Sunday, June 26, 2016
Leander's apartment
They shared a look, then turned to Leander. Mitch neared Trey to whisper, "I told you we should've left. This was a bad idea." He kept his eyes on the man they'd come here for.
"You're talking like we had planned on sneaking in to search the place or something. We wanted to meet the guy and there he is," Trey hissed back, turning to him. "Stop talking."
"He's right, you know," Leander said from where he sat, addressing Mitchell with a wry smile. "Please, sit. I don't bite."
Casting one last look at Mitch, Trey went first, settling on the couch next to Leander. Hesitantly, Mitchell followed, his eyes never leaving the man they'd come for.
Leander sat up. "I don't have much available, but would you like something to drink?"
"So, you can spike it?" Mitch said, glaring at Leander.
The latter stood. "Trust me, if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done that a long time ago—and not through poisoning. It's too easy." Trey kept a stoic face, refusing to think of the things the man was capable of.
The man in question walked to the open kitchen on the other side of the living room where they could still see him. "Tea or something else?"
"Just water would be fine," Trey replied before Mitch could.
"Alright." They watched Leander grab two glasses from a cabinet and rinse them thoroughly, brows raised at Mitchell. "Would you be okay with tap water? I have bottled water, but I don't want your friend to think I poisoned you."
"No problem. It's fine with me," Trey murmured, making himself more comfortable.
Leander brought the glasses over, went back to fetch his, then sat with them again in the small living room, drinking his first. "First things first. How did you know we were looking for you?" Trey asked.
"I didn't know. I was just hoping you would, and tried to make it easy for you," he answered simply.
"Weren't you scared of getting caught?" Trey asked again.
"Not many people know about me here," he told them, looking out the window behind him. "We have to be quick about this."
"What does he have over you?"
Leander paused, an emotion Trey thought was pain flitting over his eyes, but it was gone the next moment. "You guessed it right. I'm a softie when it comes to her. I saw you go there last night. What for?"
"For help to find you," Trey said slowly, setting his glass down.
"You do realize that you put them in danger, right?" Leander said, his eyes going hard. Mitch looked alert, ready for anything. "That is what you did, and now all I've done would be in vain."
"We sent them out of the country this morning—for protection," Trey answered, relieving the guy—if the huge exhale was anything to go by.
"Okay. Good," he muttered, not believing he'd let himself get angry that easily. He wasn't going to let his daughter pay for any more of his mistakes—she'd suffered enough ridicule.
"Why did you kill so many people? Just because you wanted to?" Trey asked, a bit of confusion present in his tone. He looked genuinely curious—not judging. But still, it hit a nerve.
"No," Leander answered sharply, receiving a glare from Mitchell. He cleared his throat and collected himself before speaking again. "I do not and never did kill anyone for fun. I was grieving."
"Grieving?" Mitch repeated slowly, then scoffed. "That's no excuse to kill so many people."
"You know what? Don't open your mouth again, because the next time you do, you just might find something sharp lodged deep in your throat," Leander said with a tight smile.
Trey patted Mitch on the thigh twice, silently asking him to let him handle it, then turned back to Leander. "Permit me to ask this." When Leander nodded, he asked, "Why would you grieve someone you killed with your own hands?"
With eyes downcast, he replied, "It's not that simple, you know." He lifted his head but still didn't look at Trey. "I loved her so much it hurt, and instead of telling me she had fallen out of love with me, she went behind my back while we had a daughter.
"That hurt, but I was sure I would get over it—that is until she drugged me and had me carried off to someplace. Then I woke up to find myself on the end of a gun's barrel. Guess who was on the other side?"
"Her lover," Trey stated. He'd read about that in the file the team had compiled of Leander.
"Correct," he confirmed with a pained smile. "He was so confident that he was going to kill me, so he told me everything. How my wife didn't want me anymore, how she wanted me dead and that she was the one who had asked him to kill me.
"And I believed it, because the gun he held to my head was one I had gifted to her for protection, considering we lived in a shady place." Trey's eyes went wide. "I managed to snatch the gun while he was going on about how good my wife was in bed—the fool hadn't tied me up because he was sure he was in control.
"I shot him in the leg since I wasn't ready to kill him yet. I needed confirmation." 'And that is what I should have done,' Trey thought. "I got home and asked her—wanting to know her reasoning. Trust me, I would've taken Evelyn away to raise by myself and left her to live her life.
"But she lied to my face then began spitting stuff about going to the cops and telling them I was an abusive man—something to make sure I'd never keep my daughter. It's not so clear now, but in a fit of rage, I killed her and burned her lover alive," he said, finally looking at Trey.
"I did not cut her up like they say, I merely shot her. And I'm not proud of how I dealt with it, but I also have no excuse."
"What about the other people?" Trey asked, sipping on his water.
"Contract," he said as if it explained everything. When Trey tilted his head in confusion, he elaborated. "I became a contract killer by referral only and did the dirty work for elites who didn't want to get their hands dirty. That's what I channeled my pain into."
"If you truly were a contract killer and you truly are as sane as you look, why did you end up in a psych ward? Why did law enforcement and the media tell a different story?"
"The media said what they were told without looking into it. I mean, do they ever? None of the elites wanted their reputation ruined. They all cut ties and paid huge sums to have their names and all evidence that led to them erased." Leander took a drink of his own water.
"The two men I killed in the psych hospital were very sane and had paid huge sums of money to escape prison because according to them, they had 'unfinished business'. They were going to stay for a bit and claim they were better sometime later to gain freedom and continue killing.
"I was contracted to kill them by a man who had found out his wife had become a target. It was my last assignment, and my contractor bribed the judge to have me placed in that same psych hospital, saying I lost my mind when my wife cheated," he let out a dry laugh.
"You can't jail a mentally unstable person you know; it was the perfect alibi. Money is a dangerous thing, trust me. I did my job, got paid, and transferred it all to my sister who had taken Evie under her wings and went to jail, ready to serve my sentence. Then, he came along with a proposition."
"What proposition?" Trey asked, perking up. He was sitting with a contract killer—if what he was saying was true—and he didn't even feel an ounce of fear. What did that make or say about him?
"You see, he had made that video a long time ago—I personally think he used it to fantasize about how he was going to—" At Trey's glare, he cut himself off with a grimace. "Sorry. But I think you get it.
"Except, what he'd told me was that your wife had cheated. He didn't allow me to see the video up close to be able to tell it was him, and since it felt like my situation all over again, I offered to help a fellow man.
"I let him bail me out and monitored her closely for a bit to see if she really was going behind your back; I thought your love was too good to be true. Trust me, I didn't want to get between you. I just didn't want you to end up like me.
"During the course of monitoring, I threatened your security person to let Ethan in because he said all he was going to do was issue a warning—to you, I thought. But then I watched the video again while he was away and realized two things. It was him in the video, but the woman was not your wife—just a look alike."
Trey's head snapped up. "I don't know if I should be creeped out at the fact that you watched my wife for so long that you could tell it wasn't her. But I should've thought of that. I didn't spot any differences because I couldn't bring myself to watch it. Did you?"
He nodded. "I zoomed in and slowed down, then I found certain questionable things. The woman had a star tattoo on her neck beneath her left ear. Does your wife have that?"
"No. She's not really a fan of tattoos either though she's made peace with mine," he replied, playing with his rings.
"She's also a brighter blond compared to your wife." Leander sighed. "All that drama and it wasn't even her."
There was a moment of silence before Trey spoke again. "Why did you hope we would find you?"
"I don't kill or threaten innocent people—it's against the code of ethics surrounding the work I did. Once I realized you were the innocent ones and that Ethan was the deranged one, I wanted to help.
"I think he could tell something was off, so he told me I had to follow through—unless I wanted to watch my daughter suffer. He was going to let her watch him kill her baby and husband, then he'd make me watch him do what everyone thinks I did to my wife—tear her apart while she was alive."
Trey's stomach churned. "That's sick," he stated. "So you're helping because you want to?"
"Yes. Considering you've made my burden lighter by taking care of them and the fact that you're innocent, yes," Leander answered slowly.
"Well, I'm not promising freedom from jail if you help because you have to face your punishment. We're not interested in helping you escape—especially since you set the ball rolling in this too," Trey said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Leander huffed, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. "But we might be able to appeal to the court to get you visitation rights—mostly from your daughter. Is that okay?"
"I'm not asking for anything in exchange for this help. But if you're willing, far be it from me to turn down visitation from my daughter." He twisted around to peek through the curtain again and Trey shared a look of confusion with Mitch who had been quietly taking notes.
When he turned back again, Trey asked, "Why do you keep looking out the window?"
"He planned on coming over today—you chose the wrong day," Leander said simply, sitting up. "Any more questions? We have to be quick."
"What is he really planning?"
"Aside from taking your money?" Trey nodded. "He made mention of taking the babies and your wife together with him to live happily," he replied with a scoff. "But I have a feeling there's more to it."
"How do we know we can trust you?"
"I'm not asking for your trust," he muttered. "I'd much rather you not go through the pain I went through—especially since you have unborn babies on the way."
That gave Trey a pause. "We need evidence that he has nudes of her, that he's monitoring her and that he's behind everything—including stealing my project."
"Done. Last one's easy though. He got his hands on one of your spy contact lenses that work as scanners. So, he didn't have to take them physically. But you should be able to get fingerprints on them or something."
"That is not available for public use, only for a specific clientele." He looked at Mitch. "We've got another problem. A possible mole is in my company. Either that, or he got it from a friend in this country's SIS."
"And an even bigger problem," Leander muttered, rising when he heard the low rumble of a car. He thought of how good it was that the room was only dimly lit. "Get on the ground and go down the hallway to the last door on the right. There's a loose bathroom tile on the wall.
"Shove it and go through the space that opens up, down the stairs and walk straight through the passage. It should lead you to the backroom of a coffee shop a street away. You can escape via the window. Hurry," he hissed. "And don't talk till you're all the way down the stairs."
Their earpieces crackled to life when they stepped into the hallway and straightened to their full heights, Mitchell's back to Trey as he watched to be sure Leander wasn't tricking them. "Need back up?" Billy asked.
Trey got to work trying to find the loose tile, while Mitch answered in a whisper, saying they'd brief them soon. The wall popped open like a door, and they went through, pulling it shut—not before they heard a voice that was undeniably Ethan's.
Trey fumbled for his phone and turned on his flashlight, silently urging Mitch to do the same. He put his small notebook and pen away and turned on his flashlight. Silently, Trey went down the musty place, wondering if it was ever cleaned.
There was so much dust that he pulled his shirt off, tying it around his mouth and nose, then followed Mitch down the stairs.
"I had a hard time trusting him," Mitch muttered with a slight cough. "I'm sorry for almost messing it up."
"You're good," Trey said, his voice muffled by the shirt.
"Are you okay?" Billy asked again.
"Yeah—surprisingly," Mitch mumbled, and Trey rolled his eyes though Mitchell couldn't see him. "We'll brief you when we get back."
"Alright. But do you need help with anything?"
Trey spoke this time—still through his shirt. "We'll need to be picked up. He said we should end up in a coffee shop. Is there a coffee shop a street away from his address?"
"We didn't hear half of what he said," Dustin said in the background. "Why do you sound like that?"
"The place we're walking in is dusty and he's asthmatic. Alexandra will kill us if we don't take him back in one piece." Trey shoved Mitch.
"Just tell them what I said," he said, his words muffled. Mitch was able to make it out because it was a bit loud in the quiet space.
"We're escaping Leander's because Ethan came over. We're supposed to end up in the backroom of a coffee shop. So, what Trey wants is for you to confirm whether there truly is a coffee shop a street away from his address," he explained.
"Okay," Dustin replied absently and they could hear him typing furiously; like he always did.
"Where are you now?" Billy asked in the meantime.
"Going through an underground escape tunnel," Mitch answered, brushing cobwebs off his arm. He glanced at Trey, wondering if he was okay. His torso was bare after all.
"Alright."
"There is a coffee shop a street away," Dustin confirmed. "Would you like back up to meet you there?"
"Just a car around the back," Mitch said. "We don't want too much attention." He paused to listen to Trey—whose speech was getting difficult—then relayed the message. "Trey wants you to have someone come for the other car."
"We'll do that."
Mitch looked at Trey with his light. Trey growled, squinting. He pushed Mitch's hand, directing the flashlight out of his face. "You sound terrible," Mitch muttered, frowning with realization. "When were you going to say it?"
"Definitely not going to waste more time—" he coughed, clutching his chest.
"Come on." Mitch grabbed onto his arm and dragged him the rest of the way. "I think we're almost there," he muttered—if the low hums he was hearing were indeed cars.
They stayed silent for the rest of the way, but Trey's cough progressed into wheezing for breath. Mitchell came to a stop where the tunnel ended and told Trey to go up the metal steps first. "See if you can get the top open. I'm right after you."
Trey pulled the shirt down, taking in a huge amount of air but ended up coughing. He trudged on ahead and used his fist to shove the top. It lifted easily into what looked like a dark stockroom.
Trey climbed out and gave Mitchell a hand up. "Back up here yet? Trey's wheezing." He watched Trey check his pockets—for an inhaler most probably.
"Yes. Go out of the window and you'll see them." Billy paused. "Can he make it?"
Trey gave a thumbs up, pressing down on the inhaler and sucked in the oxygen provided, counting to three. "He said he can. I'll give him a boost though. Let someone be on hand to help him down."
"Roger."
Shining his flashlight, Mitch found a stool and dragged it over to the window. "Come on. Climb up," he told Trey, pointing to the stool. Trey stood on it and unlatched the window, hoisting himself through as he struggled for breath. "People here to help yet?" Mitch asked.
"Yes," Billy replied at the same time Trey said the same. He gave Trey a little push and stood on the stool, watching as the men caught Trey and strained to lower him to the ground.
He pushed himself through and one helped him down as well. He grabbed a random stick and pushed the window close, ditching it to hold Trey who couldn't hold himself up anymore. He snatched the inhaler from Trey and pumped into his mouth, pausing for it to take effect. Then he was walking him to the car.
"It's not working," Trey said, coughing. "Highgate."
Mitch understood that one word. He dumped Trey in the backseat and closed the door, joining him via the other side. "Drive!"
"What's going on?" Billy asked when one of the men reversed out of the spot and began driving.
"It's gotten bad. We're going to the hospital."
"Would you like me to inform his family here at the house?" Billy asked hesitantly, referring to Melissa and Alexandra.
"No—" Trey groaned.
"Yes," Mitch replied, returning Trey's glare. "Tell them to meet us there—Highgate. But please, for the sake of his wife's condition, say it nicely."
"Got it."