Karen Rose - Die for Me

“Please, Mr. Sanders. That would be like pissing into a forest fire. Much too little, much too late. We want our money by this evening at five o’clock. We don’t care what you have to do to get it. All of it. Or you won’t be pissing anywhere because you won’t have, shall we say, the necessary equipment? Do you understand?”

Greg’s stomach roiled. He nodded, nauseated. “Yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good. Have a nice day, Mr. Sanders.”

Greg slumped into the pillow, then reared back and hurled the telephone at the wall. Plaster flew and the ringer clanged and glass shattered as a picture fell to the floor.

The bedroom door burst open. “What the hell?”

Greg groaned into his pillow. “Go away.” But he was yanked to his back and flinched when a palm connected with his cheek. Greg’s head felt like it had exploded. By five o’clock today I’ll wish it had, he thought.

“Open your eyes, you bastard.”

Blearily Greg obeyed. Jill was glaring down at him, one hand clutching his T-shirt and the other upraised, palm flat.

“Don’t hit me again.” It came out very nearly a whimper.

“You…” Jill shook her head in bewildered indignation. “I let you stay here against my better judgment and only because I once had the stupidity to love you. But you’re not the man you were. That was him, wasn’t it? The guy with the creepy voice that keeps calling for you. You owe him money, don’t you?”

“Yes.” He hissed out the word. “I owe him money. I owe you money. I owe my parents money.” He closed his eyes. “I owe the credit card companies and the bank.”

“You were somebody.” She released his shirt with a shove of disgust that set the room spinning again. “Now you’re just a dirty drunk. You haven’t worked in a year.”

He covered his eyes with his hands. “So my agent tells me.”

“Don’t you get smart with me. You had a career. Dammit, Greg, your face made it into nearly every living room in this city. But you gambled it all away.”

“And this was your life, Greg Sanders,” he sneered.

Jill exhaled on what sounded like a sob and he opened his eyes to find tears in hers. “They’re going to break your legs, Greg,” she whispered.

“That’s only in the movies. In real life, they do a lot worse than that.”

She took a step back. “Well, I’m not picking up the pieces this time and I don’t want any more damage to my place.” She turned and walked away, pausing at the door. “I want you out of here by Friday, understand?” Then she was gone.

I should be angry, Greg thought. But he wasn’t. She was right. I had it all and pissed it away. I have to get it back. I have to pay that debt and start over. He didn’t have a penny, but he still had his face. It had earned him a decent living once before. It would do so again.

With care he climbed from the bed and slid into the chair in front of his computer. By tomorrow he’d have five hundred dollars. But that was barely a tenth of the principal he owed. When he added in the interest… He needed more money and fast. But how? From whom? Mechanically he clicked on his e-mail, then with a frown opened the message from E. Munch.

At least the job hadn’t been canceled, just moved a few hours. I can hide until then. But why was he even bothering? Five hundred really was like pissing on a forest fire. He’d do better to run to Canada, dye his hair, and change his name.

Or… another idea came to mind. Munch was prepared to pay five bills, cash, and his first e-mail said he had ten roles to fill. Even hung over, Greg could do that math. Munch’s profile said he’d worked in film for more than forty years. He’d be old. Old people hid money all kinds of places. Old people could be dealt with, easily.

No. He couldn’t do that. Then he thought about the threat to his… equipment. Yeah, he could. And if Munch didn’t have all the cash… well, he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

Monday, January 15, 8:15

A.M.

Lieutenant Liz Sawyer sat at her desk staring at the map of the four-by-four matrix of graves, her brow crunched into frown lines. “This is unbelievable.”

“We know,” Vito said. “But the archeologist says we have nine bodies buried in that field. She’s been right on every one so far.”

Liz looked up. “You’ve confirmed these seven are empty?”

“Empty, but covered with plywood, just like Sophie said,” Nick replied.

“So what’s our status?”

“Three bodies in the morgue,” Vito said. “The Lady, the Knight, and the guy that’s missing half his head. The fourth body is in transit. Jen’s working on the fifth.”

Nick went on. “The fourth body is male, older. The first three look like they may have been in their twenties. This guy might be in his sixties. No obvious anomalies.”

“No posed hands, missing entrails, or dismembered arms?” Liz asked sarcastically.

Vito shook his head. “The fourth body appeared to be a garden-variety victim.”

Liz sat back, her chair creaking. “So what are our next steps?”

“We’re going to the morgue,” Nick said. “Katherine promised to give us priority and we need to identify these people. When we start getting names we might see a pattern.”

“Jen has the lab analyzing the soil,” Vito added. “She’s hoping to find out where it came from. The lab will sift through all the fill dirt to see if they can find anything to point to the perp, but it doesn’t look like he left anything behind.”

Liz looked down at the map. “Why the empty graves? I mean, we could guess he’s not finished yet with whatever this scheme is, but why leave these two empty?” She pointed to the two graves on the far end of the second row. “He’s filled the entire first row, then the first two on the second row. Then he skips down to the third row.”

“We have to believe he had a reason,” Vito said. “He’s planned this down to the nth degree. I don’t think he’d just skip two graves for kicks, but we need to get all the bodies out of there before we start formulating any theories.”

Liz gestured to her office door. “Keep me apprised. I’ll get to work on freeing up another team to work any leads you come up with. Needless to say, the mayor is chomping at the bit. Don’t make me look stupid, guys.”

Vito took the map. “I’ll make you a copy. Try to keep the mayor from going to the press too soon, okay?”

“For now we’ve been lucky,” Liz said. “The reporters haven’t found out about our secret garden, but it’s just a matter of time. Too many bodies showing up to the morgue and too many CSU techs coming in for overtime. One of the reporters is bound to grab the scent. Just stick with ‘no comment’ and leave the rest to me.”

Vito’s laugh was grim. “That’s one order we’ll be glad to follow.”

Monday, January 15, 8:15

A.M.

The Albright Museum was housed in what had once been a chocolate factory. It had been a definite consideration as Sophie had considered Ted the Third’s job offer six months before. It was fate, she’d thought. The museum boasted one of the greatest private collections of medieval European artifacts in North America and it was in a chocolate factory. How could she possibly go wrong accepting?

That had become one of the questions for the ages, she thought darkly as she let herself in the museum’s front door. Like the secret of life or how many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop. The world would never know.

Because she had, of course, gone wrong. Accepting Ted the Third’s job offer had been one of the stupidest things she’d ever done in her life. And I’ve done some really stupid things, she thought, even more darkly. Vito Ciccotelli’s handsome face popped into her mind and she shoved it away. At least she’d found out his cheating ways before she’d done something really stupid, like sleep with him.