Had the son gone downstairs then, only to end up dead on the kitchen floor? He’d had a gun, he knew something bad was going on, but it hadn’t mattered. Whoever was waiting downstairs had overpowered him.
Ben methodically went through the rest of the rooms upstairs, then called down to Horace, “Upstairs is clear. Got a body, gut shot. Looks like he was part of the crew who broke in.”
“A quadruple homicide? Now, ain’t that something on a beautiful Friday.”
Ben rejoined him in the kitchen. Horace pointed at the bodies. “That’s Anatoly in the middle, and the younger ones are two of his sons. Someone was really pissed off. Nice of the killer to off them in the kitchen, no ruined carpet.
“But how the hell did he manage to get the drop on all three of these badasses? I just can’t see that.” They both stared down at the bodies.
Ben said, “Had to be more than one person responsible for this, had to be. Like you said, they were three very big strong men, even Anatoly.”
Horace nodded. “Plus, those Anatoly sons are meaner than hungry crocodiles. Their old man used to be, but he’s mellowed out, doesn’t kill those who piss him off himself any longer, just gives the orders. You need to see this.”
Ben followed Horace into what looked to be Anatoly’s office. The room hadn’t been ransacked. What looked to be an original Picasso had been gently lifted from its spot behind the huge mahogany desk and carefully placed against the wall. And there was a wall safe, the thick metal door hanging ajar.
Horace said, “There’s still packs of cash, legal papers, and lookee here—half a key of coke.”
Ben said, “That’s weird. If they found what they came for, why leave the cash and the drugs?”
“If I was the badass who broke in here,” Horace said, “I sure wouldn’t have left the C and C. I wonder what they did take out of that safe?”
Ben holstered his Glock.
“No clue.” He looked up to see Savich and Sherlock appear in the living room doorway.
56
Savich and Sherlock looked down at the three dead men on the kitchen floor while Ben filled them in.
“There was another body upstairs, most likely one of the killers. Whoever did this had to be big and strong and fast. These three couldn’t have been easy to take down, much less forcing them to kneel and accept being shot. They were really bad news.”
Sherlock dropped to her knees, studied the three faces, flesh slack and gray, eyes all open, staring at the floor. “This is really bad,” she said. “Really ugly, but no anger, no rage, all business as usual, I’ve got to say. Very controlled. In, do the job, and out. Didn’t take long.”
Horace said, “Yeah, that seems right, but how? Just holding a gun on them doesn’t seem like enough. And I can’t see these three cooperating. No muss, no fuss, just kill us?”
Sherlock lightly touched her palm to the side of Anatoly’s face. “He hasn’t been dead all that long, maybe two hours, more or less, the ME will tell us.” She frowned, then she sniffed. She looked up at Savich. “Dillon, guess what?”
“Busy guy,” Savich said.
“What busy guy?” Horace asked. “What did you smell?”
Sherlock said, “Nothing, Sergeant. We had a cyanide case yesterday, but I don’t smell it here. Ben, you know Kochen was shot with a tranquilizer gun, disabled, then murdered. He was a big guy; the killer didn’t want to take any chances. I think that’s what happened here, too.”
Ben said, “You think this is the same guy who murdered Kochen and Elaine?”
She nodded. “Like you said, the dead men were all big, strong, and vicious, all in prime physical condition but Anatoly. I’d bet my next paycheck all three were unconscious before he dragged them in here, lined them up next to each other, and shot each in the back of the head.” She paused for a moment. “Then he reholstered his gun, job done, and went back to take whatever it was he wanted out of the safe.”
Horace said, “The killer wasn’t alone. Agent Houston found another bad guy is still upstairs, dead, obviously shot in the gut by one of the sons.”
“Then when the son came down yelling and blasting,” Savich said, “the man shot him with the tranquilizer gun, dragged him into the kitchen and killed him, and arranged him with his father and brother. I wager we’ll find some casings and maybe some holes in the banister or in the walls, maybe even his gun.”
Sherlock said, “He didn’t torture them because he knew where to find what he was looking for. He didn’t need them. But why kill them? Maybe because he was told to kill them, or maybe it was simply a reward to himself for a job well done.”
Ben said, “The dead guy upstairs, he bled out, and I don’t think it was fast. His partner just left him.”
Savich said, “No, he wouldn’t care at all, would he?” and he nodded to the three bodies. “Let’s look at the safe again, see if we can’t find a clue to what the killer wanted. And I’d like to look around to see if I can find The Night Tower.”
Horace frowned. “What would a night tower be doing here? What is a night tower?”