Larson, apparently in obedient mode, did so without protest.
Durrie conducted a new search of the room, his eye out for more personal items: papers, photographs, birth control pills, and the like. As he came across things he thought she wouldn’t leave behind, he piled them on the bed.
It was a lockbox in the back of her closet that made him pause. Inside were the normal things you’d expect: a passport, insurance papers, title to her car, info on her townhouse — which she apparently owned outright — and a small stash of emergency cash. But there was also something else.
In a worn manila envelope, folded over and wrapped with a rubber band, he found a will, a photo and a letter. The photo was of a man and a woman, taken maybe ten or fifteen years earlier. The letter was from an attorney.
Berit,
At the risk of repeating myself, I am so sorry for your loss. Your parents were not only my clients, they were also my friends. There is no way to explain the tragedy of their deaths, so I won’t even attempt to do so. I just want you to know if you need anything, you can always count on me. As you requested, enclosed is your parents’ last will and testament. We have kept a copy for our records in case anything comes up in the future, but there is no reason to think anything will.
Again, if you need me, do not hesitate to call.
It was signed by a lawyer named Brian Fredrick.
Durrie looked at the will.
Mr. and Mrs. Davies had left their entire estate, a little over two million dollars, to their only child, Berit. That explained why the townhouse was paid for. It also told Durrie there was unlikely to be any family pressure to find the missing woman.
He should have been pleased. His job had just become easier. But Durrie didn’t feel pleased at all. The only thing he felt was angry.
What a waste. The woman’s death had been unnecessary. She’d been a cop, for God’s sake, with all indications that she was going to be a good one. Durrie wasn’t sentimental, but for some reason the fact that her parents were already dead got to him. Tragedy on tragedy. And, at least in Davies’s case, absolutely unnecessary.
Larson. If Peter didn’t do something about him, Durrie would. The asshole was a liability, and more good people would die in the future if he wasn’t dealt with. The last thing Durrie wanted was for one of those good people to be him.
Reining in his anger, he found another canvas bag, loaded all the remaining items in it, then headed for the stairs.
He was only halfway to the first floor when the doorbell rang.
Jake checked his watch. If Berit finished on time, she should be home by now. He turned and headed back to her complex.
As he’d been walking, a plan had formed in his mind. What he needed to do was stress to the commander that he realized his mistake and sincerely regretted his actions. He would convince his superiors that he hadn’t been trying to show anyone up, that he was only curious, that’s all. In other words, he would throw himself on their mercy, and hope that, given time, doing so would mean he’d still have a chance to advance as he’d planned. He didn’t know if it would really work, but he had to try.
He crossed the street, then walked down the path leading into Berit’s complex. As he neared her place, he could see that the lights were still off. He frowned, wondering if maybe she was putting in some overtime, and decided to see if her car was here before knocking on her door. But as he walked by, he could have sworn he saw movement in the upstairs window out of the corner of his eye.
He paused to take another look. No movement now, but he was sure something had been there. He thought about the inside of Berit’s place, and recalled that the window was positioned right where the stairs let out on the second floor. If someone had been going up or down, they would have passed quickly by.
He headed over to her door and pressed the bell.
Staying where he was on the stairs, Durrie twisted to the side so he could look at the door. Larson was standing just a few feet away from it, staring at him.
“Hold your position,” Durrie whispered just loudly enough for his mic to pick up.
The bell rang again.
Silence for several seconds, then feet moving a little ways back from the townhouse before stopping again.
“Berit?”
The voice was muffled by the wall, but distinct, and recognizable. Officer Oliver.
Durrie could see that Larson had come to the same realization. The assassin had slipped a hand under his jacket, and was pulling out his Glock.
“No,” Durrie whispered, taking the rest of the stairs down to the first floor.
Larson paused.
“Put it back. He’ll leave in a minute and never know we were here.”
The gunman frowned, his hand still half in, half out of his jacket.
As Durrie walked toward him, he could see the grip of the Glock. “Put. It. Back.”
“Situation’s changed,” Larson said, his lips barely moving. “He’s a problem and needs to be eliminated.”
He pulled the gun all the way out.
“Stop,” Durrie ordered. “You may be right, but you kill him here, and you’ll ruin
Larson seemed to consider this. “Then what do
“He isn’t going to be hard to find. So we stay quiet and let him go. Then we finish the job here and leave. When the time’s right, we’ll deal with him.”
“And when do you think that will be?”
“That’s not my call, or yours. That’s Peter’s.”
Larson obviously didn’t like that answer, but he didn’t have a good response for it either.
“Now put it back,” Durrie said.
Larson did nothing for a moment, then he finally returned the gun to where he’d been carrying it.
That problem temporarily solved, Durrie moved all the way to the door, and put his eye against the spy hole. Oliver was there all right, looking up at the second floor.
“Berit?” he called again.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why Oliver had come over. He’d been suspended that afternoon, and since the woman was obviously a close friend and had been involved in the investigation that had brought on the discipline, he would want to talk to her. Durrie had to assume Oliver had probably been trying to reach her on the phone since he’d been sent home, and had finally grown frustrated enough at not getting a response to come over. Which meant he was unlikely to leave anytime soon.
They would have to be very careful.
Jake realized he must have been mistaken. A reflection on the window from another unit, most likely. That had to be it. In retrospect, he actually felt kind of foolish yelling out her name. She’d undoubtedly hear about it from her neighbors.
He looked at her second-story window for a moment longer, then continued down the path to the parking area. He knew before he even saw the empty slip that her car wouldn’t be there. He decided, though, that it would be the best place for him to wait. This way, there would be no chance of him missing her.
