Chapter Eleven
Leon was at home while Hamilton worried over his safety. He sighed to himself as he brought a mug of hot chocolate into the living room and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. It had been a long day. And he was still waiting to hear back from Mr. Burger. He should sleep, he knew, but it was important that Mr. Burger see what he had dug up for court next week. He had tried calling his boss both at his home and on his cellphone, to no avail. And there had been no answer to his text message.
Mr. Burger was probably hard at work on the case concerning Mr. Drake and had turned his phone off at some point. That happened occasionally, so at the moment Leon was not too worried. Anyway, it wasn't as though the information couldn't wait until tomorrow.
He stared at the folder he had filled, barely bothering to notice as his unruly bangs slipped over his eyes. He had somehow, at long last and quite by accident, stumbled across some records of Mr. Vann's business transactions. But these were transactions that had not been brought to light before, involving the purchases of various objects of fine art. Something about them did not entirely ring true, as far as Leon was concerned. He had hopes that perhaps the information would lead to Mr. Vann's conviction on something at long last.
Setting the folder aside, he sipped at the hot chocolate and reached for the telephone. He frowned when he was met by dead silence. "It's dead," he said aloud and in surprise. Repeatedly pressing the dial-tone button did nothing to alleviate the problem. Finally he dropped the receiver back into the phone's cradle, regarding it in confused displeasure. "Okay," he said. "What's wrong with you?" Of course, there was no answer and no solution.
He sighed, shaking his head. "Technology," he muttered in frustration.
Once he finished the hot chocolate he got up to return the empty mug to the kitchen. But the breeze at the back of his neck made him stiffen. He had not left the window open.
He spun around, just in time to see the flash of a knife blade. A woman was climbing in through the now-open window. Her eyes were wild and filled with hate.
"What are you doing?" Leon demanded. He grabbed for the woman's wrist as she swung the knife at him. The weapon cut into his arm and he clenched his teeth in pain.
"You're going to suffer," she snapped. "You, and your boss, and his friends. You're all going to die for what you've done to upset our plans!" She wrenched her wrist free, lunging at him in the same moment.
Leon dove out of the way and tried to restrain her from behind. "If we've done anything, your plans probably needed to be upset!" he exclaimed.
She roared in anger, shoving backwards with both elbows. Leon gasped as he was hit hard in the ribs. He stumbled, giving her just enough leeway to turn and shove the knife into his side.
The pain flamed through Leon's body. He fell back, the blood coming to his lips as the madwoman withdrew the knife and came at him again. Clapping a hand over the wound, Leon shoved her away from him and stumbled into the living room. His heart was pounding furiously as he grabbed up the folder in his free hand and ran for the door. He had to get out of here and call for help. He could not stay and try to fight her.
She was already upon him again as he reached the front door and desperately fumbled with the lock. Too filled with hatred and rage to even speak or scream, she jabbed the knife downward again. Leon gave a choked cry as he was hit in the shoulder while struggling to fight her off.
The wooden door finally came open, the knob coated with his blood. He pushed on the stubborn storm door and managed to get it open as well. Stumbling into the yard, he ran for the car while casting his eyes about in the vain hope that some of his neighbors had heard the commotion and were coming out.
"Help!" he cried in agony. "Someone's trying to kill me!"
He pushed the folder under his left arm and took out the car keys with his right hand. He got the door unlocked and flung himself inside just as the woman launched herself at the vehicle. The driver's side window shattered, spraying glass in all directions. Leon yelped, covering his eyes and neck only briefly before fitting the proper key into the ignition and turning it. The car roared to life.
Gripping the steering wheel in his bloodstained hands, Leon sped backwards out of the driveway and into the street. He glanced back just in time to see the woman picking herself up from where she had been thrown to the lawn. She appeared unhurt, save for various scratches and cuts from the broken glass.
Leon blinked repeatedly, trying to force his eyes to remain open as he drove in search of a payphone. He had lost a lot of blood already. And, quiet, unassuming person that he was, he had rarely ever been hurt by worse than a small cut here and there. Certainly he had never been stabbed. Now his arm had been slashed and a knife of no known origin had twice pierced him. Not to mention the glass from the car window had cut him up, too. He was growing dizzier by the minute.
It was several blocks later when he saw a payphone and felt safe enough to stop and use it. His hands shaking, he dug in his pocket for a quarter and slipped it into the slot. The phone slipped and slid in his grasp as he struggled to tap out a number. It was a miracle he had managed to hold onto the steering wheel, really, with so much blood. Trembling, he leaned against the phone while it rang. When the 911 dispatcher answered at last, Leon was teetering on the edge of consciousness. He forced himself to stand up straighter.
"I need an ambulance," he rasped. "I've been stabbed. A crazy woman broke into my house and . . ." He coughed on the blood.
"Sir? Where are you? Are you at your home?"
"No. I'm . . ." He looked over his shoulder, desperate for the street name. Seeing it on the corner nearby, he recited it to the woman.
"An ambulance will be sent immediately," she assured him. "Sir, how badly are you hurt?"
But Leon was barely listening now. Something else had just occurred to him, something that left him struck with horror and alarm. "I . . . I'm sorry," he said to the dispatcher. "I . . . I'll call you back. I just realized I'm not the only person in danger."
"Sir!" she exclaimed.
Leon was already hanging up. Getting out another quarter, he pecked out a second number. "Please be there," he whispered. "Please answer."
"Hello?"
Relief swept over him to hear the district attorney's voice. "Mr. Burger!" he greeted.
"Leon?" Mr. Burger sounded shocked. "I've been trying to get hold of you. Are you alright?"
Leon glanced at his side. Cringing, he placed his free hand over it again. "Um . . . no, not really," he had to admit.
"Leon, what happened?"
"Mr. Burger? I . . . I know this will sound ridiculous, but an insane woman broke into my house and attacked me. She might still be after me now. I don't know. Please, Mr. Burger, be careful. She said she was going to go after you and some other people too. I think she meant Mr. Mason and his friends, and maybe the police."
There was the sound of Mr. Burger sharply drawing in his breath. "Leon, did you recognize her? Was it Helen Watkins, one of Vann's staff members?"
Leon blinked in surprise. "It . . . she could be," he agreed. The dizziness was rushing over him far more furiously now. He had the feeling that he was not going to be able to call the 911 dispatcher again.
"Mr. Burger, I called an ambulance for me," he said. "I'm at a payphone. And I . . . I think I have to hang up now."
"Leon, where are you?" Mr. Burger demanded. "We'll come get you and take you to the hospital."
It was getting harder to process what was being said. Leon slumped forward, shaking, his hair falling over his glasses. "It's the corner of . . . of . . ." Suddenly his mind was blank. His legs gave out underneath him, sending him crumpling to the ground. The receiver slipped from his fingers, dangling from the box.
xxxx
"Leon?" Hamilton's voice rose in his panic. "Leon!"
He looked to Perry, the fear and worry in his eyes. "I was right," he said grimly. "I wish I wasn't. Someone, probably Helen, just attacked Leon. I don't know how badly he's hurt. Now he's not answering. I heard a crash. . . ." He shoved the phone in his pocket and headed for his car. "Winters is getting the treatment he needs. I have to find Leon. And I think I should stop and pick up Mignon on the way. She might be next on the list."
Perry hurried after him. "Did the person get away?" he demanded.
"I think so," Hamilton frowned. "Leon said he called an ambulance, so I guess the police have probably been called now too. Maybe they'll catch Leon's attacker, but I'm not going to take a chance."
Paul stepped forward. "I'll ride with you," he said. "You might need a hand."
Perry nodded. "And Della and I won't be far behind."
Hamilton regarded them in gratitude. "Thank you. But for goodness sake, Perry, be careful! She's after all of us."
"We'll be careful," Perry assured him. "I'll let Tragg and Andy and Steve know too."
Hamilton nodded and hastened to his car, Paul right on his heels.
Della watched them and looked up worriedly at Perry. "Do you think Leon is hurt bad?" she asked, keeping her voice low.
Perry sighed. "I don't know, Della. But considering Winters' condition . . ." He shook his head. "We can only hope Leon managed to get away before he ended up that bad off."
xxxx
Both Paul and Hamilton were tense as they headed back to downtown Los Angeles, but Hamilton was naturally moreso. Paul could see that his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.
". . . I'm sorry about Leon," Paul said at last.
"I should've realized sooner that he might be a target," Hamilton berated. "I tried so hard to keep him from being involved in that mess Vivalene created. . . ."
"You can't protect everyone all the time," Paul grunted.
"I know that!" Hamilton shot back. He sighed. "I'm sorry, Paul. I just . . . I wanted to keep Leon safe because he's never been mixed up in anything too dangerous. He's just a kid, really. He came to work for me pretty much right out of school."
"I don't even know him too well," Paul admitted. "He's hardly ever in court."
"Yes, I know. Generally I have a deputy district attorney with me, for training purposes. Leon stays in the office and works. You don't see him much, Paul, but he's as invaluable to me as Della is to Perry."
Paul nodded. "That's understandable." And it made sense. But it was obvious it wasn't Hamilton's main reason for being concerned.
"Paul . . . that woman is out of her mind."
Paul froze, not so much at Hamilton's words but at his tone of voice. He sounded haunted, chilled . . . helpless.
"Look at what she did to you," Hamilton went on. "And to Winters. And supposedly to those other stabbing victims. And all because of her obsessions over Winters and Vann."
". . . And she was never even a suspect before." The bitter hint in Paul's voice was unmistakable.
Hamilton flinched a bit. "There was never anything to connect her with any of this," he said. "It's only all started unraveling since you came back."
"After this, I'm not so sure it was a good thing. Look at what's happened to Leon." Paul watched as Hamilton sped around a corner, intent on heading for Mignon's residence. He was keeping within the speed limit, but from the screech of the tires it was a difficult task.
"You can't blame yourself for that, Paul," Hamilton said. "Anyway, it all had to come apart sometime."
"Yeah." Paul frowned. "I just wish it hadn't been like this. And I wish it hadn't started with me. If there's one thing I hate, it's being used."
"No one likes that. I've been used on this case too."
In the next moment Hamilton sharply gasped. He had just caught sight of something. As Paul looked, his eyes widened in alarm.
A body was lying on the ground under a payphone, blood staining the sidewalk.
Hamilton pulled to the curb and leaped out, all in one motion. "Leon?" he cried.
Paul was out right after him. "Is it him?" he demanded.
"Yes, it is." Hamilton knelt next to his secretary, checking for breath. Leon was so silent, so still, and there was so much blood. . . . It seemed like much more than they had seen with Winters, but maybe that was just in his mind because this horrified him infinitely more. "Where is that blasted ambulance?"
Almost as if on cue, a siren wailed in the distance.
"It'll be here soon," Paul said. "What about it? Is he . . ." He trailed off. He was often a blunt person, but could he be blunt about this? Especially when he could see how shaken Hamilton already was?
"He's still alive," Hamilton breathed in joyous relief. "Help me with these wounds, please. We have to stop the bleeding!"
Paul was certainly agreeable. He bent down to give whatever assistance he could. The sight of the merciless lacerations sickened him much more than it had with Winters, considering Leon's complete guiltlessness. "Poor guy," he muttered. "What the heck did she do to him?"
"Well, she didn't get the chance to do everything, at least." Hamilton devoted his attention to Leon's side, pressing a cloth against the wound. He refrained from repeating what the paramedics had said about Winters as they had loaded him in the ambulance—that they doubted he would live through the night. But even though Leon had not been wounded as many times, he could still die too, depending on the extent of the damage and the amount of lost blood.
When the paramedics arrived, they were of the same mind.
"It's really too soon to tell," one of them quietly told Hamilton as they loaded Leon onto a gurney and wheeled it to the ambulance. "It doesn't look good. But he's young and strong. Maybe that will be enough to save him. Maybe not. A few prayers couldn't hurt, either."
Hamilton and Paul both nodded, grim.
"Will you be coming to the hospital?"
Hamilton hesitated. He wanted to, but Leon was not the only one in danger. And hopefully he would be safe now, at least from that woman.
"I'll come by later," he said. "I need to go check on someone else."
"Alright. Oh." The paramedic reached and picked up a bloodstained folder. "He brought this with him, Mr. Burger. He might have wanted you to have it."
Hamilton took it and flipped it open, glancing over the information Leon had collected. "I think he did," he said. "Thank you."
Paul peered over his shoulder. "What is it?"
Hamilton waved it at him. "Some more proof about Vann's shopping preferences," he said. "Leon risked everything to get this to me." He stared at it, greatly sobered.
"Is it enough to turn your case around?"
"I don't know," Hamilton admitted. "But it'll definitely help, I'll tell you that. If we can hold him on anything, we'll have more time to build our case where that Box is concerned."
He headed for the car. "Come on. We still have to get to Mignon."
Paul followed in hot pursuit, sending up one of those prayers for not only Leon, but all of the others as well. He was sure Hamilton had done the same.
xxxx
Perry and Della were, indeed, taking the same path as Hamilton and Paul. So were Lieutenants Tragg and Anderson. Lieutenant Drumm and Sergeant Brice, meanwhile, had decided to take an alternate route to reach Mignon's home, stopping at several of the others' houses on the way. Their psychotic suspect might decide to go after any one of them next, not knowing that most of them were not at home.
Steve was tense as he drove them to the Germaine residence. Brice remained silent, alternately watching him and the road.
He had been on the force for many years. During that time he had assisted many of the Homicide Lieutenants. He supposed that he was the closest to Tragg, but he had also become friendly with Andy and Steve.
Steve was the youngest of the three, but certainly not impulsive or incompetent. He had a determined, tough-as-nails approach that made him very efficient on the job. At the same time, he felt deeply for the people they came in contact with. Brice had seen that in Steve's reaction to the brutal murder of a police officer sometime back, as well as in his friendship with Paul and his concern over what would happen to him. Although Brice was chronologically older than Steve, he was perfectly willing and honored to serve under the higher-ranked officer.
"Everything looks calm."
Brice started back to the present as Steve spoke. They were just approaching the Germaines' home now. The squad car previously assigned to watch over the property was still there. The officers looked bored but alive and well. Upon seeing Steve's car, they tried to perk up and appear more professional.
Steve shook his head and pulled over to the curb behind them. He and Brice got out, walking over to their window. "Has there been anything strange at all?" Steve greeted.
"No, Lieutenant," was the reply. "Everything's been completely quiet since we got here."
"Good," Steve nodded. "Or is it?" He frowned, looking back to the house. What if Helen would try to sneak in from the back and the officers would never notice?
"Have you been taking periodic walks around the property?" he asked, still studying it.
"Yes, Sir. Once every hour." The young policeman leaned on the steering wheel and tilted his head, regarding Steve in surprised confusion. "Do you think something isn't right?"
"I don't know," Steve mused. "Sergeant Brice and I are going to check it out. You two stay here. If anything starts to sound funny, call in for backup."
"Yes, Lieutenant!" the officer nodded.
Steve headed up the walkway and onto the porch, Brice right on his heels. About the time they reached the porch, a horrible crash resounded from inside. Both detectives drew their guns.
"This is the police," Steve yelled through the door. "Open up!"
"Lieutenant . . . !" came Mignon's voice from inside. But she was cut off.
Behind them, the officers were calling for backup and getting out of the car. Steve wasted no time in kicking open the door and hastening inside with Brice.
Helen was there, having apparently entered through a window at the back of the house. Now she was standing in the middle of the floor, Mignon in front of her. As she restrained the older woman in a chokehold, she held a knife to her back.
"Welcome, Lieutenant Drumm, Sergeant Brice," she snapped. "You can watch me strike this woman down before I take out the two of you."
Steve gripped his gun. "Let's calm down and talk about this," he said. "What makes you think we'll let you strike down Ms. Germaine?"
"You won't have a choice, Lieutenant," Helen spat. "It only takes one well-placed stab wound to kill. The rest are just to leave a message."
Mignon's eyes narrowed. Her mouth was pressed in a straight line and she appeared unafraid, but the occasional flicker in her eyes said that some part of her was indeed afraid. She had never gone up against such a vicious madwoman before.
"If you so much as try to leave 'one well-placed stab wound', you'll be shot dead," Steve informed Helen. "What do you think Ms. Germaine has done to you?"
"It's all of you, Lieutenant Drumm," Helen retorted. "You've always been closing in on Mr. Vann. And I've had enough of it!"
"Something must have set you off," Steve said.
"Everything has been falling apart since that detective came back to town," Helen said bitterly.
"But you're the one who gave him the instructions to come back."
"That was before he found the barge and changed our plans. He should have died then!" Helen cried. "But Jason was weak; he couldn't do it. So I punished him just as I'm going to punish all of you!"
The officers, instead of coming up to the front door, were making their way around the back. Steve, seeing them starting to slip through the window, followed by Lieutenants Tragg and Anderson, determined to keep Helen distracted and talking until they could come closer from behind.
"You're punishing us?" he said. "You're the one breaking the law, Helen. You and Robert Winters and Carlyle Vann. Did you really think you wouldn't be caught?"
Outside on the front lawn, Perry, Della, Paul, and Hamilton watched in tense horror. None of them dared to move for fear of inciting Helen's rage all the more.
"We weren't caught for years," Helen said. "When that girl stumbled on our racket, I got rid of her."
"You mean Truth Pearson?"
"Yes!" Helen shrieked. "That little witch, always distracting Robbie from me! And she had to be such a self-righteous little prick, too. She was going to report everything about our smuggling operations. Well, I wasn't going to let her!"
Her chokehold tightened on Mignon. In pain now and not mere discomfort, Mignon reached up in a desperate but vain attempt to loosen the grip.
"So you killed Truth," Steve said. "What about Jason Fleur? How did he get involved with you in the first place?"
"He came looking for Truth," Helen said. "He dug too deep, so Robbie and I forced his hand by making him work for us. He kept trying to figure out if we were responsible for Truth's disappearance, but I certainly didn't let on. And Robbie honestly didn't know what I'd done."
"Did you force Jason to try to botch Mr. Burger's case against Vann?"
"It was Robbie's idea," Helen said. "Jason had no choice but to go along. But he hated every minute of it. That's probably why he refused to kill Drake on the barge."
Suddenly she whirled with a cry, facing Tragg and the other police who had been coming up on her from behind. "You won't take me!" she screamed. "I'll kill all of you. I'll carve you all the way I did Robbie!"
"Why did you stab him, Miss Watkins?" Tragg demanded, tense and on edge but trying to keep outwardly calm. Mignon's life hung in the balance.
"He never could give up Truth." Helen's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "We could never move on like that. And if he was such an obstruction to himself, it was better for him to die then to keep on that way."
"He isn't dead," Andy spoke up. "He's in critical condition, yes, but he's still alive."
That news seemed to tip the rest of Helen's sanity overboard. She shrieked, the hand holding the knife violently trembling. "No! That isn't true! I killed him, I killed him, I killed him! I sent him on to his precious Truth! I killed him!"
Mignon took the chance to grip Helen's arm with all of her strength, digging in her nails. She managed to force it away just enough to be able to slip out of the madwoman's grasp.
Instantly the police swarmed over her. She roared and flailed and kicked, swiping the knife in every direction. Though she managed to slice Steve's arm and Tragg's shoulder, they and Andy soon had her under their tight restraint. Andy wrenched the knife from her hand.
"Mignon!" Hamilton led the others inside, running to his dear friend. She went to him, shaken but already regaining her composure.
"I'm alright, Hamilton," she told him.
Hamilton drew an arm around her, turning to look as the police forced Helen's hands behind her back. She snarled and still tried to fight back, but she seemed to be easing off in her level of intensity.
Paul came up next to him. "It's over then, isn't it?" he said. "There aren't any other crazy dames floating around outside with knives?"
"We can hope and pray not, Paul," Perry said.
"But it won't be over until we know if her other victim is going to be alright."
Paul looked to Hamilton as he spoke, quietly and pained. Slowly he reached out, laying a hand on Hamilton's shoulder. "We'll go to the hospital now and find out," he said.
Mignon glanced between them in concern. "What other victim?" she asked.
Hamilton drew a shaking breath. "It's a long story."