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

by James, Harper

  ‘Come on. I don’t want to talk about this here. Besides, I’ve got some things at home to show you.’

  Narvaez raised his hand towards the maître d’ as they left, got a nod in reply. A regular customer, maybe he settled his account at the end of the month. One of the waiters jumped across and held open the door and Evan followed Narvaez outside. The last piece in the puzzle was only two minutes’ walk away.

  A lot can happen in two minutes.

  Chapter 35

  THEY TURNED LEFT AND walked in silence back towards Narvaez’ apartment complex. Narvaez was deep in thought, Evan’s mind buzzing with the prospect of what was waiting for him.

  They never got there.

  There was a loud squeal of tires as a black Mercedes SUV—last seen high-tailing it away from the diner the previous day—bumped up the curb and came to a halt in front of them. The sidewalk was completely blocked. Both front doors flew open and Vasiliev’s men jumped out.

  For a couple of seconds, before the passenger had time to run around the back of the car and box them in, it was two against one—in their favor. Narvaez didn’t hesitate. He was old but he was solidly built. There wasn’t much these people could do to him now anyway, nothing to compare to the past, for sure.

  ‘Go,’ he shouted at Evan.

  Then he took a step towards the driver, surprising him. Nobody expects an old man to bring it on. The guy hesitated a split second. It was enough. Narvaez did a little jump and head-butted him on the bridge of his nose. The guy yelled in pain and surprise as his nose shattered, his hands instinctively flying to his face. The whole of the front of his body was an easy open target. Narvaez kicked him hard in the balls. He groaned and doubled over. As his face headed towards the sidewalk, Narvaez brought his knee up to meet it, his hands resting on top of the guy’s head.

  There was a double scream as Narvaez’ seventy-year old knee smashed into the guy’s already broken nose, tearing something in his knee.

  Evan had wasted too much time, stunned by Narvaez’ moves. By the time he’d taken two paces, the other guy was in front of him, blocking the sidewalk. The time Narvaez bought them was wasted.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Evan turned back towards Narvaez and the driver. Narvaez was leaning against the wall, his hands clasped around his knee, his face twisted with pain. The driver was on all fours, his head hanging down, blood dripping from his nose onto the sidewalk.

  Evan took a quick step forward, one foot up onto his back, used him like a gym vault to hop onto the SUV’s hood. The other guy was fast, faster than Evan would have believed possible for such a big man. He leaped towards the SUV crossing the distance in one pace.

  But somebody up there was smiling on Evan.

  The guy wasn’t watching where he was going, didn’t pay attention to the driver on the ground. He stumbled into him, stepped on his fingers. The driver yelled, wrenched his hand away. The one standing wavered, almost lost his balance.

  Too good an opportunity to miss.

  Perched on the SUV’s hood, four feet off the ground, Evan looked down on him as he teetered drunkenly and kicked him full in the face. He felt the guy’s teeth crack and loosen under his heel, his head snapping backwards like he’d been leaning out a train window as it went into a tunnel.

  In the back of the SUV, Vasiliev chose that exact moment to open the door. He put his hand on the door frame to pull himself out as the guy staggered backwards, colliding with the half-open door like someone drove a truck into it. The heavy door slammed shut on Vasiliev’s hand, the lock mechanism mashing his fingers. He howled and tried to pull his hand away, just made it worse.

  Time to go.

  Three waiters from the restaurant had come out to see what was causing all the commotion. Narvaez shouted something to them in Spanish—Evan caught the word pendejos—and they came running, their shouts merging into one as they charged forward. A moment later the chef emerged, a meat cleaver in his hand.

  Satisfied they’d take good care of Narvaez, Evan jumped down on the far side of the SUV’s hood. Narvaez’ shout stopped him in his tracks.

  Crow.

  Evan nodded his acknowledgement and set off running.

  And while the driver’s nose might have been broken, his ears worked just fine. Through his pain he managed to smile to himself. At least he had something for Vasiliev, something to try to make up for their monumental clusterfuck.

  ***

  ‘I KNEW YOU’D BE back,’ Elwood Crow said with a grin, ‘I just didn’t think it would be so soon.’

  He stood aside and Evan entered his house for the third time. Crow led the way to the back room again. The pet crow was already loose, sitting on the back of Evan’s chair, waiting. Evan went to sit in the other one. Crow wouldn’t have it, indicated the one already occupied by the bird with his bony finger.

  ‘Jesús told me what the old women say,’ Crow said.

  Despite what Evan knew lay upstairs in bed, he was smiling at the thought.

  ‘I’m sorry about your wife,’ Evan said. He cleared his throat. ‘And for—’

  ‘Snooping around?’

  Evan gave a you got me shrug.

  ‘I told you before. You wouldn’t be any good at your job if you didn’t’

  Evan suddenly laughed, couldn’t help it.

  ‘I know. But it’s embarrassing when you get caught. It’s Alzheimer’s isn’t it?’

  Crow’s eyes lifted to the ceiling.

  ‘Yes. Some days she knows who I am, other days—’

  ‘But you choose to care for her at home.’

  ‘What else would I do? Put her in a home? Those places are God’s waiting rooms, doesn’t matter how much you pay.’

  He looked down into his lap. He was quiet so long it was if he’d dozed off.

  ‘I might know where she is, but she’s as lost to me as your wife is to you.’

  He looked up again, brighter now, perhaps at the thought of getting stuck into Evan’s problems rather than his own.

  ‘Anyway, you didn’t come here to commiserate about the vicissitudes of growing old. Have you come to take me up on my offer?’

  Evan was tempted to say yes. Crow was watching him eagerly.

  ‘Not this time.’

  He told him what happened outside the restaurant. And how they’d been interrupted before Narvaez finished his story. Crow leaned forward as he listened, the pose making him look even more like his pet bird. What started out as a polite smile on his face turned into a full-blown grin.

  ‘Sounds like I got off lucky fifty years ago.’

  He was being modest. Especially considering the only reason Narvaez was there was to hear how Crow killed Thompson. And why. Narvaez’ words came back to him: Elwood wants to tell you himself—if you’re interested. That was a conversation that would have to wait for another day.

  ‘He shouted Crow to me as I ran off. So here I am.’

  Crow nodded to himself.

  ‘Yes, he told me the whole story. As far as he knows it.’

  Evan ignored the feeling in his gut, the hollowness, the will this ever be over ache. Crow was determined to prolong his agony. He pushed himself out of his chair and headed for the kitchen to get them something to drink.

  ‘Try a few passwords while I’m gone,’ he chuckled over his shoulder as he left the room.

  Evan glanced at the laptop. He had no intention of moving out of his chair—until the bird pecked him on the ear. He jumped up and the bird flapped leisurely away before he could take a swipe at it. It landed next to the laptop. Evan lunged at it, just for fun, to get it back for pecking his ear. He touched his ear, his finger coming away with a smear of blood.

  He knew the password.

  Not caring if Crow caught him or not, he entered the bird’s rude greeting into the dialogue box.

  He was in.

  But so was Elwood Crow, back in the room.

  ‘How many tries did it take?’

  ‘Got it first time.’


  Crow gave him a cup of coffee and sat down.

  ‘Should think so too. You had enough clues.’

  Evan glanced at the screen before joining Crow. There was nothing of interest. Crow was playing with him.

  ‘Francisco Javier Grajales never came home,’ Crow said. ‘Well, he did. In a box.’

  Evan had been expecting as much ever since the words Gulf War came out of Narvaez’ mouth. There’d been relatively few American deaths in the conflict—less than one hundred and fifty combat deaths, less than three hundred in total. He’d known Francisco would be one of them.

  ‘Are you interested in the details?’

  ‘Not now. Maybe later—’

  ‘Frank Hanna?’

  ‘He’ll want to know, yes.’

  A deep sadness settled on him. He could still hear the upbeat note in Hanna’s voice when he last talked to him. It wouldn’t take long to extinguish that.

  I found your son. He’s dead.

  Crow was watching him, waiting, as if he knew what was going through Evan’s mind.

  ‘There is some good news.’

  ‘There needs to be.’

  ‘You know Francisco had a girlfriend?’

  Evan nodded automatically.

  What did she die of?

  ‘Leighton. We were interrupted before he told me her surname.’

  ‘Yates. She was pregnant when Francisco went to war.’

  Evan came out of his chair faster than when the bird pecked his ear.

  ‘I know,’ Crow said, not fazed in the slightest by Evan’s reaction. ‘One door closes, another opens. Makes you believe in fate, doesn’t it.’

  Makes you want to kick something, more like.

  ‘Francisco told Jesús. The girl didn’t tell her parents. Not before Francisco went away.’

  Evan snorted.

  ‘I assume she’d have had to tell them at some point.’

  ‘One assumes so,’ Crow said with a chuckle. ‘Unless the girl had a termination.’

  ‘It’s déjà vu, all over again. I feel like I’m back at square one.’

  ‘Thirty years on, but yes, I can see how you’d feel that way.’

  ‘Did Jesús—’

  ‘He said as far as he knew the girl had the baby.’

  Hanna was back in with a chance of an heir—a grandchild. They’d be a good age too, twenty-six or seven.

  Crow laughed to himself.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Crow flicked at something on his pants leg. Bird shit, most likely. If Evan hadn’t already spent time in his company, got a feel for the man, he’d have said he was embarrassed.

  ‘I asked Jesús if he’d—’

  ‘Thought about abducting that one too?’

  Crow nodded. Evan saw how Narvaez thought they were similar. It was the sort of thing he’d say.

  ‘He took it very well. Said he was a bit long in the tooth for midnight runs down to Mexico. Said something about once bitten, twice shy too.’

  ‘Looks like you two really hit it off. You can’t bury the hatchet much deeper than that.’

  Evan dropped back into the chair, hoping the bird might have landed on it and he’d squash it. He leaned his head on the back of the chair, stared at the ceiling. As ever with the ceiling, there were no answers there.

  ‘Great. Now I have to go and talk to another nice, rich white family and say to them, hey there, I’m here to rake up what you thought you’d finally put behind you.’

  ‘You want to win any popularity contests,’ Crow said with a lot of heartfelt feeling, ‘get a different job.’

  Chapter 36

  EVAN’S MOUTH FLAPPED OPEN and shut a couple times.

  Guillory watched him as he tried to form some whole words. She took the opportunity to order them both another beer. It was lunchtime and they were sitting up at the bar in the Jerusalem Tavern, Evan’s favorite watering hole. Except today he had a sour taste in his mouth.

  ‘Hanna’s dead?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I only spoke to him yesterday.’

  ‘He’s still dead. The housekeeper found him at the bottom of the stairs. His neck was broken.’

  Their beers arrived. Evan sucked half of his down in one gulp.

  ‘What time?’

  ‘She found him just before nine this morning. He’d been dead about twelve hours.’

  ‘Accident?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘There’s no obvious signs of a struggle. No break-in.’

  Evan looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It was easy to see—if you didn’t know her—how somebody might make the sort of mistake Vasiliev’s man had made in the diner. You’d never call her cute, but you wouldn’t guess the surprises under the surface waiting for the unwary either.

  ‘Then it’s either an accident, or somebody who’s got a key.’

  ‘His daughter—’

  ‘McIntyre—’

  ‘Or McIntyre’s friends.’

  ‘Your friends, you mean,’ Evan said and grinned at her. ‘I don’t think it’s them.’

  He told her about the attack outside the restaurant. Her eyebrows went up an inch as he described Narvaez’ street-fighting moves.

  ‘Not bad for an old guy.’

  ‘It’s doubtful they went around to Hanna’s after that. I can’t see the daughter pushing her own father down the stairs either.’

  Evan got McIntyre’s phone out and showed her the spying app, told her how he’d listened in on Hanna. An unwelcome thought crossed his mind as he talked. He saw from her eyes she was thinking the same thing.

  ‘If you’d been listening in later, you might have heard what happened.’

  They were both silent a long time as they imagined what it would be like to have to listen to somebody being attacked without being able to help them.

  ‘It makes sense now,’ Guillory said. ‘We didn’t find Hanna’s cell phone. The housekeeper said he never went anywhere without it.’

  ‘Whoever killed him took it.’

  ‘Uh-huh. It doesn’t look good if you get caught spying on somebody and then they die under suspicious circumstances. Kind of puts you in the frame.’

  Evan held up McIntyre’s phone.

  ‘We’ve got this.’

  Guillory gave him a look.

  ‘You stole that, you mean. I don’t think that phone’s going to be much good to anyone as evidence.’

  He was sure she was right. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

  ‘Looks like you can rule out an accident. If he fell down the stairs on his own, and he was like the housekeeper says, the phone would be in his pocket or on the floor.’

  Guillory took a long, slow swallow of her beer, not really listening to him.

  ‘There was something else. The house had been searched. Not trashed, searched. You’d never know. The housekeeper noticed, said Hanna was very fussy about things. Some stuff wasn’t where it should’ve been.’

  She turned suddenly and looked at him, hard enough to make him squirm.

  ‘Is that something you can help me with, him being your client after all.’

  He hesitated, not sure where he stood now. Did a promise to keep information confidential extend beyond the grave?

  Guillory leaned in, peered up into his face.

  ‘This could be a murder investigation now, Evan.’

  That’s what came out her mouth. What went in his ears was:

  It’s time for the kiddies to hand the toys to the grown-ups.

  Even if she didn’t know it, her words answered his question. The whole point of keeping his search for an heir secret was to prevent what had just happened from happening—somebody killing Hanna to stop him making a new will. His vow of silence was worthless now. And if there was an heir—and the next few days would finally answer that question—it would be too late.

  Guillory was making little circles in the air with her finger: hurry it up.

  ‘They were looking for his w
ill.’

  She leaned back, an aha look on her face.

  ‘And you’ve been looking for an heir.’

  ‘Almost found one too,’ he said and brought her up to date.

  ‘Too little, too late, eh?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Looks like it. At least I don’t have to worry about Vasiliev any more ...what?’

  ‘Don’t count your chickens—’

  ‘What’s the point? Hanna’s dead.’

  She held up her hands.

  ‘It’s your skin.’

  Evan still had McIntyre’s phone in his hand. Guillory noticed him looking at it and laughed.

  ‘Go on then. Call it. See what the bottom of a lake sounds like.’

  He put it back in his pocket. He’d call it another time. She slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Christ, Evan, you look like your dog just died. Call it if it’ll make you feel better.’

  He shook his head, made circles on the bar with the bottom of his beer bottle.

  ‘It’s not that. I was just thinking ... they went after Hanna because I got away from them.’

  She took hold of his hand and laid it palm upwards on the bar, put the edge of her own palm on his wrist and sawed back and forth.

  ‘Let’s see if we can get this sawed through before you get a full-blown guilt trip going. Besides, you just said it wasn’t them.’

  He pulled his hand out from under hers.

  ‘If they’d caught me, McIntyre wouldn’t have needed to go around to Hanna’s.’

  ‘And if my auntie had balls, she’d be my uncle.’

  He ordered a couple more beers so he didn’t have to acknowledge the point. She put her arm around his shoulders, shook him. They stared at each other in the mirror.

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ve snapped out of it,’ he said before it got awkward.

  ‘Where’s it leave you now? Without a client.’

  He stuck out his bottom lip, caught sight of what it looked like in the mirror and pulled it back in.

  ‘Did he pay you yet?’

  ‘Uh-uh.’

  ‘Retainer?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Looks like the beers are on me.’

  He had the sense to not make a comment, to accept graciously. Besides, it didn’t happen very often. Her face suddenly fell. Now that was too good an opportunity to pass on. He laid his hand on her shoulder.