”

Christine rubbed her fingers together again.

“When everything is said and done,” she said, “I’m going to kill you.”

The sirens were faint, coming from the top of the hill leading to the motel. John imagined the police kicking down the bathroom door, seeing the grenade and unloading their weapons. His biceps tensed at the thought, and he almost dropped the grenade.

He sat on the toilet seat, the cold of the porcelain seeping through his jeans. His hands were shaking hard now. Tears burned his eyes. Air was hard to come by, as it got stuck somewhere in his throat with each inhalation.

John had already tried to use his elbow to turn the doorknob. With no luck. The door was locked, and when he tried to force it, the grenade slipped an inch. Four seconds. If he dropped it, he’d have enough time to scream and that would be it.

The sirens were louder now. Would the police go through each motel room, or did they already know which one he was in? Maybe he should just drop the grenade now. Spare the police officers. Spare everyone except himself.