The 13-Minute Murder Page 5

  “He’s there? Morrison and Howard were supposed to bring him in. They lost him.”

  “I’ve got him right here. He doesn’t suspect a thing. He thinks I’m the target’s wife.”

  “We need him,” the Client said. “I want to know what Scott told him and who else he’s talked to.”

  “I’ll bring him in,” Mullen said. “He’s with another woman. A doctor. What about her?”

  “We don’t need her,” the Client said, and hung up.

  Mullen put her phone away. Fine by her. That just made her job easier.

  She went to the door and put on her best sad face. This was going to be a cakewalk. Beck and his girlfriend still thought she was the grieving widow. They’d stand there flat-footed and she could do whatever she wanted. Two in the face of the woman, and Beck would wet his pants in terror. He’d do whatever she told him after that.

  They’d never see it coming. Nobody ever saw her coming.

  Mullen opened the door, tears in her eyes, gun in her hand.

  But the living room was empty.

  Beck and the woman were gone.

  Chapter 14

  The woman came out of the bedroom. Beck couldn’t see her. But he could hear her.

  He’d heard the door open, but the woman didn’t come out right away. Then she did and he heard the door close, quietly. He heard the woman’s soft footsteps on the carpet in the hallway, then the living room. He was certain he even heard the woman’s sharp intake of breath a moment later.

  Then he heard the woman call for him. “Dr. Beck?”

  He’d stopped thinking of her as Jennifer Scott. Because whoever she was, she was not the woman in Kevin Scott’s wedding pictures. Now she was just the woman who happened to be in their house. With a gun.

  As soon as he’d seen that picture, he’d grabbed Susan and prepared to run out the front door. But the bedroom door began to open, and Beck didn’t think they could make it in time.

  So he’d turned the other way and pulled Susan with him into the kitchen. They crouched behind the tiny island in the tiny space, their backs to the counter and the living room.

  Now they were frozen, like children with their heads under the covers, hiding from some nightmare.

  Beck had to remind himself: it was possible he was wrong. His brain was, by definition, not working properly these days. But it didn’t feel like he was wrong. And Susan seemed just as scared as he felt. She huddled next to him on the cheap tile floor of the kitchen. She took short, shallow breaths. As if she was afraid the woman would hear her breathing.

  The woman moved carefully. Slowly. She didn’t act like a woman in her own house. She acted like a hunter, stalking prey.

  Beck searched frantically for a weapon. There was a good set of knives in a butcher block on the island over their heads, but if he reached up for them, she’d see him.

  He was facing the sink and the lower kitchen cabinets. They were right in front of him. The toes of his shoes were almost touching them. He’d have to find something in there.

  He reached carefully. He opened the kitchen cabinet. There was a set of high-end cookware inside—probably bought on sale a long time ago. What was he supposed to do with that?

  He heard the front door close, and then lock with an ominous click. They were stuck in here with her now. The woman moved toward them. Susan clutched his arm and huddled into him, as if she was cold and looking for warmth.

  Beck pulled out a heavy, cast-iron frying pan and felt faintly ridiculous, like a character in some old sitcom.

  He tried to shut the cabinet door quietly, but it slipped from his fingers and closed with a solid clunk.

  Beck felt rather than heard the woman turn toward the kitchen. He could almost see her, like a hunting dog going on point.

  “Dr. Beck? Dr. Carpenter? Are you in here? You’re really starting to worry me.…”

  Beck needed something else. He needed a miracle. He opened the cabinet under the sink.

  There was a creak as she crossed from the living room into the kitchen. Susan’s grip grew tighter on his arm.

  It would only take another step and she’d be able to see Beck and Susan crouched behind the little island.

  It was still possible he was wrong. That his brain was simply playing tricks on him.

  But he thought of Susan. He had dragged her into this. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. He couldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  He had to make a decision, and he had to make it now. He had to do something.

  “Dr. Beck,” the woman said, and there was the edge of a cruel laugh in her voice. “You’re a little old to be playing hide-and-seek.”

  He heard her take that next step. She was right on top of them.

  He looked at Susan, and silently mouthed, Stay down.

  Then he sprang up and faced the woman.

  She had the gun they’d seen her holding before. Only this time, it was pointed right at Beck’s face.

  Chapter 15

  Beck didn’t hesitate. He put his arm forward and pressed the nozzle of the can of oven cleaner he’d found under the sink, and sprayed it directly in the eyes of the woman with the gun.

  The woman shrank back and shrieked in pain as the chemicals hit her in the face. She waved the gun around wildly, bringing it back in Beck’s direction.

  Beck swung the frying pan, with all his might.

  He heard a clang and a gunshot, almost on top of each other. He felt something connect with the frying pan at the end of his arm, and lost his grip on it. It went tumbling to the floor. He went deaf in one ear and his vision went blank from a bright flare, and he realized that was the muzzle flash of the gun being fired. For a moment, he wondered if he’d been shot.

  But he didn’t let it stop him. He leaped blindly over the kitchen island and slammed into the woman with all his weight.

  They went down in a tangle of arms and legs. The woman was still screaming, but now in rage mixed with pain. They collapsed on the floor.

  Beck somehow got on top of her. He blinked his vision clear and saw the woman he’d thought was Jennifer Scott underneath him. The oven-cleaner foam still clung to her face in places. The chemicals had scorched her skin, leaving vivid red burns. She was bleeding from burst capillaries in her eyes, and she stared up at him blankly, unseeing. She was blind. Probably for life.

  For a split second, the doctor in Beck wanted to help her, even though he’d caused her injuries. He hesitated for just a moment, unsure of what to do. She had to be in tremendous pain.

  But it didn’t even slow her down. She reached up, found Beck’s face with her hands, and immediately landed two hard punches to his head.

  Beck tried to grab her, to stop her, but her fists were as fast as a boxer’s. She hit him again. And again.

  It suddenly became painfully clear that this woman had killed Jennifer Scott. She had been trained, and probably knew a dozen ways to kill him with her bare hands, even as injured as she was.

  She hit him again. Then her hands found his throat. She dug her thumbs into his Adam’s apple and started to squeeze.

  He had to get up, get away from her.

  With everything he had, Beck knocked her hands away from his neck, and staggered backward.

  He fell on his ass and bounced into the kitchen island. He felt it come loose, pulling away from the floor.

  Beck became aware of Susan, suddenly jumping into the fight. He wanted to shout at her to stay back, but he could barely breathe, let alone speak. Susan was already on the woman. She was trying to rescue him.

  The woman couldn’t see Susan, but it didn’t matter. As soon as Susan landed on her, the woman punched her hard and fast in the chest, stomach, and throat. Susan recoiled in pain, and the woman kicked up with both legs and sent Susan flying.

  She hit the kitchen island and knocked it completely away from the floor. Beck heard wood splinter as Susan fell back and hit her head on the refrigerator door.

  She slumped to the floor and did
n’t move.

  Beck saw her fall and felt rage hit him like a tidal wave. It swamped all his thoughts. All he wanted to do was hurt the woman. He scrambled toward her on the floor, ready to beat her, to strangle her with his bare hands—

  Only she’d found the gun again.

  The woman turned and aimed it in Beck’s direction. Blindly. But she was close enough. She could not miss at this range.

  Beck was dead.

  Chapter 16

  Beck didn’t even have time to close his eyes. He knew that she was going to pull the trigger and kill him, and there was nothing he could do.

  Then Beck noticed something. The barrel of the gun was bent slightly where he’d hit it with the frying pan.

  He wondered, stupidly, what that would do to the gun.

  He found out a split second later as the blind assassin pulled the trigger—and the gun exploded in her hand.

  Beck went completely deaf in that one ear again, but he could still hear the woman’s wail of pain as she pulled back her mangled hand. The bullet had caught in the chamber and backfired. She screamed louder and louder, clutching her bloodied fist to her chest.

  Beck tried, again, to attack. He was clumsy and off-balance, but he knew this was the best chance he had to stop her, to subdue her before she could recover.

  But she’d been trained, and he had not.

  She intercepted him as he tried to tackle her, rolled with his momentum, and threw him painfully through the kitchen doorway into the living room.

  Beck hit the floor hard, feeling the concrete under the thin carpet. He realized she was still screaming, an unholy wail of pain and rage. He tried to stand, and she was immediately on top of him again. She was like some demon dragging him down. They both landed on the floor.

  She scrambled over his body, searching with her undamaged hand, looking for any vulnerable spot. He tried to kick her away. She landed another punch, this one deep in his stomach, and for a second, all the air left his lungs. A second later, her right foot swung around and clobbered Beck in the head.

  He saw stars. His limbs stopped working for a moment. When he got control of his body again, she’d already put her feet on either side of his neck. Then she had a leg-lock around his throat, just like he’d seen in some mixed-martial-arts bout on TV once.

  Except this was really happening to him. And he couldn’t pull her away. Couldn’t get her off. He tried to get to his knees, and she yanked him back down again.

  She would not stop screaming.

  Beck’s vision started to go dim around the edges. He couldn’t sit up anymore. She somehow managed to ratchet her lock even tighter on his neck. He felt like bones were about to break. Oxygen came into his lungs in a thin trickle.

  He was going to die. The tumor wasn’t going to get him after all.

  And the woman’s scream sounded like a cry of triumph now. She sounded almost happy.

  Beck couldn’t breathe at all. He couldn’t even see anymore. He started to go limp.…

  And then abruptly, the screaming stopped as Beck heard a hollow thud. It sounded like a pumpkin being dropped on concrete.

  The pressure on his neck vanished. Air streamed back into his lungs and the feeling returned to his arms and legs. He choked and coughed, and rolled over and looked up again.

  Susan stood there with the frying pan. She’d knocked the blind assassin out cold with it. She was battered and bruised, but on her feet.

  “Come on,” she said, reaching down and hauling Beck off the floor. “We have to get out of here.”

  She helped him toward the front door. Then he stopped and staggered back toward the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” Susan demanded.

  Beck couldn’t talk yet. His throat was still on fire. He wondered if he’d ever talk again.

  But he managed to stumble into the living room and picked up the laptop.

  Whatever was inside it, the woman had wanted it. And that meant Beck wanted it, too.

  Then Beck went back to the assassin, lying on the floor.

  “You’re not really going to help her, are you?” Susan asked him.

  No. Beck was not going to help her. He’d just decided the Hippocratic Oath didn’t apply to anyone trying to kill him.

  He searched her pockets, clumsily. He found a wallet, a convenience-store cell phone, and a car key.

  He took it all.

  Beck carried the laptop. Susan carried him. The woman was still on the floor. Maybe not even breathing now. Beck couldn’t tell.

  They left as fast as they could.

  Chapter 17

  The assassin’s car key was for a Dodge. Beck and Susan didn’t have to search far to find it. They walked around the block, pressing the Alarm button over and over until a plain sedan—the kind federal agencies bought and used—began honking and flashing its lights.

  Beck clicked off the alarm and unlocked the car. He opened the driver’s-side door and began searching.

  Susan opened the passenger door and sat down next to him. “I still think we should get you to the hospital. And then call the police.”

  Beck checked behind the sun shades and inside the glove compartment. Nothing. “The police let those agents take me before. I’m not going to trust them again,” he said.

  “That’s a little paranoid, Randall.”

  “You saw what just happened. It’s not paranoia if they’re really trying to kill you.”

  “Then we should at least get you to a hospital.”

  “I don’t need one. I feel fine.”

  Surprisingly, he was telling the truth. He felt better than he had in weeks. His strength seemed to have come back, despite all the punishment he’d taken and the stress he was putting on his body.

  Beck realized he wanted to solve this, to find a solution to the problem. He was charged full of adrenaline, and it was fueling him, pushing him past his limits.

  He felt more alive than he had since he’d been diagnosed.

  Another minute of searching confirmed what was obvious. The car was empty. There were no clues. No paperwork, no registration. Nothing but that new-car smell.

  Beck sat in the driver’s seat, stumped for a moment.

  Susan looked at him. “Then what do you want to do?”

  Beck could only think of one other move now.

  He took out the assassin’s phone. He pressed the Redial button.

  The phone rang twice. Then someone picked up.

  A woman said, “Is it done?”

  “Not quite,” Beck answered.

  He was speaking to the person who wanted him dead.

  Chapter 18

  “You must be Dr. Beck,” the woman said. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

  Her voice was muffled and difficult to make out. Beck thought it sounded slightly familiar, but he wouldn’t have been able to swear to it. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to identify it if he heard it in person.

  He looked at Susan, who looked back, bewildered. What exactly were you supposed to say to the person who was trying to kill you? They didn’t teach this in any of their psychology courses.

  But therapy is mainly talking: asking questions, and getting answers out of people, even when they don’t want to face them. Beck figured he could come up with something.

  “Yes,” Beck said, “I imagine you are. Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to kill me?”

  Beck didn’t think he’d get a real answer. But he definitely wasn’t expecting the burst of laughter, either.

  “Oh, God, you really are a shrink, aren’t you? You don’t ask me who I am. No, you want to know why. It makes me so glad I quit going to therapy.”

  “You probably should have stuck with it,” Beck said. “You don’t strike me as the sanest person I’ve ever met.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough, Doctor.”

  Beck wasn’t sure he was, either. It probably wasn’t a good idea to ins
ult an obvious sociopath. But on the other hand, what did he have to lose? He was already dying, and there was clearly no way he could talk her out of whatever she had planned for him. He wasn’t going to make any mental-health breakthrough with her.

  So he might as well be honest.

  “You’ve tried to kill me twice. And I’m still here. I don’t think you’re taking me seriously enough. You’ve sent a couple of mouth breathers and an incompetent killer after me. Whatever your master plan is, I’m not too worried. You can’t threaten me, you idiot. You’ve already done your worst.”

  Susan stared at him, wide-eyed. What are you doing? she mouthed.

  Beck tried not to grin. Not real smart, he had to admit. But it felt good.

  Then the woman on the other end of the line said something that put a halt to his little victory dance.

  “How’s Susan?”

  Beck felt himself go cold.

  “Nothing to say, Doctor?” the woman asked, her tone mocking now. “I know you’re already dying, Dr. Beck. I’ve seen your medical records. You’re right. I can’t threaten you. But I can make Dr. Carpenter’s life much more unpleasant—at least, for as long as it lasts.”

  Beck found his voice again. “If you try to hurt her, if you even come anywhere close to her—”

  “Don’t be pathetic. You can’t threaten me, either, Dr. Beck. So we have a standoff. Here’s what I’m offering you. Stay quiet. Go hide somewhere. Don’t go to the police, or the media, or anyone else. And if you’re a good little boy for the next twelve hours, then your friend Susan won’t get hurt.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then she pays for your mistakes. I’m sure you can imagine what that will be like. You’re such a smart guy, after all.”

  Beck’s mind raced. He needed to talk to her; he could find a way out of this, if he just had more information. “Listen—”

  “No,” she said. “This is not a negotiation. Do as you’re told. Or Susan dies.”

  She hung up. Beck looked at the phone, and then at Susan.