Hell and Back

by Dirk Greyson

  “I will. Thank you.” Coleridge hung up, and Gage put his phone down. He hated this point in any investigation because it seemed as though nothing was happening, when in reality the police were exceedingly busy, verifying stories and processing evidence to try to put the pieces of what truly happened together.

  Forge’s voice rose, carrying in from the other room. “I don’t know when the body will be released. The coroner has it and they’ll be working with the police. As soon as I hear anything I’ll let you know. … That’s fine. You are welcome to make any arrangements you’d like. … Yes, I’m aware of that.” Forge was becoming more and more agitated. “No, his being killed had nothing to do with me. They ripped apart his office here in the house, so they were looking for something. They also broke into his office downtown.” The frantic tone had Gage’s spine on edge. He’d been trying to give him privacy, but as loudly as Forge was speaking, that wasn’t possible.

  Gage hurried into the room, where Forge sat on the edge of the sofa, legs shaking. Gage heard a loud male voice coming through the phone. He reached out, and Forge blankly handed it to him. “This is Livingston Security,” Gage said, shutting down the man he presumed was Granger’s father. “This is a trying time for everyone, and yelling isn’t the answer.”

  “He killed my son!”

  “Forge most certainly did not. Now, you need to get yourself under control. Yes, Granger is gone and it’s a shock, but taking it out on someone else isn’t going to help either of you,” Gage said in a firm, sharp tone.

  “Granger’s offices were broken into?”

  “Yes. And it seems that Granger was targeted specifically. I suspect the police will be contacting you, but Forge wanted to be the one to tell you what happened. Now, are you going to kill the messenger or listen to what he has to say?” Gage would end the call now if Granger’s father didn’t calm down.

  A woman answered him. “This is just such a shock for us.” She sounded strained and had clearly been holding back tears.

  “I understand that, ma’am, and I’m very sorry for your loss. But things like this are hard on everyone. Don’t take it out on each other. Leave the hatred and vitriol for the men who killed him. They deserve it, not Forge.” He handed the phone back and sat down. He’d been hired to protect Forge, and he’d protect him from his in-laws as well.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I know this is hard.” Forge sniffed and began to cry silently, his shoulders rising and falling. “I know. It’s been hard for months.” He wiped his eyes and sniffed again. “Anyway, I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” He hung up and leaned back on the sofa. “That sucked. I never thought I’d have to call people to explain that Granger… or anyone… had been killed. Let alone tell his parents.”

  “What about your parents?” Gage asked, thinking that maybe they could help support Forge.

  “Mom passed eleven years ago, and Dad just last year.”

  “They must have been young?”

  “Dad and Mom would be nearly eighty now.” Forge leaned back. “I was their miracle baby. At least that’s what they said. Mom had always been told she couldn’t have children. They’d made their peace with it and had planned their lives around the two of them. They were even talking about buying a place in Florida for vacations and eventual retirement, and then at thirty-nine….” He smiled. “Mom thought the change of life was coming on early, but when she saw the doctor….” Forge wiped his eyes. “She always told me the doctor’s expression was a mixture of joy and shock when he told her she was pregnant.” He got up and went to the bookshelves on the left side of the huge television, then returned with an old album and opened it. “That’s Mom and me.”

  Gage chuckled at the picture of the very pregnant, dainty woman who looked like a grape ready to pop.

  “She spent two months on near complete bed rest, and when I came, it was so fast, I was born at home with an EMT helping Mom. And that was it. I was healthy, and both of them were thrilled beyond belief.”

  The house phone rang, and Forge got up to answer it. Gage paged through the album, looking at the pictures of Forge as a kid, then in middle and high school. The album ended with a few pictures of Forge in the Army… and the last picture stopped Gage in his tracks.

  A bang had Gage on his feet in seconds and over to where Forge stood, phone receiver on the floor. At first he thought Forge had just dropped it. Gage bent to retrieve it, and as the line was dead, he hung it back up. “It’s okay.”

  Forge shook his head violently. “That was….”

  “What?” Gage froze, hardly breathing.

  “Them.”

  “Don’t touch anything.” Gage pulled out his phone and redialed the detective’s number.

  “Yeah?”

  “Detective, I think you need to come back to Forge Reynolds’s home. He got a phone call. He’s in shock at the moment. They called a landline, so you should be able to get the last number called.”

  “What did they say?” he asked, and Gage turned to Forge, placing his phone on speaker.

  “They said that I still had what they wanted and that I’d better produce the files before they come after me, and it won’t be clean like it was for Granger.” Forge barely held it together, he was shaking so badly. “It was an electronic voice so I don’t know anything more, but it was enough to scare the shit out of me.”

  “What’s the number they called in on?” When Forge gave it to him, Coleridge said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Keep everything locked.” He disconnected, and Gage guided Forge back to the family room and down onto the sofa.

  “I guess that answers the question about whether they found what they wanted or not,” Gage said, taking Forge’s hand.

  “Yeah, but what the hell could they be looking for and how am I supposed to find it?”

  “They said they wanted the files…,” Gage mused aloud. “But what kind and where the hell did Granger put them?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? I suspect that whatever they want is probably locked in Granger’s computer. Those are the only files I can think of. The police have it, so it isn’t likely I’m going to get it back any time soon.”

  “True. But what if they aren’t those kinds of files?” If they could find whatever it was and hand them over, Forge might be safer. Of course, the police finding out who was behind this was the easiest way to get them off the street and to keep Forge safe. “Just answer the detective’s questions as best you can.”

  The sat in silence until the doorbell rang, its Westminster chime bouncing through the house. Gage got up and let two officers in. “Detective Coleridge, I’m Gage Livingston.” They shook hands.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Coleridge said.

  “I hope that’s good.”

  Gage didn’t get an answer.

  “This is Officer Wilson.”

  Gage nodded. “Forge is in the family room.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “This has been a terrible day for him.”

  “We understand.” Coleridge went in with Wilson, and Gage followed.

  Forge was hanging up the phone. “I called the office and told them I wouldn’t be in. They had already heard about Granger on the news.” He didn’t get up, setting the phone on the table once more, looking like a dog who’d been beaten over and over again.

  Coleridge sat in the chair across from Forge and was quiet for a few seconds. “Tell me about the phone call.”

  Forge relayed what had been said again, almost word for word. Gage was willing to bet he could hear it playing over and over in his head.

  “Do you have any idea what files they want?”

  “No. There aren’t any paper files here at home. They would be on his computer or in his office. Granger was a nut about client confidentiality and security. Attorney-client privilege was a religion to him. He’d never take the chance that their information would end up in someone else’s hands… even mine.”

  Coleridge appeared thoughtful. “There were locking drawers on hi
s desk.”

  “Yes, and they weren’t locked because he never used them.” Forge looked about ready to shatter into a million pieces, and Gage shifted closer, touching his shoulder for support. “Did you find anything on his computer?”

  Coleridge sighed. “No. Do you know his password? Or anything to help us get inside?”

  Forge shook his head. “The man was security crazy. Even if I knew the password, most of the files would be encrypted and you’d have to have the codes to read them. So if something is on that computer, it’s lost to the world. That was the only way Granger would ever have brought anything home.” He turned to Gage. “I don’t think every attorney does that, so I’m wondering now what he had to hide.”

  “That’s what we’re wondering too,” Coleridge said with what Gage read as complete honesty. “There’s a motive behind this death. It isn’t a crime of passion, but either hatred or someone sending a message. It’s too early for the autopsy results.”

  “Did you get anything about the phone call?”

  “There’s a display on the phone. We could try the call-back function. Most people don’t think of disabling it any longer because everything is cell phones,” Gage said. “They could have withheld the number, but you have to specifically block that feature.”

  “Old school. I like it.” Coleridge and Officer Wilson went to the phone and seemed pleased when they returned. “We have a number. Now we need to trace it to see what it is.” Coleridge smiled, obviously happy, and sat on the couch.

  “Did you have other questions while you’re here?” Forge asked.

  Coleridge consulted his notes and thought a moment. “Did Granger keep to a routine?”

  Forge shook his head. “Not especially. He did what he needed to for his clients. Sometimes he was home early, and other nights he didn’t get home until ten. The last few years he worked all the time, more once we started the separation.”

  “What caused the breakup?”

  “I caught Granger with another man. Typical story. He wasn’t expecting me home, and I found him. Kicked his twink’s ass to the curb, then chewed out Granger for days. I know now that the cheating was a symptom of bigger problems, but I hadn’t recognized them. As I said, we’d been fighting over what seems like stupid stuff until….” Forge lowered his head and held it in his hands. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “We don’t believe you did. Everything you’ve told us has checked out. But please let us know if you think of anything else.”

  “Oh….” Forge raised his head. “How long do you think it will be before they release Granger’s body? I spoke to his parents in Chicago, and they’d like to plan the funeral and things. I told them it would be a while.”

  “It will. I’m not sure how long we’ll need it, but I’ll see what I can do.” Coleridge stood, and Gage walked him and Officer Wilson to the door.

  Once they were gone, Gage sat next to Forge, the urge to help him nearly overpowering.

  “Oh my God, I forgot about that,” Forge said as he picked up the photo album, looking at the picture of the two of them. Gage was propped up in bed with pillows, and Forge sat next to him. “The picture, not the day. One of the other specialists took that two days before you shipped out. He had it developed, and I carried it with me until I got home. Mom kept this album, and I gave it to her. She must have stuck it in here.” He set the album on his lap.

  Gage didn’t understand. “Why?”

  “Why what? Carry the picture?”

  Gage nodded his answer, a lump forming in his throat.

  Forge shrugged. “It was all I had of you.”

  “Then why didn’t you write? I was shipped home, and you said you were being transferred so you were going to write.” There, he’d said it. “I was sent home and spent months in therapy and rehab, going through a hell I can’t even describe. There were days when every step hurt, and at night I’d nearly cry myself to sleep. Every day when my parents came to visit, they’d bring my mail, and I waited to hear from you. At night sometimes, when the pain was at its worst, I used to think of you coming to see me, and all the agony would be worth it because I’d be able to walk to you.” Gage took in a huge breath, the anger leaving his voice as suddenly as it had come. “But no letter ever came.”

  “What the hell?” Forge set the album on the coffee table. “I wrote to you, at least six times, every other day for almost two weeks until the first one came back, and then they all did.” He jumped to his feet and raced up the stairs. Gage heard him fumble around and then race down the stairs, returning with an old red shoebox. It was tattered and had probably been in the back or bottom of a closet for years. Forge opened the box and unceremoniously dumped the contents on the coffee table.

  Gage picked up a pin and held it in his palm. “Combat Action Badge.”

  “Yeah. I got it for rescuing a wounded soldier, one of the men in my unit, while we were under fire.” Forge pushed aside the various papers until he pulled out a small set of envelopes and handed them over.

  “You kept them?” Gage held the letters as though they were precious.

  “I don’t know if I meant to or not. I threw them in the box with the rest of my Army things and pretty much forgot about them. I wasn’t even sure they were here.” Forge sat back, gesturing at the papers. “See, I wrote to you.”

  Gage looked at the envelopes. Five were still sealed, but one had been opened and reclosed with yellowed Scotch tape. They all had Return To Sender written in bold black ink across the address. “I never got them.” He read the address, which appeared correct. “My God.” He carefully opened the first letter, the paper somewhat yellowed also. He read the letter and then put it back in the envelope. He turned it over again and swore under his breath.

  “What?”

  “How dare they!” Gage swore again as anger welled inside. He could see his mother sitting at the kitchen table, opening this letter, reading it, and then resealing the envelope and sending it back. The controlling old bat.

  “Who?” Forge asked, looking bewildered.

  “My parents. My mother always figured that any mail that came to the house was hers to read if she wanted to. As a kid, I learned to make sure I got the mail whenever possible, especially as I got older.” He breathed deeply and released it. “This is beautiful.” Gage held the pages tightly in his fingers as the realization of what had been taken away washed over him. As he thought about it, the notion that his mother had sent back the letters solidified. “And while this isn’t explicit, my mother would certainly have gotten a pretty good idea about us.”

  Forge reached out, and Gage handed him the pages. He read the note and gave it back, sighing. “I thought I was being so careful, and yet there it is in black and white if you know what to look for.”

  Gage nodded. “I wish I’d have gotten these.” Not that it changed a great deal now. He hadn’t gotten the letters, and his life, as well as Forge’s, had gone in a completely different direction. Gage had recovered and refused to let the injury stop him. He’d worked his body back into peak shape once the hurt had shifted to anger and determination. Forge’s letters had gone astray, he’d met Granger, and they’d had a life together.

  “Me too. Everything wasn’t all bad for Granger and me. We had some good years. Of course, things didn’t turn out the way I expected at the beginning. He was charming and driven, with lots of energy. We had fun together until the work took off for both of us, and then we….” Forge began putting things back in the box. “It doesn’t matter now. What happened is done.” He finished gathering the last of the mementos, and Gage tried to hand back the letters. “You keep them. They were meant to go to you.” Forge took the box and left the room.

  Gage watched every sway of Forge’s hips until he was out of sight. He sat back in the chair, the letters resting on his lap, and closed his eyes. The lack of sleep was catching up with him. It had to be. Forge was a client, and he should not, under any circumstances, be having the salacious
thoughts running through his head about any client. But he couldn’t help it. Suddenly he was seventeen years younger, behind a locked door, and while everything wasn’t fully functional yet, the important parts worked, and Forge had shown him just how well and what getting better would truly mean. They’d only had one night of intimacy and passion, though their attraction had simmered for weeks. Then Gage was on his way home to his parents and their stifling sense of propriety, with a future of recovery and pain, looking forward to… something that would never happen.

  GAGE DOZED off, needing to sleep some if he was to be alert and protect Forge. No matter how tired he was, Gage had learned long ago to remain alert, so it was surprising when he woke and found a blanket thrown over him and Forge sitting on the sofa with several boxes from the shelf lined up on the coffee table. He sat up. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to remember how to open these. They’re Granger’s puzzle boxes, and each one opens differently. Granger could work all of them in mere seconds, and he showed me how to open them.” Forge turned a box over and then upright again, tugging out a small piece of the decoration, which allowed another piece to move, and finally the end slid off. He peered inside and closed the lid. “Nothing.” He put the box back on the shelf and returned to the table.

  “How many have you opened?”

  “That was the fourth one. It’s taking a while for me to figure them out again.” Forge picked up another and worked it quickly. “Some I remember.” He smiled and shook his head, closing the box once again and adding it to those on the shelf. “I don’t expect to find anything. These were objects of art to Granger, not utilitarian items.” He continued opening the two dozen or so small puzzle boxes, and Gage stood, leaving the blanket behind, and made his rounds of the house once again and checked out the yard in the daylight.

  The police had marked where Granger had fallen, and Gage was able to follow the path of activity to where bullets were found, as well as to where the shooter had likely stood toward the side of the backyard. He placed his feet near where the shooter had been, turning to look around. It was a perfect spot. Two trees sheltered the area perfectly from the other houses in the distance. Berms around both of them added to the cover and would diminish the effects of any sound.