Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (33 page)

“Not drinking? It's a bitch, but I can make it.”

She laughed — a raucous, throat-racking laugh. The kind of laugh you'd expect of the dead. So far, Dan told her, he'd had it relatively easy: no chills, no shakes, no scary bugs crawling over his skin at night. Only a slight hand wobble and a constant urge to do something — anything — to keep his mind off what he couldn't have. Alcohol. The god-demon-lover-bitch.

“I never did get the hang of it myself.” She held a hand in front of him. “How many fingers do you see, Danny?”

Dan squinted. The fingers kept changing. “Four. No, five.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“Look again. How many fingers?”

He looked and was surprised by what he saw. “Thirteen. At least.”

Look ma, no hands.

He was a zombie at work the next morning. But a dry zombie. Normally a slug of Scotch from the bottom drawer would have revved his motor for an hour. Without it he felt beat. But he was determined not to break his promise to Ked.

He played his messages after lunch. Pete Saylor had called to say he'd learned what the missing Killingworth file contained. M.H. Not someone's initials, but “Medical History.” Dan was elated — that meant it contained Craig Killingworth's side of the story. So there was hope. Saylor had called a second time a few minutes later, his voice sounding more urgent, saying he needed to talk to Dan as soon as possible, but not to call him at work. He could be reached at home later that afternoon. He left his number. The message made Dan curious, but it would have to wait.

Sally had left a new batch of files on his desk. The one on top was for another missing runaway — this one a nine-year-old girl. At three o'clock, he had a meeting with a client who wanted to update Dan on the status of her son, whom Dan had successfully tracked down a month earlier, only to have him vanish again. Still, it was good news, of a sort. He'd used his health card at a walk-in clinic in another city and been referred to a depression specialist. It seemed to be catching, Dan noted.

The day spun itself out and Dan left early. He'd just taken off his jacket and hung it up in the hall closet when he remembered Saylor's message. He fished in his pocket for the number he'd scribbled on the back of an envelope.

The knock came before he could find the number. The officer was polite. He offered Dan a dopey grin as he flashed a copy of the search warrant. Without a look at Dan, his team swarmed into the house.

Dan watched, his face set to impassive as they tore apart his home. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of letting them see him disturbed. Larry Fiske came to mind first, followed by Commissioner Burgess and the surprising news that someone had been to the same bank in Bloomfield on “police business” a week before Dan got there. He seethed in silence. Nothing was spared. They were surprisingly methodical. At least his sofa cushions were zip-ins. They hadn't had to slice them open and toss the stuffing around in the process.

In the middle of it, Dan checked his watch: he was due to pick Ked up in twenty minutes. He caught Kendra at home and told her what was going on. She agreed to take Ked for the next little while and asked if he wanted her to contact a lawyer.

“Not yet,” he said.

Ralph growled every time something got toppled to the floor, eyeing Dan as though waiting for the command to attack. Dan felt proud of him. Shoes ended up beside cushions and books and household cleaning products, making a total hodge-podge of things. They even upended his plants, dumping the soil onto a plastic roll. The place was a Robert Rauschenberg universe of mismatched items.

“If you tell me what you're looking for, I might spare you the bother.”

“Sorry, sir — it's just orders. I really can't say more than that.”

“There are no drugs in my house,” Dan said, though he doubted that was what they were really after. “Who authorized this?”

The officer shook his head. “Just orders, sir.”

Dan knew he'd get nothing out of him. He let them do their dirty work. It was more than four hours before the officer nodded ruefully at him and they left empty-handed. He thought of Saylor's message again. No need to call back now.

Dan felt sickened and violated as he surveyed the state of his home. He made a half-hearted attempt to restore order then gave up. It was impossible to decide where to start. Even the wall calendar was ajar, as if the wise mother and her joyful brood had lost their taste for gravity. He gave up and took Ralph for a much-needed walk.

Upstairs at Spring Rolls, lunch hour was in full swing. Donny listened to Dan describe the previous night's events as he struggled with his chopsticks. It was the only thing Dan had ever seen him look incompetent at.

“They did everything but crawl up my ass.”

“That would have been cosy.”

Dan cocked a baleful eye at him.

“And what were they looking for, do you think? Pirated DVDs? Stolen iPods? Teenage runaways?”

“I think they were looking for Craig Killingworth's diary,” Dan said.

“Yeah — me too. Funny, that.” Donny raised a noodle to his face. It fell just before it reached his mouth.

Dan watched impatiently. “So — what did you think?”

“I read it.” Donny reached for a fork and speared a cut of chicken.

“And?”

“Deplorable, nasty, unsettling, sick. I wouldn't wish his wife on my worst enemy.”

“But do you agree she was directly responsible for his suicide?”

Donny chewed contemplatively, buying time before he spoke. “I think Craig Killingworth sounds like a man who was desperate. A man who had tried to commit suicide once and failed, and might very well try again. But what good is it going to do you to track this down? Why not just hand it over to the family and be done with it?
Before
you get arrested for handling stolen property. Or worse,” he added darkly.

Dan stared in disbelief. “The family? Have you heard a word I said? The family is who I'm keeping it from!”

“Why can't you just accept that the man changed his mind and went east instead of west? It wouldn't be the first time a man living under duress made a snap decision. He was feeling pressured by his wife as well as his lover and he just couldn't handle it. So he got on the ferry, crossed to the other side and disappeared down the road.”

Dan shook his head. “There are so many things that don't make sense. He was leaving town on a bicycle without taking any of his belongings? Give me a break! And why not stay and fight it out?”

“The diary tells you why — he'd cracked. She'd won. He just gave up the battle, rode out of town on his bicycle.…”

“…and was never heard from again. Come on! You don't believe that any more than I do.”

Donny held up a finger. “It's not what I believe. It's what makes sense for you to live with. That may be as close to an answer as you get. There's no proof he's dead. And if he is, there's no proof she knowingly participated in his suicide or even that she handed him the razor blades and stood by and watched.”

Dan narrowed his eyes. “So what are you saying?”

“Think about why you're doing this.”

Dan shook his head in exasperation.

“No, really,” Donny said. “If you go down this road any further, you'll be stuck in a dead man's world.” Dan grimaced at the words. “Whatever happened, it was his choice. If he died, he died by his own hand. It was terrible what she drove him to, but it's too late to save him now.”

Dan looked out the window and watched the sprawl of traffic. The waiter gathered Dan's empty plate and gave a look of contempt at Donny's half-full one. Donny uncharacteristically waited till the man left before speaking again, this time in softer tones.

“Think about it. They've torn apart your house and threatened you with a lawsuit — which by your own admission you came close to deserving.” Dan glanced up sharply, but Donny silenced him. “Who's the one person you've really been scratching around in the dirt trying to find all these years?” Dan shook his head. “Well, let me tell you, Daniel. That person is you. That's who you really need to find. And before it's too late.” Donny handed over the diary. “For now, I'd say you're very lucky they didn't find this.”

“Did you make the copies?”

Donny sighed and nodded his head. “Yes, I made the copies. I stood in Kinko's for an hour and a half turning pages. You owe me big time again. Not to mention the mounting babysitting charges.”

He'd walked Ralph and was nearly ready to settle in himself. The phone rang and Ked's excited voice cut through the wires. “Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Ked. How are things at your mom's?”

“Fine. She's not as good a cook as you, though. When can I come home?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

Dan thought how much he'd missed his son in the few days they'd been apart.

“Are you going to tell me what's going on then?”

“Soon … real soon.”

“Is it some kind of secret mission you're on?”

“Something like that. Listen, how's school?”

“Good. Eph got an A+ in English. His paper on
Blade Runner
blew us all away. The teacher made him read it aloud in class. She said it was the best paper she'd ever had.”

Dan thought about this for a moment. “Why wasn't your paper that good?”

“Give me a break! Isn't it enough that I have a genius for a best friend? Do I have to be one too?” Ked thought about for it a moment. “He sucks at basketball, though.”

Dan got up before six, in the dark. He called to leave a message for Sally saying he was taking a few days off and asking her to cancel his appointments. He set the diary on his desk in his calm, green-toned office. He'd thought long and hard about what he was about to do. He picked up the phone again and dialled the law firm that had requested him to find Craig Killingworth. He heard it ringing in someone's empty office until the answering service picked up. He spoke slowly and clearly. He had proof of what happened to Craig Killingworth, he said, and would turn it over once the person who was paying him revealed him or herself, but not before. Fuck his job — he'd quit before he went any further without knowing who wanted him to prove that a man was dead.

He spent the morning restoring his home to some semblance of order. He discovered things he'd forgot he had, including a few knick-knacks going back all the way to his time with Bob. It was unsettling how physical objects brought back the past, as if it lay waiting around the corner and could return of its own volition at any time.

A solicitor called in the afternoon. His client had agreed to meet with Dan the following afternoon. When he hung up, Dan wasn't a hundred percent sure which one it would be, but he had a pretty good idea.

He'd just sat down to supper when he was startled by the doorbell. Had the police returned? This time they
would
find Craig's diary, if they had. He pulled the curtains aside carefully and looked out. At first it didn't register. There was a gathering of small figures, including a miniature nun and several others wearing animal masks. He opened the door.

“Trick or treat!” they screamed.

He'd forgotten entirely. He went back in and scrounged around the kitchen, still very much in disarray. At first he couldn't find what he wanted. Then he saw it, overturned and dumped on the shelf under the sink. It was intact. Even Ked hadn't been able to find it. He returned to the porch and handed over his secret stash of Kit Kat chocolate bars.

The following day at three o'clock, Dan turned up at the coffee shop on College Street to find Ted Killingworth waiting. He looked much as Dan remembered — black turtleneck, rock star glasses, and a silver strand around his neck. Everything pricey. Everything annoying.

“Surprised?” Ted asked from behind the cobalt glare of his lenses.

“Should I be?”

“No. You're a very smart man. That's why I hired you.”

Dan waited. He wasn't going to make things easy for Ted.

“I suppose you're wondering why I hired you to find my father after all these years.”

“It's not my business to know why.”

“No, but I have a strong suspicion that you find me a trifle on the despicable side.” Ted waited, but Dan gave no response. “I'd like very much to reassure you as to my motives.”

Dan nodded. “Shoot.”

“I spent years trying to understand why my father left, but I never found a satisfactory answer. Sometimes I hated him” — he shrugged — “mostly I hated him. But other times I wondered and even worried about him. Why didn't he care enough to let us know how he was? The days of wondering are mostly behind me now, but I've been an addict for most of my adult life and I feel as though I've spent too many years paying for something that wasn't my fault.” He removed his sunglasses. The dull glaze was gone. “For the record, I'm in recovery. At least that's what they call it.”

Dan offered a smile, his first concession in Ted's direction. “How's it been so far?”

“The first week was like a year in hell, the second even longer. Some days it rains fire in my hands and back, other times I feel like I might implode.” He looked at Dan. “You've caught me at a vulnerable moment. I think that's the reason I'm here right now.”

“You think that learning what happened to your father will undo some of the damage?”

“Maybe. At the very least I'm hoping it will give me some peace of mind.” Ted suddenly looked worried. “Will I be shocked by what you've found?”

“You might. What are you expecting?”

Ted considered this. “I don't think he's alive. I'd be very surprised if you told me otherwise. I never really bought the story that he left us for another woman. I think we would have heard from him eventually. I think
something
happened to him, but I don't know what.”

“Your instincts were right. As far as I can tell, he isn't alive. When I said I had proof, I meant proof of a sort. I can't produce his body. As for why he left, it wasn't for another woman.” Dan caught Ted's glance and held it. “Your father was planning to leave your mother for another man: a gardener named Magnus Ferguson.”

Ted's mouth gaped. He recovered quickly. “Okay, well — you've delivered on your promise to shock me. Can you prove it?”

Dan walked him through the evidence, explaining his father's relationship with Magnus, the false charges concerning the assault on his mother. He brought out the letter Ted's father had sent to Magnus the day he killed himself, laying it on the table as Dan explained what he knew and what he'd merely surmised.

Ted looked at it for a moment then looked away, marshalling his composure. “I assumed he was dead, but it never occurred to me that he might have killed himself.” He smiled ruefully. “I shouldn't have had a hard time coming to that conclusion. Like father, like son. I've been trying to kill myself for years.”

Dan handed him the diary along with his father's letter. Ted pushed them back across the table. “You keep them,” he said.

“I've got copies on file.”

Ted shook his head. His voice came out a crabbed whisper. “You keep them. I can't bear to touch them.”

Dan returned the diary and letter to his case. “What are you going to do now?”

Ted looked out the window. “I'm going to tell her that I know.”

“You'll destroy whatever relationships exist in your family.”

“I know,” Ted said, looking back at Dan. “It's what I intend to do. At least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I've destroyed her in return. And I won't stop there. I'll make sure everyone she knows and respects hears what she did.”

“It won't bring your father back.”

“No, it won't.” Ted seemed to be considering this. “Is there any chance of reopening the case?”

“To bring criminal charges against your mother?”

Ted nodded.

“She could probably be charged with aggravated assault or causing mental anguish with intent to harm. Something like that.”

“But you don't think it's very strong.” It wasn't a question.

“I'm not a lawyer, Ted. You'd have to ask someone better informed about such things. The diary and tape are pretty strong evidence, but there's still no body. No proof.”

“She didn't kill him with her own hands, but she might as well have. Why is there no justice for such things? All these years she let us think …”

“What? That he was alive? That he left because of another woman? Would it have made a difference if you'd known the truth?”

“Look at me!” The voice was quiet, but insistent. “Look at what I've become. This is what not knowing has done. She told me … she told me he left because he didn't give a fuck about us. And I believed her. Thom and I both believed her. I spent twenty years believing it, and hating him for it, and this is what it's done to me.”

“I understand. But you might want to think about it, all the same.”

“I'll think about it.” Ted got unsteadily to his feet. “Believe it or not, I'm very glad to have met you.” He pulled on his overcoat and nodded at Dan. “It's my birthday today,” he said. “I'm thirty-five years old. Time to start living.”

The door closed behind him. Avril Lavigne droned under the whir of a cappuccino machine grinding the coffee to strength. Dan was glad finally to be able to call the case closed. He hadn't found Craig Killingworth, but what he'd found had brought the man back to one of his sons, at least. Where there had been a blackened reputation — shame and hatred and a damaged psyche — now there could begin the restoration of a proper memory, for whatever it was worth.

If and when the day came that Craig Killingworth's bones could be scooped out of the bay, Dan thought, that part of him could be put to rest as well. Till then, at least, there was this small triumph to be thankful for.