Sandra Brown - Ricochet

The man’s renewed optimism was almost more heartbreaking to witness than his earlier despair. Even if they found his wife alive, she would be charged with Napoli ’s murder. He seemed to have forgotten that. Or else he didn’t care, so long as she was alive.

Gerard tried to match his hopefulness. “If anybody can wring information from Ballew, it’s Duncan. You’re welcome to observe when he questions him again.”

“He won’t be questioning him again.” Though DeeDee had addressed all of them as she approached, she was looking at Duncan. “About an hour ago, Gordie Ballew opened his carotid artery with the tine of a plastic fork. He’s dead.”

DeeDee’s announcement had the effect of a death knell. Worley moved to his desk and began rifling drawers in search of a forbidden cigarette, which he saved for emergencies.

Gerard sat down on the corner of a desk and despondently stared at the floor.

The judge didn’t seem to understand the impact of Gordie Ballew’s suicide. “You can still implicate Savich, can’t you? Why don’t you question him directly?”

Duncan had begun to feel that he would suffocate in this room. First the photographs of Savich with Elise. Then his gnawing suspicion that his seduction had been orchestrated by Savich. Now the loss of Gordie Ballew.

Although he’d felt like ranting over each of these disclosures, somehow he had managed to function with the cool detachment that was expected. But the judge’s inane question caused his anger to erupt.

“Why don’t we question Savich? Don’t you think we have?” he shouted, his voice quaking with wrath. “Gordie Ballew is dead. So Savich’s meeting with your wife might just as well never have happened. It’s been deleted. Like that.” He clapped his hands together as though squashing a mosquito between them.

“And isn’t it just a little late for you to be gung-ho to nail Savich? You let him go! If not for you and your damned mistrial, he would be behind bars, not out destroying people. Destroying lives.”

“ Duncan.” That from Gerard. He spoke softly, but the admonishment couldn’t have been more effective.

Every cell in Duncan ’s body throbbed with fury. He felt like hitting something, hurting something, but he clamped his jaws shut to keep from saying anything more.

DeeDee cleared her throat and said diplomatically, “Savich denied any such meeting with your wife took place, Judge. It’s unlikely that anyone else will come forward now.”

The judge exhaled a shuddering sigh and sat down heavily in the nearest chair. “The photographs explain a lot. Elise was leading a double life. It culminated with her killing Napoli. Then she jumped from the bridge.” He made eye contact with each of them, as though hoping someone would dispute the hypothesis. None did. “All this time we’ve been searching for her and hoping we’d find her alive, she’s been dead, hasn’t she?” His voice gave out and he sobbed. “I guess it’s over.”

“Wrong,” Duncan said. “It’s not over until her body is found.”

He stormed out of the VCU and was halfway to the detention center before he even realized where he was headed. Mistrusting what he might say or do if he stayed a moment longer in the office, he’d been intent only on escape.

But subconsciously he must have resolved that Gordie Ballew’s death would not go unnoticed. He was the latest of Savich’s victims, as surely as if Savich himself had dug into his neck with that fork.

Somehow Savich had gotten to Gordie Ballew and persuaded him that even a bloody suicide was a far more graceful way out of this life than the violent exit Savich had planned for him.

Jail bars would have been no barrier. Savich had tentacles everywhere, in every field of commerce, every branch of local government, every law enforcement agency. His influence was far-reaching and pervasive. If he wanted to get a message to Gordie in jail, he could have done so with shocking ease.

But Duncan was going to make it harder for him to get away with it.

Unmindful of speed limits, he cut by half the drive time from the Barracks to the jail. He parked and got out, then strode toward the entrance. His plan was to spend some quality time with the guards, whose inattention had allowed Gordie Ballew to commit suicide. At least one of them had to be on Savich’s payroll.

Just then, as though his thoughts had conjured him up, he spotted Savich, strolling coolly through the lobby of the building on his way toward the exit.

Duncan reached the doors first, barged through them, and blocked the man’s path. Savich’s surprise over his sudden appearance was momentary. He smiled pleasantly. “Well, hello, Detective. Fancy meeting you here.”

Duncan ’s hands formed fists at his sides. “Did you come to see for yourself that Gordie Ballew is good and dead?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard about poor Gordie. He’d had such a tragic life, and true to form, it ended badly. I came to claim his body, give it a decent burial.”

“Bullshit. You came to make sure he’d done what you told him to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He tilted his sleek head and gave Duncan a critical once-over. “You’re flushed. Are you that upset over this? I didn’t realize that you and Gordie were that close.”

“Did you dip your finger in his blood?”

“What a revolting thing to say.”

“You had to make certain that Gordie was silenced forever and no longer a threat to you. You wouldn’t trust the newspaper story of a jail cell suicide. You had to check it out for yourself, see if that plastic fork did the trick.”

Savich rolled his eyes. “You’ve topped yourself, Detective Hatcher. This is your most fanciful invention yet. I’m here out of charity for a former employee. Nothing more. Now if you’ll excuse-”

He made to go past Duncan, but Duncan hooked his hand around Savich’s biceps and flung him against the wall, then planted himself in front of him. Bringing his face close, he said, “Did you send her to me?”

“The girl you picked up in the River Street bar? She’s awfully good, isn’t she?”

Duncan placed his forearm across Savich’s throat. “Elise,” he growled.

“Ah, the judge’s fair wife.” Because of the pressure Duncan was applying to his windpipe, his face was turning duskier, but he was smiling. “So I was right. Your interest in her wasn’t entirely professional.”

“Hey, guys?”

Out the corner of his eye, Duncan saw two security guards coming toward them, looking wary. He said, “I’m Hatcher, Savannah PD, homicide.”

“Yeah, uh, we know who you are, Detective. Need any help here?”

“No. Back off.” He pressed his arm harder against Savich’s throat and lowered his voice so that only Savich could hear him. “Did you send her to me?”

“I’m not a matchmaker. Well, except for that one time. I thought you deserved a Saturday night of fun and frolic.”

Duncan blinked against a red mist of rage that clouded his vision. “Did you send Elise to me?”

“Why would that even occur to you? Or don’t you have any confidence in your own sex appeal?”

The guards were edging closer. One had unsnapped the leather holster on his hip and had his hand on the grip of his pistol. “Detective Hatcher,” he said, “if you need assistance-”

“Are you arresting this man?” the other guard asked. “If so-”

“I said back off!” Duncan shouted.

Because of the pressure to his throat, Savich’s laugh was a low gurgle. “You really are unraveling, aren’t you? Poor man. You’re defeated at every turn. And, as if that weren’t bad enough, you’re now enamored of a ghost.” Barely above a whisper, he added, “Take heart, Detective. Maybe Napoli made it quick.”