I opted for a cab and messaged Jake to meet me at Irene’s. Instead of struggling with a change of clothes, I borrowed Jake’s hoodie again and hoped the cab was well-heated. I didn’t think I could get my coat on by myself.
On the way over I set up my eCom for emergencies. Seconds later, I got a call from ERC.
“Garrett, I have you headed for East Hills. Are you taking another walk in the park? If you are, I want you to change your keyword.”
“I’m going to a private home.”
“Do they have pets?”
I counted to three.
“Seriously?”
“No, that won’t work. You Garretts use that word to death.”
The cab stopped. The driver receipted me and drove away as soon as I was on the sidewalk. I took a moment to look around. No one was lurking within sight.
Irene’s house was dark. Even the porch light was off. That was helpful. The one-way glass in the transom worked best if it was lighter outside than inside. With blue glow of the security system screen, I could make out two people moving in the hall.
I checked my eCom. Jake was a block or so away. Close enough.
I rung the bell and talked to the intercom.
“Ms. Cole, it’s Detective Garrett.”
I waited a few seconds and tried again.
“Irene, please. It’s Kate Garrett. Please come to the door.”
Finally I heard Irene’s voice.
“I’m here. I have to unlock the door.”
Deadbolts clicked and chains rattled. The door opened a crack.
“You can come in.”
I opened the door enough to see most of the hall. Irene backed away. She was biting her lip and wringing her hands. Since I couldn’t see the second person, I guessed he was behind the door. That put him on my bad side.
No problem. I kicked the door open. There was an “oomph” sound and the door bounced back to reveal Paulo Crabbe.
I’d been hoping it was Mike Koehne.
I had my pistol aimed at him but Crabbe launched himself at me anyway. He was what my Grandmother Garrett called “bottle covey.” He didn’t have the sense to stay down. He was also damned lucky. My aim wasn’t as good with my left hand. Instead of hitting centre mass, my shot went wide. The bullet hit his hip and he still kept coming, knocking me over.
“Crap!”
I had to drop my pistol to grab Crabbe’s arm. He was holding a tranquilizer dart. If it was loaded with cyanide, I might be joining my father in the family plot.
I needed both hands to keep the dart at arm’s distance. Crabbe could have tried harder but he preferred to use his free hand to punch me. My best hope was that he’d bleed out before he smartened up.
Belay that. My best hope was Jake who twisted the dart out of Crabbe’s hand. He then kept twisting and pulling, to accompanying screams, until Crabbe was off me, hanging from a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder. That didn’t stop Crabbe from screaming and flailing about.
I pulled myself up and pushed my Taser against his bad leg. Crabbe twitched and went as limp as a rag doll. Jake let him down easy and cuffed him. I would have been tempted to drop him on his head.
Irene kicked him. Then she threw her arms around me and started crying.
Mohr was the first official responder. He came in as Jake and I were trying to calm Irene. He directed the ambulance and police escort for Crabbe, called the Chief and sent a rookie out on a coffee run.
Jake and I got Irene settled in the living room. She allowed a paramedic to check my hand and tend my face. She accepted a sublingual anti-anxiety tab and followed the directions to count backwards from thirty while the tab dissolved under her tongue. The counting was as important as the medicine. It gave her mind something else to do besides panic.
It helped that the paramedic was a woman. Irene also accepted Jake as Joe’s partner. She stiffened when Mohr came in and started to freak when the Chief arrived. Her husband had been a big man. The Chief was a very big man.
“Irene, look at me,” I said, using my good hand to turn her face away from the Chief-filled entrance. “Tell me what happened. Focus on me.”
The Chief backed out into the hall and leaned against the far wall. Irene started to breathe normally again.
“Why was Paulo Crabbe here?” I asked.
“He wanted to know what happened to Blake. I thought he knew. I thought Mike told him.”
She glanced toward the hall. No one was there. I could see Mohr sitting on the stairs with his tablet out. I guessed the Chief was nearby. From Irene’s viewpoint, we were alone.
“I thought I could keep it secret, but I needed Mike’s help getting rid of Blake’s car. I thought Mike would take my side. I’m his sister. He was angry that Blake was dead—even when I told him what Blake did to me.”
“What happened to Therese Marten?”
Irene swallowed a couple of times.
“Mike was supposed to go to the apartment to feed Suzy. I wanted him to pack some things for me too. He kept forgetting. He told me he’d meet me at the apartment so I could pack my own things and he’d take Suzy home with him. He wasn’t there. Blake was.”
She laced and unlaced her fingers.
“Would you like some water, Irene?” Jake asked.
She nodded. As soon as he was out of the room, she continued, voice pitched at a whisper.
“I’m so sorry. He made me call Therese and tonight Paulo made me call you. I couldn’t warn you.”
“But you tried.”
I don’t know if Irene knew that I knew Blake was dead, but saying she saw him was a giveaway. The long pauses after certain question. She was being fed lines by someone else, someone who didn’t know that Irene had told me she hadn’t seen Blake since he disappeared.
“Who was with you when I came to the door?”
She tipped her head to one side, like a curious bird.
“How did you know?”
“I didn’t at the time,” I admitted.
“That was Mike. He was afraid I’d say something to you. I’ve wanted to say something for years.”
Jake returned with a tall glass of water. She gulped about half of it down. She took a tissue out of her sleeve, delicately patted her mouth dry and smiled.
“I feel better now.”