Girl on a Mission: The Dead Do Speak

Chapters 15 & 16

Previously on Girl on a Mission:

At a mob-connected club on West Seventh and Avenue T, Liza is given money by the elderly mobsters (which Uncle T promptly collects) and gets roped into dishwashing duty while Uncle T leaves on mysterious business. Meanwhile, Detective Hallowell investigates the apartment next to Mrs. Kensington's murder scene - the home of mob-connected Boyd Ward and his daughter - where the super Eric Trammel had heard a TV earlier, only to discover another dead woman in the living room.

Chapter 15

“You don’t have to wash dishes, Liza.” Sonny stood in the kitchen door watching Liza washing glasses and plates. He stepped into the kitchen, a wet rag hung over his right shoulder. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, I got it,” she said, scrubbing a glass with a sponge. “I’m bored out of my mind, anyway.” She looked at Sonny. “Gives me something to do.”

Sonny shrugged, said, “Whatever,” before walking to the walk-in freezer. “I gotta get some steaks for tonight.”

He popped the door open when Liza returned to the dishes. All was quiet. Silence hung beneath running water and gentle card play, and Liza wondered what Boyd was doing at that moment. Wondered how his detox was going. Liza had witnessed Boyd’s detox on multiple occasions, and it was never pretty. Shakes, tremors, delusions, convulsions, shits and vomiting were all included. She was grateful he chose the rehab over a couch detox this time. Not that Liza wouldn’t have taken care of him but as Boyd had said it was inappropriate for him to expect Liza to do so. She’d been caring for him since mom died and Boyd believed it was high time he grew up and started caring for himself.

Liza could hear the club’s front door open when relief washed over her, thinking that Uncle T had finally come back, a notion that lasted for less than a second.

“GUN!”

Three shots rang out. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Liza stood, unmoving, as Sonny rushed past her.

“Get in the freezer,” he ordered Liza.

But she stood instead, watching Sonny rush into the poker room. She could see commotion. Another bullet rang through the club.

“Get the fucking gun.” That was Grandpa Tommy. She could make out his gruff voice anywhere.

Liza watched as the guard and Sonny dragged whoever brought the gun to the ground. Saw how the gun was forced from the man’s hand and tossed across the floor, out of reach. Sonny sent his boot into the gunman’s ribs; another to his nose and Liza could see the spat of blood rise into the air.

“Get him downstairs,” said Grandpa Tommy.

Liza raced to the hidden door as Sonny and the guard dragged the gunman, kicking and screaming by his arms. She popped the door open, and Sonny gripped the gunman’s hair and tossed him down the stairs into the basement.

“Mother fucka!” hollered Sonny, racing down the stairs after him.

A raised voice rang out from the poker table. “Tommy, Carmine’s hit.”

Liza looked over. Grandpa Tommy stopped in his tracks and turned. He locked eyes with Liza for one brief second and Liza saw something in his eyes she’d never witnessed before: fear. Liza looked over and saw Carmine. Blood seeped through his shirt, pooling down his stomach as Peter held his hand over Carmine’s wound.

“Stay with us,” said Peter as Carmine’s shoulders shuddered, garbling and gargling on his own blood. Carmine’s body convulsed twice before his arms fell limp by his sides. “Stay with us!” Peter screamed, but it was too late. Carmine was gone. Liza watched as Grandpa Tommy clenched his fists. He looked over to the front door and walked over to it, looked out the door window, then locked the door before turning and scanning the scene.

“What do we do?” said Peter, his voice low, quiet like, almost a whisper.

Grandpa Tommy was thinking. Liza could see how the cogs in his brain were mulling over the situation. Liza knew they couldn’t call the police. No chance in hell would the police be contacted. This was a matter best resolved by the people in this very room. He pointed to Carmine. “Wrap his body up and toss him in a trunk. I’ll talk to his wife and let her know what happened.” He paused before adding. “After the funeral.”

Peter nodded, wiping the sweat off his brow.

Grandpa Tommy looked at the guard and gestured to the basement. “Keep him alive and tied up. I have questions and I want answers.”

Liza could hear the gunman in the basement, grunting and pleading and crying. Sonny was beating him senseless. Grandpa Tommy grabbed the gun off the floor and wedged the weapon between his back and belt. He looked at Liza. “Are you okay?”

And Liza nodded. This wasn’t the first murder she’d witnessed.

Chapter 16

Jerry Hallowell dismissed all officers from the Ward residence. The apartment was empty. They found nothing, although it was apparent someone had been in the apartment, as Eric had said. Empty coffee mug on the table, blankets crunched up, and the couch had obviously been used. By whom was the question?

Jerry couldn’t believe the killer took a reprieve in the Ward’s apartment either before or after the murder, such an occurrence just didn’t add up. One thing he knew for certain, he’d be speaking with the Wards soon, although he was certain he could cross them off the list. Mafia hitmen rarely go around murdering people in the same way as the Play Dead Killer. The victim of a mafia hit was typically quick and normally the body was never found. Jerry had always wondered how many dead bodies were at the bottom of the Hudson River, courtesy of a mafia hit. Too, too many to speak of, he was sure.

“She’s very smart,” said Carol Ward, the ghost who occupied the Ward’s apartment. She was in the kitchen, fumbling around as if she were alive and had an unexpected guest. “She just needs some guidance, is all.” Carol kept fluttering, as Jerry called it. Like a television when the signal kept getting lost, sometimes the picture would show, then flutter and sputter across the screen until the image was gone, only to repeat the same a minute later.

Jerry was unsure if Carol was talking to him or locked in a perpetual forever time from long ago, answering questions to a conversation long forgotten in this realm. He ignored the comment while walking to the window, his head tilted to the right, eyes narrow, noticing how the window was unlocked.

Who keeps their windows unlocked in this neighborhood?

Jerry ran his gloved hand over the lock.

“She went out that way,” said Carol. “I think she was scared.”

Jerry turned to see Carol, her ghost image wavering and flickering. “Are you sure there was no one else in the apartment, Mrs. Ward? No one at all?”

Carol’s jaw dropped. She went to speak, but no words followed as she kneaded her hands together, shaking her head, her eyes staring at the floor.

“Mrs. Ward?” Talking with a ghost was mostly like talking to a child, attention always caught by something more significant.

Carol looked at Jerry and he was convinced that if she were alive, she’d have tears in her eyes. The painful expression in her eyes was enough to make that judgment. She looked as if she were caught inside a memory.

“I didn’t let him in,” Carol said.

“Who?” blurted Jerry. “Who didn’t you let in?”

“I…I…I,” her eyes scanning across the apartment, nervous, lost. Now her lips curled into her mouth. “I don’t know. But he was here.”

And she disappeared. In the blink of an eye, Carol Ward was gone, and Jerry was alone.

Ghosts always talk in riddles.

Jerry shook his head as he looked over the apartment before he called out for Frank. A second later, Frank was at the door.

“You okay?”

Jerry nodded. “I need prints on this window.”

“Prints?” Jerry nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell forensics. You think the killer came in through the window and used the apartment to access Mrs. Kensington?”

“Possible. Two windows unlocked that should be locked says something is a bit off. Although it could just be coincidence.”

“Usually is,” said Frank. “I’m on it.”

Frank went to leave, but Jerry called him back.

“What ya got?” said Frank.

Jerry looked right, then left, before addressing Frank. “Any idea where I can find Liza Ward?”