Stuart Kaminsky - Dead of Winter

"Make an offer, Ms. Fineberg," Pease said. "Make it a good one."

"SORRY ABOUT THIS, STEVIE," said Dario Marco, seated behind his desk. "You're a good worker, a loyal employee, a good guy."

Stevie stood on a leg that threatened to give way and looked dumbly and open-mouthed at the man behind the desk who had been his boss, his protector.

"Problem here, you see," said Marco, sitting back and adjusting his jacket to get rid of the wrinkles, "is that we need to give the police someone. They've been all over the place. They've got evidence against you on the Spanio killing and you killed a cop and shot another one. Big problem is you killed the cop right outside the door you just came through. So, what can I do? I mean, I ask you?"

Stevie said nothing.

Marco shrugged to show again that he had no choice. "Besides which, you really are one dumb bastard and you're getting old."

Stevie looked at Jake, who had betrayed him, and then at Helen Grandfield who had no expression.

"Dad," Helen said. "Let's just do it."

"I owe Stevie an explanation," Dario said patiently.

"He came here to kill you," she said.

"That's so," Dario Marco agreed. "And he broke in, and it was fortunate that we had a gun."

"The Jockey doesn't have a permit," said Stevie, trying to think.

"That's right," said Marco. "He's a convicted felon. You're dumb, but not that dumb. The gun is mine. I've got a permit. Jacob picked it up from the desk where I had just finished cleaning it when you…"

"Why?" asked Stevie. "You set me up, right from the start. You wanted the cops to come for me. Why?"

"Back up," said Dario. "Believe me, I wanted you to get away. Why would I lie now? But in business you cover your ass. You're getting old, Stevie. You're going to slow down. Shit, you're already slowing down. Look at yourself. Now you've broken into my office and said you were going to kill me. In front of three witnesses."

Dario Marco nodded at Jacob, who looked at Stevie and hesitated.

"He set you up too, Jake," said Stevie.

"Shoot the old fart," said Marco.

The leap across the desk by Stevie was a surprise to everyone in the room, probably even Stevie. When his stomach hit the table, all feeling left his wounded leg. He reached out for Dario's neck and found it. He was doing what he was good at now, dumb or no dumb.

"Shoot," Helen shouted.

Jake fired and missed. His hand was shaking, but Stevie's weren't. Lying on his stomach on the desk, he lifted Dario from the chair and snapped his neck.

Helen was on his back now, clawing at his face, grunting, screaming. Jake looked for an open shot. Dario Marco's body slipped down, eyes open in surprise, chin resting on the edge of the desk. Stevie threw Helen Grandfield off of him. She tripped backwards, going over a chair.

Stevie tried to stand. He turned his head toward the Jockey, who had backed away trembling, two hands on the gun. No way Stevie could make the lunge before he was shot. He dug into his pocket and clutched the dog Lilly had given him.

"Stop," said a voice.

Jake over his gun, Helen over the overturned chair she had fallen behind, Stevie over his shoulder, saw the uniformed cop, the one who Stevie had bypassed at the front door on his way in. The cop had heard the shot.

The cop, whose name was Rodney Landry, was a bodybuilder with four years on the force. He knew what to do: aim his weapon at the tiny man next to the desk. From the description he had been given, Landry knew that the man with the bloody leg, who, for some inexplicable reason, was lying on the desk, was the one he had been told to look for.

From where he stood, Landry, weapon in hand, did not see Dario Marco.

"Put the weapon down on the floor very slowly," Landry ordered.

Jake wanted to hurry, but he forced himself to bend slowly and place the weapon on the floor. Stevie managed to turn his body and get up on one elbow.

"He broke in here," Helen Grandfield screamed, pointing at Stevie. "He killed my father."

Landry could see it now. It looked like a joke, a Halloween joke. The dead man's head seemed to be resting on his chin behind the desk. His eyes were wide open and he looked surprised, very surprised.

Stevie, feeling nothing in his leg now, reached into his pocket, clutched the painted dog, and smiled.

Ed Taxx made the deal. States evidence against Dario Marco and his daughter in exchange for Murder Two minimum. He talked it through and then wrote it out. He knew the drill, followed it. He also had enough money hidden away to take care of his family and he didn't want the police going into his life or looking through his bank accounts.

"I take down Dario Marco and Helen Grandfield with me and you drop any further investigation of me or my assets," said Taxx.

"And whatever you have on Anthony Marco," Ward said.

"I don't have much there," said Taxx.

"We'll take what you can give us," said Ward.

Taxx sat across the table from Assistant DA Ward and CSI Investigator Danny Messer, prepared to tell his story.

"So what do I get?" asked Taxx.

"Depends on your story," said Ward.

"It's a good one," said Taxx.

He had been approached by Helen Grandfield, who didn't tell him how she knew he had been assigned to the Alberta Spanio protection detail nor how she knew he had prostate cancer that had spread to his other organs. Taxx really didn't care how she knew. He hadn't told his wife or family about the cancer. He had some money put away but it would have drained whatever his family would have to live on just to make his final months stretch into a less painful year. Now the irony was that the state would have to pay for his treatment.

When he met with Dario Marco he had been offered one hundred and fifty thousand in cash to simply give Alberta Spanio an overdose of sleeping pills, and leave the bathroom window unlocked after screwing the hook into it.

"Why?" asked Ward.

"Helen Grandfield told me later that someone was supposed to be let down to the window from the room above, but the storm made it impossible. Then at three in the morning I was to have a coughing fit that lasted three minutes to cover the noise if there was any."

Taxx accepted, got the cash in advance.

"So far," he explained to Assistant DA Ward, with whom Taxx had worked for fifteen years, "no problem."

"And then?" asked Ward.

"Night it was supposed to happen I got a call," said Taxx. "Cell phone. Collier was in the room. I pretended it was my wife. It was Helen Grandfield. She told me what to do: break down Spanio's door in the morning, send Collier to check the bathroom because there was obviously a window open, get to the bed fast, and stab Spanio in the neck. No problem again. I was careful with my words, saying something like, 'No, honey, tell him it will have to be what we already have plus double.' Collier was watching a basketball game on television, but I knew he heard. Helen put her hand over the mouthpiece I think, checking with Dario, came back and said it was a deal. I don't think they ever planned to send anyone through the window. I think they counted on my killing Alberta from the beginning."

"And?"

"Spanio was out from the pills and the cold when we broke the door down. I stepped in between him and the bed so he couldn't see the body and nodded toward the bathroom. Collier went into the bathroom. I took the knife out of my pocket and stabbed Alberta in the neck. Four or five seconds at most. Collier came out of the bathroom. I had stepped back so he could see the knife in her neck. I watched him head into the other room to call for backup."

"And that's when you had a problem?" said Ward.

Taxx nodded.

"I went into the bathroom. The window was open. "My first thought was, 'Great, Collier saw that. He thinks the perp came in through the window and went back out through the window.' That's when I realized the snow was piled up on the sill. No one could have gotten through the window without disturbing the snow."