Michael Lister - Soldier 02 - The Big Beyond (15 page)

Chapter 39

W
hen I finally got to De Grasse’s place, Clip was gone.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why.

Butch was in his squad car, windows down, smoking, and generally looking bored.

The sun was directly overhead, the late November day bright and clear. The temperature was hovering in the low fifties, but the wind off the water made it seem colder.

I was just going to turn around, but he waved me over. I pulled into the spot next to him, my car facing the opposite of his, and rolled down the window.

“Jimmy.”

“Butch.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Looking for someone.”

“Misplace your nigger again?”

Ignoring him, I asked, “Any sign of De Grasse?”

He shook his head. “He ain’t comin’ back here. This is a complete waste.”

“Well, they picked the right man for that.”

“Fuck you, Riley. Acting all high and mighty now. Don’t think you’re untouchable. Way I see it, your neck is still in the noose.”

“I have no doubt that’s the way you see it,” I said. “Long as you’re wearing a badge I’m sure it’s true.”

“Yeah, well, don’t forget it.”

A few boats bobbed in the bay, a few gulls swooped around, but there was no sign of other people as far as I could see in any direction.

“You thought any more about what might’ve happened to Pete?” I asked.

“Think about it all the time. He was my partner for God’s sake. Nothing new has come to mind. Why?”

“Everywhere I look’s a dead end,” I said. “I really thought Howell and Walt must have done something to him when he got there, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Just think they were probably gone by the time he got there. What if he never even made it? You looked into any of his old cases? Any threats? Anybody get out that he put away?”

Butch frowned. “Just thought it was you. Or maybe that fat fuck Howell. Haven’t looked any further.”

“I really think that’d be a good use of your time,” I said. “I know how you hate wasting it.”

“S
omebody squawked,” Pat Newton, the chief of police, was saying, “and tomorrow it’ll be splashed all over the front page of the paper.”

He was a smallish man with a halo of white hair around a shiny dome head sitting in a huge chair behind an enormous desk.

I was standing outside his office, but could hear everything being said. Lewis was inside with him and Henry Folsom. I was providing security for the mayor and was grateful for the thin walls and door and the raised voices.

It was later that afternoon, and I was tagging along with Harry in case anyone tried to make good on the threats they’d made. I had still not heard from Clip and he wasn’t at his house when I stopped by before meeting Harry at the bank.

“Just make our job that much harder,” Folsom said.

Newton’s secretary, a plain woman pretending not to be listening, had switched from typing to something less noisy not long after the meeting began. Her name was Penny and her pale skin bore no makeup and her dishwater blond hair was pulled back into a long ponytail.

“We gotta get out in front of it,” Harry said. “Issue a statement or hold a press conference. We can’t look like we’re caught off guard, can’t seem like we’ve been lying to the public.”

“We haven’t,” Folsom said.

“Well, maybe not, but you’ve certainly been withholding a hell of a lot. And I’m talking about how it looks. That’s what matters, how the public will perceive it.”

“What matters is catching the sick sex killer,” Folsom said. “Not much else.”

“That’s something we won’t get to do if we lose our jobs,” Lewis said, then looking at Newton continued, “You know you’ll be the first to get sacked. It’s years until I’m up for reelection. I can weather this, but not you. I’m trying to help ’cause I want this maniac caught and I think you, your department, has the best chance of doing that. To bring in someone new now to take over would be … disastrous.”

“I agree,” Newton said. “How can we ensure that doesn’t happen?”

“We’ve got to catch him,” Folsom said. “And soon. And not just to save our jobs, but because of what he’s doing to our young ladies.”

“Of course. Nobody’s arguing we shouldn’t do all we can to catch him. And I trust you are. But it hasn’t resulted in his arrest yet. Hell, if it weren’t for Jimmy we wouldn’t have any leads at all. All I’m saying is that while you’re trying to catch him, we’ve got to get out in front of this where the public is concerned. Let’s attack it head on. Release a statement, hold a press conference, hell, I’ll even pay for a full-page ad in the paper to tell our side of the story.”

“Who you think their source is?” Folsom asked.

“Riley?” Newton asked.

Penny shot me a surreptitious glance. I held a finger up to my lips. She quickly looked away, acting as if she hadn’t seen me.

“No,” Folsom said. “No way.”

“Of course it’s not Jimmy,” Harry said. “Probably that little puff who runs the gallery.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“I think you should use Jimmy,” Harry said. “He’s the only one to come up with anything so far.”

“Isn’t he too busy guarding your body, Mr. Mayor?”

“I’m serious.”

“I can’t have a civilian working one of our cases.”

“Then give him his old job back.”

“Harry, he’s missing an arm—and he’s still a suspect in a murder investigation.”

Penny was far less surreptitious this time. I made a gun with my thumb and forefinger and pointed it at her. Her pale skin flushed a deep pink and she grabbed at the charm on her necklace as if it were a talisman.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Newton continued. “I appreciate what he did. But now all we need to do is locate this De Grasse fella.”

Delton Rogers saw me as he passed by in the hall and came into Penny’s office.

“Hiya, Jimmy,” he said, looking confused. “Whatta you doing?”

“Trailing the mayor. You?”

“Ran that tag for you.”

“Yeah? Thanks.”

“Car is registered to Panama City State Bank. What’s that mean?”

“Probably stolen. Maybe a repo. Could still have had it from back when he worked for Mr. Lewis. I’ll ask him. Any news on De Grasse?”

He shook his head. “But it’s just a matter of time.”

I smiled. “Hope you’re right.”

“Usually am,” he said. “Well, see you around, pal.”

“Thanks again for the info.”

Chapter 40

“I
need to talk to you about something sensitive,” I said.

“Okay,” Harry said.

We were in the backseat of his car, the partition between us and his driver closed, Harry looking old and tired, his face flushed, his breath smelling of alcohol.

“But before I do … remember how I told you I had seen Walt?”

“Yeah?”

“The car he was driving was registered to your bank.”

“Really? Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“I’ll check when we get back to see if one’s missing. Of course he may still have the one he drove back when he pretended to work for me. I guess that’s possible too. I don’t really keep up with those sorts of things very well. I’ll find out and let you know. Hate to think he has anything of mine.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“So, on to the sensitive topic,” he said.

“I know a while back you hired Ray to follow Lauren.”

“That was a long time ago,” he said, sounding both defensive and dismissive. “What about it?”

“You suspected her of … having a relationship with … someone else.”

“Not exactly, no,” he said. “What’s this about?”

The driver drove around downtown as we talked, moving slowly in the traffic—passing the Cove Hotel on Cherry, the Sherman on Fifth, the Cove Gardens on Watson Bayou, the National Guard Armory on Sixth, the post office at the corner of Fifth and Jenks.

“I’m trying to find all those responsible for her death,” I said. “In the process I’ve uncovered a few things that made me realize I don’t know as much as I thought I did.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know who Lauren was seeing?”

“You mean besides you?”

I hesitated, and before I could say anything, he spoke again.

“Lauren was like a daughter to me. You know that. I knew she had lovers—or that she might. I know how much you meant to her, how much you meant to each other. I didn’t hire Ray to find out if she was having a relationship so much as find out who it was with. I was planning to make my bid for mayor and I was trying to figure out what I’d be up against when I did.”

“Do you remember any names?”

“Never heard any. Decided I was running either way so figured it was a waste of time and money. If something came up or out, we’d deal with it then.”

“So you never got any—”

“Never got anything. And I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Forget what Ray found or didn’t. Do you know of anyone? Did you suspect anyone?”

“Just you … and … the priest.”

“Father Keller?”

He nodded.

“I know how much both of you meant to her, how much y’all did for her. I appreciate you both more than you’ll ever know. You don’t have any children, but if you ever do you’ll know what I’m talking about. Anyone who is good and kind to your child becomes a treasure to you.”

I thought about what he had said.

“It makes no difference to me,” he said, “but based on her letter and what I’ve learned about my extraordinary girl, I don’t think she was intimate with the priest. He
also
was like a father to her.” He laughed as he realized what he had said. “In more ways than one.”

I was pretty sure Lauren’s relationship with Keller had not been sexual. So who had given her the disease that had killed her? Would I ever find out? And, if I was going to, how?

When we reached Panama City State Bank on Harrison, the driver pulled up so that Harry was next to the curb.

He started to slide forward on the seat, but stopped, hesitating there like that a moment.

“You okay?”

“I’ve wanted to be mayor of this town for as long as I can remember.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m just not sure I’m up to it.”

“You’re tired and—”

“There’s just so much to it,” he said. “I had no idea. And everybody’s unhappy about something. I’ve just gotten in office and … It doesn’t matter. You’re right. I’m just tired. I need a drink. Let’s just get to my office.”

“Okay. You ready?”

He nodded.

I got out, walked around the back of the car and opened the door for him.

The sidewalk was as crowded with pedestrians as Harrison was with vehicles, and we paused for a moment to let a young mother pushing a large baby carriage pass by.

As we began walking, I glanced around, trying to keep my vision wide and unfocused, taking in as much as I could of the activity.

When we were about halfway between the car and the entrance to the bank, an unkempt man in gray trousers and a plain white T-shirt rushed around the end of a large gray bus idling in traffic, a handgun held up and out.

He had too long thick black hair and dark stubble on a pale face.

“We told you, Harry Lewis,” he yelled in a thick Middle Eastern accent. “You will not escape our wrath.”

Then he began firing.

The first round pierced the glass of the right side of the double doors and hit something solid inside.

Screams.

Panic.

Running.

Tripping.

Scattering.

Pandemonium.

The second round hit the brick on the right side of the bank front just a few inches from the head of the young mother.

The man was still twenty-five feet away and running. The chances of him hitting anything he meant to were slim.

Grabbing Harry across the chest, I brought my right leg around and swept his feet out from beneath him. Pushing him with my arm, I dropped him to the ground.

I then turned and placed myself between the young mother and the shooter as I reached in my coat for my gun.

The next round hit a fat business man exiting the bank in the back of the neck. He went down as blood began spurting from the wound.

That ratcheted up the panic and pandemonium a few more notches.

The shooter was on the sidewalk now less than twenty feet away, and as he saw me attempting to withdraw my weapon, he pointed his gun directly at me.

Awkwardly I fumbled to retrieve the revolver, but I had not yet cleared leather when the shooter’s head exploded.

I turned toward the direction of the shot and saw Harry’s driver, his door open, holding a gun of his own, using the roof of the car to steady his shot.

The shooter crumpled to the sidewalk, dropping his weapon, his right leg bent back beneath his body, which was now splayed across the cement, a halo of blood and brain matter around what was left of his head.

Panicking people continued to yell and scream and run, but the episode was over, and I helped Harry to his feet, realizing how much better the wound in my abdomen had been doing now that it was beginning to twinge again.

“You okay?” I asked.

A young serviceman in uniform knelt down beside the fat businessman and applied pressure to the wound in his neck while yelling for someone to call an ambulance.

“Yeah, just a little shaken up, but I’m fine.”

I looked over at the driver and nodded.

He nodded back as he holstered his weapon.

There was nothing remarkable or distinguishing about him. He was just an average man, his black uniform making him even more nondescript.

“Thank you, Timothy,” Harry said.

“I’m not sure you need me,” I said. “Timothy has both arms
and
knows how to use them.”

Chapter 41

F
ollowing the press conference and getting Harry in for the night, I arrived back at Ruth Ann’s to find the house empty.

I had come to gather up the last of my things and get the information on the victims she had for me.

Unlike the other times I had returned to find her gone, there was no note letting me know where she was and how long she’d be.

Of course, not only was she not expecting me, but I was sure, despite what she said, she was still sore about what happened last night.

Before packing up everything, I decided to clean up and change, letting my mind soak in the details of the investigation the way my body was the water.

Later, as I pulled together my things, I came across Lauren’s letter and sat down and began reading it again.

My Dearest Jimmy,

I have so much to say to you and such a short time to say it. If you’re reading this, then chances are I died. Those chances are looking more and more likely these days, and I don’t want that to happen without me getting to tell you just how much I love you.

I know you don’t understand right now, but I do love you more deeply, more profoundly than you can imagine. I’ve never loved anyone like this, never been loved by anyone the way you have loved me. Even now, I know you love me. I hear it in every cruel, sarcastic remark, see it in your anger and frustration, have felt it in all the ways you’ve tried to help me lately without even knowing what’s been going on.

Meeting you has saved me. Being with you has caused me to wake up. Our love, mine for you and yours for me, has forever changed me. And though it is us, from us, a part of us, it also is beyond us. Through you I’ve experienced a love that I can only describe as divine.

This experience has been overwhelming for me, and I know I have not handled it well. I’m so very sorry for that. I know you’ve not understood and that you’ve felt betrayed, rejected, abandoned. I can see why you would feel that way, but in my heart, in my actions, I have never done anything but love and care for you. I just wish now that I had done those things better.

Please forgive me. Please know how very deeply I love you. Please don’t ever stop loving me that same way.

And do yourself a favor and look to the source of your love for me, my love for you. There is a reality beyond what we can see.

Forgive me. Forgive Harry. Forgive yourself.

Quit trying to save the world. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself. Do your best, which is plenty, then step back, let go, move on.

There’s so much more I want to say, but I’m out of time. You and I were always out of time, weren’t we?

But you know the big beyond I was talking about, the source of all love, it’s a timeless place, and we’ll be there together soon. Open yourself up to it. I’ll be waiting for you there. Join me, Jimmy. When your time here is done—and don’t rush it! There’s no rush. We’ll have eternity.

I just thought of something. This is all you need to do. You know the way you love me? Open yourself up to the source of that love and love yourself and others that same way. See you soon, my dear strong soldier.

All my love, all of me,

Your Lauren

When I finished, I wiped at the tears streaming from my eyes and just sat there—sat with her, with her words, with our love.

Eventually, I folded it back up, returned it to its envelope, and placed it back inside the priest’s Bible.

As I put the Bible back in the box in the corner, Ruth Ann’s file folder of information about the victims caught my eye, and I sat down at the table, opened it, and began flipping through it.

As she had indicated, the file was incomplete, but there was still plenty in it.

The first thing that struck me was how alike all the girls looked. It was true they had looked similar in death, but that was no comparison to the way they resembled one another in life.

Of the five victims so far, there were only three pictures, but the three that were there looked nearly identical, as if sisters—triplets even.

The wound in my abdomen began aching as my heart sank into it when I realized how much each victim looked like Lauren. Of course, none of them were quite as pretty, not quite as perfect, but their brown eyes and dark hair and sexy mouths and narrow arching eyebrows resembled Lauren’s.

And then I saw the list of names and knew why.

I recognized two of them.

Lauren’s words echoed in my mind.

“Of the infidelity cases you investigate, how many of the people turn out to be cheating? How many? I want to know.”

It was her first visit to my office. Like so many others before her, she had come to hire me to see if her husband was cheating on her.

“So, of the cases
you’ve
worked, how many were guilty of cheating?” she asked.

“All of them,” I said.

“I love my husband, Mr. Riley. Like a father. I’m not
in
love with him—not like a wife. I care about him a great deal. I owe him … well, everything. But if I knew he had someone … It would be a great comfort to me.”

He had had someone—a few of them—the discovery of which helped us justify what we were doing.

I had followed Harry Lewis for his wife what seemed like a lifetime ago. I didn’t remember everything about the case, but I distinctly recall the joy at uncovering his unfaithfulness and at least two of the names of the girls he was seeing—names that were on the list of victims.