Black Widow Page 5

  Sandburg cleared his throat now, though, quietly asking, "What's the tie-in with Emily Rothschild on all these cases?"

  Simon joined them at his desk. "Nothing concrete. It's all speculation."

  "What do you know about her? Her history?"

  "Not much. She's pretty closed on the subject. We know she was born on a farm near a small town in northeastern Washington. Mother died when she was a child. They moved to Seattle when she was eight, then up to Cascade when she was fourteen. Social services lost track of the family then. She married Daniel Peters when she was twenty."

  "She's had some rough breaks in her life," Sandburg said, still speaking softly. "She was on her own since her father died when she was fifteen. She had to work hard to make enough money to allow herself to finish high school, and while she was in first year university, she was working as a clerk in a department store, when she met the owner and they fell in love."

  "She told you that?"

  "Yeah. We had tea before I started today. She said it's why she supports Rainier University, because of how hard she had to work to go there."

  "We basically had that information already."

  "Just because she knows people who died, doesn't mean that she's a murderer."

  "No, it doesn't, son. But after awhile, when people keep dying, we've got to investigate."

  "Which is why you call her a Black Widow."

  "Both her husbands died under suspicious circumstances, Sandburg." Banks looked over to Ellison, wanting to change the topic. "What did you get at the crime scene on Merrell?"

  Ellison reached into his pocket to get his notepad, and he found an envelope. He pulled it out by the corner, showing it to Banks and Sandburg.

  "From the look on your face, I take it you didn't put that there," the captain said.

  "I didn't notice it earlier." He put on some latex gloves, then slit open the envelope; a key and a distinctive gold button fell into his hand.

  "A key?" Sandburg asked. "To what?"

  "And a note." He read it out loud. "This is the master key to the Rothschild mansion. Mrs Rothschild will be at a charity event this evening, and most of the staff have the night off. I will be retiring early. The security system will malfunction between 8 and 10 pm."

  "What's the button about?" Simon asked.

  "I suspect this button matches Merrell's jacket. There was a button missing."

  "So maybe the butler did it." Sandburg stared back at them. "Okay, it was a joke."

  "The butler, as well as the other staff members, will all be questioned about this. We're not on a crusade against Emily Rothschild, Sandburg. We want to find out the truth about this." Banks looked across to Ellison. "So what are you going to do?"

  Jim shrugged. "Pay the Rothschild estate a visit, I guess."

  "The note isn't enough for a warrant. If you go there, you'll be trespassing, and I don't want to know about it."

  "If we get caught, I'll just say I was checking on her security system."

  "Sounds a little flimsy."

  Ellison shrugged, then looked over at his partner. "How are you doing? You going to come with me?"

  "Yeah. I'm there. Just to prove you wrong, if nothing else."

  * * * * *

  Rothschild Estate

  Sunday, 8:45 pm

  The two men slipped through the open gate and slowly made their way up the hill to the darkened mansion. Both were dressed in black, their faces darkened. Nasty looking clouds hid the moon, making it hard to see. Blair slipped on the damp grass, but waved off his partner's offer of help as he followed him carefully up the steep slope.

  He looked up at the mansion and shivered. Other than the front lights, the entire place looked shut down. It also looked haunted, but that was probably just his imagination. He really didn't know what to think about the whole situation. His track record with women of any age was reportedly poor. She really seemed like a nice lady though.

  "The limo is missing. She must have taken it to the charity event." Jim took the key out, then went in the front door. Inside, they could hear no alarms sounding, and the security panel just inside the entrance continued to flag an 'all clear'. Jim went to the security room around the corner, and they could see where some of the switches had been pushed into the 'off' position. "We're safe on the main floor, but don't open any windows or go into the solariums. The third floor is okay, but the entire second floor is off limits. Got that?"

  "What's there?" Visions of torture rooms and other creepy stuff flashed through Sandburg's head as lightning flashed outside.

  "Servant quarters." Ellison headed out, down the hall. Thunder roared ominously.

  They searched the house quickly, doing a circuit of each room. "What are you looking for?" Blair asked, peering out the top floor bedroom window at the distant skyline view of downtown Cascade at night.

  "I don't know. Just getting my bearings."

  "Casing the joint?"

  "No, looking for evidence."

  "But you haven't found anything yet, right?"

  "Not yet."

  "See that proves--"

  Jim turned around and put his finger up to his lips. "Look now, talk later, Chief. We're on a time limit here."

  "Okay." They headed back to the first floor. "So where else are we going to check? We've already done this floor. We done yet?" Blair asked, then followed Jim closely until he stopped suddenly. Blair plowed into his partner's back, then teetered, struggling to get his balance. Jim stood in front of a panel that looked no different from any of the other panels. "What's this? The secret entrance to her lair?"

  "Exactly," Jim whispered back, and tripped a catch. The panel slid aside, revealing an entrance to an office.

  More thunder.

  "Cool."

  They entered quickly, and Jim hit the light switch as the door slid shut behind them.

  "Do we know how to get out of here?" Blair asked, staring back at where they had entered.

  Jim nodded, then triggered the release and the door opened.

  "Good." Blair had more visions of their skeletons being found in the room when the place was demolished in another hundred years. "One more thing, Jim. How did you know where the light switch was? You didn't even look."

  "I was here once before."

  "When I was looking at the artifact?"

  "No. When I was ten."

  "What? Jim--"

  "Later, Chief. I'm going to check her desk. Look around."

  Blair nodded. He'd get the story out of Jim later. And don't think I'll forget about it, either.

  He turned his attention to the office. There really wasn't much there besides the huge desk and some framed photographs on the wall, one mounted in the center of each panel, almost circling the room. Each photo had a plaque beneath it and a display lamp above it.

  Blair stopped at the first one, a black and white image of a graying man standing in front of a rundown apartment building. "This is her father."

  "How do you know that?" Jim asked, glancing up.

  "There's another picture of him in the hallway outside. She told me about him." Blair squinted at the little brass plaque beneath it, wishing he hadn't left his glasses in the car with his backpack. "She's got a plaque below his photo here that says 'Poor Man' on it. That's kinda a sad commentary on a life, isn't it? She was from a really poor family. I don't think she and her father got along very well."

  Jim was trying to get the lock on the desk open, but having no luck. "Why do you say that?"

  "Just the way she talked about him. Her voice changed a little, almost like she was ridiculing him. Just like putting 'Poor Man' below his name."

  Sandburg went on to the next picture. It was an 8 x 10 blown up snapshot of a hollow-eyed panhandler. It was in color, an excellent study of the man, the light perfectly catching his sallow, wrinkled skin. Beside the photo was a small clipping from a newspaper that said a homeless man was found shot to death. Apparently no one had come forward to identify him. There was
no picture with the article and Sandburg wondered how she knew they were the same person. Below the picture was a plaque that read: Beggarman.

  Sandburg didn't recognize the next photo, but it looked like a black and white surveillance photo, taken from a distance, slightly grainy, not quite clear enough to make out who it was. Beneath it was the word 'Thief'.

  "Poor Man, Beggarman, Thief."

  "What?" Ellison looked up.

  "Nothing." Sandburg kept walking. The next plaque on the wall said 'Doctor' and he recognized the photo from Simon's office. It was Joan Bank's cousin.

  "Damn," he whispered, feeling the beginnings of a chill up his spine. "Poor Man, Beggarman, Thief, Doctor." He kept walking, moving to the next panel, already fearing what he would find. "Lawyer, of course." He stared at the photo of Eugene Merrell on the wall. The next photo was behind the desk where Jim was working. He didn't go back there, but he could see the photo was of her first husband, Daniel Peters, which fit, too, then some blank panels with nothing but darkened lights in place.

  Across the room the photos began again; he walked slowly across to look at them. "Tinker", he didn't recognize, but "Tailor" was the clothing designer DePrimo. There was another blank spot -- a lamp but no photo or plaque -- then "Sailor", another face he didn't immediately recognize, but who looked vaguely familiar, probably from another photo on Simon's desk. The "Rich Man" was Paul Rothschild, her second husband. And then back to the picture of her father, where he had started in the middle of the rhyme.

  "Jim."

  "What? I'm still trying to get this desk open."

  "I've got to show you something. Something to do with these pictures."

  Jim looked up at his shaky voice. "What's wrong?"

  At least he was being nice about it, Blair thought. Because this was one of those really big "I told you so's".

  "I hate to admit this, but there's a kid's rhyme that these pictures all match. They're the missing men, or dead men, I guess."

  Jim got up and looked at the pictures. "Tell me."

  "See," Blair said, pointing to each in turn. "The rhyme goes 'Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Sailor, Richman, Poorman, etc.' She's got pictures of men up whose professions match the names from the rhyme. "

  "They all have the same frame," Jim noticed. "There's one here that's not up yet." He went to the desk and handed Blair a photograph.

  Sandburg slowly turned it over. It was the magazine cover of his partner. He slowly read the caption on the photo. "Beyond the Call: G.I. Survives Jungle Ordeal." He looked up and met the sentinel's eyes. Shaken, he whispered, "Soldier. Shit, Jim. She's after you. She never was interested in me. Oh, my god. This was all a ruse to get at you, through me. Tinker, Tailor, SOLDIER-- See there's an empty spot. She's after you!"

  "I'm still alive though," Jim said with a smile, then held up one finger. "Shhh." He listened for a moment. "Let's get out of here." He returned the photo to the desk, killed the light switch, then grabbed Sandburg by the upper arm, hurrying him through the inky darkness into the corridor.

  Robbed of his sight, Blair clung to Jim's arm, trying not to trip over his own feet as he was propelled down the corridor and through a doorway at the far end, its outline lit by the feeble glow filtering in through the upper windows. Despite his scattered sense of direction, he knew this was the room with the artifact in it, hiding somewhere in the shadows. He turned to look for it, but there was nothing but layers of black, like the spots on the panther.

  "She's coming." Jim's faint breath whispered into his ear and sent shivers coursing through Blair's body. With a deft twist, Jim pulled him down and back, one arm anchoring him against his partner's side.

  Blair tucked his head low, willing himself not to move or make a sound. Between the sound of one footstep and the next, he pressed against Jim's hand splayed across the back of his head, his trembling body starving for the sentinel's benediction of protection.

  Another step closer, and Blair could hear her humming. Emotions burst upon him, breaking through his illusion of safety, and churned within, terror giving way to anger, anger to sorrow, sorrow to fear, and then the fear escalating back to terror. At the angle he was at, a strange sort of headlock held in place against his partner's chest, he could hear the echoing rapid thump-thump of Jim's heart beat. For one insane moment, he was afraid she would hear it, too.

  Rothschild walked by the open door, and Blair's eyes opened involuntarily at the sound of her footsteps. As though his sight was heightened, he could see through the darkness as she walked down the long somber hallway. He watched, unmoving, as she stopped. A shaded move of her arm, a faint creak, and she stepped through the wall into her office, into the room with his partner's picture waiting to be put up on the wall.

  Jim stood, dragging him upward, and the momentary sense of security vanished completely with the movement. Again the whisper in his ear, "Let's go," and he was once more trying to navigate the corridor. Jim moved quickly and Blair moved with him, despite his desire to confront her. He wanted to yell at her, scream at her, but Jim had a firm grip on his arm and was pulling him from the building.

  He felt sick to his stomach at the violation, at what she had done to them, at how she had deceived him. She fucking used me against my own partner.

  * * * * *

  Ellison half dragged his partner to the truck. He knew what Sandburg was feeling, how devastated he was, but they had to get away from the estate and back to Major Crimes as soon as possible, to execute a plan before she could get away.

  They had hidden the truck down the road, past the entrance to the estate and down by the beach. Once inside the safety of the Ford, Sandburg exploded. "I cannot believe I fell for her. She's a witch. What did you call her? The Black Widow of Cascade? She's all that and more. She's evil. I can't believe she's after you, Jim. Did she know you were a soldier before she met you, or did she find that out afterwards?"

  "We'll ask her when we pull her in. Right now, we've got to call Simon and let him know what's happening." He smiled over at his younger partner. "We're okay, right?"

  "I'm so sorry, Jim." Sandburg stared at him, eyes threatening to brim with tears. "Fuck, I'm an idiot! Why did I let her maneuver me like that? I'm so gullible. I put you in danger, man. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, well, there's a lot I'm sorry for, too. Let's just bring her in before she can hurt someone else."

  "Right." Sandburg sniffed loudly once and pulled himself together. He hauled out his cell phone and dialed Simon's number as Ellison pulled onto the winding coastal highway and headed toward town.

  Jim smiled, despite himself. The kid had a way of doing that, of reeling himself in before he got out too far. It was one of his more endearing qualities, his transparency of true fear and true courage.

  "Simon, hi, it's Blair."

  "Where's Jim?"

  "He's with me. Hey, we're heading back to town and we've got some bad news."

  There was a clanking sound beneath the truck. It swerved suddenly and Sandburg pulled the phone away from his mouth and grabbed hold of the dash. "Jim, what's going on?"

  Hands crushing the steering wheel, Ellison fought to keep the truck on the road. "I don't know," he yelled back. "I can't steer and the brakes aren't responding. Hang on!"

  Some part of him was aware of Sandburg bracing himself, one arm against the dash. Wide eyes stared across at him, fear stamped across the familiar features. The truck hit the gravel at the side of the road and lost traction, skidding before Ellison was able to pull it back.

  "Sandburg? Blair? What's happening?" Ellison could hear Simon's gruff voice, demanding information.

  Sandburg winced as he hit the side door, then got the phone to his mouth. "Shit. Simon, we're in trouble here."

  "Where are you?"

  "We're n-near the p-place where they found Merrell's b-body," he stammered, trying to catch his breath as he was tossed around the cab, "and the t-truck is going all over the p-place."

  Ellison
heard the cellphone drop to the floor as the truck went into another spin. He couldn't control his sight, the revolving images blurring in the night. The truck veered off the road, flipping on the driver's side as it skidded along the shoulder, then came to an abrupt, heart-stopping halt as it smashed into a light pole.

  At least Ellison thought it was a light pole, an instant before they hit it.

  * * * * *

  Rothschild Estate

  Sunday, 10:00 pm

  Emily Rothschild removed her oil-stained gloves and set them aside.

  She picked up the photo of Ellison and smiled at it, pleased. "Well, that's done. You can go up tomorrow, along with this one." She unlocked her desk and removed another frame. From her bag she drew out a plastic bag from the developers' lab, the receipt fluttering unnoticed to the floor. Inside was a glossy 8 x 10.

  She smiled. It had turned out just as she had imagined. The young anthropologist sat cross-legged in her viewing room, staring entranced at the Peruvian artifact. She had just taken the photo this afternoon, then sent Timothy out to have it developed. It was absolutely perfect.

  "I wasn't expecting to add you to my collection, my dear, but you'll do nicely. Such a pleasant surprise."

  `

  * * *

  Cascade North Public Beach

  Sunday, 10:40 pm

  Simon Banks pulled up to the accident site, his stomach clenching as he caught sight of the familiar blue and white Ford on its side, smashed into the lamppost. Part of the roof of the truck was bent in and the front windshield was cracked. A fire truck, ambulance, and several black and whites -- all with emergency lights flashing -- littered the roadway.

  Rafe appeared out of the shadows, his face as white as the sling on his arm. "We got here a few minutes ago, Captain. Henri's with Sandburg in the ambulance."

  "How's Elli--?"

  There was a loud noise as the Ford was pushed upright. "Hey, Detective Rafe, come here!" A voice called out of the confusion, a uniformed officer, and Rafe veered off to go talk to him.