by H. P. Bayne
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said. “Come in.”
She was likely close to fifty-five or sixty, but her features, combined with impeccable makeup, made her look nearer to her mid-forties. Her hair was pale enough that the greys showing through could have been taken for highlights, and she'd retained the kind of figure that many twenty-year-old girls strived for.
The house, too, was immaculate, decorated in a style that accentuated its history and architecture. This was a woman who took pride in appearance. Dez could only imagine how she would've been impacted by the perception her husband had left her.
She led them into a sunroom overlooking the back garden, and Dez gingerly lowered himself into one of the wicker chairs. Thankfully, it held, and he allowed himself to settle back against it despite some dangerous creaking.
Carlene had already laid out a teapot and several cups. Dez wasn't much of a tea drinker, but he knew Lachlan was as soon as his boss commented on the scent emanating from the pot.
“Rooibos,” he said. “Among my favourites.”
Lachlan hadn't bothered with an introduction, so Dez extended a hand as the woman’s eyes drifted over to him.
“Dez Braddock,” he said. “I work with Lachlan.”
“It's a pleasure,” Carlene said. Her lips turned up at one corner, and one eyebrow lifted slightly. A pleasure indeed.
Dez shifted in his chair, regretting it immediately as it protested beneath him.
Blessedly, Lachlan had more on his mind than humiliating his new employee. “You told me you wanted us to look into your husband's disappearance?”
Carlene’s attention returned to Lachlan. “Are you familiar with the details at all?”
“Sure am,” he said. “I had a small hand in it back then. Would've played a bigger role, but it was bundled off to Major Crimes pretty quick. Didn't stop me from doing a little digging on my own, but nothing ever came of it. One thing is for sure: the police ruled out kidnapping as a likely cause. What do you think happened to him?”
“If I knew, I wouldn't have called you.”
“But you must have some suspicions. All these years, you must've thought about it an awful lot.”
“I try not to. But you're right. Something like that, you don't just stop thinking about. It never got me anywhere but anxious.”
“Some people said he took off to be with another woman. Did you think that?”
“I don't see how. It may sound trite, but we really were happy. He loved me, he loved the kids, we had a great relationship with his family. He even liked his job.”
“How was your sex life?”
Dez’s head snapped to the side so fast, his neck cracked. “Jesus, Lachlan.”
“It’s a valid question. A lot of men start looking for something on the side if they feel they're lacking it at home.”
“Yeah, but you don’t just—”
“It’s all right,” Carlene said. “I don't mind the question. Our love life was very healthy. He certainly had no complaints in that department.”
Once again, her gaze fell on Dez. He fought the urge to squirm.
“And you?” Lachlan asked her. “You never went looking for something else at any point?”
“I’m a one-man kind of girl. When I married him, it was forever. I never cheated, and I’m certain he didn’t either.”
“What do you think happened then?”
“I have one theory, but it’s nothing more than that—and it’s not one I’ve ever voiced to anyone outside the family. You're the one I’m hoping will find the real answers.”
“Humour me. What’s your theory?”
“I'm concerned he went off somewhere to kill himself. I told you he was happy in his life, and he was—at least until the end. Before Lonnie disappeared, he changed. It started after he came home one night, absolutely despondent. He went straight into the bathroom and vomited, and then stayed in the shower for more than an hour. I'm sure I could hear him crying, but by the time he came out, he was his usual self, like nothing had ever happened. I asked him about it anyway, and he said it was nothing I had to worry about, that he’d had a bad day at work. He said it was all better now that he was home.
“Only it wasn’t. He changed after that, became quieter, more withdrawn. We used to laugh together about the stupidest things. A week went by before I realized I hadn't heard him laugh once. Things improved a little after that, but not by much. He disappeared not long after. They found his car on that road in the middle of nowhere. I’m worried it might be he bought a gun somewhere and went out into the woods where no one would find him.”
“How much time passed between that first night and his disappearance?” Lachlan asked.
“I couldn’t tell you exactly, but I think it was probably about two months. He was doing better by then at putting on a good front for the kids, but I could see through him. It worried me. The police at the time suggested suicide as a possibility, but I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn't think of him doing that to the kids or to me. But then the police started talking about the possibility he was having an affair, and that seemed so wrong. I guess I don't know what to think. Hopefully you can find out the truth.”
“Thirty years is a long time. It gets pretty hard to find clues when that much time has passed. If no one found a body or any other evidence back then, it’s going to be an uphill battle now.”
“I asked around and was told you're the best. I thought if anybody could find out, it would be you.”
Lachlan’s chair complained as he sat up straighter and puffed out his chest a little. Dez resisted an eye roll.
“I’ll do what I can,” Lachlan said. “But one question first. Why now? Why after thirty years did you decide you needed these answers?”
“It’s never sat right with me, not knowing,” she said. “But it’s not just for me. It's Lonnie’s dad. He’s dying. He was diagnosed with cancer last month, and he's got, at best, two more months. He wants to know, but he didn't like the idea of going to a private investigator. He said it's a pride thing, but I think it's also the money. He and his wife had a beautiful property in The Forks. They sunk a lot of money into it. After the flood four years ago, they discovered their insurance policy didn't cover natural disasters. They lost a lot and have been getting by on his retirement pension and a few other investments. Thomas and Rose live a comfortable enough life, but that's only because they're careful. I don't think they have the money for a private investigator.”
“You do, though. Did you ever get any insurance from Lonnie’s policy?”
“The house was bought and paid for by his parents as a wedding gift for us, and everything else I pay for through my own job at the bank. I’m a financial advisor. As for Lonnie’s policy, because he was never found, we've never had confirmation of death. I talked to his parents once about putting in some paperwork to have him officially declared dead. That way we could get the insurance, and that would've helped them out some. They weren't beneficiaries, but I would've given them some money. Only they didn't want to. I accepted long ago that Lonnie was gone. His parents never could. They always hoped he'd walk through the door one day.”
“If they’re in that kind of denial, why would they want to know now?”
“Because Thomas is scared to die. He's always been scared of dying. I think the possibility of Lonnie being there to greet him might make things a little easier for him. That's what I hope anyway. As for Rose, if we can prove Lonnie is dead, the insurance money would help her live more comfortably after her husband's gone. He was the president and CEO of the bank where Lonnie worked, but his benefits run out upon his death. The cancer treatments aren’t helping, either. Rose was a housewife. All she'll be left with is what's in the bank account, and I'm not sure it's all that much anymore.”
“Of course, you stand to benefit too. Quite a bit, I should think.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“I’m going to have to ask questions, and some
of them are going to be pretty uncomfortable. Are you prepared for that?”
“If it means finally being able to lay my husband to rest, then yes, I am.”
“And if we find him alive?”
“I can’t imagine you will, but I want the truth. Whatever it is.”
“And you’re aware of my rates?”
“I am, and I’m prepared to pay them.”
“All right.” Lachlan extended a hand. “Then we have a deal.”
Carlene reached out, wrapping Lachlan’s fingers in a grip that made his eyebrows raise.
“We have a deal.”
Back in the SUV, Dez prepared for ribbing over Carlene’s flirtations, but Lachlan was all-business.
“I’m going to talk to an old friend over at the KRPD, see if I can get my hands on the Debenham file. I made my own version of it back in the day, but it’s not official and doesn’t contain everything. Mine is in my storage container, and I’d like to head over there, have a look at it.”
“So I’m playing chauffeur duty again, is what you’re telling me?”
Once he’d finished buckling up, Dez found himself faced with Lachlan’s powerful glare.
“Holy hell, kid, I don’t pay you to drive a car around all day, do I? Drop me off at home and go get your brother. I want the two of you to head out to Loons Hollow.”
“What are we supposed to be searching for out there, exactly?”
“I think suicide is a distinct possibility, but so is the affair. I know what the wife said, but no woman ever wants to believe her spouse was getting his rocks off with another woman. A couple things about Loons Hollow: No one much goes up there anymore. It’s too far removed from the city for the majority of our criminal types to set up shop. Mostly two kinds of people use it—ghost hunters and people wanting somewhere interesting to hook up.”
“Someone with Lonnie’s money would have been more likely to use a hotel, no?” He glanced into the rearview mirror at the receding house.
“Sure, but don’t forget, he was in his early twenties when he went missing. Could be he was interested in something a little more adventurous than the Hyatt.” Lachlan silenced the sudden beeping of the notification system by finally putting on his seatbelt. “And there’s another thing. One of the tips that came in suggested Lonnie had been seen up that way. It was the kind of tip police didn’t typically look into back then. Probably still don’t.”
“What kind of tip is that?”
“It was from someone claiming to be psychic,” Lachlan said. “Someone who thought they’d seen Lonnie’s ghost near Loons Hollow. Whole thing seemed so ludicrous, no one really bothered to do much checking, but I followed up in my own time.”
“And?”
“Didn’t find anything.”
“But now you think we will?”
“I think if there’s something to it, maybe your brother will have a good chance at spotting it. Like I said, I’ll check my file and see if there’s anything more on the official police file, once I get my hands on it.” He stared out his window. “Maybe there are some better leads to follow than this whole ghost-in-the-woods thing. But, at the moment, one lead’s as good as another. Just wanting to cover our bases.”
At a light, Dez studied Lachlan a long moment, so long his boss turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Something on your mind, junior?”
“Sorry. I was thinking. Those ghosts Sully saw attached to you when he first met you—the guy in the suit and the woman with the baby—I thought you’d be gung-ho to go solve those since you’re back on the job.”
“Oh, that’s next on my list,” Lachlan said. “But this is a paying job, and those come first. Anyway, this one’s always stuck in my craw too. If I can get to the bottom of it, I’ll be pretty damn pleased. Finding Lonnie Debenham would be the Kimotan Rapids version of solving the Amelia Earhart mystery. And I’m all set for takeoff on that.”
Lachlan paused, and it took a few seconds for Dez to clue into his boss’s pun.
“That’s… kind of a shitty joke,” Dez said.
Lachlan chuckled as if Dez had been the one trying to be witty. “You’re a real stick in the mud, you know that? Now, listen, if your brother sees Lonnie out there, you call me right away, you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“Good. Oh, and Braddock. If you happen to see Faceless Flo out there, don’t let your brother stick around to talk, huh? They say anyone who comes face to face with her—so to speak—disappears forever.”
Dez shuddered, his mouth inadvertently forming a grimace. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
3
It was surreal being back here.
So much about the house had remained the same. The furniture and decor were exactly as Sully remembered. No rooms had been repurposed. Flynn Braddock’s office was just as he’d left it on the day he died.
It was as if no time had passed, as if nothing had changed.
But everything had. Everything that mattered.
This family—the one that had taken Sully in when he was a frightened and isolated seven-year-old foster kid—had been ripped apart by tragedy. Half of the original family unit—the one that existed before Sully—was dead, the victims of murder. The others were left to pick up the pieces.
There was pain in this house, but there was also happiness. Sully had had his first taste of it here, his first glimpse of safety, of understanding and acceptance. Everywhere he looked, a memory waited, each one containing a sense of love and peace he was convinced he would never have found but for his having lived here. Sully loved this house, and he loved even more the people who’d made it a home.
As he walked through each of the rooms, the resulting memories were tinged with sadness and anger. The murders of his father and Aiden were senseless.
Sully slammed his palm against the doorframe of his father’s office as he left it, grateful his mother Mara wasn’t home to see it. There were explanations he couldn’t give. Not yet anyway.
More than two years had passed since Lowell killed his brother Flynn and had almost killed Sully. During that time, he had likely grown comfortable. A detail Sully could use to his benefit. He’d spent too long in hiding. He was tired of it. Why should he have to remain invisible while Lowell walked around as if he’d done nothing wrong?
Lowell was a rich man, and his wealth had afforded him some measure of protection. Sully had always felt helpless in the face of it, imprisoned by the knowledge no one would believe an unemployed ex-bartender over the respected head of one of the country’s leading pharmaceutical companies.
But life had thrown him a bone last month. Justice Prescott Montague had tried to worm his way out of criminal charges by offering police a chance at bringing down a circle of powerful men who were apparently involved in something less than respectable. One of those men, he’d told police, was Lowell Braddock.
With Montague in custody, Sully could do little. No way could he just walk into the remand centre and demand an interview with the man.
But maybe there was another option.
Sully retrieved his phone from the kitchen, where he’d plugged it in next to the stove. He selected Sergeant Forbes Raynor’s cellphone number. The man let it ring four times before answering, presumably moving to a “safe” location. Sully gritted his teeth. The Major Crime detective really got under his skin, but he had benefits.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Hello to you too,” Sully said. “I wanted to ask you about what the judge said. He mentioned something about Lowell. I need to talk to him.”
“There are two very good reasons why you can’t talk to him. One, he’s the suspect in a murder investigation, and he’s also on the hook for trying to kill your brother. And two, as I remember it, you’re supposed to be dead. The dead don’t talk to other people. Well, except you, apparently.”
“You had no problem with me confronting Montague at his place last month.”
“I didn’t tell you to confront him
,” Forbes corrected. “I asked you to keep an eye on him. You took it and ran with it—and you almost landed in your grave because of it. Now you want to have a conversation with the man?”
“He has something on Lowell, and I need to know what it is. You need to find out, too, don’t you? Or have you asked around?”
“Sure, I’ve asked around. By all accounts, Lowell Braddock is the epitome of style and class, and he’s generous with his chequebook. You don’t make a lot of enemies when you’re willing to scribble out a cheque at a moment’s notice. Anyway, for all I know, that talk of Montague’s was just a way to try to get himself off the hook.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. Look, I’m not going to get myself killed, all right? I just want to talk to him, see if I can get anything out of him.”
Forbes blew out a heavy breath. “I guess there isn’t any way I can stop you. You already know where he lives.”
“He’s not in custody?”
“He was released pretty quick afterward. Don’t you watch the news? It was all over it for a solid week. The media crams into the courtroom like sardines every time his case comes up. You’ll be lucky if there aren’t three news vans parked outside his house right now.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Sully said. “Is his phone number the same?”
“Nope, he changed it way back. Someone got hold of his old number and shared it with a couple of reporters. Took him about three minutes to get himself a new one and, no, I’m not giving it to you. His lawyer has already been asking questions, wondering if one of us gave it up. You’re on your own. Now, I’m busy, so if there’s nothing else…?”
He wasn’t really asking for permission to hang up; his tone suggested it took a great deal of self-control not to tell Sully to get stuffed.
Forbes disconnected the call, leaving Sully to puzzle out a next move. If he was going to approach the judge, it would have to be under the cover of darkness, so as not to be seen by either Montague or any witnesses. How he was going to get into the house was only the first problem; many more mounted behind it.