I looked around and noticed the cameras—one on the house, one on the garage, one on the fence. Red lights on them all. I felt like waving at the gate guard. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was bundling up to find us and ask what we were doing. We both got back into the car again.
I rubbed my hands together. “Maybe we should check and see if anyone came in the back door—”
“Let’s check Martin’s first,” Emma said. “We might as well be thorough.”
“Has anyone been using his house?” I asked.
“Not regularly,” Emma said. “Holly was down a few times to check on it, but she didn’t sleep there. She’d stay with Hal and Babs. Here it is.”
The sun was falling fast by now, and the blue-gray February sky cast Martin Samuel’s house in an ominous light. Of all the houses we’d seen, Martin’s was the smallest by far. While the others bumped up to what I assumed were their property boundaries, Martin’s sat in the middle and was closer to the road. The man-made lake in the center of the development was his backyard view. Also, unlike the others, he didn’t have a fence surrounding his property. I could see straight back to the frozen lake. The view was magnificent.
“This is stunning,” I said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Emma said. “The Cunninghams only offered three or four different types of house plans to choose from, but Martin did what he could to make this unique. Did you ever meet him?”
“Once or twice, but I didn’t really know him.”
“He had the soul of an artist,” Emma said. “I know that sounds pretentious, but it’s true. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he was magnetic. When you spoke with him he acted as if you were speaking pearls of wisdom he’d never heard before. He was incredibly curious and read voraciously. He was also never without a sketchbook. Down here, he carried his paints with him wherever he went. I have a couple of his paintings. We all do. He was a wonderful artist.”
“A good man?”
“Not sure if he was a good man or not. I’ve stopped being able to tell. Thinking back to last summer, I realize now how much he was missed. How much this place just wasn’t the same without him. He was a presence, a force. I still can’t believe he disappeared like that. Holly kept insisting he’d come back, got most of us to believe it. She was convinced that he was just taking a sabbatical. But—”
“It’s been almost a year, right? Sounds like the anniversary of his disappearance is triggering a few things. I can’t help but wonder what, exactly.”
“Part of the puzzle you’re trying to put together?” Emma asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’m low of facts for this one. I think Holly mentioned hearing from him after he disappeared? I can’t remember exactly what she said.”
“I did hear that there were signs of life,” Emma said. “We never talked about it, of course. Hard to bring up in conversations. I do know that as the summer wore down, Holly got more despondent. I think that’s one reason she went to work for Babs. They’re very close.”
I looked at Martin’s house, the condensation on the windows causing interesting ice art. “You said nobody’s been down here?” I asked. “See the frost on that front window? That tells me that the heat’s been on.”
“He lived here full-time, so the house never gets shut down. I assumed that Holly would have closed it up, but maybe she comes down on her days off ? Look, the front door doesn’t have that mound of snow on the stoop,” Emma said.
We both got out of the car. The sun was giving its last gasp of light and the red light danced across the frozen yard. We didn’t have a lot of time to look around. I grabbed my cell phone and turned on the flashlight feature. The front walkway and stoop were clear. I walked up to the front door. The screen door was locked, presumably from the inside. I looked to my left and there were no footprints leading around that side of the house. I retrace my steps back and met Emma back in the driveway.
“See over there?” Emma said. “There’s a path that’s been sort of shoveled. Folks do use this as egress to the lake. Martin always let them. Maybe that’s why the path is clear?”
“Maybe that’s why,” I said. “Let’s see what’s back there.”
We followed the path to the back of the house. The sun was really dropping now, and the moon hadn’t come out yet so we moved slowly. The setting sun glistened on the ice on top of the snow. Where people had veered from the path, and the ice was broken through, there were voids of bouncing light. Sure enough, the path led right down to the lake, which was frozen over. Probably a great place for ice skating. I walked almost to the edge of the water and looked around. Nothing by the lake. Nothing I could see.
“It’s beautiful,” I said to Emma, who was standing at my side.
“It’s cold,” Emma said.
“Sure is. I wish we could see in these windows.”
“The entire back of Martin’s house is glass,” Emma said. “There’s another path that goes right up to his back deck.”
“Let’s go back and see if we can see inside the house before we lose the sun completely,” I said.
We turned around and headed back toward the driveway. I took my cell phone and used the flashlight to sweep both sides of the path, seeing if I’d missed anything. Closer to the house the path to the back deck had been cleared, and the deck itself was clear but icy. I held on to the railings as I walked the perimeter of the deck. The French doors in the back of the house were locked tight. I cupped my hands against the windows and looked around. The entire back of the house was an open plan, with the kitchen on the left, a dining room table in the middle, and a living room on the right. A hallway led off the kitchen, presumably to a bathroom or a front room. Maybe a bedroom. No one was there. But as I swept my eyes through the house, a faint strip of light caught my eye. I peered in closer and used my cell phone flashlight to sweep the room. The light was coming from under a door in the hallway.
“Is there a basement in this house?” I asked.
“I think so,” Emma said. I walked to the right of the deck and peered over the side. Sure enough, there was one of those plastic domes that kept snow, rain, and hopefully vermin out of the basement window wells. I noticed that it was covered with snow, as were the steps down to the side of the house. I held on to the railing and lowered myself to the yard level. The snow came up over my knees, but I pushed forward, breaking the ice. I use both hands to clear the plastic bubble and noted that the glow of the light rewarded my efforts. I kept clearing until I’d cleared enough of a space to look down into the basement. My voice caught in my throat and stifled the cry that had come wrenching up from deep in my gut.
“Sully, what’s wrong?”
“Call an ambulance,” I screamed. “I found Gus.”
• Nineteen •
I broke one of the panels in the French door, unlocked the door, and let myself in. The house was cold but not freezing. The heat must have been on. I went down to the basement and found Gus where I’d seen him, tied to one of the lalley columns, his hands taped behind his back. He was slumped to the side, and his hands had a blue tint because of the pressure on his wrists.
“Oh please oh please oh please oh please oh please,” I muttered as a mantra while I knelt down and took off my gloves. I was careful not to move Gus too much as I desperately sought for a pulse. His skin felt cold, but my hands were too. After what felt like forever, I finally found a pulse. Faint, but it was there. I looked at the vomit on the front of his jacket and the blood that had congealed around the wound on the side of his head.
I took off my coat and put it gently around him. Emma had come halfway down the stairs to let me know the ambulance was on its way. I told her to go upstairs and turn up the heat. And to bring me a blanket.
“Gus,” I said quietly. No response. “Gus,” I said more loudly. “Gus, it’s Sully. You’re safe.”
The gatehouse guard
—it ends up his name was Ben—waited for the ambulance and accompanied them to the house. He and Emma both pulled me away from Gus to let paramedics work. Ben took off his coat and draped it around my shoulders, and Emma wrapped her arms around my waist. After they’d worked on Gus for a while, they were ready to transport him. We heard them call in unresponsive, stable, and head wound.
Emma made a call and handed the phone to one of the paramedics. “This is Courtney O’Connor—she’s a doctor at Brigham and Women’s. Tell her what you just said.”
“Ma’am, we don’t have time to—”
“Just do it,” Emma said. The paramedic did as he was told and had a long conversation with Dr. O’Connor. At the end, he conferred with his partner and it was decided that Gus was going to Boston for treatment.
“Wasn’t that taking a chance?” Toni asked me. She’d come into the hospital waiting room a few minutes earlier with a large French roast coffee for me. She’d also brought herself one, and a bag of food.
“It may have been, because it was an extra hour’s drive. But Dr. O’Connor was willing to treat him in Boston and she has a great reputation. We probably would’ve moved him here anyway. I don’t know, Toni. I just let Emma take over.”
“Where is she?” Toni asked.
“She’s driving the sailcloth over to the theater.”
“That couldn’t have waited?”
“The show must go on,” I said. I smiled slightly, but I was serious. Emma had fought me, but I wanted to make sure the crew had what they needed to fix the set tomorrow. Besides, there wasn’t much she could do for Gus or for me sitting in the waiting room.
“Tell me what happened,” Toni said. I noticed, and was grateful, that she didn’t sugarcoat it. She knew my cop instincts had kicked in and that I could talk about what had happened this afternoon. I needed to talk about it, to help process my feelings. So I told her all about the visit to Century Cape.
“Somebody decided to use Martin’s house to hide Gus,” Toni said. “Didn’t the guard notice it was being used?”
“He said he’d been away, and since Martin had never turned the heat completely off in his house, the assumption was that his daughter was following the same example. It’s definitely worth following up with the team down the Cape. Whoever took Gus left the light on in the basement. If they hadn’t, we might not have found him.” My voice caught a bit.
“But they did, and you did. Don’t go there. Let’s figure out who did the hiding instead. My money is on Babs Allyn.”
“Babs? Why Babs?”
“She hired that private investigator, Jack Megan.”
“Jack Megan? Really?”
“Why, do you know him?”
“I do, and probably so do you. He’s a retired cop,” I said.
“I don’t remember him, but that doesn’t mean anything. Gus had used him a lot lately. He called him several times a week. Apparently Megan specializes in divorce cases, but I’d imagine he’s doing other work for Gus.”
“Jack also does research work. Typical private investigator fare. Has he told you what he was doing for Babs? Or for Gus?”
“He’s a hard man to find, and we’re having trouble getting a warrant to force him to talk. He’s not in his office, not at home. Not answering his cell. ’Course, it probably doesn’t help that it’s a cop calling him.”
“Maybe he’s on a case?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Toni said. “They found Gus’s phone, by the way. In the basement. There was an unsent message to you. To tell you he was sorry about lunch. He’d taken an unexpected trip to the Cape and would you come meet him. As I told you, the last text he sent that went through was to Babs.”
“Babs, huh? She does seem like a logical suspect.” Toni and I looked at each other. Even though we hadn’t been partners for years, I understood her as well as I had six years ago. There was more to this, a lot more that she couldn’t say.
“Here’s the deal, Sully. I brought you some caffeine, some food. Two old friends sitting and talking. Catching up. I have nothing to do with the case around Gus. I have nothing to do with the case around Babs Allyn. My focus is trying to figure out who killed Mimi Cunningham, and why. See if her death is connected to Kate’s death. There’s some evidence that links the two—no, I won’t tell you what it is—but we don’t understand the connection. Yet. Figuring out the ‘why’ has gotten a lot more complicated. Your friend Eric is helping me think that through. But I’ve been warned off expanding my parameters in this case. ‘Stay focused, Vestri.’ The John Engel mantra.”
“He’s a jackass,” I said.
“He is that. But he’s also my partner. So I’m staying focused. Visiting my friend in the hospital, checking in on my other friend, mentioning that Gus’s phone had a different number for Jack Megan, and writing that down for her information. In case she wanted to let this Jack Megan guy know what happened to Gus. Her call.”
Dr. O’Connor came out to update us on Gus’s condition. “He’s got some swelling of the brain, so we’ve put him in a medically induced coma. Frankly, given the extent of his injuries and the fact that he’s been without treatment for, what, two days? I’m surprised he’s not in worse shape. But I’m glad you brought him in here. We got some good folks taking care of him.”
“Good thing he’s got a wicked hard head,” Toni said. She smiled and I smiled back.
“When will he be able to wake up?” I asked.
“Not till tomorrow at the earliest. I’d suggest you go home and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do for him here, at least not right now. Feel free to go in and say good night, but I really do suggest you get some sleep. I promise I’ll call if anything changes.”
Somehow Gus looked worse in the hospital than he had in the basement. Maybe it was because he was so pale next to the hospital sheets. The hospital Johnny, which he would have hated, barely moved as he breathed. There were tubes and pumps and machines surrounding his bed. The beeps reassured me that he was alive, but I would have given anything for him to talk to me.
“Get well, buddy,” Toni said. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. She stepped back and away to give me space.
I leaned down and put my lips close to his ear. “Gus, I’ve got some stuff to do to try and make this right. I’ll be back, I promise,” I whispered. I kissed him on his cheek and then lightly on the lips. I stood up and took a deep, raggedy breath.
“Toni, would you give me a ride to my car? I’ve got a couple of errands to run tonight,” I said.
Toni gave me a ride back to the garage where my car was kept. On the way we went over the timeline of the case, or cases. Mostly I talked, she listened and asked questions. I didn’t get any new information from her; not sure if she got anything from me.
“I guess Gus is off the suspect list?” I asked.
“He is for me, but he never was on mine to begin with. I’ve had to stay neutral, given that he’s my friend. But John was going after him hard. Speaking of which, I’ve got to meet up with John, make sure he doesn’t screw this case up.”
“To be fair,” I said, “there are a lot of moving parts here. Hard to know what matters, what doesn’t, and what you’re going to need to prove the case later. It’s a little easier for us civilians to look into things on our own and let you know if we find anything worth knowing.”
“You know I would never, ever, suggest that. Make sure your phone’s charged, and let me know what you find out from Jack Megan.”
“Will do,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.” I got out of the car and walked toward the garage elevator.
The problem with underground garages was that cell phone reception was lousy. The problem with Boston was that once you left the garage, it was tough to find a place to pull over and make a call. The problem with me was that I couldn’t drive and talk. I plugged my phone into the charger and checke
d the time. Nine o’clock. It was late but I wasn’t going to wait till tomorrow to make this call.
After leaving the garage, I looped around the Boston Common, then went a block over and drove past the Park Plaza before I found a space to pull over. I found the piece of paper Toni had given me with Jack Megan’s other phone number. It didn’t match any I had. I wondered if it was a burner phone. I called it and got a full voicemail box for my efforts. So I texted:
Jack, it’s Sully Sullivan. Writing as Gus Knight’s ex-wife. He’s in the hospital, in a coma. I’m also friends with Babs Allyn, looking for her. I have a lot of questions and I think you may have some answers. I need to see you. Tonight.
I sat in the car for five minutes, ignoring the car that had pulled over, blinker on in hopes that the parking gods were smiling on them tonight. My phone rang. Jack preferred to call rather than to text. Made sense; easier to deny the content of the conversation.
“Sully here,” I said.
“Jack Megan,” he said. “What the hell happened to Gus?”
“Nice to talk to you too, Jack. Somebody hit him on the head and left him for dead in Martin Samuel’s basement down the Cape.”
“Down the Cape? What the hell was he doing down there?”
“I have no idea,” I said.
“He going to be okay?”
“There’s reason for optimism. We had him brought up here for treatment.”
“Damn, didn’t see that one coming,” he said.
“You heard about Kate Smythe?”
“I did,” he said. “They have any idea who did that?”
“Not that I know of. I think it has something to do with Mimi Cunningham’s murder but I have no proof, just my gut.”
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