Chameleon's Challenge (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 3) Page 5

  We watched the blur approach the back porch, where two security guards were stationed. Then one guard suddenly pitched forward, shot in the head. The other guard crouched down and drew his weapon, frantically scanning the area for the shooter. After a couple of minutes, he crept over to his dead buddy. He only made it halfway when the chameleon shot him, too.

  We didn’t have sound, but the chronology Pong had sent with the vids said that at that point, the guard inside in the security room set off the alarms, locked everything down, and activated the laser detectors.

  After we finished watching our blur slip back over the wall, I turned to Mike. He had decades of experience in protecting facilities. Most of my experience was gleaned from studying places I wanted to rob.

  “What do you think?”

  “They need to hook machineguns up to those laser detectors.”

  “A little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “What would you do if you were breaking into the place? As soon as the guards started shooting, you’d drop and roll away, then freeze. Right? Then you’d wait for all the excitement to die down and slip away.”

  He nailed it.

  “So, what does he do now?”

  “Well, unless we missed something, we know he’s working alone,” Mike said. “But now that he’s tipped off as to what kind of security is in place, he’ll probably go back to what he did with the daughter.”

  “Targets of opportunity,” I said.

  “Almost. Define targets that may present opportunities, then stalk them.”

  The killer struck next at Victoria Ruiz’s funeral two days later. After the funeral, Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz, surrounded by heavy security and wearing bullet-proof vests, emerged from the church and walked down the front steps.

  Their limousine pulled up without a visible driver. Before anyone could react, the couple were each shot in the face, then the car drove off. Police found the limo a few blocks away with the dead driver in the trunk.

  Pong called and gave me the details, which I relayed to Mike.

  “That’s definitely a departure from the previous killings,” Mike said. “Not so much the VP, but the wife.”

  “At least he didn’t shoot the kids,” Nellie said.

  “Most of their children weren’t there,” I said. “Pong said only the oldest son attended the funeral.”

  “The killer certainly has a single-minded fixation on killing off the Entertaincorp executives,” Mike said. “This guy is seriously deranged."

  Chapter 6

  Nellie, Mike and I were sitting at The Pinnacle bar talking to Paul between Nellie’s sets when he walked away to answer the phone. He came back and handed the handset to me.

  “Miss Nelson? This is Inspector Donofrio. You asked that I keep you in the loop. There’s been another murder.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the horrible images of Olga and Victoria rose up out of my memory.

  “Miss Nelson?”

  “Yes, I’m here, Inspector. What can you tell me?”

  “I’m hoping you can tell me something. Perhaps you should come over here. Considering what you told me the other day, something doesn’t make sense.”

  He gave me the address and I hung up. Paul craned his neck to see what I’d entered on my tablet, and I heard a quick intake of breath.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. His face had a strange expression on it, and he continued to stare at my tablet. “Paul?”

  “I know that address,” he said in a barely audible voice.

  “Not someone in your family?” I asked. His brother lived in Vancouver, but he had cousins on both his father’s and mother’s sides who lived in Toronto. His parents’ mansion was in a walled compound outside of the city.

  He shook his head. “No, Josh and Sigrid. He was my brother’s roommate at university.”

  “Do either of them work for Entertaincorp?”

  “Yeah, Josh does. Sigrid did an internship there when she was at uni. That’s where Josh met her. What’s going on, Libby?”

  “I don’t know. The cops say something happened at that address and want me to come over there. Mike, you can take care of Nellie?”

  “Like I’d take care of you,” he said. The way he said it made me feel good. Comfortable. He’d risked his life for me in the past, and he was more than capable of taking care of most of the threats Nellie might face.

  “Be careful, Libby,” Nellie said. “I don’t care what Richard thinks is important. We don’t need you getting mixed up in other people’s business.”

  I gave her a quick kiss, and then kissed Mike and Paul on their cheeks. “I’ll be careful.”

  Nellie’s brother Tom, one of the club’s bouncers, fell into step with me and walked me out to where my motorcycle was parked in the back. He stood even taller than I did, and probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds.

  “You need any backup, let me know,” he said as I unplugged the cycle from the charging station. I didn’t know whether Paul or Nellie had directed him to escort me.

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Tell your mom hi for me when you see her.”

  The address Donofrio gave me was in a middle-class neighborhood in York, northwest of downtown. The cops had the street closed off at both ends, and I could see a congregation of cops and cars at a house about a third of the way down the block. I showed the cop who stopped me my ID and mentioned Donofrio’s name. They made me leave the cycle, but let me through.

  Two more ID checks, then a cop handed me a pair of paper shoe covers and motioned for me to enter the front door. He didn’t look very happy.

  I walked through the foyer and stopped, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing. A macabre scarecrow stood in the middle of the living room. My eyes turned down to the fronds of the palm tree scattered on the floor around the ceramic pot holding the tree. I swallowed hard, then allowed my gaze to rise. The little girl impaled on the palm’s trunk couldn’t have been older than three or four. Her white frock with pink roses was drenched in blood.

  Diverting my eyes, I looked past her around the room. Donofrio stood in a doorway off to my left.

  “In here, Miss Nelson.”

  I followed him into what turned out to be a bedroom. A man and a woman lay on a bed soaked in blood. I could see enough similarities between Olga’s and the Weeks’ women’s murders to link them to this one.

  “Joshua and Sigrid Goldberg,” Donofrio said. “He was thirty-four, she was twenty-six. Their daughter was three. Sigrid’s mother showed up this evening and used her key when no one answered. She was supposed to babysit while they went out. She wasn’t coherent and the docs sedated her. Neighbors called the police. The two neighbors who came in the house are also in shock.”

  He said it all as deadpan as if he were reading a grocery list. “Gee, Inspector, that’s awfully inconvenient of them. I can’t imagine why they can’t just suck it up and be a little more help.”

  His composure almost broke, and for a second, I thought he was going to hit me, but he pulled it back together.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Do I have to stay in here?”

  “Oh, no. No, of course not.”

  I turned and fled past the girl on a stick. Outside, I threw up and leaned against the side of the house, gulping down deep breaths and trying to keep from heaving again. Someone came up next to me.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Nelson. It wasn’t necessary for you to see that. I apologize,” Donofrio said.

  I glanced up at him, and he held out a small silver hipflask. I accepted it and took a swig, the fiery liquid inside burned down my throat. Donofrio’s choice of liquor was a definite step down from my usual.

  “Don’t do that to me again,” I said. “I’m more than happy with vague, second-hand descriptions.”

  Donofrio nodded.

  “Why did you ask me to come out here?” I asked, turning and scanning the neighborhood. Pleasant houses, nice yards, nothing big or fancy, but
everything well-kept.

  “Joshua Goldberg worked for Entertaincorp,” Donofrio said.

  “Yes. And?”

  He gestured at our surroundings. “You and Director Pong led me to believe you were concerned about the safety of Entertaincorp’s executives. Goldberg wasn’t an executive. No security on the house, not even a burglar alarm. So, what’s really going on?”

  Donofrio echoed my thoughts precisely. “I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m damned sure going to find out.”

  Before getting back on my cycle, I called Richard O’Malley.

  “Richard,” I said when he answered, “do you know a man named Joshua Goldberg? He works for Entertaincorp.”

  “Yes, I know him. Why?”

  “He and his family were murdered this afternoon. The police think it’s the same killer as broke into the Weeks’ house.”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  “I think we should have a talk. I need to understand what’s going on. Otherwise, I’m taking Nellie out to the West Coast until this guy is caught. Richard, I can’t protect her if I don’t know who I’m protecting her from. You know, don’t you?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the Goldbergs’ house. It’s bad. Really bad.”

  “Meet me at…” he paused for a moment, “not The Pinnacle. Do you know where Lilith’s is?”

  I about choked. “Yes.”

  “Meet me at the bar. Can you make it in half an hour?”

  “Probably, depending on traffic. Half an hour to forty minutes.”

  I had sandbagged O’Malley on the time. I made it in twenty minutes. I parked my cycle in the garage and plugged it in, then entered the hotel through the kitchen.

  The bartender on duty was a newer guy I didn’t know very well, so I called Mom to come down.

  “What’s up, hotshot?” she asked as she strolled in. The customers sitting around drinking had given me the once-over when I walked in, but they all paid appreciative attention to Mom.

  “Richard O’Malley is meeting me here,” I said. “There’s been another murder. I’m hoping he’ll tell me what’s going on, but if he stays as closed mouthed as everyone at Entertaincorp has been so far, I may need to add a little something extra to his drink.”

  She chuckled and leaned over the bar so she could speak quietly with the bartender. “Ahmed, you do know my daughter, don’t you? If Libby checks her right earring with her left hand, put three drops from that little yellow bottle in the man’s next drink. Okay?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Anything else?” she asked me.

  “No, but if we have to use it, you might reserve a room for him.”

  Mom laughed and waved as she strutted out the door.

  “Thanks, Ahmed,” I said, handing him a credit card. “Take twenty for your trouble, and I’ll make sure my companion tips well.”

  His smile grew a little larger. I asked him to pour me a ginger ale and took it to a table in a secluded corner. I no more than sat down when Richard came in, looked around, and spotted me.

  He and the waitress watched each other as they headed toward my table. I agreed with him, she was far better looking than I was. He ordered, watched her walk back to the bar, then turned to me.

  “Richard, Joshua Goldberg was not an executive, or anywhere close to being one. What in the hell is going on?”

  He looked tired, and when the waitress brought his drink, he drained half of it, then sat back in his chair.

  “There was a man who worked for us,” Richard started. “He came to work for us right out of university. His father was a vice president at the time.”

  I waited. “And?”

  O’Malley took a deep breath. “He was a mutant, and some of his abnormalities were quite prominent.”

  “Richard, this is not the time for tact. What abnormalities? What does that have to do with anything? People are dying, and I need to know what the hell is going on.”

  “Physical abnormalities. He looks strange, and the deformations of his jaw make him speak…well, not very clearly. He also holds himself and walks kind of weird. Bright guy, very good at what he does, but not someone you could put in front of a customer.”

  “So, what position did he hold?”

  “Logistics. Moving an entertainer, or a whole play or movie crew, from one place to another is a logistical nightmare. Peter was good at figuring it out, very detail oriented. But not very good at dealing with people.”

  “He looked weird.”

  Richard shook his head. “Not just that. He got angry, had no patience. The least little screw up, and he’d fly into a towering rage. People didn’t like working with him. We sent him to anger management, tried to counsel him.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise. “He was that good?” The corps were not known for their patience. No matter what your job was, there were dozens of people who wanted it. Wanted the pay and the security.

  Richard sighed again. “Yeah, he was good, and his father was extremely popular. People wanted Peter to succeed and make his old man happy.”

  “You said his father was popular. Past tense.”

  “Jack retired about ten years ago and died last year. It seemed as though Peter’s attitude got worse after that. Anyway, Peter’s boss got a promotion and moved to Atlanta. Peter wanted the job, but didn’t get it.” Richard shifted in his chair, took another swallow of his drink, and leaned closer with his elbows on the table. “Libby, the job entails going out to meet with people at the venues where our shows are playing. Sometimes they’re facilities we own, sometimes not, but it involves negotiation and accommodation. Peter is an absolutist. His way or the highway type of guy.”

  “I take it that he was upset about not getting the job?” I ventured.

  “That’s an understatement. He blew his stack. Actually attacked Josh.”

  “Josh. Joshua Goldberg?”

  “Yes. Joshua Goldberg got the job. Well, we couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen. Peter forced our hand, and Carleton fired him.”

  “And now they’re both dead. That clarifies things.” I thought for a moment. “Even after what happened to Weeks, it didn’t occur to anyone that Goldberg might be in danger?”

  Richard shook his head. “It should have, but it didn’t.”

  “Were you one of his bosses?”

  “No, I’m in a different area, but Peter threatened to get even with everyone at the corporation, not any one person directly. Actually, John Tremaine fired him, not Carleton. John’s a VP, like me, who reported to Carleton, as did Ruiz. I report to Francois Renard, Paul’s father.”

  Richard signaled the waitress for another drink. “Libby? Another?”

  I looked at my ginger ale. “No, I have to drive. Well, can you, and anyone else you can think of, make a list of everyone this guy might have a grudge against? And then provide them with some security?”

  “Yes, I can do that.”

  “Send me the list. What’s this Peter’s last name? And do you have his last address?”

  “Peter Grenier. His address won’t help. When he lost his job, his wife divorced him, sold the house, took the kids, and moved to Montreal.”

  “Has anyone thought to check on her?”

  The blank look he gave me was all the answer I needed.

  “How long ago was he fired?”

  “About six months ago. His divorce was finalized the beginning of this month.”

  Which answered my question about what might have triggered the killings.

  Chapter 7

  I called Donofrio right after O’Malley left. He was still at the crime scene, and I wasn’t about to go back over there.

  “Come by The Pinnacle when you shake free,” I told him. “I’ve got a lot of information for you, and a name.”

  “Can you give me the name now?”

  “Peter Grenier. Former Entertaincorp employee. No last known address,” I said. “He just got divorced and his ex-wife lives in Montre
al. Someone should probably check on her.”

  “Got it. I might be late.”

  “I’ll be there until closing,” I told him, then jumped on my bike and headed back to the club. I found it interesting that O’Malley considered my mom’s brothel a safe, discreet place to meet. It made sense in a lot of ways. Brothels were all indies, as even Entertaincorp hesitated to venture into the business. And it was the sort of upscale place someone of Richard’s social class would feel comfortable. As far as luxury, Mom’s place was as good as any hotel I’d ever seen.

  Nellie’s band was setting up for the evening when I got back to The Pinnacle, but I pulled her and Mike and Paul together to let them know what I’d discovered.

  “Even their little girl?” Paul shuddered. He and Nellie looked like they were going to be sick, and I hadn’t mentioned any of the details.

  “Do you know this Peter Grenier?” I asked Paul.

  He shook his head. “No, never even heard of him.”

  I glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear me, then said, “Paul, I think he’s a chameleon. Weeks was shot from close range, but even his bodyguards swore they didn’t see anything.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Wonderful.”

  “Do either of you know John Tremaine?” I asked Paul and Nellie. “He’s a VP at Entertaincorp.”

  Both of them nodded.

  “Does he have a mistress?”

  Nellie snorted. “Of course he does. All of them do. It’s part of the corporate culture.”

  I glanced at Paul. I’d known him all my life and knew his parents.

  “She’s right. Once you get to a certain level, it’s expected. Like the membership at the country club. We’re fairly conservative here in Toronto. In Europe some of the bigwigs have two or three girls on the side.”