The forklift stopped, pivoted, then rumbled off into the inky blackness.
“Kim, I don’t know if you can hear me or not,” Tracy shouted, “but I’m coming in!”
“No!” Kim cried into his microphone. “I’m okay. I inadvertently activated some automatic removal equipment. I’m coming out, so don’t come in.”
“You mean you’re coming out here to the car?” Tracy asked hopefully.
“Yes,” Kim said. “I need a breather.”
It wasn’t that Derek Leutmann didn’t trust Shanahan O’Brian, but he knew there was more to this aggravating story than he’d been told. Besides, Derek had a set methodology in his work. Killing people was a business in which one could not be too careful. Rather than going directly to Kim’s former wife’s house as Shanahan had initially suggested, Derek went to Kim’s. He wanted to test the reliability of Shanahan’s information as well as learn more about his supposed quarry.
Derek drove into Balmoral Estates and directly to Kim’s property without hesitation. He knew from experience that such behavior was far less suspicious than cruising the neighborhood.
Derek parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He opened his metal Zero Halliburton valise that was resting on the passenger seat next to him. Reaching in, he pulled out a nine-millimeter automatic from its custom-cut pocket in Styrofoam. With trained ease, he attached a silencer and then slipped the gun into the right pocket of his camel-hair coat. The pocket had been altered to accommodate the long weapon.
Derek got out of the car, holding his ostrich briefcase. He took a quick peek into the garage. It was empty. Then he strode up the front walk, appearing for all the world like a successful businessman or an elegant insurance adjuster. He rang the bell. Only then did he glance around at the neighborhood. From Kim’s porch he could see only two other houses. Both appeared unoccupied at that moment.
He rang the bell again. When no one answered, he tried the door. He was surprised but pleased to find it unlocked. Had it not been, it wouldn’t have made much difference. Derek had the tools and the expertise to handle most locks.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Derek entered the house and closed the door behind himself. He stood for a moment, listening. There wasn’t a sound.
Still carrying his briefcase, Derek made a rapid, silent tour of the first floor. He noticed some dirty dishes in the sink. They looked as though they’d been sitting awhile.
Climbing up to the second floor, Derek saw the splintered door leading into the master bath. He took in the broken console table. Stepping into the bath, he felt the towels. It was clear that none had been recently used. So at least that much of Shanahan’s information seemed accurate.
In the walk-in closet in the master bedroom he glanced down at all the clothes littering the floor. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had gone on during the botched hit that Shanahan had mentioned.
Back down on the first floor Derek entered the study and sat down at Kim’s desk. Without removing his gloves, he began to go through some of the correspondence to see what he could learn about the man he had been brought all the way from Chicago to kill.
Tracy had backed up so that she could see along the front of Higgins and Hancock. She’d thought about driving back to the entrance but was afraid to do so because she and Kim had not discussed where she’d be when he came out. She was afraid Kim might come out one of the other doors and then be searching for her.
But she soon saw him emerge from the front door and jog in her direction. He was dressed in a white coat and had a yellow plastic construction helmet on his head. He ran up to the car, and after glancing back over his shoulder, he climbed into the backseat.
“You’re paler than I’ve ever seen you,” Tracy said. She was turned around in her seat as much as the steering wheel would allow. “But I guess the blond hair emphasizes it.”
“I’ve just seen one of the worst things in my life.”