The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) (3 page)

“If
he had so much mud on his jacket, then why couldn’t he be arrested?”

“Good
question. But no one was ever able to catch him with his hand in the cookie
jar. His foreign financial transactions were untraceable. And he is an American
citizen, born in America. So, you get the picture.” Nick looked at his
wristwatch. “So let me wrap it up here. I have to call the president in just a
few minutes. The Molinaros were having a sort of conference in that hotel, and
David was going too. And then we got the call.”

“From
who?” Doerr asked awkwardly. “The Molinaros?”

“No,
dumbass.” Nick checked his watch again, and he stood up. “The FBI. They called
me and asked me for help. And we helped them. Actually,
you
did. Good
job, my boy.” Nick tapped Doerr’s shoulder and turned to leave. “Now I gotta
make a call.”

“Just
one last question, sir.”

Nick
looked annoyed. “Okay. Make it quick.”

“What
happens now?”

“Well,
you know how these guys are. They are shaking one hand and fighting with the
other hand. David and the Molinaros had their differences. It’s well known, and
we have already spread words that the Molinaros got rid of David, and I see no
reason why the world should not believe that. Now I think the Molinaros will
fold some of their operations and keep a low profile till the dust settles. And
the FBI can take credit for cutting crime in Detroit. So everyone is happy.
Now…”

Before
Nick could finish his sentence, a man came out of one of the rooms with a phone
in one hand. “Sir, the president is on line one. He is quite pissed. Says he
has been waiting for your call.”

Doerr
looked at Nick, whose cheeks were turning pink and eyes cloudy.

“Thanks,
sir. And good luck with that.” Doerr jerked his head toward the phone and then
walked out.

All
that had happened fifteen years back. Since then, he had killed many who were
deemed to be the enemies by the CIA. He had done assassination jobs all over
the world, including the one in the Caribbean. One of his jobs was on
Playa
Juanillo Beach, in the Dominican Republic. That was how he knew the place so
well.
 

After
twelve long years of service in the intelligence, Doerr had quit the agency out
of disgust for politics, and it was around that time he had met Gayle and had
taken an editing job in New York.

It
was nine fifteen p.m. when Doerr reached his two-bedroom apartment on Seventy-First
Street. He unlocked the door, and as he entered, he saw Gayle sitting in front
of the TV with sleepy eyes. She stood up as Doerr gave her an empty stare. When
he came back to the living room after changing his clothes, Gayle looked ready
to hit the bed.

“How
was your day, hon?” she asked.

“Okay,”
Doerr said with an expressionless face. “Nothing special.”

“I
have the day off tomorrow.”

“Nice.”
He sat down on the sofa.

For
a minute, they watched the news on TV. “Now that you talk so little, I don’t
know what I’ll do, sitting home alone the whole day.”

“Go
to the mall or something.”

“No,
I don’t like shopping anymore. Should I go to the police station and see if
they’ve made any progress?”

“No,”
Doerr said. “I’ve already been there three times this week. I think we should
let them do their job. You look sleepy. Perhaps you should go to bed.”

A
few minutes later, Gayle heeded his suggestion and headed for bed.

The
next morning, Gayle woke up in Max’s arms. It was nine a.m. and unusual for her
to wake up so late. She was an early rising girl; her routine included getting
up at seven, dashing through the bathroom, and then rushing to the train
station to catch the 7:35 Line Six train to Grand Central. Once there, she
would then switch to a Line Two train and be at her cubicle by 8:45. The IT job
often forced her to work unsocial hours.

But
today was different. She shifted down a little and pressed her head against
Doerr’s shoulder, waking him up. “Morning, Max,” she said.

“Morning.”
Doerr lifted his hand to massage her breast. “Sorry, I’ve been a little cold
lately.”

“It’s
okay.” She caressed his back. “I know what you’re going through. I feel bad
too. Billy was such a good kid.” She choked.

AFTER
DOERR HAD left for work, Gayle settled down with a book. Her phone rang. It was
her mom.

“I
have some news for you.”

“What
is it, Mom?”

“Are
you ready?”

“Yes.”
Gayle knew her mom liked to create drama, so she patiently waited.

“Okay,
here it is. Max was not Billy’s father.”

“Come
on, Mom,” Gayle said. “I know you don’t like him. But to make up something like
this…”

“I’m
serious, Gayle. I checked with Health Department. Billy’s father is someone
called Jeff Donarski.”

“Are
you sure you searched for the right Billy?” It didn’t seem right to Gayle. Doerr
never wanted to discuss his first marriage, which she understood. He had told
her that he had personally cared for Billy for years, since his first wife had died
twelve years back.

“Yes,
Billy Donarski,” her mom replied, “date of birth April third, 1990. Later, his name
was changed to Billy Doerr.”

“How
can it be?”

“I
know how it can be, he’s a liar. Maybe he has a life insurance policy on Billy
tucked away somewhere.”

“Mom!”

“I
think you should confront him tonight.” Her mom gave her verdict. “If you want,
I’ll go there and ask for myself.”

“There’s
no need, Mom. I’ll ask him when the time is right. He’s going through a lot.”

A
few minutes later, Gayle hung up. She looked outside and watched the cars and buses
passing by. Gayle thought about what her mom had said all day; she couldn’t
shake the topic from her mind.

When
Doerr came home late, she was still vacillating over whether to confront him. “How
was work today?” she asked curtly.

“Nothing
new,” he said as he took his shirt off.

“Let
me take that.” She took the shirt and threw it in the hamper.

She
looked at his tired face and decided to postpone the confrontation for another
day. Like many nights, Doerr went in the bathroom and Gayle hit the bed; she
had to go to work early the next day.

AFTER
FINISHING HIS dinner, Doerr wiped his face with a white paper towel and decided
to join Gayle in bed. Since Billy’s sudden death, he had been in so much
distress that he hadn’t had a really long talk with her for a while. He entered
the bedroom, and without turning the light on, he slid under the blanket,
wrapped his long arms around her and asked, “Enjoy your day off?”

“Sort
of.” She sounded sad. “I had a lot of things to do.”

“Like
what?” he asked jokingly. “Shopping for dresses and lipsticks?”   

“No,
I didn’t go shopping…I was busy.”

“I
can’t believe that. You didn’t go shopping on your day off? It’s like me not
logging in to the Internet on my day off. What else did you do?”

She
said nothing for a few seconds. “My mom called.”

Doerr
sighed. He had not gotten along with his mother-in-law from the very beginning.
He knew she had been against Gayle marrying him. After their marriage, the
relationship between Doerr and his mother-in-law had only deteriorated. “What did
you guys talk about?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”
He drew her closer and laughed. “How is that possible?”

“Not
much, I guess.” She paused again. “Let me ask you, Max. Have you always been
truthful to me?”

“Of
course, what kind of question is that?” He raised his head. “What’s wrong,
dear?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh,
I know. She said something bad about me. Didn’t she?”

“Don’t
talk like that, Max.” She moved her hand over his back, up his neck and
massaged gently.

“Sorry.”

“How
are you dealing with everything? Is work okay?”

“It’s
fine.” Doerr sighed. “Every day someone seems to be getting murdered in the
city. I don’t know when NYPD will find the bastard who killed Billy. I don’t
know if they will find the man at all.”

“I
know you’re very sad. But don’t worry.” She patted his hair. “They will find
Billy’s killer. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I
don’t know, dear. As the days are going by, my hopes are receding. In 2009, the
NYPD solved only fifty-nine percent of all murders, which means nearly half the
killers got away.”

They
lay on the bed for a few minutes, in a loose embrace. “How is
your
work?” Doerr asked gently.

“My
work? Every day poses a new problem. The Indian guy at work keeps harassing me,
and the Russian guy questions everything I do. But enough about my work.” She raised
her head and pressed her lips against his.

He
moved his head away. “Sorry. I’m just not in the mood.”

She
sank her head back into the pillow. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Was
there a life insurance policy for Billy?”

“No.
I thought of getting one many times, but I never quite had the time.”

DOERR
WOKE UP to a bright sunny day; the temperature was just a shade above eighty.
Gayle had left for work already. While brushing his teeth in the bathroom, he
saw Billy’s toothbrush. Painfully, he gathered Billy’s stuff – his brush,
razor, deodorant and his fragrances – and put them in a bag and tucked the bag under
the bed in Billy’s room. He had already given away all of his son’s clothes and
shoes to a Goodwill store and had dropped Billy’s books at the local library.

Doerr
warmed up the coffee Gayle had left in the pot, smeared cream cheese on a bagel,
and ate it. He put on his office clothes and headed for the NYPD Nineteenth
Precinct office, which was located eight blocks from their apartment.

There,
Doerr talked to the male receptionist and was soon seated across from Matt
Miller, the detective assigned to Billy’s case.

“Any
progress with the case?” Doerr asked.

“Yes.”
Miller put one hand next to the laptop he glanced at from time to time. “We identified
a tall white man. Forensics has confirmed from the security tape that the man
exited the building right around the time Billy took his last breath. The
surprising thing is that there is no sign of him entering the building. He
either lived in the building or he made an entry through somewhere other than
the main door.”

Doerr
knew that the killer could not be living in the same building. It was too
cockamamie to be true. “Can I see the picture of the man?”

“That’s
the other thing, Mr. Doerr. That man wore a large cap and kept his face down.
The visuals are almost useless. Then there is another suspect. There is a man
who has been reported to be stalking young boys in the area. He is missing, and
we are trying to locate him.”

“That’s
all you have?” Doerr asked rudely.

“Yes.”
The officer’s face became expressionless. He straightened up on his chair and
picked up the water bottle from the table. “Do you suspect anybody?”

“Not
really. But there was this guy – his name is Jamie. He picked fights with Billy
many times about some girl. He threatened to kill Billy a few times, if he ever
spoke to her again. A paranoid boy, it seems.”

“Okay,
we’ll check him out,” Miller said.

Doerr
looked at Miller. It did not appear to him that Miller would be doing whole lot
to go after Jamie.

I’ll
have to go after Jamie myself
, Doerr thought and left the NYPD
office.

IN
THE AFTERNOON, Doerr was busy with work.

He
decided to call Billy’s school to get Jamie’s phone number, the boy who used to
harass Billy. Doerr had seen Jamie before – on the basketball court and the
football field. He was a strong boy who always had an angry posture.

The
school said they could not give out Jamie’s number, a privacy issue, but the
school was having a sports event next weekend, and Jamie was certainly going to
be there.

“Thank
you.” Doerr hung up and looked vacantly through the window.

Doerr
remembered the days when Billy had lost his mother and Doerr’s CIA job had kept
him away from his son, leaving Billy with Doerr’s aging mother.

Doerr
felt a burn in his chest thinking about those days, when Billy had come running
to him at the sound of his homecoming. He had always tried to spend as much
time as possible with his son, knowing very well that their time together was
fleeting. Always, though, he had to return to his assignments. He had placed
work ahead of everything else.

But
what had he received in return?

THE
NEXT WEEKEND, Doerr attended the school sports event where he knew Jamie would
be present, a football game with a rival school. More than a thousand
spectators gathered around the field, ready to scream and cheer for their
favorite team. Doerr saw Jamie warming up at the far end of the field. With all
the padding and the white and green silky jersey, he looked even bigger than he
really was.

The
game started. Jamie was a wide receiver but could hardly hold passes thrown at
him. At halftime, his team was trailing ten to twenty-four. Doerr saw Jamie
spit on the field on his way out.

Doerr
rushed over and stood in Jamie’s path. When he was close enough, Doerr called,
“Hey, Jamie.”

Jamie
didn’t recognize Doerr.

“Remember
me?” Doerr stepped in front of Jamie and asked. “I’m Billy’s dad.”

“What
do you want?” Jamie asked rudely and continued to walk.

“Where
were you on July fifteenth?” Doerr asked.

“Why
you ask?”

Jamie
was walking away, and Doerr stepped in right behind him. “That’s when Billy was
killed. July fifteenth. You threatened to kill him so many times.”

Jamie
turned around. “You mean to say I killed Billy somehow?”

“Yes,
that’s what I’m saying.”

“You
gotta be kidding.” Jamie took his shoulder pads off and continued to walk.

“Answer
the question, Jamie. Where were you on the night of the fifteenth of July?”

“Actually,
Mr. Doerr, I don’t remember where I was that night. Maybe I was with a girl.
Maybe I killed Billy.” Jamie raised his helmet. “What are you going to do about
it? Huh?”

“Bastard.
I’ll take you to the police and put you in jail.” Doerr grabbed Jamie’s neck,
and he felt like choking him.

Just
then, Doerr felt somebody’s hands on his own neck, and the man pulled him away
from Jamie. Doerr looked behind him. It was a middle-aged, burly man. A handful
of other folks were staring at him as well.

“Dad,”
Jamie said as he kicked the ground, “this man was harassing me, says I killed
Billy. Then he grabbed me. This man is crazy.”   

The
burly man released Doerr and stood in front of him. “You like to rough up young
men? Next time you touch him I’ll kill you.”