Michael Lister - Soldier 02 - The Big Beyond (5 page)

Chapter 10

T
he next morning I awoke in Ruth Ann’s bed to the smell of coffee and eggs and bacon. She was standing in the doorway holding a tray of breakfast, a paper on one side, a vase of fresh-cut flowers on the back corner of the other.

There was something different about her and it took me a minute to catch up to what it was. She had dyed her hair and was now a brunette. It was fixed differently too—sort of down on one side.

In fact, it seemed that everything about her was different.

“Morning, soldier,” she said. “How ya feelin’?”

I gave her a groan and tried to sit up.

My shirt was off, my piece of right arm exposed—sending my already heightened self-consciousness into the hyperactivity of a hophead.

It took a while, but I finally managed a sort of semi-upright position, the pain in my abdomen making me nauseous and lightheaded. Quickly and awkwardly, I yanked the thin sheet and bedspread up, using my still uncomfortable left hand to cover my right shoulder and stump.

“Hope you’re hungry. You’re gonna need your strength, you keep doing all you’re doing, fella.”

I gave her a half-hearted smile and thanked her.

“Eat this and I’ll give you something for that pain,” she said, nodding toward my midsection as she placed the tray in my lap. Touching my stubbled face tenderly, she added, “I worry about you, soldier. I really do. You
trying
to kill yourself?”

“Not actively, no.”

“Trying or not … you’re doing a pretty damn good job of it.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Eat up. I’ll be back in a minute with something that’ll make you want to marry me.”

When she left, I forced myself to eat a little though I had no appetite. The bacon was thick and crispy and the coffee was hot and strong, and I wondered again at how she was able to get such good food and medicine for me with all the rations and shortages.

As I ate, I looked around the room. At some point while I was sleeping she had straightened up, unpacking and organizing my things, placing the picture of Lauren on the table beside the bed, stacking the recordings of her sessions next to a phonograph in what had been an empty corner the night before.

And then I noticed the other thing that was different about Ruth Ann. She had swapped out prosthetic legs. Now the wooden crutch-like leg was propped between the dressing table and armoire and she was wearing the good one.

When she returned to the room, I noticed how much more smoothly and quickly she was able to walk now.

“Take this and eat a little more,” she said, handing me a large white pill.

I did.

“I got that information you wanted.”

I had no idea what she was talking about and it must have shown on my face.

“About those girls,” she said. “The victims.”

I only vaguely remembered mentioning them to her, and I certainly didn’t ask her to get information about them for me.

“My friend who works in the morgue says he’s never seen anything like it. The bodies are bisected and there’s no blood. But how they’re keeping something so bizarre out of the paper is the real mystery.”

“Bisected?”

“Cut in half at the waist. Completely in two. Can you imagine?”

“I can,” I said, dropping my fork onto the plate and tossing my napkin over it.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Keep on.”

“All the girls are young and look alike. Dark hair. Dark eyes. He said the things done to the bodies and the way they’re displayed is the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Like what?”

“Like they should be in a museum or gallery or something … like the guy is making some sort of deranged art exhibit.”

Chapter 11

C
lip and I met Delton Rogers near the National Guard Armory on Sixth Street between Jenks and Grace.

Built a few years before the war, it had served as a temporary headquarters for Tyndall Field, but was now home to the Rationing Board.

We were across the street, watching both the traffic passing by on Sixth and the people going in and out of the armory. As usual during the war years, downtown was congested, big gray buses adding to the mix of cars, cabs, trucks, and trailers.

“Jimmy,” Delton said as he walked up.

“Delt.”

“How ya been?”

“Been better,” I said. “Not gonna lie. You?”

“Sorry as hell to hear about—well, everything.”

“Thanks.”

“You look like you’re in a hell of a lot of pain.”

We were standing next to a Packard parked on the corner of Jenks, the smoke curling up from our hands and out of our mouths quickly swept up and carried away into the hazy day by the brisk breeze. The Packard was a green convertible with the top down, the interior of which appeared to have been rained in a time or two.

Clip, who thought Delton might be setting me up and half expected an ambush at any moment, continually scanned the area, pacing around to see from all sides.

“He always this jumpy?” Delt asked.

“Cops make him nervous,” I said. “What can I do for you, Delt?”

“Well, first I guess I wanted to shake the hand of the man who killed a legend.”

Ray had earned his status as legend—early in his career as a Chicago cop, then as a Pinkerton, and finally as a private detective with his own agency. Everyone respected him. Most people feared him. Even the cops.

He extended his hand—his right one at first, then realized his mistake and switched to his left. I didn’t shake it.

“Come on, fella. Don’t be sore. We’re all impressed as hell. How’d you do it? Was it in the back?”

“I oughta shoot your dumb ass in the back right now,” Clip said.

“Sorry, soldier,” he said, ignoring Clip as if he didn’t exist. “It’s just … you got one arm. And it ain’t even the one attached to your shooting hand. How the hell did you kill Ray Parker?”

“Where’s Pete?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“He’s missing. I have no idea. Was hoping you knew something.”

“
Me
?”

“He was working them murders you was involved with, then he just vanished. Poof. Gone.”

“You saying he didn’t make any arrests in the case?”

“No. Why?”

“I gave him the goods on Howell, Rainer, Cliff Walton, and Ann Everett right before I left town. He was going to bring them in.

That’s the last time I spoke to him—and that was on the phone.”

“He never brought anybody in. Least not as I know of. Certainly never made any arrests.”

“So I’m still a suspect for the murders in
that
case. I thought I was just wanted for what happened with Ray.”

“What did happen with Ray?”

“If Howell wasn’t arrested, how is Harry Lewis mayor already?”

“He won the election. Howell dropped out. Left town I think. No scandal or anything. Put out a statement about his health being bad or something. Mr. Lewis took office as soon as he was elected.”

I shook my head.

“You sayin’ you didn’t kill any of those people—not even Ray?”

“I’m saying I didn’t kill any of those people
except
for Ray.”

We were quiet a moment as he seemed to ponder what I’d said.

“Why’re you reaching out to me, Delt? Telling me all this?”

“I’m worried about Pete. Thought you might help me find him.”

“What about you boys taking care of your own?”

“Far as I’m concerned,
you’re
one of us,” he said. “And things ain’t right at the station. Lots of new faces. Don’t know who to trust. And no one seems to be trying all that hard to find Pete. It’s like those girls they found is the only case that matters.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

“Just that we got some honest-to-god sex killer here in our little town. The things he does to them … We all want to catch him. But nothing’s happening on that one either. Nothing seems to be happening on anything.”

“You saying somebody’s stopping anything from happening?”

“No. Hell no. I’d get strung up I said anything like that, Jimmy, and you know it.”

A
fter leaving Rogers, Clip and I drove down Jenks to Eleventh Street and over to Payton Rainer’s sanatorium.

The last time I had seen Rainer he had been pointing a gun at me.

Involved in a plot to blackmail Lauren into getting Harry to drop out of the Panama City mayoral race, Rainer should’ve been arrested along with Frank Howell, the mayor at the time, Cliff Walton, Harry’s head of security who was really working for Howell, and Ann Everett, a counselor Lauren and I had seen. Instead, they were free and Pete was missing.

The sanatorium was in an old converted hotel surrounded by an enormous cement wall with steel gates locked and chained.

And from all appearances it had been abandoned.

The quack had flown the coop. But where had he gone?

He and the others had helped kill Lauren. I would not stop until I gave them some help of my own.

Chapter 12

“Y
ou know we goin’ to hell for this,” Clip said.

We were at St. Dominic’s on Harrison breaking into Father Keller’s office to retrieve the letter from Lauren he mentioned before getting gunned down next to her grave.

“All the shit we’ve done,” I said, “and you think
this
is what’s gonna do it?”

“This damn sure tip the scales.”

“Seriously? Think about all we’ve done.”

“You right. We’s already headed there. This just seal the deal fo sho.”

“Lauren told me there was no such thing as hell,” I said.

“The hell you say. No such thing as hell.
Shee-it.
”

“Said it was just projections of fear and hate, judgmentalism and condemnation, that the only hells are the ones of our making—well, those and being separated from our beloved.”

Suddenly my eyes were stinging and I had to blink several times.

“
Beloved
? What the hell, fella?”

“Sorry. Love in general. God and all that. And our lovers in particular.”

“Don’t know about all that shit,” he said. “Still say we goin’ to hell for this.”

As we passed through the sanctuary, I remembered seeing Lauren here when I was following her, recalled how kind the priest had been to her, and I was aggrieved again for what had happened to him. I don’t think what I did could be called prayer, but I hesitated a moment, thinking of him, grateful, wishing him well.

When we reached his office, we discovered that like the front door of the church, it wasn’t locked.

“Can’t exactly break in when everything’s unlocked,” I said.

“We may not be breakin’, but we damn sure enterin’.”

The small office was filled with books and piles of papers. A coatrack in the corner held a cheap black suit, a couple of clerical shirts, an umbrella, and well-worn cassock.

“God almighty,” Clip said. “We gotta find one piece of paper in this haystack?”

He moved to begin the search, but I grabbed him by the arm to stop him.

“Give me a minute,” I said.

I stood there taking it all in. Each stack. Every pile. Letting my vision float around, alighting quickly and gently on each surface.

And then I saw it.

On the right-hand corner of his small wooden desk, beneath a black leather Bible, the edges of an envelope could be seen peeking out of the pages of a bound black notebook.

I walked over, removed the Bible, opened the notebook to confirm, then took the Bible and the notebook, and left the room.

“That Sherlock Holmes shit impressive as hell,” Clip said.

“Wasn’t what that was.”

“You really stealin’ a priest’s Bible?
Shee-it
. I only thought we’s going to hell before. Now I know it.”

M
y 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 was back at Lauren’s grave, sitting on a small cement bench beneath the shade of an oak tree, reading the letter she had written me days before her death.

Because I had found her, because she had spent her final few hours with me, I was sure she had told me everything in person that she had written here, but it didn’t matter. I would read and reread this love letter from her every day until I joined her in the big beyond, often tracing the curve of her letters with the tip of my finger—the pages providing a tactile as well as spiritual connection.

It was dangerous to be here—and not just because whoever was trying to kill me had already tried here before, but because I might be spotted and the cops alerted—but I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Traces of Father Keller’s blood still stained the sandy dirt, faint splatters of it spread across Lauren’s marble slab.

I couldn’t see Clip but I knew he was around, keeping watch with his one good eye, which was plenty good enough.

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 right. 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—

Chapter 13

I
stopped reading and looked up as I sensed someone approaching.

It was Harry Lewis, Lauren’s wealthy, much older husband, now a widower and the new mayor of Panama City.

“I wondered how long it’d be before I ran into you here,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to me.

Quickly folding up the letter, I looked around us as I placed it in my coat pocket.

“It’s just me,” he said. “I’m alone.”

I didn’t say anything, just thought about how lonely Lauren’s absence left us both.

“Guess I’ve never been more alone,” he said. “It was hard as hell when my first wife died, but I got through it—largely with Lauren’s help. She thought I saved her, but it was really she who saved me. Now, not only do I not have her, but my new job is far more isolating than I ever could have guessed. I’m sure you’ve heard about those poor girls that have been found.”

Clip appeared behind us, gun drawn but down at his side.

Harry turned to look at him, holding his hands up.

I nodded at Clip. “Everything’s jake. Harry’s okay. We’re just gonna have ourselves a nice little chat.”

Clip holstered his weapon and backed away, but I knew he wouldn’t go far. Eventually, Harry lowered his hands and turned back toward me.

“How is it that you’re already mayor?” I asked. “And that Howell’s not in jail?”

“I have no idea. I believed what you told me the night you called, but there were no arrests and then Howell dropped out of the race and off the map. I thought you said you had proof. I thought arrests were imminent.”

“I did. They were. But I wake up from a coma to find that the detective I gave everything to, my old partner Pete Mitchell, is missing, and that all those involved have taken the big fade.”

“You’re certain you were right about everything?”

“No question.”

“The fact that Walt disappeared too gives great credence to what you told me.”

Cliff Walton had been employed by Harry, but had really been working for Howell, his opposition, double crossing Harry, controlling and blackmailing Lauren.

“You haven’t heard from him again?” I asked.

“Not a word.”

“So they’re all gone?”

“Meaning the people who took her from us are out there somewhere living their lives like she’ll never be able to again. We can’t have that. No sir.”

Did he know I was one of them, that I was as responsible as anyone for Lauren’s death? More than anyone.

“Tell me that’s not acceptable to you,” he added.

It wasn’t. I had already lived longer than I thought I would. But now I find there are things to square, justice to serve. Now I plan to make sure we all get what we deserve. Couldn’t very well meet it out for them and not myself.

“It is not,” I said, so stunned by him saying she was taken from
us
I was unable to say more.

We fell silent a moment, and the serenity of the cemetery came out of the background and into the foreground and I felt a peace that I had heretofore only experienced in Lauren’s presence. Was she here with us? Did she find it amusing to see me and Harry sitting together next to her grave?

“I know what you meant to her,” he said.

I nodded and waited, but he didn’t say anything else. Did he know just how much? Could he? Could anyone?

I said, “I know what you did for her.”

Shortly before his death, Coolidge Brown—Lauren’s father, Harry’s best friend, and the vice president of Harry’s bank—had used his position of trust to provide reckless and unsecured loans for friends and embezzle a small fortune for himself. When Harry discovered what he was doing, he confronted him, demanding his resignation and threatening to squawk.

Secretly consumed with envy, Coolidge invited Harry over to his home ostensibly to apologize and discuss restitution, but really to take Harry down with him and his family. At gunpoint, Coolidge set his house on fire, dousing his wife, his kids, and his boss with kerosene. Not only had Harry acted bravely and saved Lauren’s life, but he also covered her dad’s crimes with his own money, burying the scandal with him. He provided for Lauren through high school and even some college, eventually asking her to take the place of his deceased wife.

Harry had always been good to Lauren. I think the only truly selfish thing he ever did was to ask her to be his wife—something she didn’t feel she could say no to.

“We both loved her,” he said.

“We did,” I said.

“I owe you,” he said. “And not just because I wouldn’t be mayor if it weren’t for you, but for all you did for Lauren, all you meant to her. I will see what I can do about the trouble you’re in with the police. In the meantime, use my resources to find those responsible for killing my wife and your … And let me know what I can do to help. I assure you, I cannot abide them not paying for what they’ve done. No sir.
Cannot
. And surely finding them will help your case as well.”