The Good Killer Read online

  In exchange for that, Sean wanted a new beginning with Molly. It wasn’t too much to ask. Stealing from Adam Khadduri to pay for it seemed like justice.

  Even so, he might not have gone through with it. But the more he talked about it with Molly in the weeks that followed, the more it made sense. Sean knew Khadduri was rich, but he never realized how rich until Molly told him about the cylinder seals.

  The thing that clinched it was learning that Khadduri kept the seals in a safe in his house. It was a sign, Sean thought. It was the universe telling him to go right ahead.

  Because he knew someone who could crack a safe.

  *

  Khadduri lived on Elgin Avenue in Huntington Woods, one of Detroit’s northwestern suburbs. Sean and Cole drove there on the second Saturday in December. They parked on the street under tall, stark, leafless trees. It was snowing.

  “I don’t like it,” Sean said.

  “You worry too much,” said Cole.

  “We’ll leave footprints.”

  “Not if it keeps falling. It’ll cover everything up.”

  Sean switched off his car’s headlights. Drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “One thing,” Cole said.

  “What?”

  “Is that the only suit you own?”

  Sean touched the lapel of his jacket. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Black suit, black tie, white shirt. You look like a hit man.”

  “Funny.”

  Cole had on a blue blazer and khakis. His tie seemed like something from another decade: polyester with red and yellow stripes.

  “You look like you want to sell me a Buick,” Sean said. “And you’ll throw in the floor mats for free.”

  The suits were meant to be camouflage. No one expects a burglar to wear a suit.

  Cole looked out his window at a sprawling house with a single light on in one of the rooms on the second floor. The same light had been on for three nights in a row, which was why they had chosen to park here. They thought the owners must be out of town.

  Khadduri lived four houses down, on the other side of the street. From here, they had a good view of the end of his driveway.

  “How much do you think these houses run?” Cole asked. “Half a million?”

  “At least,” Sean said.

  “But not a million? Right?”

  “Maybe a million.”

  “No shit.”

  A green Ford Taurus appeared at the end of Khadduri’s driveway. It pulled into the street and drove off. They watched its taillights until it turned around a corner.

  “That’s the housekeeper,” Cole said.

  “Yup.”

  “Off to bingo night.”

  “Backgammon.”

  “Whatever. And the son is in Ann Arbor.”

  “U of M. He lives in a dorm on campus.”

  “Which leaves the Khadduri house empty. Except for good old Adam.”

  Another half hour passed before Adam Khadduri drove out in his Maserati and disappeared down the street.

  Sean and Cole had watched him three Saturday nights in a row. He always went out.

  “Perfect,” Cole said.

  Sean turned off the engine and pulled the key from the ignition. He reached for his door handle, but Cole stopped him.

  “One of us at a time,” Cole said. “We’ll look less dodgy. Wait three minutes and follow me.”

  “Will that be enough time?”

  “Should be.”

  It was. Three minutes later, Sean reached behind the passenger seat for the briefcase that was resting there. He carried it with him across the street and walked to the side door of Khadduri’s house. Cole was waiting for him in the mudroom, latex gloves on his hands, Tyvek booties over his shoes. He had picked the locks on the door and punched the code into Khadduri’s alarm system.

  Molly had given them the code. She had seen Khadduri’s housekeeper enter it once.

  Sean handed Cole the briefcase, then pulled his own gloves and booties from his pockets and slipped them on.

  With the door closed behind them and the dead bolt turned, they walked through the house to make sure it was empty. Cole clicked on a penlight and led the way. Khadduri lived well. His kitchen had terrazzo tiles on the floor and marble on the countertops. He had a huge farmhouse sink and a stovetop with eight burners. His refrigerator looked as wide as a tank.

  The rest of the house was equally extravagant, from the formal dining room to the basement entertainment center, which had a pool table, a wet bar, a leather sectional sofa, and a ninety-inch TV.

  The housekeeper had her own suite at the back of the second floor, with a separate staircase leading down to the pantry. There were five bedrooms in all, and Adam Khadduri had the largest. His closet was as big as a bedroom itself, and they found his safe where Molly said it would be: behind a sliding panel in the back wall.

  Cole aimed his penlight at the gray steel door. The dial was a few inches below eye level. The handle looked like a small steering wheel.

  “What do you think?” Sean said.

  “I think we could be out of here quick,” said Cole. “If Khadduri left this unlocked.”

  “Does that ever happen?”

  “My dad said he found one unlocked once. But he liked to tell stories.”

  Sean reached for the handle and tried to turn it. It didn’t budge.

  “Ah, well,” Cole said. “This could take a while.”

  He opened the briefcase and set it on the long, cushioned bench that occupied the middle of the closet. There were two empty backpacks inside, along with a pad and a pen.

  Cole loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar. Shed the blue blazer and laid it on the bench. He had a Colt Defender in a holster clipped to his belt. He unclipped it and tossed it onto the blazer.

  Sean lingered nearby with his hands on his hips.

  “Is that what you’re gonna do?” Cole said. “Hover?”

  Moving to the safe, Cole pressed his ear against the door and began working the dial. Sean picked up one of the backpacks and wandered into Khadduri’s bedroom.

  Opulent, he thought. That would be the word for it.

  The room held a king-size bed at one end and a seating area at the other, with two armchairs and a wall of built-in bookcases. The color scheme was gold and crimson. It carried over from the bedspread to the curtains to the rug.

  Sean saw a pair of wristwatches on top of a bureau: Bulgari and Rolex. There were others in one of the drawers: high-end brands he’d never heard of. Vacheron Constantin, Tag Heuer, Girard-Perregaux. Nine watches in all. Sean stowed them in his backpack. In a different drawer, under piles of neatly folded socks, he found a bundle of cash held together with a silver clip. He took that too.

  In the next thirty minutes he covered the whole house, gathering up anything small and valuable. When he came upstairs again, the backpack was full.

  From one of the guest rooms at the front of the house, he looked out at the street. Tiny snowflakes drifted through the air. He could see his car halfway down the block, undisturbed.

  He thought of Molly. She should be on the road now, driving to Toledo, where she would check in to a hotel. He would meet her there after this was done.

  He spent another minute looking at the snow and headed back to Khadduri’s bedroom. He found Cole in the walk-in closet with his ear against the door of the safe. Cole had put away his penlight and switched on the light overhead.

  Without turning, he said, “Close the door.”

  Sean closed it and walked to the bench in the center of the room. Looked down at the pad where Cole had written two numbers: 17 and 82.

  “You’re making progress,” he said.

  Cole grunted a reply and spent another five minutes working the dial. Then he pushed himself away from the safe and let out a frustrated breath. He stepped to the bench, favoring his right leg, and sat down.

  “Are you all right?” Sean asked.

  “Yeah.”
r />   “Does it hurt?”

  Cole flexed his right knee, bringing his leg up parallel to the floor. He wobbled his shoe from side to side, the one that covered his prosthetic.

  “If it hurts—” Sean began.

  “It doesn’t,” Cole said sharply. He looked away from Sean and back again. “It doesn’t hurt. The problem is, it’s asleep.”

  “Your leg’s asleep?”

  Cole laughed quietly. “Not my leg,” he said. “My foot. It’s not there, but it’s asleep.”

  He wobbled the shoe some more, bent his knee, bounced his heel on the carpet. He glanced up and caught Sean watching him.

  “Don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?” Sean said.

  “Pity.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Or whatever. Remorse. I don’t want either one.” Cole got up from the bench. “You’re not responsible for every goddamn thing.”

  Sean searched for a reply, but he never found one. A sound from outside set him moving.

  The rumble of a car pulling into the driveway.

  He skirted around the bench, snapped off the overhead light, and opened the door. Passed through to Khadduri’s bedroom and parted the heavy curtains on one of the windows so he could look down.

  Cole trailed behind him. “Is it Khadduri?”

  “No,” Sean said.

  “The housekeeper?”

  “I think it’s the son.”

  “What’s he driving?”

  “Would you believe a Ferrari?”

  Sean watched the doors open, saw a young guy climb out on the driver’s side. He wore a gray wool coat that looked expensive. A young woman climbed out on the other side. Black haired, beautiful, well dressed.

  She walked around behind the car to Khadduri’s son and slipped her hands inside his coat.

  “I’m cold,” she said.

  He got his arms around her and kissed her, and she tossed her head back, laughing. Snowflakes fell through the air around them like fairy dust.

  “They’re coming in,” Sean said. “He’ll see that the alarm’s not on.”

  “He won’t care,” said Cole.

  “Yeah?”

  “All he’s thinking about is getting laid.”

  They listened to the side door opening down below and closing again. Muffled voices from the kitchen.

  I can hang up your coat.

  Leave it.

  Quiet after that, punctuated by giggles.

  Cole headed back to the safe. Sean followed him, drawing shut the closet door.

  “This is bad,” Sean said, whispering.

  “Could be worse,” said Cole.

  “They’ll come up here.”

  “Maybe.”

  “This is where the beds are.”

  “There’s booze in the basement, and that leather sofa,” Cole said. He clicked on his penlight and pressed his ear against the steel door of the safe.

  He passed the light to Sean. “Hold this.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve only got one number left. And you know what the best part is?”

  “What?”

  “My foot’s not asleep anymore.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “It’s a little funny,” Cole said. “Hold the light. And get your gun out.”

  Sean had his Beretta in his jacket pocket. He could feel its weight at his side.

  “I’m not shooting them,” he said.

  “If you show them you’ve got it, you won’t need to shoot them.”

  Sean left the gun where it was. Cole’s fingers spun the dial of the safe.

  “They won’t come up here anyway,” Cole said. “They’ll go down to the basement.”

  He turned out to be right. After a few minutes Sean heard music rising up faintly from below. A woman’s voice. “Is that Adele?” he said.

  Cole nodded. “‘Daydreamer.’ Told you they were gonna screw.”

  Sean forced himself to stand still and hold the light.

  “We should leave,” he said. “While they’re distracted.”

  “You should shut up,” Cole said. “I’m almost done.”

  The dial clicked along under Cole’s fingers. Sean started shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a few minutes, Cole said, “Thirty-nine. Probably.”

  “Probably?”

  “I’m almost sure.”

  He had three numbers now, six possible combinations. Sean watched him go through them. When the fifth one came around and the handle wouldn’t turn, he saw Cole scowl.

  Cole spun the dial to the right. Four times around. Then he stepped back.

  “You do the last one.”

  Sean moved closer and reached for the dial. The light threw the shadows of his fingers over the steel. He found the first number: 82.

  The second: 39.

  The third: 17.

  He passed the light to Cole. Gripped the wheel with two gloved hands.

  It turned.

  “Hot damn,” Cole said.

  The door was heavy. Sean drew it open and Cole aimed the flashlight inside. The beam found a tray of gold coins. Beside it: stacks of cash. On another shelf, there were three carved wooden boxes.

  Sean opened one of them. It held sixteen cylinder seals.

  Cole picked one out and held it up to study it in the light.

  “So these are what all the fuss is about,” he said.

  He slipped the stone into his pocket. Sean loaded the wooden boxes into the second backpack. The cash and coins fit neatly into the briefcase.

  Sean shut the door of the safe and spun the dial as Cole got into his jacket and clipped the holstered Colt to his belt.

  They moved the sliding panel back into place, and the closet looked the way it had before.

  Sean took the lead now, moving through Khadduri’s bedroom and into the hallway. They each carried a backpack, and Sean had the briefcase. He stopped and listened in the dark and heard only the music from the basement.

  He motioned for Cole to follow him to the housekeeper’s room, and from there they went down the back stairway, through the pantry and the kitchen to the mudroom.

  Khadduri’s son had engaged the dead bolt after he came in. Sean turned it and eased the door open. He stepped out and took the Tyvek covers off his shoes, peeled the gloves from his hands.

  Cole came out after him and got out his lock pick and tension rod to reengage the dead bolt.

  “Leave it,” Sean said.

  Cole waved him off. “It’ll take thirty seconds.”

  It seemed longer. Sean felt snowflakes gathering in his hair. Finally Cole said, “Done,” and stripped off his gloves. He leaned on Sean for balance and removed the covers from his shoes, and the two of them made their way down Khadduri’s driveway, leaving footprints they hoped the snow would blanket over.

  Two things struck Sean as they reached the end of the driveway: The empty house in front of which he’d parked his car was no longer empty; there were lights on in the downstairs rooms. And a man was standing in the street by the car with a cell phone to his ear.

  “Don’t panic,” Cole said softly.

  “I won’t if you won’t,” Sean said.

  They kept walking and the man on the street put his phone away and waved at them. He was dressed for the weather: winter boots, corduroys, a hooded parka. As they got closer, Sean saw that he was older, maybe sixty, with thinning gray hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.

  Sean noted something else too: a scrape ran all along the driver’s side of his car, and the side mirror had been clipped off.

  “I saw who did it,” the man in the parka said.

  Sean reached the car, popped the trunk, and laid the briefcase inside.

  “Couple of kids in a Chevy van,” the man in the parka said. “I saw them from my driveway. Just got home from a trip.”

  Sean slipped his backpack off his shoulder and placed it beside the briefcase.

  “They stoppe
d at the end of the block there, to check the damage to their van,” the parka man said. “Never thought twice about your car. Just drove off. I got their license number.”

  He had written it in ink on his arm. He pulled up the sleeve of his coat to show Sean.

  “That’s great,” Sean said.

  It came out dull. Mechanical. The man in the parka seemed disappointed. As if he’d been hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction.

  “Ticks me off,” he said. “No one takes responsibility anymore. Punks. I called the cops on them.”

  Cole stepped in. “Really?” he said.

  “Absolutely,” said the parka man. “They’re coming out. I hope you fellas don’t mind waiting.”

  “I wouldn’t think they’d bother,” Cole said. “For something minor like this.”

  “Ordinarily they might not,” the parka man said with a wink. “But I know some guys on the force. My wife worked as a dispatcher for twenty years.”

  “The thing is,” Sean said, “we don’t want to be here all night.” He gestured at the damage. “I’d rather take care of this myself.”

  The parka man gave him a disapproving look. “It won’t take long. They’ll just need your information, for the report.”

  “Even so—”

  “People around here take pride in this neighborhood. You let the small things go, pretty soon the whole world goes to hell.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Cole said.

  Cole swung his backpack into the trunk and closed the lid. Looked Sean in the eye and said, “Why don’t you go find the mirror.”

  Sean tried to read his expression. Cole saw him doing it and smiled, relaxed. “Go on,” he said. “We’re good.”

  The mirror wasn’t hard to find. It had traveled a little way down the street, and the snow had dusted it lightly. Sean picked it up and brought it back. The man in the parka was telling Cole stories of suburban crime.

  “This past spring, somebody broke into my wife’s car and stole a bag of groceries and a phone charger. Smashed a window to do it. Who breaks a window for a bag of groceries?”

  “I hear you,” Cole said.