The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets)

by James, Harper

  ‘Why did you keep it?’

  Narvaez snorted.

  ‘My father wanted to burn it, my mother said it was cursed. Back then, I had other plans for it.’

  He was back in 1965 again, a young man with his face ruined, a roll of toxic banknotes in his hand.

  ‘My plan was to find Thompson and choke him with it, stuff it down his throat and watch him die.’ He shrugged. ‘It didn’t turn out that way. I ... I had to go away for a time. When I came back, I learned that Thompson was already dead. Somebody had beaten me to it. An occupational hazard in his line of work, I suppose.’

  Evan picked up the roll of notes. The rubber band holding them together crumbled almost to dust after fifty years hidden amongst the socks and underwear in Narvaez’ drawer.

  ‘I’m not giving this to Hanna.’

  ‘Do what you like with it.’

  Evan thought about simply putting it on the table and leaving it there. But Narvaez wanted to make a gesture, feel good about himself in some small, far-too-late-to-matter way. He would take the money. He wouldn’t give it to Hanna, he’d find a church and put it in the poor box. Was it even legal after fifty years?

  Apart from that, he got the impression Narvaez would bounce it off the back of his head as he walked down the path if he didn’t take it.

  He put it in his pocket, got up to go. He saw from Narvaez’ expression that he knew exactly what he was going to do.

  ‘I know you won’t give it to him. But you make sure you tell him my story. It doesn’t matter if he knew at the time or not, I want him to know now the sort of man his father was.’

  Hanna’s words came back to Evan then.

  May he rot in hell.

  Did it mean he knew exactly the sort of man his father had been? It wasn’t a thought he wanted to share with Narvaez. He took a business card out and put it on the table.

  ‘He’s trying to do the right thing here. I’ll leave a card in case you have a change of heart.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘You’re a Catholic, aren’t you?’

  ‘So what.’

  ‘I thought you believed in forgiveness.’

  Narvaez laughed.

  ‘I’ll leave that for the priests. I’ll be going downstairs when I go’—he jabbed his finger at the floor as he said it—‘so it won’t make any difference anyway. Now get the hell out of my house.’

  ***

  EVAN GOT THE HELL out of his house. He needed to get some air, to breathe. He wanted to shout, to scream, laugh like a maniac off his meds, anything to take his mind off Narvaez’ story—the story he’d take with him to his grave, because it wouldn’t achieve a single thing telling Hanna.

  Narvaez felt better for it, Hanna would stay oblivious, and Evan would take the weight. He called Guillory. The phone rang and he cut the call. He couldn’t put that shit on her. He had to find some way of learning the truth about whether Frank Hanna knew or not without actually telling him.

  He couldn’t make up his mind what he’d achieved. Narvaez had continually referred to we. At the same time, all mention of making amends had been directed at himself, never once about Margarita.

  He closed his eyes and thought back to his conversation with Hanna about what his father had done.

  ‘He sent some people to see her.’

  ‘Some people?’

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  Wouldn’t a person who knew nothing say exactly that, rather than You don’t need to know. He got out his phone and called Hanna, told him he needed to see him immediately.

  Hanna met him in a small park a few blocks down from his office. They sat side by side on a bench and watched a man throw a ball for his dog. Evan wouldn’t have minded changing places with the dog, run off some of the nervous energy buzzing through him.

  ‘Did you know Margarita’s got a twin brother?’

  ‘Yes, although I never met him.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Hanna turned sideways towards Evan, rested his arm on the back of the bench.

  ‘I told you, I never met any of her family.’

  He paused and Evan got the same feeling he had with Narvaez—he was back in 1965, a lifetime ago.

  ‘Margarita told me her brother had a problem with me. Not me personally, but in principle, with the idea of his sister dating an Anglo. And that was before she got pregnant.’

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’

  ‘No. Why?’ He was suddenly alert. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘I’ve just left him—’

  ‘Did he tell you where Margarita is?’

  Evan couldn’t hold back the strangled laugh that slipped out.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wouldn’t give you the time of day. Even if I find an heir, you’re never going to make it onto Uncle Jesús’ Christmas card list.’

  Hanna was silent a moment.

  ‘It’s understandable. I got his sister pregnant and left her to it.’

  Yes, but do you know the rest of it?

  ‘Tell me again what your father’s men did.’

  Evan hoped the abrupt, direct nature of the question would be a shock, catch him unawares. He wasn’t disappointed. Hanna tried to get his words out, failed.

  ‘You told me I don’t need to know. That sort of implies you do know.’

  ‘It’s ... it’s just a manner of speaking, you’re reading too much into it. I—’

  The dog that had been chasing the ball had become bored with the game and bounded towards them to investigate. It jumped up and put its muddy front paws on the pants’ leg of Hanna’s three-thousand-dollar suit. Hanna jumped up and tried to brush the mud off, just made it worse. The dog thought he wanted to play, tried jumping up again. Evan grabbed hold of its collar as the owner jogged across. He took the collar from Evan, made his apologies. Hanna waved it off, said it was no problem. He even ruffled the dog’s ears, no hard feelings.

  He was making too much of a meal of it, trying to buy some time while he recovered from the surprise of Evan’s question.

  ‘I honestly don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Did you know a man called Thompson?’

  Hanna nodded, his face expressionless.

  ‘I know he was one of the men my father sent.’

  ‘What do you know about him?’

  ‘Nothing. Other than he worked for my father. Why, what has Margarita’s brother been saying?’

  A picture of Narvaez’ glass eye and the network of scars surrounding it flashed across Evan’s mind and his stomach turned over as he imagined the scene in that kitchen fifty years ago. Narvaez’ words echoed in his mind:

  I want him to know the sort of man his father was.

  What good would it do?

  ‘He mentioned the name, that’s all.’

  Now Hanna was looking at him like he didn’t believe him. Maybe he saw something in Evan’s face, an involuntary twist of the mouth perhaps. They were both still standing, even after the dog’s owner had clipped on the leash and led it away, still barking excitedly. Hanna sat down first, wiped at the mud on his pants leg again. Evan sat next to him, thinking he’d have to throw them away or use them for polishing the Bentley.

  It was no good. He hadn’t learned a thing. He would never be able to tell how much Hanna knew.

  Did it really matter after all?

  ‘I don’t know what the brother told you,’ Hanna said, resting his hand on Evan’s arm, ‘and I don’t want to know. I hope it wasn’t too awful. Whatever it was, please don’t give up on this. The whole reason I asked you to do this is because I’m hoping it wasn’t anything too bad, hoping Margarita had the baby.’

  How the hell could he say no after that?

  Evan dug around in his pocket and found the note that had been left tucked under his wiper blade, careful not to pull Narvaez’ wad of cash out with it. He smoothed it out and handed it to Hanna.

  ‘Do you know if that’s McIntyre’s handwrit
ing?’

  Hanna took a pair of reading glasses out of his top pocket and studied it, shook his head slowly.

  ‘I’d say not. I’m not sure about the handwriting, but whoever wrote that isn’t an educated man. You was so lucky. It wont last. McIntyre’s an intelligent man, he’d never write that.’

  Evan took it back and read it again. He hadn’t noticed the poor grammar or the spelling mistake. No doubt due to the shock of finding it there in the first place.

  ‘He’d say you were so lucky, and he’d put the apostrophe in won’t. What’s it mean?’

  Evan shook his head, glad that he didn’t have to tell Hanna any more lies, however well-intentioned.

  ‘I have no idea. I found it tucked under my windshield wiper.’

  He didn’t need to tell Hanna that just because he didn’t know what it meant, it didn’t mean he didn’t know who it was from. If it wasn’t McIntyre that only left one person. Hendricks’ army buddy, Floyd Gray. A man who spent an extra three years in prison because he liked to hold a grudge—and follow through on it.

  And he didn’t tell him the words and their meaning were irrelevant. It was the medium that was important, that was the harbinger of worse things to come. The game had changed. No more emails and texts, sent from who knows where. This was a hand-written note, delivered in person.

  Floyd Gray was somewhere close, watching him.

  Chapter 11

  EVAN HAD LEARNED ONE thing at least from Narvaez. Margarita hadn’t been born in the U.S. because Narvaez had said: We were illegals back then. Most likely they were born in Mexico. The implication in his words was that at some point after 1965 they had acquired U.S. Citizenship, most likely through one of the immigration amnesties.

  That at least meant that he could eliminate the births avenue of investigation when he visited the BDM section of the Register-Recorder’s Office. Before he did that he needed to change cars. The Corvette was far too conspicuous in general, and Floyd Gray in particular knew he was driving it. He was also making things easier for Hugh McIntyre if it turned out Hanna wasn’t being paranoid.

  When he got to his sister’s, he was pleased to see his brother-in-law’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Even though Mitch had moved out for a trial separation, he still came back to the house occasionally to collect something or the other. They hadn’t seen each other since Evan reluctantly investigated his infidelity on his sister’s behalf. If and when they did meet again, it wouldn’t take much for things to get out of hand.

  ‘I thought you were joking,’ Charlotte said when she opened the door and saw the Corvette on the driveway. ‘Why didn’t you buy yourself a nice sensible little car? You’ll kill yourself in that.’

  Anyone would think she was his mother, not his younger sister. Despite her words, she couldn’t stop herself putting on her shoes and coming out to take a better look. Max, her two-year-old Border Collie, came bounding from somewhere behind her and jumped up excitedly at Evan, as he always did. Evan had that effect on dogs. He rubbed Max’s ears and grabbed hold of his collar to stop him from raising his leg at one of the Corvette’s wheels.

  ‘You’ll have to take me out for a ride in it,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Sure. And any time you want to clean it, there’s a ton of cleaning products in the trunk.’

  She stood back and admired it.

  ‘I still don’t know why you wanted to ...’

  A smile crept across her lips and he knew what was coming next.

  ‘And about time too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t what me. You’ve finally decided to stop chasing Sarah’s shadow and re-join the human race.’

  He laughed out loud.

  ‘And that’s why I bought this car, is it?’

  ‘It’s okay, no need to be embarrassed.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘It’s perfectly natural.’

  ‘I’m not embarrassed.’

  ‘Whatever you say. Who’ve you got lined up?’

  ‘I haven’t got anybody—’

  ‘Ha! It’s the cop isn’t it. What’s her name? Cath?’

  ‘Kate.’

  ‘See. I knew I was right.’

  And he knew he could never win. A long time ago he decided to make a list of every argument with her he’d ever won, see if he could maybe get into double figures before he died. The ink in his pen had dried up before he ever made the first entry.

  ‘Isn’t she a bit old for you?’

  ‘She’s two years older.’

  ‘Mmm. She’ll have to get a move on if she’s going to have children.’

  ‘You do remember I’m still actually married to Sarah?’

  She made some dismissive noise, not even words, but the meaning was clear—she wasn’t interested in irrelevant details, in ancient history. He had no idea how he’d got drawn into this ridiculous conversation. Charlotte took hold of his elbow and steered him towards the house. Evan let go of Max’s collar and he shot off ahead of them into the house.

  ‘How are things with Mitch?’

  ‘C’mon, I’ll make you some coffee. You can tell me all about her. And remember, give me enough notice, I’ll get the kids to make sure it’s gleaming every time you want to take her out in it.’

  It was as if he hadn’t asked about Mitch. He didn’t push it, it was probably for the best.

  He managed to escape two cups of coffee and one gruelling interrogation later. He was so keen to get away as he trotted down the path to the waiting cab, he never saw the car that had been parked twenty yards down from Charlotte’s house the whole time he was inside. And if the cab driver saw it make a U-turn and follow them all the way to the Register-Recorder’s Office, he certainly didn’t mention it to Evan.

  Chapter 12

  ‘DID YOU GET IT or not?’

  The words came out harsher than Hugh McIntyre meant them to, but he cut himself some slack. Lisa wasn’t the one who had her hand nailed to a picnic table, after all. It was the painkillers, he couldn’t think straight he was taking so many of them.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got it.’

  The yes came out as an irritated, sibilant hiss. She dug in her handbag and pulled her father’s cell phone out. McIntyre took it away from her, as good as snatched it out of her hand.

  ‘You have no idea how difficult it was to get that.’

  ‘And you have no idea what it was like having to hide in the garage while you and daddy had supper on the other side of the wall.’

  He picked up a wine glass and held it out, his other hand on his hip.

  ‘Another glass of wine, daddy? Ooh, yes please darling, make it a big one.’

  She almost laughed—he could imitate her father perfectly when he wanted to—but he was in such a foul mood these past days, he’d have taken it the wrong way, thought she was laughing at him. Then her mouth turned down as she remembered the other night when he’d knocked a matching glass out of her hand and threatened her. He hadn’t even apologized when he came home. She hadn’t forgotten—or forgiven.

  ‘If I hadn’t given him anything to drink, he wouldn’t have gone to the bathroom and then how would I have got his phone? And it was your choice to hide in the garage. You could have gone out.’

  She felt a sadness descend on her at the mention of the garage. She tried not to go in there if she could help it. She hadn’t been in there more than a half-dozen times since Kevin hanged himself. What she needed right now was for Hugh to put his arms around her, hold her, tell her it wasn’t her fault.

  He wasn’t paying any attention to her any more. It was one of the things that annoyed her, he just switched off when he was bored with a conversation—or losing an argument. He had his nose stuck in the instructions for the piece of software he’d ordered off the internet a couple days ago.

  ‘What are you putting on it?’

  He’d told her before but she’d forgotten most of it. Besides, he liked talking about all that technical stuff. It might help, might stop him acting like a bear with a sore
head.

  ‘It’s an iPhone tracker.’

  She was right. The petulant man with the sore head and even sorer hand had been transformed into a little boy with a new toy.

  ‘It turns his phone into a listening device.’

  ‘I don’t really understand.’

  And if he gave her his patronizing look, she was going to punch him.

  ‘It lets me switch on the phone’s microphone remotely. I can listen in on everything he’s saying.’

  ‘Won’t he know?’

  ‘Apparently not.’ He was still fiddling away as he talked, installing the software. ‘I can use the camera, look at anything I like, pictures, messages, anything. If you can do it with the phone in your hand, you can do it remotely with this. And it’s got a GPS tracker so I don’t have to worry about where he goes when he’s not in his car.’

  She shook her head in amazement.

  ‘Is any of that legal?’

  He looked up from what he was doing and gave her a long-suffering look.

  ‘Do you care?’

  She shrugged, tucked her hands into her armpits.

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He put several extra syllables in the word, just for emphasis.

  ‘Besides, anybody can buy it off the web, so it must be. You don’t have to be law enforcement or even a registered private investigator.’

  ‘It’s not right though, is it?’

  She got the look again. The don’t be so naïve look.

  ‘The end justifies the means. Or don’t you want to know what he’s up to?’

  ‘He’s not up to’— she spat the words out as if they were contaminated—‘anything.’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  There were times when she wanted to slap the smug look off his face. She bet there was no sign of it when they were nailing his hand to the picnic bench. It made her shudder to think of the sort of people he was involved with, what they were capable of. And now this, bugging her own father’s cell phone.

  ‘There, that’s done.’