Red Rain- The Complete Series

by David Beers

  “Detective?” the assistant called from her office. Alan stood up and poked his head inside the door again. “Mr. Hilt will be able to see you in just a few minutes. May I ask what this is about?”

  “Just routine interviews given the death from downstairs.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. Alan thought she believed it.

  He sat back down in the chair and waited until he heard her call from inside her office, “Detective Tremock? He’s ready for you.”

  “Thanks,” Alan said with a smile and walked to the door. He knocked on it softly before twisting the knob. Alan paused for a second as he stepped in, admiring the room’s beauty—not even an act, but sincerely awed at what he saw. Modern day offices were tightly constrained, trying to cram as many people into a building as possible, but Alan stood in what looked to be a holdover from the mid 1950s. “This is nice,” he said, letting the words trail out into the open air high above his head.

  “Thanks,” the man sitting across the room said. He sat behind a glass desk which resided on a slightly raised platform, putting it a foot or so above where Alan stood. “I got lucky getting this office; I just as easily could have been put in the mailroom, I suppose.”

  “I doubt that,” Alan said, smiling again. He walked across the room, stepped up onto the platform, and extended his hand. “Detective Tremock.”

  “John Hilt,” the man said, shaking Alan’s hand. “What can I help you with? Are you working with Detective Merchent?”

  “I am. We’re investigating the murder of Paul Stinson.”

  Hilt looked down at his desk, his face taking on a semblance of gravity. “I miss seeing him at group, to be honest. It’s just sick.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Alan said. “When you spoke with Detective Merchent, you told her you didn’t have much contact with Mr. Stinson, is that right?”

  “Yeah, not much at all. I forgot to mention, though, and this didn’t hit me until a day or so ago, that I did see Paul that day, the day he disappeared. Just a happenstance type thing. I walked into a Starbucks that he apparently visited regularly, and we talked for a good bit.”

  Alan studied Hilt’s face. No surprise anywhere. No worry. Not a hint of anxiety running through a single cell of his body.

  “That’s actually what I came to speak to you about, Mr. Hilt. It’s kind of … curious, I suppose, that you bring it up today.”

  “Why’s that?” Hilt asked.

  “Well, someone at that Starbucks helped us create a sketch, and sure enough, that sketch showed your face.”

  “I don’t find it too curious, given that I was in the Starbucks talking to Paul. Actually, it makes sense, and I wish I had remembered earlier, saved everyone some time and resources.”

  Alan nodded. “Do you mind if I take a seat, Mr. Hilt?”

  “No, of course, sit.”

  Alan did, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Why didn’t you tell Detective Merchent when she questioned you the other day?”

  “Like I said, I forgot. The whole thing, I mean his death, was beyond shocking. I wasn’t thinking clearly at all. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure it was the same day he disappeared, but at least someone was able to help us pin down the day with that sketch.”

  “Were you going to tell us about your meeting with him? Or that you were seen leaving with him?” Alan said.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I left with him because we had coffee together. I don’t see how it would have any bearing on your investigation.”

  “You may be the last person to see him alive. You don’t think that has bearing?”

  “Not if you knew the contents of our conversation.”

  “Well, Mr. Hilt, I can promise you that whatever you said is extremely interesting to my partner and me. In fact, interesting enough that we’d like you to come back to the station and interview you again. How does that sound?”

  Hilt shrugged. “Should I bring a lawyer?”

  “What’s the saying? Only guilty people lawyer up?”

  “I don’t know; I’ve never really dealt with lawyers, so those sayings are lost on me.”

  Alan stood. “Well, that’s your choice, Mr. Hilt. I can’t make it for you. Two PM tomorrow work for you?”

  “Sure, that works fine,” Hilt said.

  “Thanks for your time,” Alan said but didn’t offer his hand before he turned to walk to the door. Just before he reached for the doorknob, he turned around. “Wasn't someone else who worked in this building murdered a few days ago? Do you think it’s curious, just a bit, that two people near you died recently?”

  Alan looked at the missed calls on his phone, clearing them before looking up Susan’s number. Electricity jolted up and down his body. Hilt hadn’t shown the reaction Alan expected, but wasn’t his completely calm reaction enough in itself?

  Alan looked down at his phone as he rolled his car to a stop at the light. His wife was calling again, which wasn’t normal. She knew where he was, knew what was going on, so shouldn’t be calling like this. Unless she was pissed, being that he hadn’t made it home to dinner in over a week.

  Either way, Alan didn’t have time right now.

  He had to talk to Susan. Alan sent his wife to voicemail and then hit Susan’s number.

  “Not going to make it home for dinner again?” she answered.

  “It’s only six. I can still make it,” he said, which was true, if he headed straight home.

  “But you’re not going back to the house, are you?” Susan said. “You’re going back to the office.”

  “I just finished meeting with him, the guy from the sketch.”

  “What did you think?” she said.

  “I think …,” Alan paused.

  He wasn’t one hundred percent sure how he felt. The almost preternatural calm he felt radiating off Hilt was disconcerting.

  “He seemed willing to help,” Alan said. “Only … he seemed to dislike the fact that I was there. Or not so much me being there, but me in general.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He let a few seconds of silence pass as he figured out how to put it into words.

  “I felt like he was looking down on me, maybe. Except, that’s not even exactly right. The man held some disdain for me that I can’t really put my finger on. He said he would come down to the station tomorrow for another interview, and didn’t really sound like he’d bring a lawyer.”

  “Sounds to me like you don’t like him,” Susan said.

  “I don’t. Not at all.”

  “Because of how he acted or because you’ve already convicted him?”

  “I don’t know,” Alan said.

  “That’s not the best answer in the world.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s all I’ve got.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t think we’re going to get this guy to admit something in an interview room. He’s educated and has money. If we put too much pressure on him, he’ll lawyer up and that’ll be the end of it.” Alan paused as he thought about how that might feel, to have their first real lead in the case burn like a cheap match. Whatever else happened, that couldn’t. “We need to look into everything he’s ever done. As far back as we can find. If he’s guilty, something is going to turn up. We also need to put a tail on him.”

  “Something he can slip?” Susan said.

  “Yeah, I want him to see that we’re looking. One tail he can slip, and then a second one he won’t ever know is there.”

  “Alright. I’ll get on it tomorrow.”

  Alan nodded, alone in his car, finding satisfaction in his decision.

  “Okay, see ya,” he said and hung up the phone.

  When’s the last time you asked how Susan was doing?

  The thought poked into his brain like a needle through skin, painful and bright. Painful because he hadn’t asked and bright because the pain illuminated the truth: he didn’t care how she was doing. He didn’t care how his wife was do
ing. He didn’t care about the girls, either—not really. Not how he had cared before Paul Stinson showed up dead beside that lake. He cared about Teresa, and everything else fell to the side until he made sure she was okay.

  And she would only ever be okay if the person that killed her paid for it. In blood or time, Alan didn’t care.

  Do they notice?

  Of course they notice, he answered. Your wife just called you three times and you didn’t bother answering or returning the calls. Everyone around you knows what you care about. Even your kids.

  It wouldn’t be long. A month, maybe? At the outside? They could all go back to normal once this was over. He promised himself and them, even if they couldn’t hear him.

  Marie Tremock lay in bed, sitting up with a pillow behind her back.

  The pale blue television screen cast its glow across the room, turning what should have been a dark and quiet place to something unnatural—a room at midnight, full of light and people talking, though only one person occupied the bed.

  She watched what felt like the ninth commercial for an upcoming movie—‘The Singularity Rising’ a sequel to something that came out a few years ago titled ‘The Singularity’.

  Just awful names, she thought as the commercial ended.

  Marie wasn’t angry, though she thought she should be. In fact, given it was nearing midnight, she should probably be pissed that Alan wasn’t home. But she couldn’t find it in her, even if she wanted to.

  She understood.

  She didn’t like it, wasn’t even sure she respected the decisions he was making, but she did understand.

  Marie didn’t want to have the conversation that was about to take place, but what choice was there anymore?

  She heard the door open downstairs, closing as quietly as possible. She listened, turning the television down. His footsteps led to the kitchen, the sound of water running, and then silence as he drank. He started climbing the stairs and as he reached the top one, he paused. She heard it and knew why.

  He saw the television’s glow and could probably hear the low murmur it still made. If he saw those things then he knew she was waiting up, and out of everything that happened today, perhaps that was the worst for Alan. Everything at work was part of the mission—but her waiting up meant problems not involved with the mission. His mission.

  He entered the doorway and Marie’s heart broke as she laid eyes on him. He didn’t see what she did, wouldn’t even if she pointed it out in a mirror. Weariness dripped off his face the same as wax from a candle. Maybe the TV’s lighting caused it, or more probably, the hours he worked, but the lines across his forehead looked deeper.

  “Hey,” he said, still standing at the doorway.

  “Hey,” Marie said. She patted his side of the bed. “Come sit down.”

  He walked over and lay down, his legs halfway off and his head not quite reaching the pillow.

  “Hungry?” she said.

  Alan shook his head. “I’m sure you’re not waiting up to feed me.”

  “No, I’m not, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

  Alan swallowed before speaking. “So why are you up?”

  “I’m not going to give you any speeches, Alan.”

  “You rarely do. Maybe that’s the worst part. No speeches means I can do whatever I want, huh?” he said.

  “Up to a point.”

  “Have we reached that point yet?”

  She looked at him as he stared up at the ceiling. Had they? The point where she said enough was enough—and would she tell him something like that right now, given this mission he created for himself?

  “No,” she said. “We haven’t. But we will, soon. I’m not going to give you a speech, but what I’m going to say is non-negotiable. You can either agree to it or not. I’ll love you forever, no matter what, but I can’t stay with you if you don’t agree.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes. “What is it?”

  “When you finish this case, I want you to quit. The police department.”

  He didn’t open his eyes, but he did smile—the grin he always wore when he thought she wasn’t making sense. “And do what? What other skills do I have?”

  “You can work for any private firm in America, especially given your time in the military. You’ll find work, but this isn’t a debate.”

  He was silent for a long time, neither of them touching. He finally spoke. “Okay. After this one.”

  Days had passed since Alicia watched her brother commit adultery.

  She could barely stomach it; certainly time wasn’t making it any easier. John had been calling the past few days, but she didn’t answer. Rather, she sent him to voicemail, unable to listen to anything he had to say.

  Until today.

  Alicia decided she couldn’t go on living like this, knowing what she knew and avoiding her brother. She had to put it out in the open and he needed to answer for himself. Perhaps she would answer some things as well, why—for instance—she followed him. Alicia could handle those questions though, especially if it meant she understood what she saw the other night.

  What everyone had been experiencing the past couple weeks.

  She didn’t bother hiding in her car this time, but rather parked in his work’s garage, got out, and walked to his car. She leaned against the driver’s side door and waited.

  “What are you doing?” John said, walking up from behind her.

  She turned around, her eyes glancing behind him to make sure no one else was going to their car. She was angry, disgusted, but wouldn’t cause a scene that might impact his work.

  “Waiting on you.”

  “Did your phone break or something? I’ve called like a hundred times. You could have just called rather than showing up.” He placed his bag down next to the car, standing on the rear driver’s side.

  The seedling of anger Alicia planted when she first saw him pull into that nice neighborhood now threatened to shoot up to a full grown forest in a single second. She wanted to slap him, hard, across the face—leaving a red welt.

  “So why did you come?” he said, both still staring at each other.

  “I saw you the other night, John.”

  His eyes didn’t flicker or dart away, but the moment she finished her sentence she knew that he knew what she meant. No signs, nothing that anyone observing could point to, but Alicia knew her brother—knew his soul, and he had never been good at hiding things. The alcoholism (he wasn’t drunk that night, Alicia, don’t you remember?) stood as a perfect example. The family found out in John’s twenties—many alcoholics kept the ruse of sobriety up for decades.

  “Where?” he said.

  “In Denton. That neighborhood you went to.”

  “You followed me?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” He didn’t look bewildered at the thought of her act, only angry.

  “Because I wanted to know what was going on with you, why the whole family is worried. You missed Mom’s goddamn anniversary, John.”

  “Get in the car,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not talking about this out here. Get in the car.”

  Alicia turned and looked through the driver’s window. “How long are we going to be?”

  “Does it matter? Did you care how long it took you to follow me the other night? Or did you tell Mark you were working late?”

  She looked back at him, fire in her eyes as well as her heart. “I did it for you. I didn’t realize you were fucking someone and that’s why you’re acting so different.”

  John picked his bag up and moved past her, brushing her roughly with his shoulder. “Get in the car.”

  Fire in her heart … but was fear in her belly as well? Did she feel scared of John right now? Had he ever spoken to her like this before? She watched as he opened the door and put his bag in, realizing that if she wanted to continue the conversation she would have to get in the car.

  Alicia turned and walked to the passenger’s
side.

  John watched Harry climb into the backseat just as Alicia opened her door.

  “She only thinks I’m having an affair,” John said, his eyes finding Harry in the rearview.

  “Is that right? I haven’t read the news today, but what are the odds they start talking about old Larry from Marketing’s murder?”

  Alicia shut the door and John started the car. He backed out of his parking spot and drove through the deck in silence.

  “Where are we going?” his sister said.

  “So, John, what are the odds, would you say?” Harry spoke from the back.

  John didn’t look to him or her, but kept his eyes on the road as he pulled out onto the street.

  “John?” Alicia said, her voice harsh yet a strand of worry running through it too.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me,” John said.

  “Good, good,” Harry said from the back. “Go ahead and set her up to not trust you. Great thinking.”

  “I had to understand what was going on. You wouldn’t tell me. You wouldn’t tell Diane. Everyone was scared, and now … I just can’t believe you would do something like this. You’re going to ruin everything. Did you even think about the kids?”

  John swallowed and brought his other hand up to the steering wheel, knowing that it would turn into a fist if he let it remain in his lap. “It’s not that,” he said.

  “Oh, Christ, what in the hell are you about to tell her? You going to tell her you actually went to the house to murder someone and not lay pipe? That your plan?”

  “Then why were you there? Who was it?”

  John could barely keep up with the two conversations and his own thoughts jetting through his mind like missiles in the sky. He couldn’t process it all and then come up with a plausible excuse. He simply didn’t have enough time, especially with both banging questions off him like body shots in a boxing match.

  “It was someone from work,” he said, still not looking away from the road, knowing that if he did make eye contact with anyone, the story would unravel before it even began.

  “I figured that much. Who?”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said.