Never Girl

by Ana Valen

  “The only missing piece of information is who placed the messages.”

  “Don’t the freeways have security cameras? I’m sure they would’ve captured this person.”

  “They do. And I was originally going to steal the footage. But I don’t have time. I need to figure this out. Hopefully by today.”

  “Why the rush?”

  Harlan folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket pocket. He placed Susan’s phone into his other pocket. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You got it. Do you need anything else?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Alright. If that changes, let me know.”

  “I will.” Harlan stuck out his hand.

  Martinez smirked once more. His reaction figured as Harlan wasn’t the type to shake hands. Martinez gripped his palm nevertheless. After letting go, Martinez climbed out, closed the door, and started for his cruiser.

  Harlan fired up the Maxima and got onto the road. Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at Susan’s home.

  He parked across the street, climbed out, and crossed the divide. This was it. Once he relayed this information to Susan, there was no going back. He would invite the wrath of the LAPD, of Kovalenko, and of whoever was behind this. But he would also save an innocent person.

  He stopped at the front door and hit the chime. Seconds later, footsteps approached. Then nothing.

  He looked towards the peephole. He couldn’t see behind it, but he knew Susan was there. The door finally unlocked and opened, but only six inches.

  “How do you know where I live?” Susan asked, speaking from behind the opening.

  “Can I talk to you inside?”

  “Please answer my question.”

  “I will. But I would rather do this inside.”

  She took a small breath, opened the door completely, and stepped aside. He entered and she locked up. Then they looked at each other.

  “Can we,” he slowly said, “go to your living room?”

  She hesitated for a second. “Sure.” She started walking but halted and turned. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She nodded and resumed her route. Inside the living room, she gestured towards the couch. “Please.”

  “Thanks,” he said while sitting.

  He took the long couch, and to his surprise, she sat beside him. But not too close.

  “So?” she asked.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled her cellphone, and extended it. She took the phone and kept it in her small hands.

  “Somebody used it,” he said. “That’s how they lured Jessie to the hiking trail. Here’s what they sent.”

  He pulled the paper and offered it to her. She took the document, and while reading it over, she tightened her lips. Then water welled in her eyes.

  “He was coming to help me,” she choked. “He thought I had sprained my ankle.” She looked up. “He was coming to help.”

  “I know. Whoever sent those messages used his love against him. The same person also came in here and took your phone.”

  Her anguish gave way to confusion. “No. My phone stays with me. It never leaves my sight.”

  “I figured as much. That’s why I asked for your mobile carrier—so I could check your service history. About a week ago, your phone was reported stolen.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “I know. This was to acquire a recovery phone. The carrier provided that phone to this person, and the phone was loaded with all of your information. The shooter placed the recovery phone in your possession, so you never knew the original was stolen. The shooter took the original to the target location, called your carrier, and said they found the old phone. When the carrier reactivated the old phone, this person sent the text messages.”

  “Then this person placed my old phone back in my possession.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But that means they had access to my home.”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, my God. So they were inside?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But how did they get in?”

  “That’s not difficult. Not if the person knows what they’re doing.”

  “I find that hard to believe, especially because I spend so much time here. How could they get inside without me knowing?”

  “I’ve already done that twice.”

  Her chest started rising and falling. “What?”

  “Over the last three days, I’ve been here twice. On both occasions, you were inside.”

  Her breathing intensified. “Why were you here?”

  “The first time was to steal your computer information.” He paused. “The second time was to kill you.”

  She shot up. “That’s not funny. That’s not fucking funny!”

  “I’m not joking. I was here with a silenced pistol. And I observed you inside of your room.”

  “Oh, yeah? What was I doing?”

  “You were on your computer looking for therapy services. You even spoke with a counselor, Dr. Donna Hayward. I only refrained from killing you because Detective Raven arrived.”

  “Oh, my God.” She looked around the room. “Oh, my God.” She refocused on him. “You need to leave. You need to leave right now.”

  “Susan,” he said while standing, “I’m here to help you.”

  “Go! If you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll call the cops!”

  “Go ahead. If that will improve your situation, I won’t stop you. Because like I said, I’m here to help.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Think about it. If I was going to carry out my kill order, why would I tell you?”

  Still breathing hard, she looked away. A moment later—one where understanding apparently took hold—she looked back. “Why? Why are you helping me?”

  “I already told you. Because I’m changing.”

  “Changing from what?”

  “Someone who kills without feeling.”

  “You’re an assassin? Is that what you do? You kill people?”

  He nodded.

  She cupped her nose and looked away. A moment later, she lowered her hands and looked back. “How many people have you killed?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “A mob boss.”

  “And he ordered my death?”

  “Not exactly. He simply manages the kill contracts.”

  “Then who took out the contract?”

  “Claire.”

  Susan unwound her face. “Claire? Claire Jacobson?”

  He nodded. “She thinks you were involved in Jessie’s death.”

  “But I wasn’t. Fucking hell, I wasn’t!”

  “I believe you. But Claire doesn’t. So you need to be extremely cautious.”

  “Why? If you’re the assassin hired to kill me, and you’re not going to do this, why would I be in danger?”

  “Because if my employer finds out that I neglected the contract, both of us are dead.”

  She cringed.

  “I’ll figure this out,” he continued. “I’m almost there. And I’ll contact you afterwards. Okay?”

  She looked towards the ceiling. “I should go to the cops.”

  “I would rather you didn’t. That will slow me down. But do whatever you feel is best.”

  She refocused on him. “If that will impede you, I won’t. But figure this out soon.”

  “I will. I promise.” He started for the door.

  “Hey,” Susan called out.

  He stopped and turned back.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Harlan. Harlan Nichols.”

  “Thank you, Harlan. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded. “Thank you as well.”

  “For?”

  “For helping me change.” He continued to the door.

  Chapter 32

  “Do you have it?” Claire said into her phone.

 
; “Yeah,” James responded. “I have it. Where should we meet?”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Venice. Should we connect somewhere in the middle?”

  “No,” she responded, exiting her bedroom. “I’ll come to you.”

  “That’s not a good idea. I’m parked outside of some shady guy’s apartment. I would rather leave.”

  “I understand. But there’s an abandoned boat shop in Venice. That place is perfect.”

  “Alright. Where is it?”

  “I’ll text you the address. And I’m leaving now, so I’ll be there in twenty minutes. ”

  “Okay. See you there.”

  “Great. And thank you, James. I really mean that.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  She disconnected, slipped her phone into her pocket, and entered the kitchen. After grabbing her keys, she walked to the front door.

  She unlocked the door and opened it, only to halt. Detective Raven stood there, her hand raised as if to knock.

  “Detective Raven,” she said, trying to hide her surprise.

  “Claire,” Raven responded, trying to hide her anger.

  Neither succeeded.

  “How can I help you?” Claire followed.

  “Can I speak with you inside?”

  “Actually, I’m on my way out.”

  “Where to?”

  “To meet a friend.”

  “You mean the person you hired to follow Susan Wright?”

  Claire didn’t answer.

  “We need to talk,” Raven said with some force.

  “I can only give you a few minutes.”

  “Fine. A few minutes is all I need.”

  Claire backed up and gave Raven some room. Raven entered, and Claire closed the door. She wanted to converse in the entryway, but Raven started for the living room. Claire reluctantly followed her in.

  “Can I get you anything?” Claire asked.

  Raven wheeled around. “No. Just tell me what the fuck is going on.”

  Claire halted. “What do you mean?”

  “Cut the shit. We both know you’re involved. We both know you’re trying to hide this.”

  “I haven’t lied to you. Somebody shot my brother, and I need someone to figure out what happened. I thought the police would do that, but you’re having a hard time. So I hired some private help.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not telling you. And not because I have a problem with that. This guy simply asked that I keep his identity secret.”

  “Is he the person that Susan encountered?”

  “Probably. He’s checking all the angles. That includes her.”

  “Susan is a dead end.”

  “Based on what he’s learned, she’s involved.”

  “Then this guy is a shitty investigator. Any first-year cop can rule her out.”

  “Detective, I’m sorry that you can’t see the obvious. But Susan is the reason why my brother is dead.”

  “Wrong. You’re the reason. You might not have pulled the trigger, but you were involved.”

  Claire shrugged. “If that’s how you feel, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “You can start by telling me about your accident.”

  “I already did.”

  “Bullshit. There’s more to it than just a hospital stint. So what happened to you?”

  “If you want to find out, subpoena the hospital records.”

  “We will. And when we do—”

  “It won’t matter. At best, it’ll strengthen your theory that I killed my brother out of vengeance. But that won’t override the fact that Susan lured Jessie to the hiking trial, and that she did so with text messages.”

  Raven stayed quiet.

  “My investigator is damn good.”

  Raven aimed a finger. “You rigged that ambush. I don’t know how, but you rigged it. When I figure this out—and rest assured that I will—you’re fucking done.” She turned to leave.

  “Detective Raven,” Claire called out. “Detective Raven!”

  Raven turned around.

  “You’re right.”

  Raven stared.

  “You’re right,” Claire repeated. “I’m involved.”

  Raven waited a beat. “Because of your accident?”

  “Yes. But it’s more complicated than that. And I’ll tell you everything, just not now.”

  “How am I supposed to believe you?”

  “Because your intuition is good. You knew from the start that I was hiding something. So look at me now and tell me if I’m lying.” Claire leaned forward. “I am going to tell you everything. I’m going to tell you because you need to know what happened.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  Raven nodded. “We’ll see. And if you try to run…”

  “I won’t. Because I’m not guilty. You’ll find out why.”

  “Like I said, we’ll see.” Raven continued to the door and exited.

  Claire also walked to the door, but she didn’t depart just yet. She waited for Raven to clear out. Then she headed out too.

  ***

  Claire arrived at the Ocean Wave boat repair shop. She turned into the same alley as before, but unlike then, when she came across Harlan’s Maxima, she now encountered James’ Mercedes.

  The Mercedes faced the street so she spotted James inside. He climbed out while she parked. With her engine off, she likewise disembarked.

  “Hey,” she said, closing the door.

  “Hey,” he responded.

  They hugged but only briefly. Clearly, he didn’t want to stick around long. She couldn’t blame him.

  “Jeez,” he said. “What kind of place did you bring us to?”

  “The place where I met Kovalenko’s hitman.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. And consider yourself lucky. He and I met after dark.”

  “Wow. What a nightmare.”

  “Tell me about it. So,” she went on, “do you have it?”

  “Yeah. It’s in the trunk.”

  They walked behind his Mercedes where he lifted the lid. He reached inside, grabbed a brown paper sack, and handed it over.

  She took the heavy bag and unrolled the top. After inserting her hand, her fingers found the cold streel of a gun. She retrieved the weapon and examined it. The firearm was mid-sized, blacked out, and with Beretta engraved in the handle.

  “That’s an M9,” he said. “It fires 9mm rounds, so the recoil won’t be too extreme.”

  She turned the weapon over and found no additional markings. “No serial numbers?”

  “Nope. Everything was filed off. This gun is a throwaway, meaning you can use it once but only once. Do you want some instructions?”

  She ejected the magazine and checked the holder. With the magazine full, she reinserted it, racked the slide, and ensured the weapon was on safe. She then looked up. “I’m good.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “How do you know all that?”

  “I took some courses at the firing range.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always had an interest.”

  “Okay.” He looked around. “I think we should clear out.”

  “I agree.” She slipped the pistol back into the bag.

  “Have you had lunch yet?” he asked. “I’ll be happy to take you somewhere.”

  “That sounds nice. But I have something to do. It’s important.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. But will you be around later?”

  “Yup. I took the whole day off. I’m heading back home now. If anything comes up, give me a holler.”

  “Great. I’ll do that. And thanks again for your help. This means a lot.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek.

  He smiled wide. “You’re welcome. And maybe we can do something for dinner.”

  “Maybe. I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He went back to his Mercedes, and she approached he
r Acura. When she climbed aboard, she placed the bag on the passenger seat.

  She fired up the engine and waited for James. He drove by, waving as he went. She waved back. But before turning, she pulled her cellphone.

  She went into her contacts, dialed Harlan, and placed the phone to her ear.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “Hey. Do you have a minute? I need to show you something.”

  “Yeah. I’m free. And I have something to show you as well.”

  “Great. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter 33

  Harlan stood in his apartment observing his poster boards. As always, he wrote out his thoughts to understand them better. Slowly, an image started to form of how the shooter broke into Susan’s home and swapped her phone. As the image continued materializing, someone knocked on the door.

  He walked to the door and looked through the peephole. Claire stood there. Backing away, he unlocked the door and opened it.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello.” He stepped aside. “Did you go out somewhere?”

  “What?” she asked while entering.

  He gestured towards her purse. “Normally, you don’t have a bag with you.” He closed the door and locked it.

  “Oh. Right. I met a friend just now. And since your apartment was on the way home, I figured I would stop by and update you on something.”

  “That’s fine. Like I said, I have an update for you as well.”

  She grinned. “So you solved everything?”

  “Not yet. But I’m close. Come take a look.”

  They walked into the living room and stopped by the boards.

  “Oh, wow,” she commented, eyeing the new information. “You have made progress.” She leaned in. “What’s all of this?”

  “How the shooter used Susan’s phone to lure in Jessie.”

  “The shooter? You mean Susan?”

  “No. Because it wasn’t her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He relayed what he told Susan—how the shooter swapped her phone, took the original to the target location, and swapped the phone back after the murder.

  “Holy crap,” Claire said. “You really did figure it out.”

  “Not everything. I still don’t know who this person is.”

  Claire walked back to the coffee table and set down her purse. “Any theories?”

  He looked to his boards. “First off, the person knew Susan.”