She was dead and Josh gave up.
He wiped a shaking hand across his mouth and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t bear to look at the blank, staring eyes of the dead woman and brushed a hand over the lids, closing them. On hands and knees, he moved away from the corpse and slumped against the threadbare couch.
Josh noticed the monotonous tone of the recorded
voice coming from the discarded telephone. He went over to the handset to call 911. With his hand about to touch the receiver, he hesitated and retracted it. He realized what he’d done.
Guilty. Josh was guilty of the crime the police had accused him of, whether it was intentional or not. He’d
scared Margaret Macey into a heart attack and she was dead. The cops didn’t need a smoking gun to convict on this one. Josh had given them all they needed. He should have done what Kate had told him and not gone.
Here was another mistake to add to the growing pile.
Josh stared blankly at the dead woman in front of him. He’d come to help this woman and himself, but instead of helping her, he’d killed her. How long would she be on his conscience? As long as Mark Keegan would? Another innocent person had died because
of him.
After several minutes, Josh got up and retraced his steps, making sure to wipe clean anything that he may have touched. He knew it was wrong to leave Margaret Macey’s body without calling an ambulance, but he didn’t want to be the one they found with the body.
Someone would notice the broken door before long.
Josh crept along the side of the house and checked the street for witnesses before returning to his car. The street was clear. Josh ran to his car, got in and accelerated away.
The professional recognized the figure getting into the car as he pulled away. What is Michaels doing at Margaret’s? His targets had no reason to be talking to each other; had someone made a connection? Michaels
probably had, but it was too late for them.
As he watched Josh’s car disappear onto another
street, the professional dialed the old woman’s number.
He got the busy signal.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. What were his little people up to? No good to be sure, he decided. The professional hung up and pocketed the cellular. He approached Margaret Macey’s house and knocked gently
on the door, but received no answer. His visit to the rear of the house gave rise to further curiosity. The back door was broken. Glass was scattered over the kitchen floor. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, the professional entered the house, ensuring he didn’t leave any prints behind.
Moments after entering the house, he spotted feet sticking out from behind the armchair in the sitting room, one shoe hanging off the left foot. The professional closed in on the unmoving body. He knew who
he’d find. His target lay on her back—still, quiet, and very obviously dead. He knelt down by her side and placed two fingers over the vein in her neck. He felt no pulse.
The professional laughed out loud. He just got the joke. One of his targets had accidentally taken out the other. Days like these were very rare in his profession.
He wished he could share this moment with someone.
“Josh, I would split the money with you if I didn’t have to kill you,” he said to the room.
The killer wandered into the bathroom and shook his head at the mess of items scattered over the sink and floor. He removed a baggie from his shirt pocket with a bottle of pills inside; without touching the contents, he dropped the bottle into the sink with the rest of the junk.
“You can have those back, Margaret. I bet you’ve
been looking for them,” he said.
He left the way he came. And like Josh Michaels, he swiftly drove off, unseen by the neighbors.
The professional stopped at a strip mall with a pay phone and called 911.
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the female dispatcher asked.
“I want to report a breakin, possibly violent,” the professional said, sounding suitably distressed.
“What can you tell me, sir?” The dispatcher’s level tone had a mannish quality to it.
“I heard breaking glass and shouting, then I saw a man leave and get into a blue sedan. And I know an old lady lives alone in that house.” An Oscar winning performance in a telephone role, he thought.
“Do you have an address, sir?”
The professional reeled off Margaret Macey’s address.
“Can I have your name, sir?”
The professional dropped two fingers on the hook and broke the connection. Smiling, he got into the Taurus.
He had final preparations to make for Josh Michaels’s demise.
Bob Deuce’s desk, as messy as ever, was awash with paper, but the paperwork wasn’t related to his clients.
The debris was his research on Pinnacle Investments.
Since returning to the office after the funeral the day before, he’d immersed himself in the company’s history.
After calling friends in the industry, reading reports and financial data, he felt he had it all. What he’d discovered was amazing; no, not amazing, fantastic. It may have seemed wild, but what he believed to be the truth wasn’t impossible. If it hadn’t been for the tragic events that occurred in the last few weeks, he wouldn’t have believed it.
His phone rang from under a wad of papers and he
waded through the mess to find it. “Yes, Maria?”
“Call on line one for you, Bob,” she said.
He pressed the glowing key on the keypad. “Bob
Deuce, how can—”
“Bob, it’s me.”
“Josh, what’s up?” The nervous edge to Josh’s voice frightened Bob. Every time his friend called him, some thing
bad had happened. He dreaded the new turn of
events.
“Have you got time to see me?”
“Yes, I suppose. Where are you?” Bob leaned over
his desk on his elbows, his body stiff with fear.
“I’m outside on one of the pay phones.”
“Here? Josh, what’s this about?”
“I’ll be waiting by the phones.”
Bob sighed. “Okay.”
The line went dead.
“Damn it,” he said to himself, with the phone still to his ear.
He replaced the receiver. This was more bad news
and he knew it. He went into the office reception area.
Maria looked up from her computer and smiled.
“I’m just going to get myself a coffee and something to eat. I’ve got the munchies.” He beamed a big smile and placed a hand on the door.
“Bob, you’ll be going home in a couple of hours,
can’t you wait?” Maria was still smiling, but she deplored his overeating.
“Gotta keep the wheels of the food industry turning.
Can I get you something?”
