Murder Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Before she started, she checked the news for any updates. The morning paper had very little to add to Sunday’s article: reactions of the parents, a statement by the school principal, a Mrs. Tomasi. Although the school had some surveillance cameras, none of them recorded the quad where the boy’s body was found.

  Too bad, she thought, but she knew the LAPD had it covered.

  Sam appeared at her elbow, car keys in hand.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “I’m going to go check out that new property listing,” he said. “Want to come?”

  She looked back at her jammed inbox. “I’d better not,” she said. “I need to get some work done. Did you call about it? It sounds decent?”

  “Hmm, not sure,” he hedged. “They said it needs work, never a good sign. But, I’ll see. Be back as soon as I can.” He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right here.”

  Being a private investigator had its perks: she was her own boss, worked to her own schedule and took on—or declined—work as she wanted or needed. It was a curious mix of the infrequent newsworthy cases she and Sam got—the unsolved murders, the serial killers—and the mind-numbing tedium of background checks and subpoena serving. After all, something had to fill in those times in between high-profile cases. The bills still needed to be paid.

  The apartment was too quiet, especially after a weekend with the kids. She turned on soft music and refreshed her coffee cup, then bent to her work. Once she got into a groove, she could knock out several background checks an hour.

  And did. She stopped after an hour and rinsed out the cold dregs of coffee, stretched and scanned the apartment to see how much housework she could avoid. The place didn’t look too bad. She’d vacuum later. She needed to go to the gym and work out, also later. She’d keep working until Sam got home.

  Which happened sooner than she expected. She heard his key in the lock and glanced at the clock; almost eleven. That morning had gone by in a flash.

  “Still working?” he asked as he joined her at the table. He gave her a kiss and went to the kitchen to get a soda out of the fridge.

  “Yeah. Making good headway, though. How was the property?”

  He took a seat across the corner from her. “It has possibilities,” he said. “It’s an old one-bedroom house, built in the 1940s, I think, and the area all around it went commercial, so it’s zoned for that. Large front room, full kitchen and bath, and the small bedroom in the back.”

  “What about the outside?” If Sam were going to do traditional Navajo pottery, he needed to be able to fire his work in a fire pit, not a kiln. Having an open fire in the middle of LA could be a problem.

  “The yard is pretty good-sized,” he said, “and completely fenced. I actually think it could work pretty well. It does need work, but nothing major. Plumbing and electrical are good, foundation is solid. It mostly just needs to be gussied up a little.”

  “How’s the price?” Lacey asked.

  “Not bad. Actually, for the area, it’s a bit of a steal.” He took a sip of soda and arched an eyebrow at her. “It’s got an… issue to it.”

  “An issue? What kind of issue?”

  He grinned at her. “It’s haunted.”

  “Haunted?” She sat up. “Do you know by whom?”

  “Owner said it used to belong to a woman artist, decades ago. He couldn’t think of her name. A painter.”

  “Did you sense her?”

  “I … think so. It was faint, but I got a twinge.”

  Lacey shoved aside her laptop. “So what do you think?”

  “I think,” he said, “I’d like you to take a look at it. Want to go over after lunch?”

  “Heck, yeah.”

  Sam was right; it was the last remaining house in an otherwise commercial area. On one side of the house was a rock shop and lapidary supply; on the other was a locksmith. Not a high-traffic area, for sure.

  They hadn’t bothered to call the owner back, so didn’t have the key, but they could look around the yard and peek in the windows. Lacey noticed the light tan color of the dormant front lawn, but thought that would come back to life with regular watering. The back yard had no more than patches of dormant grass, but that was okay because Sam would need to dig a fire pit. There was a small covered brick patio off the back door, which could be converted to a nice conversation area, plus Sam could build in some drying shelves. The wooden fence all around the back yard needed a couple boards replaced, but otherwise was in decent condition.

  Lacey peered at the stucco walls of the little house. She found a few small cracks, but nothing that looked ominous.

  “Did you happen to ask about the roof?” she asked Sam.

  “Replaced twelve years ago. I saw no signs of leaks inside.”

  Lacey peered into the windows at the dim, empty rooms. Nothing spectacular, but nothing terrible, either. It was a little saltbox, indicative of the time it was built.

  “Well,” she said, “I don’t see anything that’s a deal-breaker. You like it?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Okay. Let’s make an offer and start the ball rolling.”

  ~~~

  THREE

  Tuesday evening, Sam’s phone chimed. He checked the screen as Lacey paused the movie they were watching.

  “Christine,” he said. He tapped the answer button. “Hello?”

  Lacey tried not to listen too closely at first, but it was difficult when Sam sat right next to her. When she heard his first few words, she didn’t care about propriety, and listened intently.

  “Why? How’s he acting?” she heard Sam say.

  “Did you let him stay home? … Okay, good… Have you tried to talk to him? … Well, everyone grieves differently… Yeah… Okay…”

  Lacey got up to refresh her iced tea. She had no doubt what the issue was. Daniel was having a tough time dealing with his friend’s death. She took her time in the kitchen, and when she rejoined Sam on the couch, she heard him wrap up the call.

  “I’ll pick him up at school tomorrow afternoon… I don’t know; we’ll just see where it goes… Yeah, sure. Bye.”

  He keyed off the call and tossed his phone aside. Lacey angled her body toward him, the movie forgotten.

  “Daniel?” she asked softly.

  “Yeah.” Sam blew out a breath. “He’s really withdrawing. She said he didn’t want to go to school today, tried to tell her he was sick, but he wasn’t running a temperature. He did go, but as soon as he got home, he holed up in his room, doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

  Lacey laid her head back on the couch cushion. “Poor kid. He doesn’t know how to handle this, and he doesn’t know that talking it out is probably the best thing.”

  “Yeah. Well, I’ll pick him up after school tomorrow and see if I can get him to open up.”

  Lacey was quiet for a moment. Finally she said, “You want some moral support, or…?”

  He took her hand. “Nah. He’s more apt to open up if it’s just me. You understand.”

  “Yeah, I do, but I thought I’d offer. No, you two can do a little male-bonding, I hope.”

  He nodded. “Me, too.”

  ~~~

  While they both had things to do the next day, it all felt like marking time until school was out. Lacey fielded papers from the property owner and the title company, ordering the inspection and sending in earnest money. Sam was already looking at ordering supplies: clay, tools, even a wedging table. Lacey could tell that he was looking forward to starting his new venture.

  “I was thinking,” she said, “maybe the owner would let us rent the place for the few weeks until we close escrow. That way you can get started right away.”

  “Hmm, that’s a possibility,” Sam said. “I couldn’t do any structural changes until we closed, but I could do some pottery. Yeah, let’s see if he’s open to that.”

  Lacey added that to her to-do list.

  When the time came for Sam t
o go get Daniel, she gave him a hug. “Good luck,” she said, and kissed him.

  “I have no idea when I’ll be home,” he said.

  “I know. Don’t worry about that. Take as much time as you need. We’ll worry about dinner when you get home.”

  He nodded distractedly, already thinking ahead.

  Lacey prowled the apartment while he was gone. It seemed ironic that Daniel was having so much difficulty with this, when his dad dealt with death regularly. But, she realized, she and Sam worked with the spirits of the departed; the families and friends left behind faced an entirely different scenario. It wasn’t that she’d never considered the survivors—she had, from time to time—but it wasn’t their focus.

  This was totally different.

  She knew if anyone could help Daniel understand, Sam could.

  The late afternoon dragged on into early evening. Finally Lacey fixed a couple of large mixed salads with chunks of chicken and cheese, and set them in the fridge for whenever. To keep herself from staring out the front window, she pulled out her laptop and knocked out a few background checks.

  When Sam finally walked through the door, it was after six o’clock. He tossed his truck keys on the kitchen counter and heaved out a deep breath as he kissed her.

  “Tough time?” she asked. She put her laptop away, all ears.

  “Yeah,” he said, dropping into a chair, “but not like I thought it would be.”

  “Oh?” Something in his tone alerted her. “How so?”

  “Well, he’s missing Jason, of course, and still coming to grips with the loss, but there’s something else.” Sam’s eyes glittered at her, uncertainly evident in the dark depths.

  “He’s picking up on Jason’s ghost.”

  Lacey’s jaw dropped. “Huh? He’s… he’s feeling him? Like you do?”

  Sam nodded. “Apparently. He said on Monday, all evidence of the murder and the police investigation was gone, but of course everyone knew where it had happened. During lunch break, he walked over there, just looking, and the closer he got, the more he realized he was getting impulses from Jason.”

  Lacey leaned on the table, her chin in her hand. “He hasn’t ever done that before, has he?”

  “No. First time. I think it really freaked him out.”

  “I’ll bet.” She tipped her head. “When did you first pick up on a spirit?”

  Sam toyed with the salt shaker. “I’m not totally sure, but I think before I was five. It seems like I’ve always been able to.” He shrugged. “It was just normal for me.”

  “But not for him, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. The only good thing is that, once he realized what it was, and that it wasn’t him suddenly going schizophrenic, he felt like he had a handle on it, sort of. I mean, just knowing that I do it helped. But it still creeped him out.”

  Lacey sat back. “So that’s why he didn’t want to go back to school? He didn’t want to feel it again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All right.” She crossed her arms on the table. “So how did you leave it? Is he okay now?”

  “I think he’s… better,” Sam said carefully. “But I’m not sure what he’s going to do with it now. He’s definitely not liking this.”

  Lacey had a thought and leaned forward. “Does he know who killed Jason?”

  “No. I asked him.”

  “But he could provide clues,” Lacey said, on a roll now. “Did he tell you what all he was feeling? We could take him down to the station, to Captain Shaw. Maybe he could—”

  “No, Lacey.”

  She stopped in mid-sentence, blinking at him in disbelief. “No?”

  “No. He’s having a tough enough time figuring out how to deal with this without getting grilled by the captain.”

  “But… but he could help solve the murder. Bring the killer to justice. Wouldn’t he like to do that?”

  Sam stared at her, his eyes like obsidian. “Maybe, at some point. But not now. No, he needs to work this out in his mind first. Understand what’s happening to him, what he’s capable of. And he’s still grieving. He needs to work through that process.”

  Lacey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She drew in a few deep breaths, steadied herself, and kept her voice low and quiet.

  “Sam, there’s a murderer out there. Whoever it is, he could kill again. We have to—”

  “No.”

  For a handful of heartbeats, they locked eyes and stared at each other. Lacey’s thoughts raced, trying to understand, trying to figure a way around her husband’s stony position. She knew he was only thinking of Daniel, protecting him, but the unfairness, the outrage bubbled up inside of her. What if protecting Daniel meant putting others at risk? What if more kids died when they didn’t have to?

  She opened her mouth to voice those very thoughts, but the hard look on Sam’s face stopped her. She recognized that tight jaw, that direct, unflinching stare, the set of his shoulders. Married or not, partners or not, he would not give an inch on this.

  She sat back in her chair. “All right,” she said softly. “We’ll wait.” She pulled in another deep breath. “But if there comes a time when you and he could help…”

  “We’ll let you know.”

  ~~~

  FOUR

  They did their best to put the subject aside, but even at breakfast the next morning, Lacey still felt like they were walking on eggshells. Or at least she was. Sam focused his eyes on the newspaper instead of her, and she refilled his coffee cup without comment.

  After breakfast, she sat down at her laptop and checked emails.

  “Looks like the inspection of the house is scheduled for Friday,” she told Sam. “I’m glad they’re fast-tracking this for us.”

  “Me, too. I’ll be glad when I can start working over there, both on the place and on my pottery.”

  She had a thought. “Are you going to get a wheel? Or are you going to do all your stuff the traditional way?”

  “I’ll do traditional for sure,” he said. “I want to honor the work and keep to the old ways, so I’ll do coil pots. Maybe later, I might get a wheel. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  For the first time that morning, he met her eyes. There was a softening there, a silent apology, but Lacey knew better than to think it was a change of heart.

  “I’ll be excited to see your first creations,” she said, going back to her computer.

  Sam’s phone chimed. He checked the screen. “Uh oh. Christine.”

  Lacey’s heart sank.

  “Hello… Did he go…? He never showed up at all? Okay, I’ll go look for him… Yeah, I’ll call you.”

  Sam stuck his phone in his pocket and grabbed his truck keys. “Daniel never went to school this morning. I’m going to see if I can find him. Be back later.”

  He kissed her quickly and left.

  Lacey blew out a breath, her body deflating like a balloon. This was not good. For the first time, she wondered if Sam’s hands-off methods were really helping Daniel. Justice aside, the boy needed help, moral support, something.

  She just wasn’t sure what that something was.

  She did everything she could to not sit and watch the clock or stare out the front window at the parking lot. She vacuumed and dusted, did a load of laundry and thought about going to the gym, but wanted to be at home whenever Sam got back.

  Finally, a little after eleven, he called.

  “Don’t do anything for lunch,” he said without preamble. “I’ll pick up some burgers for the three of us.”

  “You found him?”

  “Yeah. We can eat and talk. Be there in a bit.”

  Thank God, Lacey thought. Maybe the three of them could sort this out. She fervently hoped so.

  By the time Sam and Daniel came into the apartment, Lacey had set places at the table and poured iced tea for all of them. She kissed Sam as he set bags of burgers and fries on the table, then went to Daniel. Without a word, she pulled the boy into her arms and just held him
. Didn’t talk, just held him until she could feel his heartbeat align with hers.

  She was more than a little surprised to feel him holding her tightly as well.

  “Come on,” she said finally. “Let’s eat before things get cold.”

  They sat at the table and unwrapped their burgers. Daniel bit into his and chewed quietly, avoiding eye contact with either Sam or Lacey. She tried to gauge his expression. Was that embarrassment, fear, anger?

  She lifted her eyes to Sam. He watched her with a steady gaze and a hint of a smile. It helped to know he wasn’t angry or upset. The soft black of his eyes seemed to soothe and comfort.

  Okay; she would wait.

  When the burgers were gone and they were picking at rapidly cooling fries, Sam spoke. His voice was quiet and not accusatory, but still surprised Lacey.

  “Why don’t you tell Lacey what you told me?” he suggested.

  Daniel stared down at his plate, chewing on his bottom lip. He hesitated, pushing a half-eaten fry through the glop of ketchup there. He didn’t lift his eyes to Lacey.

  “I told Tori what happened,” he started. “What I felt. She told her girlfriend, and now the whole school knows.” He scowled. “There’s this guy, Bret Russell. A real jerk. He started calling me a freak. Ghost boy, stuff like that. Other kids were laughing. I got so… so mad, I just wanted to pound his face. All their faces. I just…”

  He raised his eyes to Lacey, and she could see the color in his face, the anger in his dark eyes. The guilt.

  He shrugged. “So I left.”

  Lacey let out the breath she’d been holding. She leaned across the table, stretched her hand out to him, but didn’t touch him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “When people don’t understand something, they often resort to ridicule. They’re uncomfortable with it, and they don’t know what to do with it, so they try to demean it, make fun of it. You know what that means?”

  Daniel lowered his eyes and shook his head.

  “It means they’re scared. You’ve suddenly got this new talent, this new… power, and it scares them. It scares the hell out of them. So they try to demean it, to make it small, so it’s not so threatening.” She gave him a slight smile. “You’re a super-hero now. You’ve got this amazing power that no one else has. They’re scared and they’re jealous, and the really insecure ones lash out with name-calling.”