Murder by Bestseller

by Gabriel Timar

Matching wits with competent criminals is the forte of Detective Sergeant Eva Wyatt. In this fast paced story, her quick thinking bags a contract killer, but to find the person who hired the shooter is a hard nut to crack.

978-1-61386-108-0

suspense/mystery/crime/thriller

Also Available in RTF and HTML formats

Chapter 1

It was a usual Canadian winter night. The temperature hovering near five degrees Fahrenheit, cold, north wind was twirling the snowflakes in miniature tornadoes under the lights. As Detective Sergeant Eva Wyatt got out of her car in the police station's parking lot, she pulled up the hood of her parka. Normally, the cold did not bother her very much, but since this was her first day back from a vacation in the sun, she shivered. Having to work the graveyard shift did not improve her state of well-being either. She entered the building.

"Good evenin', Sergeant." The desk officer said. He smiled. Everybody liked the tall, attractive, long haired brunette. At the age of twenty-seven, she was the youngest sergeant in the Branthill Police Department.

"Good morning, Sam."

"How was the vacation?"

"Marvelous. There was no snow, balmy eighty degrees, and the steaks were out of this world."

"What did you do for two weeks?"

"I saw as much of Buenos Aires as I could, danced tango until my partners dropped, ate marvelous food, and spent a week in a hacienda on the pampas."

"What are those?"

"The hacienda is a dude ranch on their prairie, the pampas."

"How about the cowboys?" he asked.

"They call them gauchos. They were no good for anything. Every one of them thought that he was God's gift to women. I couldn't go near them because they reeked of tobacco," Eva said. She marched into the squad room.

Bob Brown, her partner was not in yet. She took off the parka, made the beeline to the coffee machine, and poured a cup of the dark liquid. She tasted it and wrinkled her nose.

This is the worst coffee I've ever tasted. I wonder how they do it at Starbuck's. Instead of street crime, I should investigate coffee brewing technology, she thought.

With the cup in hand, she walked to her desk, and looked at the inbox. Strangely, there was no backlog. She leaned back in her chair, put her feet on the desk, relaxed, and let her mind wander. She did not know that Chief Inspector Sawyer was in. All of a sudden, she noticed the light coming on in his office. What the hell is he doing here so late?

As she realized that the boss was already in his glass cage, she took her feet off the desk, and created the impression of feverish activity. She did not get too far because the chief opened the door and shouted: "Come on in, Wyatt."

Fearing that she did something wrong, Eva walked in.

"Yes, sir."

"Sit down, Sergeant."

She sat and looked at him, but he did not say anything for a while. It was definitely uncomfortable.

"I hope you enjoyed your vacation."

"Yes, sir, I did. Argentina is a wonderful country."

"Glad to have you back, Sergeant," he said. "You have a major case. Do you know City Councilor Tolbert?"

"I don't know him personally, but I've heard of him."

"He was murdered a few hours ago, and you are going to catch the killer."

"Can you fill me in with the details, sir?"

"The murder was just discovered. I immediately asked a couple of crime scene investigators from Toronto; they are on their way. A unit of black and white cordoned the apartment. They are waiting for you. As this is a high profile job, I wanted to give it to Bill, but he is the second cousin of Mrs. Tolbert. Since you passed the sergeant's exam with the highest honors, I trust you are ready to take some heavy responsibility. The desk has all the details. Go!"

"Yes, sir," Eva said. She hurried out of the room.

At the door, she almost collided with her partner.

"Come on," she said, "we've got a big one."

They left the building and reached their unmarked car on the back lot. They got in and Eva strapped herself in.

"Is it a holdup, car theft, or domestic violence?" Bob asked sardonically.

"Someone rubbed out Councilor Tolbert."

"Wow. Was it one of his lovers or a cuckolded husband?"

"What makes you think so?" Eva started the engine and slowly backed the heavy sedan out of its parking slot.

"The guy is known to hit on any good looking woman."

"Isn't he a little too old for playing Don Juan?"

"I don't know. Maybe he had a large stash of Viagra."

"Medical science has its limitations," she remarked.

They got out onto the main road and moved cautiously southward. The snow was still coming down, and the windshield wipers were working overtime.

"He's supposed to be over sixty." Bob's voice trailed.

They reached the apartment building practically opposite the City Hall.

"Tolbert kept an elegant pad here. He claimed that he couldn't drive after dark," Bob said.

"He's certainly rich enough to keep a driver or hire a limo on the days of the council meetings."

Eva parked at the entrance to the building, and they got out of the car. Entering the lobby, Bob remarked, "It is a luxurious joint."

"How do you know?"

"I'm supposed to be a detective."

"I can see the tropical plants, the marble floors, but they are often installed in cheaper buildings as well," she said. "Did you ever investigate the councilor?"

"Nancy Drew told me about him."

"Did she sleep with him?"

"I assume she did," Bob said. "I believe she is familiar with the anatomy of most males working for the city."

"Including yours…"

Seeing them enter, two uniformed cops and an elderly man came out of the glass-walled office of the manager. The older officer reported.

"We already put up the tape, closed the apartment, and parts of the corridor. I have another man making sure that no one enters the crime scene."

The short, elderly man standing next to the cops stepped forward. "I'm Zoran, the superintendent," he said.

"I'm Sergeant Wyatt, and this is my partner, Detective Constable Bob Brown," Eva said.

"Nice meeting you. I found the body," the man declared triumphantly.

"Congratulations. How did you find it?" Eva asked.

"I had to replace a burned-out light at the end of the corridor. I prefer to do the job immediately. As I walked by the Tolbert apartment, I noticed blood oozing from under the door. I wanted to enter the apartment, but it wasn't easy. There he was, dead as a mackerel. I dialed 911, woke up the building security guard, and told him to check the tapes. They are in his office."

"Can we see them?"

"Sure, just come with me."

In the office, they found a burly security guard sitting at the array of monitors and nursing a coffee.

"The detectives want to see the tapes. How are you doing with them?" the superintendent asked.

"I've got it all figured," the man replied. "Sit down, and let me show you. We've the best systems money can buy; the first full-color, motion sensor activated cameras; the first in Canada"

"I've never seen anything like that." Eva sat next to the man. Apparently, the guy did not believe in using a deodorant because his strong body odor hit her nostrils hard. That is gross.Nevertheless, she stayed.

"Look, Sergeant," he said, "It went down like this. A man had entered the building wearing a dark blue parka, it seems he rang the councilor's apartment, and Tolbert buzzed him in. Check the tape if you wish."

"What makes you think he was the shooter?"

"There was nobody else coming or leaving."

"I see. What else is on the tape?"

"The next time the motion sensor activated the system, the same man left the building. He stopped, looked at the camera, took a silenced revolver out from under his parka, and dropped it into the garbage can by the door. He even smiled. Have a look."

The man played the tape again, and Eva saw the man's face clearly. He wore a plain jacket under the parka, and instead of a shirt, he sported a blue and white vertical striped jersey of the Argentinean national soccer team. She noticed that the man drew the weapon from his belt on the left side.

"Where is the gun now?" Eva asked.

"Your men already bagged it," the security guard replied.

"I see." She turned to Bob. "Let's see the crime scene."

The two detectives and the super took the elevator to the twenty-second floor. The old man opened the door of the Tolbert apartment. The body was lying there in a pool of blood, staring at the harsh light on the ceiling of the hall. "Did you move the body?" Eva asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I had to do it," the man replied. "When I wanted to enter, something was pushing against the door. I pressed hard, and it opened. Ten I saw the body and called you."

"I see." She turned to her partner. "On the surface, the murder of the councilor seems difficult to solve. The unknown attacker killed him in his own apartment. As the visitor reached the place, the councilor opened the door. The assassin pulled a silenced revolver, shot him through the heart twice. Tolbert was dead by the time he hit the floor. Next, the assassin just closed the door and left. It looks like a professional hit," Eva concluded.

"Regardless, for a pro, he was stupid. He let us see his face, and stashed the gun in plain sight," Bob said.

"Did the shooter walk to the building?" Eva asked.

"He drove, I'm sure," the super said. "We should check the tape of the exterior camera."

As they got into the elevator and went down to the security office, Bob remarked, "I bet his car turns out stolen."

"Let's see if Stinky is still awake," Eva said.

The guard with the body odor stayed wide-awake and ate something from his lunch box. The pungent smell of the cheese suppressed the body odor.

Thank God for Gorgonzola, Eva thought. "Can you run the tape of the outside camera?" She asked.

"Give me a moment," the man said. He wiped his fingers on the side of his trousers, went outside, and returned with the tape. "It is too damn cold. Couldn't this bastard shoot Mister Tolbert in the summer?"

He put the tape in the machine, rewound and ran it fast forward.

"That is Doctor Swainstone's car," he said. "That one is Miss Danilovich and that is just a taxi."

"Stop right there if you don't mind," Eva said. "Start running the tape at normal speed."

"Okay," the man said. He manipulated the switches. She instantly recognized a Blue Star airport limo with a clear picture of the plate. "That, my friends, is the image of the getaway car."

The man in the blue parka appeared and got in. The taxi slowly moved off the viewing screen.

This guy is an absolute idiot. He ditches his weapon in plain sight, has a taxi waiting while he kills Tolbert. He must be a professional, but why is he so careless?

She looked at her watch and the idea suddenly hit her. Either the guy had to have an ironclad alibi or a sure-fire getaway already organized.

She stood up, turned to Bob, and said, "I've a hunch. Come on."

Walking briskly to the parking lot, she issued her orders to Bob, "First, tell the two uniforms to stay put until the crime scene investigators get here."

"Okay."

"Next, call Blue Star Limousine Service and find the driver. He should remember where he picked up the guy in the blue parka. I'm sure our man went to the airport, but just in case I'm wrong, we should know where the taxi dropped him off."

"Check."

"When you know where the guy started from, get a couple of black and whites, quarantine the joint, and wait for me."

"Where are you going?"

"To the airport," Eva said. "If my hunch is right, the shooter is just about now checking in at the main counter. I'll contact you later." She jumped into the car, started the engine, and trod on the accelerator. As she turned onto the parkway, she switched on the flasher.

Before reaching the main drag, she had Chief Inspector Sawyer on her hands-free cell phone.

"What's up, Eva?" the chief asked.

"With a little bit of luck and your help, sir, I might be able to grab the shooter."

"Can you explain?"

"No time, sir."

"Okay, what do you want me to do?"

"Call the airport manager. Tell him I want to know from where the direct late flight to Brazil departs this morning. Let me know which terminal I should go to and which gates."

"Check."

"Please ask him to hold the flight because most likely my shooter is on board."

"I see. What else?"

"Then call Airport Security and give them my badge number. Tell them I'm going to pass their checkpoints with a gun and ask them to have two armed gorillas waiting for me at the entrance. I expect to reach the airport in forty minutes max."

"Okay, talk to you later."

Eva was racking her brain to remember the gate number where her flight took off three weeks ago, but she could not recall the gate. I'm sure it was Terminal Three.

She just turned off highway 407 when her cell phone rang.

"Yeah…"

"Sawyer here; I got everything you had asked for. Two uniformed rent-a-cops are waiting for you at Terminal Three. Varig zero-seven-six to Rio is leaving any minute."

"Thanks, sir. I hope I can get there in time. Did you ask the airport manager to delay the flight a few minutes?"

"I did. He said he could give us no more than ten minutes. What makes you think our guy is on board?"

"To start with, he behaved like a man who knew that he was untouchable. Besides, during my trip to South America, I learned that Argentina and Brazil do not have extradition treaties with Canada. If I were the shooter, I'd make the beeline to the airport and jump on the Varig flight. After the plane takes off, he is gone and we lost him. I'm not sure of the territorial rights while the plane is on the ground."

"It would be standing on Canadian soil."

"I thought so too."

"I hope you'll catch him."

"I need a great deal of luck and a bit of help, sir. The terminal is as big as Branthill City. I must have time to get to the gate before the damned plane takes off. If you bought me some more time, I'd be most grateful."

"I'll call the manager again. Good luck, Eva."

"Thank you, sir. I'm almost there. I can see two rent-a-cops on the sidewalk. I must go, sir."

"Carry on," Sawyer said.

She hung up, pocketed her cell phone, took off the earphones, and braked sharply. The heavy sedan skidded to a halt right at the uniformed guards. Eva jumped out of the car and announced, "I'm Sergeant Wyatt." She held up her badge letting the guards check the number.

"Okay," one of the guards said. "We informed all security checkpoints about your coming. We are supposed to escort you to gate C thirty-three. What is the problem?"

"Let's hurry. I may have to apprehend a suspect. Which way to the gate?"

"Follow me," the older guard said. He walked down the corridor.

"When is the flight leaving?" the other guard asked.

"Pretty soon," Eva roared. "Lead the way, and run as fast as you can."

The men did not argue. They trotted comfortably down the corridor.

"Can't you run faster?" Eva asked.

"For fifteen bucks an hour, lady, I can't," the older guard said.

"Shit." Eva turned to the other guy. "I'll buy you a bottle of whiskey if you beat me to C thirty-three."

"I'm a Muslim, I don't drink," the guard replied.

"Fuck you," Eva said. She used to be a good middle distance runner and left the guards far behind. At the main security station holding her badge in front of her, she slithered through the line of the passengers, charged through the electronic gate and shouted, "Police, stand aside."

The checkers got the message and did not hold her up. Eva kept running, but slowed to a fast walking pace when she had gate C thirty-three within sight. The waiting area was empty. Only a couple of attendants were picking up their papers when Eva reached them.

"I'm Sergeant Wyatt." She flashed her badge.

The two attendants froze.

"Where are the passengers of the Varig flight?"

"They are on board. The flight attendants are probably just closing the door."

"Can you stop them?"

"No, but the chief of traffic control might."

"Can I talk to the captain?"

"I do my best." The girl stepped to the counter, picked up a communication device, pressed a few numbers, and handed it to Eva.

"Si," a man answered.

"This is Sergeant Wyatt of the Branthill Police Department."

"I'm Captain Rick Santos. What is the trouble, Sergeant?" The man replied with an accent. "Can you delay the flight until I check your passengers? There is a good chance of having a murderer on board."

"You can look, but you can't arrest anybody. The plane is Brazilian territory."

"Thank you, Captain. May I come aboard?" Eva asked. At this stage of the game, she did not want to argue with the pilot. If my man is on the plane, I'll convince him somehow. She ran all the way to the door where a serious looking man received her.

"I'm Captain Santos. May I have a look at your badge and collect your gun?"

With a deep sigh, Eva showed him the badge, pulled her revolver, and with one of her business cards gave it to him.

"Now, may I look?"

"Go right ahead." He bowed and pointed at the inside of the airliner.

Eva slowly walked down the isle and checked the passengers. She immediately recognized the man she had seen on the surveillance tape. He had removed his jacket, wearing the blue and white striped, long-sleeved Argentinean football-jersey. He was nonchalantly reading a Spanish-language newspaper.

I've got you, buddy, Eva thought. She walked back to the captain. "He is on board, sir," she said.

"So what? We do not have an extradition treaty with Canada. You cannot arrest him," the pilot said.

"I don't wish to argue, Captain, but your Brazilian territory is standing on Canadian soil. If you were in the air, it would be completely different."

"I can remedy that instantly," the pilot said.

"Don't be childish, sir. Let me grab my guy and you can take off. If you don't give him to me, I'm going to claim that I've information about someone placing a bomb on your plane. As I'm a cop, my credibility is ironclad. You would have to disembark your passengers and let the experts search your plane."

"Say no more, Sergeant. You can have him," the captain said.

"Thanks." Eva returned to the unconcerned guy and asked him politely to stand up. As soon as he complied, she pulled her cuffs, and with the speed of lightning, clapped them on him. The man roared like a wounded lion, but Eva was in firm control of her prisoner.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Raymond Tolbert. Whatever you say may be used against you."

By the time they made it to the exit, she finished mirandizing the prisoner.

The captain was still standing at the door when they passed him. He bowed again. "It was nice meeting you, Sergeant. If you ever come to Rio, look me up," he said. The pilot handed Eva her revolver and his card.

"You can rest assured, sir, I'll look you up. I appreciate your cooperation."

"Let's hope the appreciation of letting me nail your suspect will be more tangible when we meet next. May I count on having a candle light dinner with you when you visit Rio?"

"It's a date," Eva said. She gave the captain a coquettish smile, ushered the prisoner out of the tunnel, and entered the waiting area.

The flight attendant carrying the suspect's cabin baggage and jacket followed them. "Here you are, Sergeant," she said and handed the goods to Eva.

"Thanks, just put the stuff on one of the seats," Eva said. "How are we retrieving his checked baggage and his parka?"

"He did not have an overcoat and I his ticket has no baggage tag."

"Thank you very much," Eva said. She turned to the two rent-a-cops, "Kindly carry the bag and his jacket to my car. I appreciate your assistance."

Hanging on to the suspect, she called Sawyer.

"What's up, Sergeant?"

"I've got him off the plane."

"How do you know he is the right guy?"

"Credit me with some brains, boss. I saw his picture on the surveillance tapes. His jacket was slightly open and I noticed his football-jersey underneath. The camera showed him ditching the gun. The uniformed fellows recovered the weapon and the fingerprints would nail him for sure," Eva explained.

"I hope you're right, Sergeant, but what made you rush off to the airport and drag him off that particular flight?"

"This was the only one he could have taken today. Two weeks ago, on my way to Argentina, I took the Varig flight to Rio and changed planes there to get to Buenos Aires. The plane left well after midnight. As neither Brazil, nor Argentina has extradition treaty with Canada, I was sure that the killer would leave the country with the same flight. If I hired an assassin to make a hit in Branthill, I'd make sure the fellow take the first plane out after the job," Eva explained.

"Good thinking, Sergeant."

"And a lot of luck, sir. If I went to Europe for vacation, I'd never have guessed where my shooter was heading."

"Okay, Eva, stay put, I'm sending you backup."