by H. P. Bayne
For him, the answer to her question was obvious. “It’s lonely.”
“All the time?”
“I’ve got my family and a few close friends, and they’re usually enough. I’m not a big people-person or anything. But yeah, sometimes doing what I do, it can feel like I’m alone out there. Maybe some of it comes from the people I see. I can feel what they feel. Doesn’t get much lonelier than being trapped here, invisible to everyone.”
Sarah leaned forward. “Well, almost everyone. Right?”
He smiled. “Right.”
“I don’t mean to push this, and I’m really not pushing. But if you’re ever up for talking about this on the record, either Leah or I would be happy to sit down with you about it. No pressure.”
Sully thought how best to answer. “Thanks, but I’m not there yet. Around the time of the trial, I had a few cranks turn up at my workplace and even my home. Things have settled down now for the most part, and I’d rather not dredge it up again. When the time is right, I might take you up on the offer, though.”
She nodded and gave a small smile. “Well, you can’t fault me for asking.”
“I don’t.”
Sarah opened the notepad, flipping through a few pages until she settled on one. “So if you’re not here about that, why are you here?”
Sully had given it some thought on the way here, about how he’d approach this. He’d suspected Sarah wouldn’t sit down with him at her desk as Dez had hoped. Sully had guessed most reporters would conduct interviews or meet with visitors in a quieter, more private space, and he’d been right. He’d concocted a few stories in his mind but tossed them all out. Lying felt wrong to start with. Now he’d spent a few minutes in Sarah’s company, it felt wrong entirely.
At the same time, he couldn’t reveal details of the Brinks investigation. He settled on the other, more convenient truth.
“You might recall I’m a licensed private investigator,” he said. “Part of my job—sometimes formally, sometimes not so much—can involve putting my skillset to work. I’ve solved a number of homicide cases, usually with help from the ghosts I see.”
She had yet to start writing, her eyes still fixed on his.
“We’re actually in the middle of something now,” he said. “Are you familiar with the Ice Man story up at Dead Man’s Lake?”
“Vaguely, yeah.”
Sully nodded and continued. “I’ve seen him a couple of times, which in my world means he was the victim of a homicide.”
Sarah’s brows shot up her forehead. “What do you mean?”
“One of my quirks,” Sully said. “I only see ghosts who’ve died by homicide. To further complicate things, I can’t hear them, so it’s not an easy matter, trying to help them.”
She appeared no less fascinated. “So how did he die?”
“I don’t know the specifics yet, but I’m working on it. Thing is, I’ve come up against something, and I think you might be able to help. I need to ask for your discretion though. This is off the record for now. If it turns into something more, I can make sure you’re kept apprised.”
“Okay?”
“While I was at the lake last night, I saw someone digging through a burned-out cabin I believe used to belong to the Ice Man. I work with my brother, Dez, and he happened to follow the same man recently—and he saw him meeting with you. Greg Waterford.”
Sully watched the responses play out across Sarah’s face, each giving way to the next in a way that, to him, was both subtle and clear—surprise, puzzlement, discomfort.
“Do you think he had something to do with a murder?” she asked at last.
Sully shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have anything to suggest that yet. Which is sort of why I’m here. I don’t want him to know I saw him, and I definitely don’t want him to know we’re looking into him. So I’m wondering, can you tell me anything about him?”
Sarah broke eye contact, her gaze dropping to the open page in her notepad. Her discomfort had grown, and he felt bad for creating it.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I really can’t say anything. Not yet. If your brother saw me, it will be pretty obvious to you guys I’m working on something and Greg provided me with some information. I can’t say anything more until it comes out.”
“When will that be?”
“It’s a longer investigative piece, so not for a while. It’s a back-burner project, something I work away at in between daily assignments. Kind of long-term, but it’s coming together a little more quickly now. Would it be enough if I told you it doesn’t have anything to do with a ghost or a murder?”
Sully scratched at his jaw and gave a dry chuckle. “You’d be surprised how many times ghosts and murders pop up where you don’t expect them. If you can’t talk about it, I understand. I just thought I’d ask. Plus I wanted to tell you to be careful. If it ends up he’s involved in something not good, I didn’t want to let things slide without warning you.” He’d fished out a business card as he spoke and now handed it to her. “If at any point while you’re working on this, you start to feel hinky about something, give me a call, all right? I’ll help.”
Taking the card, she stood as he did. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I’ll bear it in mind.”
She stared up into his face for a few seconds, cleared her throat and turned abruptly, heading for the interview room door. He followed her as she led him back to the main doors, where she faced him again.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you yet,” she said. She held up the card. “But if I can, I’ll be in touch.”
He nodded and smiled, stepping past her.
“Sullivan?”
He faced her, finding the same kind expression he’d noticed on his way inside.
“I can’t begin to comprehend the world you live in,” she said. “But if you ever feel lonely and want company, I’m really good at coffee chats.”
He grinned. “I’m not, but if you ever want to chat, I’m really good at listening.”
He bowed his head to her, then made his way back to his SUV, heart pounding.
15
Dez called Forbes Raynor from the SUV after dropping Sully off.
Having resisted the urge to annoy an already anxious Sully on his way to the meet with the reporter, Dez turned his attention to his own task.
Forbes wasn’t thrilled to hear from him, which was no great surprise.
“Oh God, what now?”
Dez smirked into his cellphone. “Nice to hear your voice too.”
“Shut it, Braddock. This to do with what Sully came to see me about?”
“Yep. Got a few minutes to meet?”
“You know I do have a job to do, right? Pulling info for a pair of PIs isn’t just far outside my job description, it’s likely to get me canned if anyone catches wind.”
“We’re not asking for anything untoward,” Dez said. “This isn’t an active file—if it ever was one. Anyway, what we’re onto could be a real feather in your cap. Think about it—a yet-unsolved homicide file involving a legendary ghost. You’d be man of the hour.”
“I hate you.” Fortunately, the words no longer held true as they once had, and Forbes followed up with a sigh. “Okay, what do you want?”
“We’ve got a name, and we think it might belong to the ghost. Walter McCrory. Can you run it and see if he has a record?”
“I can’t just run names for no reason. There are laws and regulations, you know.”
Yeah, Dez knew. Having been a cop himself, he was well aware it wasn’t exactly above board. It was the reason he rarely asked Eva to check these things out for him anymore.
“How about this?” Dez said. “You’ve received confidential source info about a missing person and a suspected homicide at Dead Man’s Lake. Someone’s provided you with a name of the likely victim. Even better, it’s all true, as long as you consider Sully and me confidential informants. Wouldn’t that be enough to allow you to check?”
Another sigh, heavi
er this time. “Okay, fine. Give me a few minutes.”
“One other thing: if McCrory has a mugshot on the system, I need a copy for Sully. He wants to be able to confirm it’s the same guy he’s seen.”
“The two of you morons are going to be the end of me.” Forbes hung up.
Dez grinned, then started making his way over to police headquarters. He’d just pulled into a parking spot on the street when Forbes called back.
“Found a Walter McCrory in the system,” he said. “Problem is, file dates back to eighty-three. Because of its age, full details never got added to our electronic system. Paper file exists, but it’s in our storage facility on the east side.”
Dez smiled into his phone. “Up for a drive?”
“Did I mention I hate you?” Forbes griped as he climbed into the passenger seat of Dez’s SUV a few minutes later.
“Hey, I’m handing you a pretty awesome case here,” Dez said. “You should be thrilled.”
“And yet, I’m far from it. Confidential source. You know, my COs are going to start wondering, what with all the confidential source info I come in with.”
“You know, there’s a fix to that. If they’d take Sully at face value instead of doubting him at every turn, they’d bend over backwards to work with him. I mean, hell, how often do homicide investigators get the chance to communicate directly with the victim?”
“Look, you don’t need to convince me. I’m onside or I wouldn’t be sitting here. For that matter, my previous CO was on board with the whole thing. New one’s a stick in the mud for proper procedure. He won’t go in for working with a psychic, I’ll tell you right now.”
Dez shoulder-checked and pulled onto the road. “Five minutes with Sully would probably convince him otherwise.”
“Maybe, maybe not. For my part, I’m not about to take the chance. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not what you’d call Mr. Popularity around there. I turn up with a guy who sees the dead, they’re going to start calling me Mulder—and not for my looks.”
Dez didn’t comment. He and Forbes got along now, in no small part because they shared Sully as a brother. But Dez’s easy-going manner, gregarious nature and sense of humour had endeared him to numerous people during his days on the force—a fact not lost on the introverted, gruff and sometimes-melancholy Forbes. The differences between them had once been a source of contention, and it had taken years to reach this point of tolerance. They weren’t exactly buddies, but they respected each other. Which, as far as Dez was concerned, was a huge step forward in and of itself.
Unfortunately, while Forbes had scaled back on his former bitterness, not everyone had forgotten his past. He’d pissed off a lot of people, and many weren’t so quick to forgive and forget as Dez was. Cop shops were similar to high schools in some ways—filled with cliques and popularity contests, the liked and the unliked. While most had their own group of friends, whether large or small, there were golden circles into which it was difficult to pass. Dez had been there, a member of the club. Forbes would never be. As such, he had to work twice as hard for the same level of respect so easily afforded to others.
Dez felt for the guy.
He set a course for the east end, toward the storage facility at which the Kimotan Rapids Police Department kept its old files and evidence. En route, he filled Forbes in on the conversation he and Sully had had with Marvin Poller. By the end, it was clear he had Forbes’s interest.
“Think Poller killed him?” Forbes asked.
“Can’t rule it out yet, but we’ve got nothing to suggest he did anything of the kind. I can’t get my head around how he could neglect to report him missing.”
“Of course you wouldn’t get it. You’d never find yourself in that position. People like Poller and McCrory, they’re not so likeable. They disappear, no one bats an eye. To report someone missing, you first need to give a damn.”
Dez shrugged. Forbes had a point. A depressing one, but a point, nonetheless.
“Could be something else, though,” Forbes added. “Thing with missing persons investigations—the last person to see them always ends up in the middle of things. Police wouldn’t dig into only the missing guy’s past, they’d also check into everyone around them. Could be this guy, Poller, has some secrets of his own he wants kept buried. Just a thought.”
“A good one,” Dez conceded. “What about McCrory? Do you know anything about what’s in the file?”
Forbes shook his head. “All that’s categorized in the system is name, date of birth and a file number with the year attached. I ran a quick check for anything else on the guy, but we’ve got no record showing in the system, not local or national. Doesn’t seem like the guy’s ever had a criminal conviction.”
“But he’s got a file.”
“Yep. So obviously, he was being looked at for something.”
Half an hour after they’d left police headquarters, Dez pulled up next to the secure, one-storey warehouse facility used by police. Surrounded by a high fence and a gate rolled closed at night, it boasted surveillance cameras, high, barred windows and solid brick walls—the Fort Knox of storage buildings.
Fortunately, Forbes had a way in.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll sign out the file and be back in a few.”
No point telling Forbes he could thumb through it and report back to Dez without signing it out. It would amount to the same thing. Any access to files or property inside the building was documented in full, with the officer staffing the front desk making note of names, badge numbers and details of what other members were accessing. On top of that, a camera over the front desk recorded all comings and goings, ensuring the person signing items out was the person they said they were. The KRPD had had its share of dirty cops over the years, and the force had learned a few lessons the hard way.
Dez did as Forbes asked, staying put while the Major Crimes investigator headed inside to see about the file. Ten minutes passed. Then the door opened, and Forbes emerged, file in hand.
“Let’s go,” he said as he slid back into the SUV. “I’d rather no one sees I’m with you.”
“Hurts my feelings,” Dez quipped as he pulled away. He’d made efforts to park on the street rather than inside the lot, keeping both his face and his vehicle out of view of the cameras mounted above the gate and at the building’s front door. Not that it would make much difference. If Forbes were ever questioned about this, he’d have no choice but to provide an accurate accounting as to how he’d arrived here. If so, Forbes could hopefully get by with a simple claim of having travelled with a CI he was unable to identify. Anything else wouldn’t turn out well for either of them.
Dez drove for a few minutes, stopping once beside a now-abandoned warehouse on a quiet street. “What you got?”
Forbes had flipped open the file mid-drive and was perusing the contents. “Not a whole lot in here. As I said, no criminal record attached. But your boy was a wanted man.”
Dez raised a brow. “Really? For what?”
Forbes met his eye. “Robbery. Walter McCrory was wanted in connection with robbing the Latimer Bank’s main branch of more than two hundred thousand dollars.”
16
Sully had just made it home, a fast-food burger and fries unloaded on his coffee table, when Dez called.
“Hey, where you at?” Sully asked as he picked up.
“Back outside Waterford’s. Figured I’d left Lachlan sitting here long enough. He was about ready to burst when I pulled up. You have time to swing by? Oh, and can you bring me some food? I didn’t have time to stop off anywhere, and I’m starved.”
Sully stared mournfully at his own food. “Yeah, okay. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be on my way.”
He took his meal with him, balancing his fries container on the seat between his legs as he drove. He picked a different fast-food joint this time, one he knew Dez liked. The burgers here were too greasy for Sully’s taste, but Dez had plenty of space to put extra calories so they never showed on
his form. Bag of food on the passenger seat and a large soda in the spare centre cupholder, Sully set a course for the block west of Greg Waterford’s.
He located Dez’s SUV easily and pulled up behind it, then shut off the vehicle and unlocked the doors so Dez could get in. Sully gave him a few minutes to tuck into his food.
“God, that’s good,” Dez said. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Yeah, you owe me seventeen bucks. Feeding you doesn’t come cheap.”
“Put it on my tab. How’d your meeting with the lovely Sarah go?”
While Dez chewed, Sully finished his own now-cold burger in between filling Dez in on the meeting.
“So no goods then, but at least you got a date, right?” Dez grinned.
Sully rolled his eyes. “We didn’t set anything up. And you’ve got a piece of lettuce in your teeth.”
Dez flipped down the visor and used the corner of a fingernail to pick at it.
“Don’t flick that inside my car,” Sully warned.
Dez stared at him, held open his fast-food bag and made a show of flicking the piece of lettuce inside. “Happy?”
“Thrilled. What about you? You and Forbes got somewhere?”
“In Forbes’s case, not purely by choice. But yeah, we got somewhere. First off, I have a pic to show you. Have a look, tell me what you think.”
Dez pulled out his phone, logged in with his thumbprint and tapped on the screen a couple of times. Then he handed it over.
Sully found himself staring into the face of a dead man.
“Holy crap, it’s him,” he said. “It’s really him.”
“You’re sure?”
Sully was sure but peered closer to satisfy Dez. Obvious differences jumped out—the lack of ice the clearest one. Other details too, including the fact the man in the photo had a shorter haircut and no facial hair. That and the fact death inherently changed the way a person appeared, causing certain facial features to sag or twist.