In response, Decker released the Glock’s magazine onto his lap, popped the chambered round, and worked the slide once, five, ten times and kept going and going, snapping it back and forth with rhythmic, unnerving repetition.
“Don’t go anywhere, don’t do anything,” Behr said.
“Yeah, I won’t-” Decker said, but Behr cut him off by closing the car door.
Behr crossed the sidewalk and entered the building. He took the elevator six floors up, went to Shugie’s door, and began knocking. Before long he was pounding in frustration because there was no answer.
He was trying the knob, which was locked, and considered making entry when an across-the-hall neighbor’s door opened. A middle-aged woman in a business suit stepped out holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a tube of mascara in the other. Jumping and yapping around her feet was a tiny white dog, a Maltese, he believed.
“What the heck?” she demanded. “I thought someone was trying to break
“Sorry,” Behr said, “but I really need to locate Mr. Saunders.” At a moment like this, Behr wished he were wearing his blue Caro business suit for respectability’s sake.
“Yeah, well, if you find him, tell him I’m holding these for him.” She opened her door a bit and pointed to three rolled up newspapers.
“So you don’t know where he is?” Behr asked.
“No. I’m just glad he decided to take his … nightlife activities elsewhere. Cops were here earlier, scaring the poop out of Chessie,” she said, pointing at the dog. “But, like I said, you find Shug, tell him in another day or two his papers are gonna be Chessie’s wee-wee pads.”
“Sure thing,” Behr said, stalking away down the hall.
The rain had started falling in fat, greasy splotches as Behr slid back into Decker’s car, where he found him still working the slide on the Glock like a maniacal puppet.
“Anything?” Decker said.
“Not home, hasn’t been for a few days.”
“Shit,” Decker barked, punching the dash. “What else do you got?”
“Let’s try Kolodnik’s company,” Behr said. “Maybe the asshole went to work.”
Decker put the loose round back into the magazine, which he fitted back into the gun, then worked the slide a last time, charging the weapon, which he stowed in his Kydex hip holster. Behr clicked his phone for the street address as Decker put the car in gear.
“Make a left,” Behr said. “New destination. McCrea Street.”
Behr suddenly knew where Shugie Saunders would be.
71
Decker wheeled his car to a hard stop in front of the loft building that was home to Saunders’s escort-lover Lori, and they saw the lobby door had been jimmied open. The metal frame was bent and now it wasn’t closing properly.
“Come on,” Behr said, his pulse rate shooting skyward. He didn’t have to ask twice, Decker was out and heading toward the building through the spattering rain, his gun drawn.
“You take the elevator to four, I’ll take the stairs. Apartment F.”
“Who am I looking for?” Decker asked.
“Buddy, I have no idea,” Behr said, and charged up the fire stairwell.
Behr beat the elevator and was breathing hard when Decker stepped out. He gave a low whistle and a head signal that Decker should follow him. He had his Bulldog.44 out because he could see by the light in the hallway that Lori’s door had been rolled slightly ajar. They proceeded toward it in a staggered formation, each with a distinct field of fire should anyone emerge. Behr lunged past the doorframe and put his back to the wall, and Decker did the same on his side.
With a finger tapped against his chest and then pointed toward the door, Behr let Decker know he was going in first. Decker nodded and Behr spun and led with his shoulder, rolling the door all the way open. He entered in a crouch, gun sweeping an arc in front of him, and saw right away they were too late. Bile came to the back of his throat at the sight of Shug, on the ground, facedown in a pool of blood, the back of his skull collapsed and a pair of entry wounds in his upper back. A chewed-up foam pillow apparently used for sound suppression was singed black with muzzle burn and thrown to the side. Decker followed Behr into the apartment and took one glance at the body.
“We have to clear this place,” he said low.
Behr nodded, and they went for the kitchen, moving around a wall that divided it from the main living area. The space was empty, although a butcher block full of sharp knives had been knocked over and a few implements were missing. They checked a walk-in hall closet before moving toward the back bedroom, each using his weapon to cover the zones the other couldn’t.
They entered the bedroom and discovered an awful sight. The kitchen knives and more had been put to use. The young woman, Lori, was dead, her blood spread all over and soaking into the white duvet on her bed. Decker continued into the bathroom, which was empty.
“Clear,” he said.
“Clear,” Behr echoed. “Good Christ.” He was disgusted by the scene and sick with himself for being a step slow all the way around.
“Motherfucker,” Decker said, staring at the girl’s blood-soaked form. Behr recognized a look of deep distress on the young cop’s face. Despite all he’d witnessed in his life, this was too much on the heels of what had happened to his wife.
“Come on, Decker,” Behr said, putting a hand on his back. “Let’s get you out of here.”
That’s when they heard a moan from the front room. They sprinted out to find Shug’s head lifting off the floor somehow, his face drizzled in streamers of blood. His mouth moved in a disorganized fashion, faint, unintelligible sounds issuing from it. Behr crouched next to him, not willing to turn him over, afraid he would inadvertently finish the man off.
“Who was here, Shug?” Behr said.
There was a long moment of silence, a whispered breath, and a gurgle from him.
“Saunders, who did this?” Behr demanded, hoping to jar the man into lucidity. “How many were there?”
“Dwyer,” Shug breathed. Behr lay down, practically in the pooled blood, putting an ear next to Saunders’s mouth.
“Dwyer? Give me a full name?”
“Another Brit … big …” Shug croaked.
“Two of them? Are they both Brits? Give me a full name,” Behr said. “What’s with the pen-did they make you sign something?” he asked, noticing a blue ballpoint a foot away from Shug’s right hand.
“Lori …” Shug gasped. There was as much pain in the word as Behr had ever heard spoken. He knew what the dying man was asking.
“She’s okay,” Behr said, and looked to Decker, who nodded slightly. “She got away.”
Shug’s face relaxed and a bit of serenity came to his eyes before they closed.
“Shug … Shugie … Saunders!” Behr shouted. But the man was gone.
Behr climbed to his feet. He was stunned, becoming overwhelmed by the violence, and he fought to keep his mind clear. Behr wasn’t a chess player, but he had overheard some talk when a chess club was at Cici’s Pizza at the same time he was. They were discussing endgame, when very few pieces remained on the board with limited moves left to be made. That’s where they were now.
“You know we just missed ’em,” Decker said.
“I do,” Behr nodded, moving for the door.
