Don't Look In (Gus Young Thrillers Book 1)

by Tom Saric

  As teenagers, Randy was best friends with Buddy Getson. At that time, Buddy's father Jimmy ran the crime ring. When Randy and Jimmy butted heads, Randy ended up killing him and dumping the body in Ernie Weagle's junkyard. Rumor had it that their argument started because Jimmy wanted Randy to kill Ernie, who had since become the town sheriff.

  Wanda testifying against Randy actually saved two lives. If she didn't testify against her brother, Buddy would have had her killed. And she saved Randy's life, because if he wasn't in custody, Buddy would have killed him too.

  "What about Buddy Getson? Did you talk to him?"

  "No." Randy paused and tightened his lips before taking a sip of water. "I don't know if I have the strength. Yet."

  "The strength to stare down your old friend whose dad you murdered?"

  "You're not afraid to go to certain places, are you?"

  "It's kind of my job, Randy. To go to any emotional place."

  "There's a dark hole there. One the angels themselves try to forget about."

  "Randy, I go where angels fear to tread."

  Randy forced a shallow laugh, avoiding eye contact as he stood up. He put his glass down beside the sink.

  "Wanda told me that Buddy wasn't going to come after me. That he understood what I’d done. That he was happy his daddy was gone." He refilled his glass under the tap. "Now that's sad."

  "What did you talk about with Wanda?” Sheila interjected, as though I'd fallen too far off the mark with my interrogation of Randy.

  "We talked for hours. We sat by the bonfire in front of her place until it was dark. She mostly asked about me. How I'd kicked the pills. What jail was like, what I was going to do now that I was out. Big sister stuff. She was looking out for me like she always did."

  "Did she mention anything that makes you wonder who might have done this to her?" Sheila said.

  He shook his head. "Like I told the sheriff and the lady cop-" He snapped his fingers.

  "Debbie."

  "Debbie, right. Wanda told me she was soon getting out of the escort business and settling down. She seemed happy." Randy paused. "You know, Wanda did say this guy—she called him a 'long-haired freak'—had been driving by, spying on her."

  "She was worried about this person?" I said.

  "I wouldn't say, not really. I was just telling her about some of the people I'd met in prison, crazy guys. She mentioned it to me in passing."

  "Did she say who it was?" I immediately thought of Night Hawk Ned.

  "Nope." Randy's shoulders drooped, like he was weighed down. "Getting out, I thought I'd set this all right, fix my relationships. I never thought He would test me like this. But whoever did this, I'll find it." He pointed at his heart. "I'll find it in my heart to forgive."

  I opened the door to Sheila’s car, swept away the crumbs and colored sprinkles that had fallen off the donut I'd eaten on the way out. Sheila sat down and adjusted her rear-view mirror, then started up the Malibu and pulled out onto the road.

  "Who do you think he was talking about?" I said.

  "I thought of Ned."

  "Driving around. Spying. Crazy hair."

  "You don't think?"

  "No," I said. And I meant it. Ned was an odd person, but he saw himself firmly as a protector, a purveyor of justice. If anything, Ned would have wanted to protect her, and he was watching her because he thought she was in danger.

  As we drove, a flash of memory came back to me. Maybe a year ago, Ned said that he was worried about “that whore.” He'd shut me down before I could probe further.

  But maybe Ned knew something more. Maybe Ned had a lead on who could have killed Wanda. Maybe he was being followed.

  Ned was such a wildcard that I felt silly hanging my hat on one of his conspiracy theories. But my gun was missing and the sheriff had found a matching casing at the murder scene. If I didn't find out who killed Wanda, I could soon be in the frame.

  Before talking to Ned, I decided I needed background information.

  "I need to get back to the office to check my notes." I looked at my watch. The store was already closed. "Can you let me in?"

  14

  As the head of customer service at Buck's, Sheila had the master keys. So even though it was after hours, she was able to unlock the front door and turn off the alarms. The store was dark, but a few security lights gave off enough glow that I was able to make my way to the back hallway. Sheila said she would wait at the customer service desk.

  On the way to my office, I realized I was starving. I put a quarter in the dusty vending machine beside the washrooms and twisted the dial until a fistful of M&M’s spilled out.

  I opened my office door, turned on the Tiffany lamp beside my chair, and pulled Ned's blue shadow files from the safe.

  I was as satisfied as I could be that Randy hadn't killed Wanda. His emotions seemed genuine enough, and that, combined with his alibi, made me agree with the sheriff's department that he was no longer a credible suspect. If the person stalking Wanda was Ned, it gave me an important lead. However, I wanted to corroborate the story before approaching him.

  I had often wondered whether keeping shadow notes on my patients was a waste of time, but as the years passed and my memory became more spotty, they came in handy.

  I flipped through the pages, quickly scanning entries for any key words. The problem was that Ned's thought processes were paranoid and his suspiciousness drifted from person to person, so the entries were equally disorganized. The notes looked like a dog's breakfast of conspiracy theories.

  Then I came across it. An entry from six months earlier.

  Worried that a fellow patient (female) is in danger.

  Strong Urge/impulse to protect. Watches from a distance. Preoccupied.

  ? Represents projection of internalized anger outwardly onto an unknown male object?

  ? Projects internalized fearful/helpless child onto her?

  Entertains alternative explanations. Seems to fit in his paranoid character structure.

  I wished the notes were more detailed, but they pointed to Ned’s concern about another patient, enough that he could have been compelled to stake out Wanda's home. Enough that she was freaked out enough to tell Randy.

  I'd interpreted his concern about Wanda's safety as a mere projection. I didn't take his description as a credible threat to her. In Ned's internal world, someone was always in danger. If he wasn't worried about Wanda, it could have been Sheila, the gas station attendant, anyone. But even a broken clock was right twice a day.

  I locked his file in the wall vault and walked to customer service, where Sheila was flipping through a grocery store flyer.

  "I'm all done. I'm going to see Ned."

  "Do you need me to come along?"

  "No, I'll do this myself. It would frighten him if you came."

  "What about letting Ernie handle this, Gus? You're just taking this too hard. You're getting all wrapped up."

  "Sheila." I put my hand on top of hers. "I'm fine. But I can help figure this out. Because I know both Ned and Wanda, I might be able to get some information that the police can't."

  Part of me wanted to tell Sheila about the other half of my motivation to find out who killed Wanda. I trusted that Sheila would keep any information I gave her about my missing gun a secret, but that would put her in the unfair position of having to withhold information from police.

  "Plus," I said, "Ned is off-the-charts paranoid right now. Consider it part wellness check. Okay?"

  "You're the boss."

  "Sheila, we both know you run the show."

  Sheila dropped me off at the Oarhouse, where I got in my truck and drove to Ned's alone. The moonless sky was turning crimson above the trees, then bled to magenta and dark purple. The empty highway was a black ribbon winding through the forest. I flicked on my brights, but even that gave me only fifteen yards of road. I saw vehicle headlights behind me, but they disappeared, likely turning off to a home in the woods.

  Even though I was fift
een minutes out of downtown, this was still considered part of Bridgetown. In fact, more townspeople lived off little highways like this than in the town proper. The difference was that the further you got toward the edge of the town limits, the more trust for police and government dropped, and the more gun ownership and ATV injuries increased. And Ned lived just past the town limit.

  I nearly missed Ned's driveway. I had to press hard on the brakes to avoid ending up in the ditch. The marker for his home was nothing more than a stick bearing the numbers 39. His dirt driveway seemed to stop at the wood's edge. A set of deer antlers tied around a birch tree confirmed this was Ned's place.

  I pulled onto the driveway and was immediately met with three bright-red No Trespassing signs. Ned had mentioned setting booby traps around his property, but I decided that I would take my chances. My truck tilted and bounced over every pothole as I made my way deeper along the narrow drive barely wide enough for me to pass. Branches screeched as they scraped along the sides of my truck.

  Eventually the driveway widened, and to the right was a long pile of stacked firewood. Above, a plywood sign was hammered into a tree with the spray-painted words Steal Wood = Jail.

  Off in the distance, I made out a rusty old school bus. Inside must be the safe Ned told me about that contained clues of his investigation.

  Ahead was a western-style cabin with a corrugated metal roof overhanging a porch. The cedar siding was weathered gray. Solar panels stood on the roof and a windmill spun at the peak. I remembered when Ned got the panels. He didn't buy them because he was an environmentalist—he thought climate change was a hoax perpetrated by the oil companies. Rather he had solar panels to remain off grid and keep the government out of his affairs. When the contractor wanted to connect the panels to the town grid, as was standard practice, Ned chased him off his property and demanded that he sell him the panels in cash. Ned then installed them himself.

  A light was on inside. As soon as I turned off the truck and the headlights dimmed, the inside light flicked off too. I walked up to the front porch and looked up. One surveillance camera pointed at the front door, another toward the yard. I wondered if Ned generated enough power to run them. But knowing Ned, any available kilowatts would first be directed to the cameras.

  No smoke was coming from the chimney, despite the forty-degree temperature. Ned must have been freezing inside. But I sense that he was too paranoid that someone might notice smoke and realize he was home.

  I gave a few good raps on the screen door and waited. No answer. The curtains on the front window fluttered. I saw a faint glare through the window. As I moved closer, I realized that Ned was staring out the window, motionless, his face wrapped in the curtain. The glare was coming off his sunglasses. I was surprised that he hadn't hidden in one of the foxholes he had dug under the living room floor.

  I moved over to the window, pressing my face against the glass.

  "Ned, it's me. Gus Young," I yelled.

  I could hear him stumble. A pot crashed to the floor. Then the front door flew open.

  "Quiet down, Doc."

  "Ned, I'm-"

  "Shh." He had one finger to his mouth and waved me inside with his other hand. He looked both ways before he closed the door and flipped three deadbolts. Then he ripped off his sunglasses.

  "Can't be comin' in like this, buddy. Things are getting heated and out of control. They know I'm getting close and they're getting nervous, nervous, running their guns, watching us, not just me but now they got you in the crosshairs too, Doc. It's us against them now."

  "Ned, who are we against?"

  "Not yet, not yet." Ned was bouncing on his toes. "They've stepped into the net, one foot in, hoppin', hoppin', then when they get the other in…" He smashed his fist on the table. "We tighten the noose. They got the whore but they don't get us."

  "Ned you've got to calm down."

  "Oh, I'm calm, buddy, calm, calm." He held his hand out to show me it was steady, but his fingers fluttered like the last fall leaf clinging to a twig. Ned wouldn't be aware that he was nervous. His mind operated on denial. Every emotion he experienced he perceived as coming from outside of himself. He wasn't scared, he would say; the world was dangerous.

  "You're calm as a cucumber."

  "Ready for anything." He smiled with wild eyes.

  I looked around Ned's place. Stacks of newspapers that reached the light switches lined the walls, narrowing the hallways so you'd have to walk through sideways. Newspaper clippings were taped to the walls haphazardly. Permanent red marker was scrawled across them, creating a maze of circles and connecting arrows. Dirty pots and plates filled the kitchen sink.

  Beside the living room couch stood a full-size taxidermy buck. Along plate rails were rows of antlers that Night Hawk had picked up along the highway. He always kept the antlers as a memorial to the dead animals.

  "Ned, I need to ask you something." I motioned to the kitchen table, full of newspapers, magazines, and a half-whittled stick. "Can I sit down?"

  He shook his head. "No, Doc. I like you, but this is my place and you're only inside for your protection, ’cause it ain't safe out there for-"

  "Ned, I need to know if yesterday morning was the first time you were at Wanda's place?"

  "You saying I was in there doing that whore? No, no, you have me wrong, I'm not that, I treat women with respect, the fairer sex, they need our protection." He slapped my chest and then his own like we were bros. "I don't pay to get my dick-"

  "Ned, stop." His sense of chivalry was as progressive as a Viking conqueror's. "I'm not saying you were a client. Just if you were ever there. Nearby."

  Ned squinted at me and tilted his head. "What are you saying?"

  "A year ago you mentioned watching one of my patients from a distance. That you felt she was in danger."

  He was still squinting without blinking, as though he didn't remember the conversation.

  "And I met with her brother Randy. He said that she was worried someone was spying on her. And the description, well, was similar to-"

  Ned pointed a finger right in my face. His neck veins popped up. "You treasonous son of a bitch!"

  "Ned, I-"

  "What we talk about is confidential. You promised me! And now you go and talk to that whore's murderous brother about me? I'll have your license revoked. I knew I couldn't trust you. 'Ned, but he's a good guy, he's honest.' Bullshit. Lying right to my face." He was hyperventilating. "Accusing me? You think I killed her?"

  "No, Ned, I-"

  "Night Hawk don't have no guns. Night Hawk's a pacifist. He keeps the peace. Go find a gun in here. Look around."

  Ned had the strictest moral code I had ever encountered. It was completely rigid and unique. He didn't pay taxes because he didn't think the government had moral authority over him. But murder was simply not in his psyche. No. Ned's manner of operating was out of fear; he would run and hide before lashing out. He was too terrified to be able to hurt anyone.

  "Ned, I'm sorry. I don't think you killed Wanda." I put a finger in his face now. "And I didn't tell anyone anything about you. That's my code."

  He scanned me up and down and then nodded with approval.

  "We find the murder weapon for the .303, then I get this solved before Weagle can, before that corrupt bastard even gets the autopsy results back."

  I thought of the gun, and who could have taken it from my home. Was it too late to report it missing?

  "Ned, who do you think could have done this?"

  "No. Not yet. I can't tell you yet. But you've gotta go, before they see you with me. For your protection."

  "Ned."

  "If I tell you, I put you in danger."

  Ned was putting his foot down and there was no way he would share anything else. But he seemed to feel certain that he was close to finding Wanda's killer, so I decided to find out what I could.

  "Can I use your washroom before I go?"

  "You can piss outside."

  "Really?"

&
nbsp; He exhaled. "Down the hall and out the door is the outhouse. No bathroom inside. Don't have enough water for that kind of luxury."

  I walked to the hall, turned sideways, and shuffled between the rows of yellowed newspapers. Just before I reached the screen door leading outside, a closed door with a line of light at the bottom caught my eye. It was curious, because Ned was keeping the rest of his house dark yet somehow overlooked this room.

  I looked behind me. Ned was out of my sight line in the kitchen, so I pushed the door open. The room was narrow with a low-wattage bulb overhead. A long desk ran along the wall, and a fly-tying apparatus was clamped to the edge. Next to it was a pile of Polaroid photos. I stepped inside and picked them up.

  They were slightly faded pictures of a house taken from a road. The house had teal shutters and a beautiful garden. A white Cavalier was parked out front in one of them. I rifled through the rest. These were pictures of Wanda's trailer.

  I quickly stepped out of the room, pushed the screen door, and let it slam closed so Ned would think that I had gone to the outhouse. Then I slipped back into the room.

  Ned was lying to me. He had been watching Wanda's house. If he'd lied about stalking Wanda, could he be lying about killing her? Still, the pictures showed that he was surveying her, maybe as part of his need to protect her. Her death would leave him with guilt. But because of his personality structure, he would channel any guilty feelings into a crusade to solve the murder.

  No, Ned couldn't have.

  I turned to leave. What I saw hanging from the inside door knob made me feel like the floor was going to cave in.

  A turquoise stone.

  At the center of a silver cross.

  Wanda's necklace.

  I lifted it off the knob and held it.

  He'd killed her. I'd mistaken the cause of his paranoia as the stress of finding Wanda dead. Instead, this paranoia was a manifestation of guilt over killing her. Now he was projecting that guilt outwardly, and completely denying reality. He wasn't paranoid. He was a murderer.

  The necklace shook in my hand. I felt heat pulsate under my skin.