Witness to Death (12 page)

He watched her face pale, already turning to a shade of gray. Her breath was coming in short bursts. John had managed to pull himself up next to Ashley and hold her. Her head rested on his good shoulder, her short breaths moist against his neck.

Meanwhile, he pressed his bad shoulder against the wall, trying to slow his own bleeding.

“Ashley,” he said, as she shuddered against him. “Just hold on. There’s an ambulance on the way.”

He hugged her closer and listened to the air escape from her lungs. He felt the heat from her body leak away and her skin become colder. John closed his eyes and prayed for her to say something. Instead, she shivered hard, as if she were having a seizure. Her eyes shot wide open. She coughed hard, once, twice, and her body wracked, almost bouncing off the ground.

On the third cough, blood spattered through her lips. Her body sank inward. He shook her once gently. No reaction. Her blood seeped over his hands, warm and thick.

“Ashley?” John said. “Oh God, Ashley, wake up!”

But her breath slowed and then stopped.

A wave of heat ran through his body, starting in his gut and rolling all the way up into his cheeks, then his eyes. His vision blurred. Pulling Ashley closer to him, he listened for signs of air coming from her mouth or nose.

“No. No. No. No.” His eyes burned, and then they flooded over. Convulsions wracked his body, and then he buried his face in her shoulder. John kept saying Ashley’s name, hoping at one point she’d answer. He held her tight, rocking back and forth as the tears rolled down his face.

Just like his dad had held Hannah. Crying and screaming, rocking back and forth waiting for the paramedics to show up. His dad kept brushing her hair back over her face telling her it was okay. Just wake up. It’d be okay if she’d just wake up.

The paramedics.

The sirens John had heard screamed down the street and past the building. They must not have been for them. No one showed up and no more sirens came, the one he heard before must have gone somewhere else. But it appeared to have been enough to chase the woman with the gun away.

Twice in one day. He’d lost Ashley twice in a day. It didn’t matter how he felt yesterday or a week ago, he’d lost her, he hadn’t given her up. John let her go, gently, laying her on the floor. He closed her eyes. She didn’t look like she was sleeping, but at least she didn’t look as scared.

He grabbed the phone and dialed 911. A woman answered and asked what his emergency was. He’d only had to call 911 once in his life, when he had office duty and a kid down the hall had a diabetes attack and passed out.

“Ashley, she’s been shot! She’s not breathing.”

“Okay. What’s your location?”

He gave it.

“There will be someone on their way. What’s your name?”

“John Brighton.”

He held the phone to his ear with two hands, gripping it so tight, his skin burned against his knuckles.

“All right. Someone will be there shortly. Just stay where you are. Stay on the line with me.”

He’d told them his name. Two hours earlier he’d been arrested, people were coming after him, and he’d just told the police his name. He hung up the phone. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears burn his cheeks.

There was a light rapping on the front door.

“Hello? Ashley?” It was Megan, Ashley’s neighbor.

John stayed quiet. He’d already called for help. He didn’t want to answer, and bring attention to himself. Didn’t want her to come in and see all this.

“Ash? I thought I heard screaming. Hello?” Then a pause. “If you’re okay say something.”

John held his breath and waited a minute. He heard the clunk of footsteaps walking way.

He dialed Michelle’s number from memory. She picked up after two rings.

“Ashley? What’s up?”

“It’s not Ashley, it’s John.”

“Are you kidding? They told me you broke out of jail. Are you insane? What are you doing at Ashley’s house? Are you okay?”

He could hear the blinker from her car, and the radio in the background.

“Wait.”

“John, you got to turn yourself in! My dad got you a lawyer, but he’s not going to be able—”

“I told you to wait!”

Michelle stopped talking.

He looked at Ashley once more. Her skin had darkened.

“I need help. I think Ashley’s dead.”

Silence on the other end of the line. He looked over at Ashley and pictured her standing up and walking over to him. She had a way of just wrapping her arms around him when he was down and tension would seep from his body.

No more.

“What happened?” Michelle finally said. Her voice shook.

“She got me out of jail. She set the police station on fire, and then she got me out of there. Took me to her apartment. Said someone was—Oh God—someone was trying to kill her. And me. We were in danger. Then some woman in a ski mask—she had a gun.”

The convulsions were back. He couldn’t get the words out anymore.

“Jesus, John have you lost your mind?”

“What, I—?”

“Did you call an ambulance? The police?”

“They’re on their way.”

“Good. Stay there. They can help. Just go with the police. We’ll sort this out.”

“Ashley said if I go with the police I could get killed. I need help, Michelle. I don’t know what’s going on. Have you talked to Frank?”

“No. Why?”

“I need to talk to him. I need to.”

The world twisted and started to fall away. John dropped the phone and then gripped the edge of the couch to keep his balance.

As the phone skidded across the hardwood floor, he heard Michelle say, “Did you shoot her John?”

Sirens were loud coming down the street. These
were
for him. The ones he’d called. John blinked out the fire that had returned to his shoulder and knew there was only one option now.

Run.

Christine pulled the ski mask off her head, and stepped on the gas, turning on to River Road. Hopefully the cops would show up and think it was a lover’s spat. That the guy from the news killed her. He’d apparently killed a bunch of guys on the dock. Why not leave him alive? He’d be the perfect patsy.

Tucking her Bluetooth into her ear, she dialed a secure number. She hadn’t called it in years and she hoped it still worked.

“Yes?” Short, gruff, rusty.

“Uncle Tony,” she said.

“Are you finished?”

“I got one. The woman. I ran into the man from the news, but he couldn’t tell me where Peter was. He didn’t even seem to know who Peter was.”

“I didn’t think he would. Peter Callahan is very good at his job.”

She could envision her aging uncle’s smug smile on the other end of the line, crooking at the side of his mouth, his eyes squinting slightly, as if he were going to pat her on the head. Like she was a child.

He’d taken care of her for her entire life, steered her into her career. She never got to see her half sister. Never saw her father. That was how Uncle Tony wanted it. That was how her dad wanted it. She’d only gotten to hang out with her half sister after they met at an office party her biological father threw when Christine was 18. Not that her father had invited her. Her stepsister was in college, felt bad about what ended up happening. She invited Christine to her dorm the next weekend. First time Christine ever drank. She barely remembered the night.

Just the Zima.

And Lew.

She got drunk on
Zima
of all things. She didn’t want to think about that night.

“Hey, I’m glad you got the woman. Easy one first, right?” Tony laughed.

“Thanks.” What else was she going to say?

I’m glad you’re glad. Pay me.

“She was a traitor.”

“She worked for you?”

“No. The man who hired me. But this is going to help me as well. I’m rebuilding after all the FBI raids and the New York war. This is something that can put us back on the map, can make me legitimate again. I will be right back with Donte Maiore.” Her uncle swore in Italian.

Donte Maiore was the big boss in New York. One of the few men who still meant something in the mob game. He’d been in the process of decimating the New Jersey mob, so he could have the metropolitan area to himself. Since Tony’s dad died, Tony had to listen to what Donte said. That’s what Tony’s dad wanted.

“I still need to find Peter.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re going to take care of that.”

“How?”

“Don’t ask questions, just trust me. And once you did, you’re going to be very happy. I told you, you’d probably run into your sister, didn’t I?” Tony coughed. “And then you can back up and do it again.”

Christine sighed. Her uncle always made things difficult. Always playing games. Always keeping things close to the vest. And making stupid jokes like he was in the Catskills.

“It’s all part of the plan,” he said. “We’ll be in touch. And soon. Be ready.”