Twisted: A Tracy Turner Murder Mystery Novel (The Tracy Turner Mystery Series Book 1) (21 page)

I waited for him to walk. Then I stepped on to the wooded path, and the sound of my pointed heel on wood echoed in my ears. As I crouched down, I felt the blood rushing into my head. He was out of sight and mercifully out of earshot. I kicked off my heels, shoved them into my sling bag, and vowed to start wearing sensible shoes.

The rotting floor beneath was warm and tickled my bare feet. I’d take a splinter over a bullet any day. I ran, light footed, to keep up with him.

I stopped to catch my breath and leaned over a railing overlooking a bubbling river twenty feet below. Rushing and gurgling, it was in a mighty hurry to end its long journey to the sea. The railing creaked and the wooden floor felt soft and crumbled beneath me. I gasped and moved on.

Not able to spot him, the curving path ahead was all I could see. I took two turns and sensed that he was closer now. The foliage was thicker, the air cooler, and I was overwhelmed by the sharp smell of rotting wood. The path, a combination of moss and moisture, was slippery, but I had to keep going.

I took a sharp bend and glimpsed his white cotton shirt. The floor beneath disintegrated and I stumbled. A sharp shriek escaped my lips. He turned back. I leaped into the thicket as he glowered into the wilderness.

A curlytail lizard, who was an alien to the area, looked surprised by its unexpected guest. The footsteps grew heavier and louder. The lizard tossed its head, waved its spiraled tail in the air, and danced onto the boardwalk. I said a silent prayer. Mike spotted the creature and stopped, giving his second visitor of the day a glare. The stalk of a Chaya plant was between us, my face level with his knee. I stopped breathing. He raised his polished leather boot and with a loud curse kicked the unsuspecting critter up into the air. It went flying across into the trees beyond.

His phone rang again. Muttering, he picked it up. “I’m here. I said, I’ll meet you on the big bridge. You’re already there? Good.”

He turned back and retraced his steps. I knew the bridge was not too far away. I got there in time to see Mike handing the suitcase over to a man who was about a foot shorter than himself. Safe behind the trunk of a Ficus tree, I couldn’t make out his features.

The mystery man had a white cloth bandage on his wrist. He opened the case, raised it up to his nose, and smelled it as if it were a rose. Smirking, he licked his lips and rubbed his hands together then balanced the suitcase on the railing. Inside were stacks of what I guess were dollar notes of equal height. He began to thumb through them, counting bundles chosen at random.

I couldn’t hear what was being said so I inched my way closer to the action. Opening my mobile phone, I focused its camera on the two men and snapped up a few photos.

The shorter man closed the case with a thud. His forehead was wrinkled, eyes reduced to slits, and he pursed his lips.

“You said that there’s more.” A shadow crossed his face and there was a menacing glint in his eyes.

“There is no more.” Mike stuck out his lower lip. “There’s been a change of plans. I need some of it.”

The older man’s eyes narrowed and he admonished with his pointer finger. “You are not rolling again are you?”

Mike’s head was set in motion like a bobble head doll. “No, I told you. It’s not my thing. That was a mistake.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rose in crescendo.

Mike raised both hands up and shook them. “I just need to get away for a while.”

“What’s your hurry?” he demanded, cocking his head. He lowered his voice into a deep growl. “You can run, but you can’t hide from me, my boy.”

Mike took a step forward, bent over, and stared into the man’s eyes. “I’m not your boy. I’m nobody’s boy. And I’m not running from you.” With every sentence his voice grew sharper and louder.

“Oh, I know what you are running from.” His eyes lit up and his face broke out into a broad smile. “You did it. You killed Frank Walters!”

Mike bit his lip and averted his gaze.

He kicked the briefcase that he had placed on the ground. “That’s where you got this and the cash.” He made a sound like he was sobbing, then he burst out laughing. His laughter evaporated and he became serious. “This was the money that Frank promised to deliver to me.” He thumped his hand on to his chest.

“It’s not your business where I got it. You have your money. That’s more than what I owe you.” His jaw tightened and face twitched. “Leave me the hell alone. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

He raised his dark bushy eyebrows. “You killed Katherine too? Dear… sweet Katherine…” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “But why?”

“Shut up.” He clutched his head in his hands and began to tremble. “Shut the…” Mike began to pace across the bridge with his fist to his lips, the man marched behind him, and they faced each other.

“Boy…” he pulled Mike close and stared into his eyes “…I’m Bruno Burns. Nobody tells me what to do.”

Mike shoved Bruno off and raised himself to his full height. His eyes blazed, nostrils flaring, and he puffed out his chest.

In a flash of superhuman strength he pulled Burns up by his shirt collar. The shorter man’s legs flailed in the air.

“Put me down! Put me down, boy!”

Mike’s face twitched again, and he bared his teeth. “I told you before, I’m not your boy.” He pushed Burns against the rickety railing. There was a massive crunch. The wood snapped; his body was too heavy for it to bear. Single-handed, Burns hung on to a wooden panel on the floor beneath.

“Help, please help me,” he rasped. Swinging wildly in the wind, he moaned like a stricken banshee.

My body stiffened and my eyes clouded over. I willed Mike to do something, to save the villain.

Mike was as calm as a monk. He walked to the edge, his boot an inch away from the dangling man’s hand. He smiled at him, bent down, and extended his arm. Burns’ free arm found the platform and he raised his fingers toward Mike.

Mike bent his knee and raised his foot. He grimaced and brought it down hard over the older man’s knuckles. The bridge rocked under his weight but remained solid. The quiet was broken by a scream of agony.

Burns’ arms fluttered in the air and he drifted down to the treacherous water beneath.

The sanctuary was peaceful as always. There were the usual sounds of the birds and insects going about their everyday business. A light breeze and a rustling of leaves made for a lovely morning, except only a few moments ago terrible things had happened here, and only two people in the world knew about them.

Dazed, I sat very still, my muscles aching and demanding to be stretched. Yet, I didn’t move. As he came closer, I shut my eyes, held my breath, and hoped my cover was adequate. He talked to himself under his breath as he passed. I waited till he was out of sight and the sound of his menacing boots was inaudible.

It seemed like weeks had passed since Frank’s body had been discovered. So many events had been compacted into the last couple of days. So much had taken place during the time. When evil happens, the world seems to slow down, as if it wants us to savor every miserable second. Why was it not the case when were are having fun? Maybe it was our fault that we didn’t bother to slow down and enjoy the good times.

I replayed the events over in my mind. Had Mike lured Burns to the big bridge with the intention of killing him? Or was it an accident, an unintentional killing that was precipitated in a fit of rage? Why had Burns insisted on taunting him? What a fool.

Was Burns right? Had Mike killed them both? Should I take this to Brett or Millie? That may not be the best course. After all, Mike had admitted to nothing. It would be my word against his. I still needed something concrete to pin him down to the crimes. I had to find that gun. That would be conclusive.

Mike mentioned that he was planning on leaving town for a while. Meeting Burns before may have been him taking care of business before he left. With a third murder under his belt, he was on edge and would move fast. I had to be quicker still. Brett would only slow me down.

The photos I had snapped through the foliage were blurred and wouldn’t be of any use. Besides, they proved nothing. If only I could find that gun. He didn’t have it with him today or he would have used it, so perhaps he had not planned on killing Burns after all.

Brett said that the same gun had been used twice, so he didn’t do away with it after the first killing. A gun represented power; it was hard to think that Mike would part with it. He must have it with him, perhaps in that golf bag.

He may have stashed it in the back room of the bar or in one of the cupboards, which would be near impossible to search. Doug was there virtually all the time. In any case, the easiest place to access would be his home. That was assuming he had gone back to work at the resort. I didn’t think even he would be crazy enough to bring the weapon with him to work.

I knew what I had to do. I needed to go to his house and see what I could find. Even if I didn’t find the weapon, I could pick up some clues from where he lived.

My heart thumped in my chest as my mind walked through what needed to be done. Elaine had said that Mike still lived with Doug. The resort provided housing for some employees on off-site premises, which was a twenty minute walk away. To save time, I decided to take my car. A quick call to Imogen told me that Mike was in the building so he was back at work and I was free to work my plan. I would check out his house and be back before anyone knew it.

I had never done this kind of thing before. As my mum would say, “There’s always a first time to anything and then it becomes automatic.” Is that the way Mike felt about murder?

Spurred on by the thought of seeing Ryan again, I had to keep a cool head. I missed my friend. Life was not the same without him. In my heart I knew I would be seeing him soon. I held on to that feeling. I also knew that I had to be extra careful. I had seen firsthand what kind of monster Mike could be.

As I had thought, the Mitchells’ house was located at the resort’s staff accommodation facility. It took one call to human resources to confirm their address. As trusted members of Team Regency, older employees were offered the privilege of stand-alone accommodation. Newer staff didn’t have the luxury and were quartered in an apartment block within the same gated premises. These perks were offered to them at a nominal fee. I could have saved some bucks if I had stayed there, but I chose to stay off site because I valued my privacy.

I parked Ole Guzz under the shade of a Frangipani tree and sat in the car for a couple of minutes observing the house. It was a single-story building with no walls or a fence in front. At the edge of the sidewalk was a free standing letter box. The number eight painted on the rusted box had faded. The slots were stuffed to capacity with junk mail. Either there was no driveway or it had been so overrun with weeds that it was impossible to see. No cars were parked in front of the house or in the street.

I reminded myself to focus on the task at hand and began to wonder what I would find inside, but first I had to get inside. I walked up a makeshift path where the grass and weeds lay flat. It led me to a front verandah of dark wood floor boards. The varnish on the floors were burnt and scratched.

Looking around, I searched for signs of security cameras or alarms. There were none. The approach to the place was a good enough deterrent to criminals, but I had to be sure. The front door was locked. I tried again to make certain. It was impossible to get in that way.

I walked across the lawn of weeds to the nearest window. A thick layer of dust sealed the opening shut; they had not been opened in months, if not years. The dirt had stuck as I rubbed the grimy window pane, and my wet wipes wouldn’t cut it.

The back of the house was cordoned off with a wooden fence. Compacted slats surrounded it and were about six feet high. I couldn’t see beyond. At the edge of the fence and toward the house was a dip in the partition; it was a gate made of the same material. I would have missed it had it not been for the latch on top of the gate.

Standing on tiptoes, I cranked up the latch. It was stiff, but with some effort I lifted it up and over. I pushed the gate open, but it wouldn’t budge. Was it locked? Another hard nudge with my upper arm, but it did not move. I shoved it with both arms, the force of all my weight behind it. The gate creaked and finally opened.