Depart the Darkness

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  We passed through the double doors and into Elizabeth’s, then saw ourselves to the private dining room where we were meeting our friends for lunch. We were the first to arrive.

  “So… tell me,” Miles said, as he pulled out a chair for me. “What happened back there? You didn’t just get the truth to counterbalance a lie or two. You got a whole lot more. Was it like the guy at the airport?”

  “Yes, it was,” I said. “The same with Jenny, when we were talking about their wedding and the argument she and Xander had.”

  “The truth made all the difference in each of those relationships,” Miles said, as he sat beside me. “I admire how unselfconscious you are about allowing it to work through you. Most people wouldn’t be that confident.”

  “I admire how quick you were to jump in just now, even though all you knew was what I told you,” I pointed out.

  “I trust you,” he replied, and I smiled as I gave him a hug.

  “That’s how I feel, too. About you, of course, but also about the truth. I don’t wonder if what I’m saying is right or not. I know it is. And… when this happens, I can’t help it. I have to speak the truth.”

  “You’re leaving a string of couples in your wake who are thankful you do,” Miles said.

  “It’s my favorite part of having this ability. Although… I guess it’s all good. But there’s something satisfying about clearing up misunderstandings and restoring relationships.”

  “Maybe you should become a marriage counselor, like Jenny keeps suggesting,” Miles teased me. At least I think he was teasing.

  “Yes, but imagine if Kevin was guilty of what Lara suspected,” I said. “Forget calm, in-control counseling. I would’ve blasted him to smithereens!”

  “Much like you did the guy in the airport, but look how that worked out,” Miles smiled.

  “Yeah, I guess it did,” I admitted. “I’m glad we were able to use the truth to help Lara and Kevin, anyway. It’s kind of a morale booster, after being unable to find anything to help Phillip and Aaron.”

  “We won’t give up until we find a way,” Miles said with resolve. “Even if the rest of the truth you’ve gained doesn’t contain the key to coming up with evidence.”

  “Speaking of that truth, I have to get the rest of it searched. I need to get it over with. I’m desperate to be done.”

  “You’ve already put in eight hours today, at least. Probably more.” Miles said, frowning a little. “That’s plenty, don’t you think?”

  “I know, but…” I wanted to say that for the sake of my mental health, I needed to finish. Today.

  But he looked concerned. Very concerned.

  So I compromised.

  “I’d like to get in a little more. Not more than I can safely manage, but… more.”

  Miles gave me a long, searching look, then sighed in resignation.

  “Alright. After lunch, then. Get a few more hours behind you, then you can nap the rest of the day if you need to.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said with satisfaction.

  Chapter 23

  I waited in silence for another chance to identify the sound that woke me.

  As I strained my ears listening for more, I looked around at the darkened room and wondered how long I slept. It was daylight when I closed my eyes, but now the only light was that of the moonbeams filtering in through the sheer curtains.

  There was that sound again.

  “Miles,” I said, rubbing his shoulder with one hand as I used the other to reach underneath the pillows for his phone. “Miles, it’s—oh my goodness, it’s Jackson!”

  That woke him with a vengeance. We both fumbled with the phone, our hands shaking, as I tried to hand it to him and he tried to take it. We were both a little less calm, cool, and coordinated than usual, and no wonder! When the chances of finding evidence in a case is slim to none and dwindling fast, getting a call from one’s PI in the middle of the night tends to do that.

  Miles had his phone now. I clenched my hands as he cleared his throat and tried to sound like he wasn’t sound asleep just seconds ago.

  “Jackson, what do you have?”

  He put the phone on speaker, for which I was grateful, and turned on the lamp as we both sat up.

  “Good evening, Mr. Bannerman. I’m in communication with our man assigned to watch Dillon Graves’ vehicle. An unidentified subject has opened the back driver’s side door. He appears to be placing something on the floor.”

  The air was charged with excitement, and Miles squeezed my hand.

  “Excellent,” he replied.

  “The subject is now walking away,” Jackson continued.

  “Have him followed, and let me know where he goes. Don’t lose him, this is critical. We also need to have a look at whatever was left in the car. Send someone to collect it. I want live video feed of the entire proceeding. Set that up, and let me know as soon as our guy’s ready to move.”

  “Yes sir,” Jackson replied. “Expect to hear from me in the next fifteen minutes.”

  Miles ended the call, then jumped out of bed and dragged me along with him.

  “Get dressed,” he urged me, as he reached for a pair of jeans.

  “We’re already dressed,” I hurried to point out. “We took a nap, remember? We didn’t go to bed for the night.”

  “That’s convenient,” he said, realizing I was right. We both hurried into our shoes.

  “That’s smart you’re going to watch our guy collect the phone,” I said, as I zipped the side of my boot. “That way if he gets caught, he’ll be sure to get away, too.”

  “That, and the possibility does exist that the item left in the car isn’t a phone. It could be an explosive device.”

  “Oh my goodness!” I gasped. “I’m so glad you thought of that!”

  “So am I,” he replied.

  We moved into the office of our suite, and Miles woke his laptop. We’d be ready to receive the live feed whenever Jackson’s guy was in place.

  “What if Dillon comes out before we’ve got the phone?” I worried.

  Miles tapped the answer icon on his phone as it vibrated, rather than answer my question.

  “We’re set on our end,” Miles said, without preamble.

  “Very good, Mr. Bannerman,” Jackson replied. “We are, as well.”

  With a click of the mouse, video feed appeared on the screen of the laptop. The image bounced up and down as the camera moved rapidly through the dimly lit parking lot and the vehicles parked there.

  “Hi Mr. Bannerman, this is Josh,” we heard our guy say quietly.

  “Hi, Josh,” Miles answered. “Which car is Dillon’s?”

  The video fixed on several vehicles, then zoomed in on one.

  “That’s good, thanks Josh,” Miles said. “Are there any cameras in the parking lot?”

  “None,” Josh replied. “We should be good.”

  He reached the car and tried the backdoor. It opened.

  “Guy must’ve left it unlocked,” Josh said. He sounded pleased. It was more likely that Miles unlocked it, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Be careful,” Miles cautioned. “Let’s get a good look at the item before you remove it.”

  Josh trained the camera on the phone which lay on the floor of the car. I recognized it, having seen many such phones in the truth I was almost through unlocking.

  “It’s the same,” I said quietly to Miles.

  “That’s what we’re looking for,” Miles told Josh. “Go ahead and retrieve it.”

  Josh did, and at no risk to himself, considering Miles had a force field around the phone. Josh closed the car door and rapidly walked away. Miles waited to speak again until our guy got in a waiting SUV with one of our other guys, and they pulled away from the curb and on to the road.

  “Thanks, Josh. If the phone’s on, unlock the screen. Keep the camera focused on what you’re doing.”

  The phone’s screen lit up. Josh tapped the settings icon and saw the same thing we
were looking for.

  “I’m turning off location services,” Josh said, doing so.

  “Great,” Miles said approvingly. “How far are you from the office?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll be there in twenty. Wait until then, to examine the phone any further.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Miles closed the laptop and picked up his phone. Our PI was still on the line.

  “Where is our suspect at the moment?” Miles asked Jackson.

  “On foot, heading south on Fourth Street. He just passed the Alpine Road intersection.”

  “Okay, thanks. Let us know when he comes to a stop.”

  “Yes sir,” Jackson said.

  We were out of the office in a flash. We hurried into our coats, out the door, onto the elevator, and on our way just as quickly as we could move.

  “This could be it!” I exclaimed.

  “It’s something, anyway,” Miles smiled, the excitement in his eyes matching my own.

  “Oh my goodness, this could be it,” I repeated under my breath.

  I squeezed his hand tightly with both of mine as we drove down the mountain, toward Glen Haven and our office building.

  “What time is it?” Miles wondered, as we entered the city. We both glanced at the digital display on the dash of our vehicle.

  “Only eight o’ clock!” I said in surprise.

  “No wonder there’s so much traffic,” he replied.

  “It’s Wednesday,” I remembered. “I’ll bet Dillon was at that place where the Intersect people hang out every week.”

  “Probably,” Miles agreed. “That worked out very conveniently for our guy. Much better than it would be if Dillon was home, and his vehicle parked in his garage.”

  “No kidding!” I said. “Do you think the guy behind all this would be that daring?”

  “He’s responsible for Elliott’s death,” Miles pointed out. “He made it look like suicide, and got away with it. I wouldn’t underestimate him.”

  “I hope we figure out who he is, so we can go after him,” I said.

  “This is our best chance to do that,” he replied.

  “And our only chance,” I said, anxiety threatening to creep in.

  “Have faith,” Miles said. “Don’t give up just yet.”

  Miles pulled into the parking lot. At this time of evening, it was easy to find a space near the door. We hurried inside and took the elevator to the floor which housed the headquarters of our investigative team.

  Miles pressed his thumb to the reader. A moment later, the door swished open. After wiping down the screen, which was a precautionary measure everyone took who was authorized to come here, we stepped into the brief lobby.

  Several corridors led to offices, conference rooms, supply rooms—and by that I mean primarily investigative rather than janitorial—along with surveillance and examination rooms. Having so many duplicate spaces would sound like overkill to most people, but we knew from experience that darkness and pleas for help don’t always come neatly, patiently, and in single file. When our next flood of cases came, we’d be ready.

  Near the end of one of the corridors, light spilled out of an open doorway and into the hall. So did voices, one of them Josh’s.

  We covered the distance quickly, and joined our investigators inside the room.

  “Jackson, it’s good to see you,” Miles greeted him, as they shook hands. “You too, Josh.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Bannerman. Mrs. Bannerman,” Jackson replied. He was tall, maybe Dad’s age. His hair was graying though, so he might be older.

  “You too,” I replied. While Miles shook hands with Josh, I glanced with respect at the German Shepherd who sat on the floor beside his handler.

  “How are you, Simon,” Miles said to the guy, and they shook hands. “So what’s the verdict?”

  “Sargeant doesn’t scent anything alarming,” Simon replied, nodding toward the phone lying on the nearby counter.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. If the thing did explode, I knew Miles could handle it. But we’d lose any chance at getting fingerprints or other information off of it. There’d be no chance a call would come through, either.

  “Okay, good,” Miles said. “Go ahead and examine it, then. If it rings, answer the way we discussed.”

  “Josh should answer,” I said, wanting to clarify. “His voice is most like Dillon’s.”

  Josh nodded, then Miles and I had a seat while he and Simon studied the phone.

  Jackson held his hand to his ear, and listened. Then he turned to us.

  “The subject entered the Safeway on Fourth and Elm. He has a basket and appears to be shopping for groceries.”

  That seemed to surprise everyone else as much as it did me. Or… maybe not Jackson. Like Miles’ cat Pandora, Jackson appeared to have one expression. Unlike her, his was stoic, rather than startled.

  “Exactly what is he buying?” I wondered. “Be as specific as possible.”

  Jackson relayed my question, then we waited. A couple of minutes later his phone vibrated. He read the text out loud.

  “Milk. Bananas. Apples. Bread. Peanut butter. He’s currently sorting through cans of soup.”

  “Is he shopping generic, or brand?” I asked, my heart beginning to sink. “Is he sorting through the discount items?”

  Jackson sent a text, then waited. The phone vibrated, and he read.

  “Yes.”

  “I need to see this guy,” I said in a rush. “Tell our guy to get an image sent over.”

  He did. Soon after, we gathered around a monitor to view the man’s photo. Several photos.

  Looks can be deceiving. But… this guy did not look like a bad guy. This guy didn’t look like he worked for a bad guy. This guy looked hungry, actually. Either he was older than us, or he had an extremely hard life. In spite of it, there was hope and optimism in his eyes.

  “I need to talk to him,” I told Miles.

  “Then let’s go,” he promptly replied. “Jackson, keep me up to date. If he leaves, let us know right away.”

  We said the briefest of goodbyes, then left at a run, because… well, I was running. I was in a hurry!

  “What are you thinking?” Miles asked, as I waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the ground floor.

  “I don’t think this guy knows anything,” I answered. “I think he’s out of work, or else struggling to make it on whatever he earns. I think he has a family.”

  “That’s the truth, isn’t it,” Miles stated, giving me a searching look.

  “I don’t know for sure… part of it’s what he’s buying, part of it is his picture. He has a wedding ring, did you see that? His clothes aren’t the worst, but they’re far from new, newish, or maybe even this decade. I do have kind of a gut instinct, but mostly it’s based on that.”

  “It won’t take you long to find out for sure,” Miles said.

  The door swished open for us, and we hurried out into the moonlit night. It wasn’t long before we were in our vehicle again, and leaving our office complex behind.

  “Do you have a plan for how and where to approach this guy?” Miles asked, as he turned onto Fourth Street.

  “No… not really. I was planning to wing it,” I admitted. “If you come up with something before I do, feel free to take over.”

  “Okay,” Miles smiled.

  The parking lot held plenty of spaces, which wasn’t surprising for a Wednesday night. Miles found a spot near the front of the store, and we went inside.

  “In line!” I said.

  Miles glanced in that direction, and nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Darkness?” he asked.

  “None,” I replied.

  I led the way around the row of registers, snatching up a package of Oreos as we rapidly covered the distance separating us from the back of the line.

  The rest of the customers in the store appeared to be already waiting for a turn at the single open check-out re
gister. So… here was the perfect chance to make small talk with the guy ahead of us, the guy who put the phone in Dillon’s car.

  I took a deep breath, composed myself, and prayed for truth. Lots of it.

  “Pardon me,” Miles said, and the guy glanced over his shoulder. “Do you mind if I reach across…”

  “No, go right ahead,” the guy replied, moving over to make room beside the drink case.

  “Thanks,” Miles said.

  “I’ll get it,” I quickly interjected. “I do take up less space than you, after all.”

  “That’s true,” Miles smiled, and the guy chuckled politely.

  I retrieved a bottle of water and handed it to Miles, but remained in front of the case and beside the guy.

  “It’s quite a line,” I commented, as the light above the register began to flash. “Good thing we’re not in a hurry. I hope no one else is. How about you?”

  The man looked a little surprised, but rolled with it.

  “I’m on my way home, but I’m sure they’ll have the register up and running again soon.”

  He wasn’t sure of that. Neither were the rest of us. That wasn’t the truth I was looking for. But, he was on his way home.

  “Or they might open another lane,” Miles said, nodding toward the one beside us as the light came on.

  Several of the people in line ahead of us moved over. Before the guy could decide whether to take his chances with the line we were in, or move, that light started blinking too.

  There were some groans, and a smattering of laughter.

  “We may be here for a while after all,” I said.

  “That’s alright, we’ve got time,” Miles replied.

  “The woman at the register has food stamps,” the guy said, looking at the register, the cashier, the manager, and the customer, all of whom were in a huddle trying to make sense of something.

  “They don’t know what to do with those?” I asked.

  “Not always,” he replied, smiling slightly.

  “How difficult that must be to not have a job, or to make too little to get by,” I said sympathetically.

  “It is,” the man said. “It makes me thankful I have one.”

  “Me too,” I said. “So what do you do?”

  “I’m a mechanic,” he answered, and the good kind of pride lit his eyes as he said it.