‘I know you’re not keen to do business with Adamson if you can help it. So I did some more digging into Cole Nix—’
Evan jerked forward in his chair, startling Crow and the bird at his shoulder.
‘It might have been you who set them off.’
Crow stared at him a long moment as if his nose were turning into a carrot.
‘I’m going to get Plenty to peck out the mashed potato or whatever it is clogging up your ears. I told you, I take precautions. It wasn’t anything I did.’
Evan relaxed back into the chair, not completely convinced.
‘You find anything?’
Crow hesitated before answering.
‘Not on Cole Nix, no. Apart from the original news article I found, there’s nothing. Which is very unusual.’
Evan gave a noncommittal shrug. He wouldn’t know. What he did know in the dark, secret oozings of his entrails was that Crow was holding something back.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Crow inspected his fingernails briefly, put his hands on the arms of his chair as if to push himself up.
‘You want something to drink?’
‘To give you time to think up a story, you mean? No thanks. Spit it out.’
Despite the outward show of impatience with Crow’s reticence, a twinge of unease ignited in Evan’s gut. He knew Crow well enough to recognize that if Crow was reluctant to say something, he should make sure he paid particular attention to whatever it was when it finally came out.
Crow got up anyway, poured himself a couple of fingers of bourbon. The good stuff, Evan noticed. He rested his bony hand briefly on Evan’s shoulder on his way back to his chair, sent a shiver through him as if the Grim Reaper had snuck up on him.
‘For Christ’s sake, Elwood, tell me.’
Crow took a careful sip of his drink, never one to be hurried. He cleared his throat again.
‘After Adamson telephoned me a second time to give me Delacroix’s name to pass along’—Evan smiled thinly and was good enough to say nothing about him forgetting to do so—‘I wanted to check his story again. See if Delacroix was mentioned in the news report. I’d bookmarked the original page I found. Luckily, I’d also printed out a hard copy. Because the article had been taken down.’
He took another sip of his drink, stared at Evan over the rim of the glass.
‘So? Maybe they archive stuff regularly. It was six years ago after all.’
Crow nodded his agreement.
‘That’s exactly what I thought—’
‘Well, there you go.’
‘—which is why I searched to see if everything from that time period had also been removed.’ He paused. Unnecessarily, in Evan’s view, but that was Crow. ‘It hadn’t.’
‘Maybe—’
‘Maybe nothing, Evan. You want me to tell you about some of the things I found still up there gathering dust in the ether? Missing pets, underwear stolen off a clothesline, important stuff like that. This was the online version of a small local paper and you want me to believe they took down an article about a man shot dead at the side of the road to make room for the Little League results?’
Evan nodded, some of Crow’s paranoia rubbing off on him.
‘Add that to what happened to me when I did a search for Cole Nix . . .’
‘Exactly. Whoever Nix was, somebody wants to make it look like he never existed.’
They sat staring at each other a few beats as the implications sank in.
‘Want that drink now?’
Evan shook his head. He didn’t need anything to muddy the myriad thoughts spinning through his mind. There was one scenario hanging in the air between them, neither man giving voice to it. Evan gave in first when the silence got uncomfortable.
‘It’s possible that whoever wants to remove all traces of Cole Nix,’ he said, his voice slowing word by word in contrast to the thoughts racing ahead in his mind, ‘might also want to remove all traces of anyone connected to him. Like someone who was with him when he was shot at the side of the road.’
Crow said nothing, made no gesture, affirmative or otherwise. Evan got up, poured himself a drink now, refreshed Crow’s.
‘Consider this,’ Crow said. He raised his left hand, took hold of his little finger. ‘If they’re clearing the decks’—he moved on to his ring finger—‘and the woman with him was Sarah, they’d have made the connection between you and her when you went searching for Nix. They wouldn’t have let you go so easily. Not without finding out why both you and your wife have an interest in Nix, at the very least. That supports the view that it wasn’t Sarah.’
‘Or they didn’t make the connection.’
Crow shrugged noncommittally, have it your way.
‘It makes sense,’ Evan continued. ‘Who can make a person disappear without a trace? The government, that’s who. The sort of guy I met the other night. Who’d have known where I was if they hadn’t let me go?’
‘You’re being paranoid.’
‘I wonder who I get that from.’
Crow patted the air, take it easy.
‘We need to know what happened before jumping to any wild conclusions, screaming conspiracy at the top of our voices. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Great. Back to jumping through hoops for Adamson in the hope that he’s not just jerking me around.’
‘Not necessarily.’
Evan was standing by now, staring out of the window. More than Crow’s words, the something hidden up my sleeve tone of his voice made him turn around.
‘Why not?’
‘As I said, I didn’t find anything on Cole Nix. However, I’ve got the name of the journalist who wrote the article I found, the one that has subsequently been removed. Abe Dalton. He might have more information. If they’ve taken the whole thing down, it’s possible there were things he wasn’t allowed to include in the first place.’
He shrugged, it’s worth a try. The look Evan gave him questioned who exactly it was who was paranoid.
‘He lives in Laredo, Texas.’
Evan nodded to himself.
‘Makes sense. It’s where the guy was found dead at the side of the road. Maybe Sarah’s down there living with him.’
It was a flippant, off-the-cuff remark, nothing meant by it. It would turn out to be closer to the truth than he could ever have imagined.
‘I thought secret government agents had eliminated her.’
Evan saw the half-smile on his lips and smiled himself.
‘Yeah, well. Maybe I was getting a bit carried away. Getting tasered can do that to you.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’ Crow made a show of looking at his watch. ‘I’d have thought you’d be on your way to Laredo by now already. Strike while the iron is hot.’
Evan knew what he was being accused of, did the translation in his head: Act first, think later.
‘There’s some things I need to do first.’
Crow raised an eyebrow, pulled his head back. As if to get a better look at him, make sure it was the real Evan Buckley standing in front of him.
‘That’s not like you. Normally any mention of a new lead to do with Sarah’s disappearance and you’re off like a rocket. Whoosh.’ He whipped his hand out towards the door, arm straight as an arrow. ‘What sort of things?’
Evan shook his head, doesn’t matter.
‘Something to do with Kate then,’ Crow said. ‘Good. She needs someone to lean on at the moment. I guess you’ll do.’
As was often the case with Crow, Evan felt like a laboratory rat pinned to a table, his skin and flesh pulled back while Crow poked around in his innards, never missing a thing, every juicy morsel extracted, analyzed, carefully stored away for future reference. He needed to get back on track.
‘What do you think I should do?’
‘Well, for starters, you should treat her better. Stop—’
‘No. About the journalist.’
‘Oh, him.’ He leaned back in his seat,
folded his arms across his chest. His eyes were hooded like an ageing vulture he so closely resembled dozing off as it waited for him to die. ‘You really want to know what I think?’
Evan understood then that it was a different Crow who sat in front of him, appearing bigger somehow. A younger Crow in the guise of an avenging angel, a Crow who’d garrotted a degenerate, vicious thug in the name of natural justice and the world had become a better place for it. He nodded.
‘Take it to the bastards. Don’t wait for them to come to you.’
And Evan always tried to be a good boy, did as he was bidden by his elders and betters.
Chapter 3
‘DIAL A LAME EXCUSE, how may I help you?’ Guillory said when she picked up. ‘Sorry, I got that the wrong way around. That’s your line.’
Ordinarily there’d have been a lot of laughter coming down the line at this point. Just not today.
‘If you’d answered my calls, I could have explained.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Right.’
It annoyed the hell out of her when he said right like that. It was normally rewarded with a smack around the back of the head if he was within reach. Today he was safely on the other end of the line.
‘Go on then. Let’s hear it.’
So he told her about the taser and the interrogation room and Smith’s threats. He forgot to mention Smith’s question about what size patrol uniform she wore. At least now there was laughter coming down the line. A little too much if you asked him.
‘Secret agents?’ she said when he was finished.
‘Something like that.’
‘Jeez. And I thought I’d heard every excuse a guy can come up with for not taking a girl home.’
He knew her head was shaking at the other end of the line, pictured the soft smile on her lips. And they both felt the undercurrent beneath her words. Had that been the evening when their relationship would have finally moved to the next stage? If secret agents hadn’t intervened. Small wonder she was shaking her head.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell Ryder.’
Ryder was her long-standing partner, Evan’s nemesis. On a good day, their non-relationship was characterized by a mutual animosity with some antagonism and bad blood thrown in, maybe some ill will and rancor too. If he couldn’t do it himself, he’d be willing to pay a lot of money to listen to a story about Evan being tasered.
‘Then again, maybe I will. You haven’t got any photos, have you?’
He didn’t say anything, let her work it out of her system. She was softening towards him.
‘You want me to pick you up?’ he said.
A confused silence came down the line, made him think, maybe not so forgiven.
‘Delacroix’s funeral.’
‘I didn’t know you were going.’
‘At least I met the guy.’
‘And ended up in a fight with him.’
Joseph Delacroix had been an undercover cop at the heart of Evan’s last investigation. When somebody put two bullets in his back, Evan had been set up to take the fall. It was true what she’d said—he’d ended up in a fight with him. But he hadn’t murdered him and they’d parted on good terms. He’d liked the guy.
That was only part of the reason for him attending the funeral. His brother was Jackson Delacroix, the man whose name had been passed to Crow to pass along to him. By the time he got the message, Jackson was in the wind. Even though he doubted Jackson would turn up, he wanted to go all the same.
‘All the more reason to pay my respects to a worthy adversary.’
‘Hopefully see Jackson, you mean.’
She’d been there when Crow finally passed the name to Evan, too late for him to do anything about it. And she’d been there when Evan tried to call him on the last known number he had for him. She’d seen the frustration and disappointment and anger in his face when it turned out to be disconnected.
‘That too.’
When she laughed again, he knew he was forgiven after all. Not that he’d have known it from her next remark.
‘Anyway, I’ve got a better offer. I’m going with—’
‘Not Ryder?’
‘Yep. See you there.’
Chapter 4
EVAN’S WHOLE BODY echoed the three-volley salute, that sainted trinity of duty, honor, and country, with a deep resounding in the pit of his stomach, a thickening of his throat, a sharp pricking at the back of the eyes.
As the Honor Guard firing party presented arms, their shotguns—the traditional choice for a law enforcement funeral—held rigidly in front of them while the echoes of the final volley rumbled like thunder in the distance, then died away and indignant, startled birds settled back into the trees, he reflected on how much the world had changed. And for the worse. How it wouldn’t be a retrospective step if the attitudes and customs that gave rise to the origin of the salute—halting the fighting to remove the dead from the battlefield—were to enjoy a revival.
He wasn’t surprised when Jackson didn’t show.
He stood at the back attracting more attention than was respectful at somebody else’s funeral. In particular, from Ryder whose hopes and dreams had been shattered when he failed to nail Evan for the killing. Evan ignored them all, concentrated instead on Kate Guillory standing by the graveside as rigid and unyielding in the buffeting wind as the trees that overshadowed them.
He knew some of what was going through her mind.
There but for the grace of God go I.
It was a thought crossing the minds of all of the men and women standing stiffly in their Class A uniforms. For her it was closer to the bone. She’d only recently returned to duty after being suspended for attacking a suspect in custody—a convicted pedophile called Robert Garfield. During her suspension she was abducted by the pedophile gang. After a severe beating-cum-interrogation, she was driven, hooded and bound, out to the woods to be executed. Then, through a combination of circumstance and a not-so-simple twist of fate, she’d escaped.
And while the visible cuts and bruises had healed, the psychological wounds had not. Nor would they for a long time. She had no idea who had abducted and beaten her, who had given the order for her to be killed, as if she were simply an inconvenient irritation to be dealt with.
So she claimed.
Evan wasn’t so sure. And he knew more than he was letting on.
After the service was over, he followed her to where the three-volley salute had been fired from, fifty feet away, positioned to fire across the grave. She was bending to pick up one of the ejected shell casings as he came up behind her. He admired the view for a long moment.
‘You don’t need to do that. They’ve got staff to clean up.’
She jumped upright. ‘Jesus Christ, Evan, don’t creep up on people.’
‘What are you doing?’
She flipped the shell casing in the air, caught it again.
‘I always pick one up at every funeral I attend. I keep them in a jar.’
‘How many have you got?’
He mouthed the answer to his own question as she replied.
‘Too many.’
He wanted to say to her, here’s hoping you get enough to fill a bathtub before you’re finished. Because there would be only one funeral she attended when she wasn’t picking up spent brass. And that would be when she was inside the box. So he didn’t say it. She knew what he was thinking even so.
‘Are you okay?’ he said instead.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
He did the Guillory-to-English translation: not really.
‘Nice uniform, by the way. It suits . . . you look good in it.’
He’d been about to say, it suits you. Except that reminded him of what happened immediately after the last time he saw her—his abduction and the threats made by the man who called himself Smith, specifically the threat to demote her back down to the ranks.
And it reminded him that things had changed.
Until now he’d been able to
do whatever he liked in his search for Sarah. The only downside had been how much time he wanted to waste potentially chasing his tail. All that had now changed. Smith had demonstrated how much he knew about Evan’s life, his habits, the people he cared about. Within the next half hour, they would both be privy to a further demonstration of just how comprehensive that knowledge was. And he’d made it clear that if Evan continued to stick his nose in where it wasn’t wanted, they were the ones who would pay the price.
She looked down at herself, smoothed a crease out of the fabric. A crease which wasn’t there. Despite dipping her head, he saw the smile she tried to hide.
‘I thought you’d like it. At least I can still get into it.’
‘Unlike Donut, eh?’
‘Don’t call him that.’ She looked over his shoulder to where the majority of the mourners were standing. ‘He’s coming this way. Try to be nice to him for once.’
He turned as her partner Ryder walked up. As he’d implied, it was some years since Ryder’s uniform had been up to the job of constraining his bulk.
‘What’s he doing here,’ Ryder said to Guillory.
They all knew what he meant was, why are you talking to him and not us?
‘Good to see you too, Detective,’ Evan said, a pleasant smile plastered to his face.
‘Same as the rest of us. Paying his respects,’ she said.
‘He doesn’t know what the word means.’
Evan felt the plastic smile slipping, consoled himself with the thought that if anything happened to Ryder, they’d probably declare a paid holiday. His hands were in his pockets which was a good place for them to be. He suspected Guillory was wishing they were sewn in—with the same heavy-duty thread that was holding Ryder’s uniform together.
‘We’re heading off to the reception,’ Ryder said to Guillory. Then he turned towards Evan for the first time, a look on his face like Evan just insulted his sister. ‘You’re not invited.’
The Road To Deliverance Page 2