Omens (44 page)

“So the police believed the body was Gabriel’s mother and told him—”

“The police never connected the events. The woman was buried as a Jane Doe because Gabriel hadn’t reported his mother missing. When his aunt reported
Gabriel
missing, police did not connect the dots back to the Jane Doe. My investigator did.”

“You think Gabriel knew his mother was dead?”

“Think about his behavior, Olivia.” His voice snapped with impatience now. “Those aren’t the actions of an abandoned child. They’re the actions of a guilty conscience. Gabriel Walsh gave his mother that overdose, then he hid her body in that building and pretended she was still alive.”

“That … No, he—”

“—wouldn’t do that? She was an addict, Olivia. I’m sure she made his life hell. Gabriel Walsh is an amoral man with clear sociopathic tendencies. Perhaps his mother is to blame, but whatever the reason, he saw her as an obstacle. He rid himself of that obstacle. I have evidence to prove it, and that’s why he’s trying to frame me for my son’s death.”

“W-what?”

When Evans started to explain, I was sure either he was crazy or I was still sleeping. Neither possibility completely disappeared as he went on.

When Gabriel first tried to interview him, Evans said he’d looked him up. What he found made him even more curious.

“I’m an old man, Olivia,” he said. “Life gets dull after a certain age, and it doesn’t take much to pique my curiosity, and a potentially interesting psychological profile always does the trick.”

That led him to the missing-person reports, which turned mild curiosity into a full-blown project. Here, presumably, was a boy abandoned by his mother and left on the streets … who became a defense attorney. An intriguing case study. So Evans hired an investigator.

“Yes, it sounds borderline obsessive and certainly an invasion of privacy, but I was completely fascinated.”

Then he discovered the fate of Seanna Walsh. The investigator gathered enough evidence to make a convincing case that Gabriel was responsible.

“That’s when I realized I’d gone too far,” Evans said. “That—along with other deeds that the investigator uncovered—convinced me I was dealing with a sociopathic personality. I stopped digging. I refused to see Gabriel Walsh. I hoped he would simply go away. And he seemed to.”

“Until now.”

“Yes.”

Evans believed that when he insisted on seeing me instead of Gabriel this time, Gabriel did some investigating of his own and discovered that Evans knew his darkest secret.

“I’m sure Gabriel had learned that I worked for the CIA long before now. But suddenly it’s a matter of great interest to him. Edgar Chandler called me last night and as soon as he described his visitors, I knew it was you two. And I knew what Gabriel was doing. Framing me for my son’s death.”

“I don’t—”

“How did the investigation change course, Olivia? The last I heard, you were pursuing Christian Gunderson as a suspect. Did you discover this new lead? Or did he?”

“It was a joint effort,” I lied.

“Was it? And it led to Edgar Chandler?”

No, first to Josh Gray, who wound up dead. Then to Desiree Barbosa, his girlfriend.

Or the woman who
claimed
to be his girlfriend.

Could Desiree have been playing a part? Leading me to Evans with her “secret” about him and the CIA? No. Especially not after all that runaround with the bikers and the drugs. The idea was almost as crazy as Evans’s whole “Gabriel Walsh is framing me” theory.

“I did work for the CIA, Olivia. As part of MKULTRA on a classified subproject in Chicago. I’m not proud of what I did. I was young and I naively thought I was helping my country. As soon as I began to doubt that, I left.”

“So why would Gabriel frame you? You could do the same to him.”

“I don’t know what his endgame is. Perhaps simply blackmail. I’ve heard he’s fond of that. Whatever his plan, he’s using you. Right now, that’s what worries me the most.” He paused. “Come to the house, Olivia. I know you don’t believe me, but I have the evidence here. I can prove that Gabriel Walsh killed his mother.”

I
stood in the living room watching Gabriel sleep. The cat was perched on the back of the sofa again, staring down, as if wondering what this person was doing in his apartment. I could ask myself the same thing.

What was Gabriel Walsh capable of?

A lot. I had no doubt of that.

Was he a sociopath, though?

From what I knew from my experience with Gabriel, he was not incapable of forming relationships. He was just a man who’d learned life was a whole lot safer if you
didn’t
form relationships. A survivor, not a sociopath.

Gabriel clearly cared for his aunt, and there was nothing obsessive or unnatural about that. Yes, Rose could be useful, but she seemed to be the one pushing her gifts on him. He was a reluctant recipient, as if she was the one person he didn’t want to take anything from. Didn’t want to use.

Last night he’d been annoyed because he was worried about putting me in danger. That sounded almost comical when you thought about it. “I’d feel bad if you got hurt and, damn it, I don’t want to feel bad.” But given what Evans just said, it made sense. Gabriel could form attachments. He just really, really didn’t want to.

So had Gabriel killed his mother? No. I remembered his speech when I confronted him about giving drugs to Desiree. That wasn’t the reaction of a man who’d dispatched his drug addict mother half a lifetime ago. Seanna’s abandonment hurt. Really hurt, even fifteen years later.

So what did I think happened? Yes, his mother was dead. Yes, he knew it. She’d OD’d, probably at home, and he foresaw children’s services in his future. So he’d done the same thing we did with Josh Gray when we realized how inconvenient the discovery of his murder would be. Moved the body.

I put the phone on my nightstand and slipped into the living room.

“Gabriel?”

He didn’t even twitch. If his back wasn’t rising and falling, I might have been worried. I walked over and crouched beside him.

“Gabriel?”

Still nothing.

I touched his shoulder. “Gab—”

His arm shot out, hitting me so hard I toppled onto my ass.

“Oww…” I said.

He’d rolled back onto his side, hands clenched, ready to leap up swinging. For a second, he stared up, as if wondering where the groan came from. Then he looked down and saw me on the floor.

“Olivia?”

As I rose, he took in my nightshirt, then glanced down at himself, bare chested, legs wrapped in a sheet. His eyes widened.

“Yes, you’re sleeping in my apartment,” I said. “On my
sofa
. It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I’d really hope you’d remember if it had been.”

“Wha—?” He blinked, still confused.

He looked … young. Very young and very vulnerable. His face relaxed. His expression relaxed. His blue eyes … not cold, not empty. Wide and bewildered and, yes, damn it, vulnerable. I looked at him and I felt things I really didn’t want to feel about Gabriel Walsh. Not now. Probably not ever.

“You said your friend at the SA’s office told you about Joshua Gray?” I said.

He looked up. Met my gaze. Blinked some more. Still confused and sleepy. Good. Pounce before he got his guard up.

“The police report,” I said. “The one where Josh said Peter told him a secret just before he died. Do you actually have it? Or did your friend just tell you about it?”

He rubbed his face. “The…? Yes. Sorry. The police report. I have it. Those particular pages, that is. Copies.”

“Could I see them?”

“Do you think I missed something?” He sat. “I doubt it, but, yes, you should take a look. It’s at my office. Do you want that now or…?” He looked around, still trying to orient himself.

“When we head into the city.”

“Okay.” He ran a hand through his hair and snarled a yawn.

“Long night. You were dead asleep. That’s why I had to poke you. A mistake I will never repeat.”

“Sorry.”

“Or maybe I should wake you up more often. I bet you haven’t apologized that much in the last decade.” I turned. “I’ll get coffee. Caffeine will help.”

“Thanks.” He started rising, then looked at the sheet around his legs.

“Don’t worry, you’re wearing pants,” I said.

“Right.”

He located his shirt and leaned over to grab it as I headed for the kitchen.

I was measuring grinds into my new coffeemaker when I heard Gabriel. I turned to see him standing in the doorway, watching me. I was—I will point out—perfectly decent, dressed in an oversized T-shirt that hung to midthigh. That was, admittedly though, pretty much all I was wearing.

Gabriel yanked his gaze away.

“Should I get dressed?” I said.

“No, of course—” He stopped. “Perhaps. If you’d be more comfortable.”

I turned the coffee making over to him. As I passed, I noticed him watching me again. He looked away fast.

“Oh, and there
is
a reason I woke you up before six,” I said. “Dr. Evans called.”

Genuine confusion, then he swore. “Chandler contacted him.”

“Which you expected, right?”

“That depends.” He paused, and I could see him pulling himself back together. When he spoke again, he sounded more like his usual self. “If it required an early morning call, that means he’s alarmed by our visit. Perhaps we can use that. What did he say?”

“I’ll tell you after I’m dressed.”

His hand lifted, as if to tell me not to bother. Then his gaze slipped to my bare legs.

“Yes. You do that. I’ll prepare the coffee.”

So what did I tell Gabriel? That Evans had called out of concern that we’d joined forces again.

Gabriel sighed. “I should be flattered that he finds me so intimidating, but it’s becoming irritating. What does he want?”

“Me to come over right away. He says he has information on you that I need to see.”

Gabriel shook his head. No surprise. No consternation. Just that head shake. “I’m sure he does. Some rumor he’s dug up and believes himself the first one to do so, which he is not, such being the nature of rumors. All right, then.” He paused. “I’m presuming he said to come alone?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Immediately?”

“Yep.”

Now Gabriel did look concerned.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “It screams setup.”

“It certainly does. However, if that were the case, it would make more sense to invite both of us, since we are clearly both a threat.”

“Unless he figures I’ll bring you anyway. Or he might really just want to talk. He’s seventy years old. I don’t think he’s going to jump me at the door to silence me.”

“Anyone can use a gun, as someone did to silence Joshua Gray.”

“You think Evans did it?”

“I have no idea.” He paused. “Perhaps he’s simply nervous about the pharmacological connection and believes you’re the more sympathetic ear. I’ll still insist on coming along, though I’ll stay outside.”

“Not going to argue.”

“All right, then. Ms. Mosley’s lead can wait. We’ll pursue this first.”

“Anita has a lead for us?”

“She left a message on my voice mail. Another potential contact, someone she needed to confer with before passing along his name. He was a subject in one of Chandler’s experiments. One that Evans participated in. He’d very much like to speak to us, apparently.”

I set my coffee cup on the counter. “Shouldn’t we do that first? If he can add to the picture, it would help to have that before I visit Evans.”

“Perhaps. Evans is waiting, though.”

“And it might not hurt to keep him waiting. Let him stew a little. I’ll text and say I can’t make it right away, but I’ll be there by noon.” I stood and dumped the rest of my coffee. “Let’s go speak to this subject.”

He stood. “All right, then. My office is on the way. We’ll pick up that police report.”

I
waited on the front stoop while Gabriel brought the car. If he’d left the Jag in front of my apartment overnight, by morning everyone in Cainsville would know he’d stayed over, and that was just awkward.

As I waited, a figure crossed Rowan down at Main Street. He paused, shielding his eyes against the rising sun and then headed in my direction.

It was Patrick, laptop bag slung over his shoulder. I walked to meet him.

“Getting an early start?” I said, waving at his bag.

“The muse is a fickle bitch. Woke me at five. You’re up early yourself. I hope that means you’re taking Susie’s shift. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I dug up a few things you might find useful.”

As I was saying that I wasn’t working today, Gabriel’s car rounded the corner.

“Ah, so you
are
working,” he said. “Just not at the diner. And you’re back with Gabriel. The old folks will be happy to hear it. They were terribly worried, you know.”

I was saved from a reply by the purr of the Jag sliding to the corner. I bent to tap the passenger window, but the driver’s door was already opening, Gabriel getting out.

“Gabriel,” Patrick said. “Good to see you.”

Gabriel dipped his chin as he said hello, his shades off. A respectful greeting, like the ones he’d give the town elders.

“Patrick was just telling me he had some research notes,” I said. “And I was just going to ask if he has a second to talk about them now.”

“Yes, of course.” Gabriel waved to my building. “We’ll go inside.”

“Mmm, better not,” Patrick said. “Grace … isn’t exactly a fan. How about Rose’s place?”

“It’s a bit early for my aunt.” Gabriel’s tone was oddly apologetic, as if torn between waking his aunt and offending Patrick. I guess I wasn’t the only one who caught those odd vibes from the young writer, the ones that warned to tread carefully around him.

“Oh, I think it’ll be fine today,” Patrick said. “In fact, I think you’re about two seconds from being summoned.”

We turned to see Rose in her open doorway. She was wearing a robe and slippers, watching us, as if waiting for a moment to interrupt.

As we walked over, Gabriel said, “You’re up early. Do you mind if we come in? Patrick wanted to speak to us, and the curb doesn’t quite seem the place to do it.”