The Last Night (The Last Series Book 2)

by Harvey Church

  The federal agent started snapping his fingers again. “You got into the cab, Ethan, and then where did you go?”

  He shrugged. It didn’t matter. But Klein sure seemed intent on hearing all of the gory details, so Ethan obliged.

  “They said they were taking her to Northwestern,” Ethan explained. “So I started there. But she wasn’t admitted there. No record anywhere on their system. In fact, nobody was even en route with a woman matching Raleigh’s condition or description. So then I was off to Weiss. Saint Joseph’s after that. Then I had the cab driver take me home, and I called every ER in the city, but…” He glanced over at the attentive federal agent. “You know these details.”

  Klein nodded. “Northwestern, Weiss, Saint Joseph’s.” He glanced over, except he seemed disappointed. “Just like you itemized in your official police statement.”

  “Because that’s how it happened.”

  “When did you contact Chicago EMS?”

  “After I called Northwestern again. And Weiss, and Saint Joseph’s. It didn’t even occur to me to try Chicago EMS until it sunk in that something was wrong. I was panicking, remember, I couldn’t even think my way through a simple addition problem. But then I understood that they weren’t bringing her to a hospital, probably never were, because Chicago EMS told me no ambulance had been dispatched to my address.”

  “Time?” Klein asked, his voice hoarse and scratchy, reminding Ethan to take a sip of water. “What time did it occur to you to call Chicago EMS?”

  “Seven.”

  Klein glanced at him again and raised an eyebrow. “Seven?”

  “Eighteen. Seven-eighteen.” Ethan nodded. He knew the time. The Chicago Police had gone back through his phone records and saw that he’d finally called Chicago EMS at seven eighteen in the morning. After a night of driving all over town to those hospitals, circling back home to call the others in the city, and then out again to try the three most-obvious options one last time and thinking the fresh, new shift in the hospital staff would have a better answer for him. As if Ethan thought that he just needed to show up in person and insist they find his wife. And then if he just demanded that they look harder and then finally threaten to sue them if they didn’t! But nothing he’d said helped; Raleigh wasn’t there.

  “Seven-eighteen,” Klein said.

  Yes, he’d called Chicago EMS at 7:18, when everything else had failed and he couldn’t think of anyone else to yell at.

  In hindsight, his aggressive approach had probably set off a few alarms. He’d been that incredibly irrational husband who walked into a hospital, screaming and yelling and waving his fists, while spewing threats of lawsuits and ending people’s careers.

  That night/morning/day, Ethan Vernon had been the psycho that justified having security at hospital emergency rooms. He hadn’t thought so at the time; he’d felt he demonstrated restraint and logic, but the video footage and statements from the hospital staff had proven otherwise.

  “When the investigation turned on you,” Klein said with a bit of a sigh, “what did you think?”

  “I was pissed,” he said, spitting the words out. “Naturally. I was beyond angry; my wife was taken from me and there was no evidence that an ambulance ever showed up at my house. And now they were blaming me?” Thinking back on that time, the questions the detectives had asked, the manner in which they’d asked them, it infuriated him, still.

  Klein nodded.

  “Dammit, if some of the neighbors hadn’t looked out their window or put their crack pipes down for a half-second, then what? Huh? None of them would’ve seen the ambulance for themselves, none of them could’ve backed up my story, and I’d probably be in jail to this day.” There hadn’t been street cameras on Cobalt in those days, and the ones on Aldine that were operational hadn’t seen an ambulance. Conveniently.

  Klein was still nodding, and it had something of a calming effect on Ethan.

  “That’s the real reason the courts refused to declare Raleigh dead in absentia sooner. You know that, right?”

  Klein stopped nodding, suddenly interested in what Ethan had to say.

  “Because, man. Because. They thought I’d done it!” Although his earlier accusations of a conspiracy theory hadn’t helped, the police had been motivated by more than simple distaste for Ethan.

  “I think it was the prudent thing to do, Ethan,” Klein said, so matter-of-factly that it was impossible to tell if he believed it at all.

  “I never cared about the money, it’s not like I wouldn’t hand it all back in a heartbeat, and then some. If it could bring her back, I’d pay anything.”

  At that point, Klein rotated his entire body so that he was facing Ethan. The agent used his fingers to count off a laundry list of docile objections. “You and Raleigh were buried in student debt. You owed back taxes on this property. The fertility treatment wasn’t cheap, either, was it?”

  A little uncomfortable, Ethan shifted on his stool before offering a confident grin and an understanding nod. “We had good jobs, with huge earnings potential. We’d have clawed our way out of that hole, agent Klein. Hell, I did it on my own, didn’t I? And that was all done on my single widower income.”

  “The property.”

  “Mortgage rates worked in our favor. My favor. And once the city approved the redevelopment up here, prices climbed and I refinanced and…” He thought about it. “It worked out, yes.”

  “Uh huh.” Klein didn’t seem all that convinced. He glanced down at his fingernails again, picked at something that Ethan couldn’t see from two stools away. “You know what happened after you left that funeral home yesterday? A report was filed with Lake Forest PD. Words like ‘harassment’ and ‘abuse’ were used. ‘Trespassing.’” Klein’s eye twitched. “A prominent member of their community dies, and you’re the first one in there, badgering the widow and spewing shit about an abduction.”

  Ethan’s eyes shot wide. “They said that? Because I never used the word ‘abduction.’”

  Sighing, Klein shook his head. “I’m filling in a few blanks, Ethan. Because we both know that’s where you were headed with that little surprise visit of yours.”

  Ethan poked the countertop, as if hammering a stake into it. “Paul Hyatt was involved in Raleigh’s disappearance, agent Klein. I know it was a long time ago, but he was there, he was involved.”

  At last, Klein lost his patience. Slapping his hand on the same countertop, the agent jumped to his feet. The sound of the smack reached Ethan’s eyes quicker than his ears registered what was happening.

  “And if he was, Ethan? If he’s the one who kidnapped her like you’re suggesting, what then?” The agent’s tone and volume were surprising. Ethan said nothing as Klein moved even closer, bringing his face close enough that he could bite his nose off if he wanted. “Your wife, Ethan, if she’s even alive, she’s a different woman now. Unrecognizably different. She’s changed beyond anything you could ever expect.” His eyes bore into Ethan’s. “What’s left of her isn’t something you could ever love again, not like the memory you’re holding so dearly in your head. Do you understand that? If you’re right, and this conspiracy theory of yours happened like your twisted head thinks it did, what do you think is left beyond the scraps?”

  Swallowing the emotion that threatened to rip through his chest, Ethan shied back a little; the agent’s approach was a little more than just casually overbearing. It took every ounce of courage to meet that penetrating, bad-cop stare of his. But he managed to do it. And he also managed to give a firm nod.

  “I don’t care,” Ethan said, his voice steady but firm enough to convey his resolve and determination. “I love her, Agent Klein. I love her, so much, and I’ll make things right and perfect for her.”

  Klein stared back.

  “I’ll find her, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was the truth. Ethan loved Raleigh more than just “so much.” He loved her with his entire existence, every ounce, every b
reath, every little bit of his soul. So no matter how much agent Klein tried to intimidate him with a stare and a few loud words, and scare him off of his renewed mission to find his missing wife, the federal agent couldn’t take away or change what Ethan himself couldn’t control, decide, or change.

  At last, the federal agent sighed and stepped down. No longer so confrontational, he turned away and scratched the back of his head. “I need a smoke,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

  “Are you leaving?”

  Klein shook his head and settled back onto the stool where he’d been sitting before he’d practically attacked Ethan. “She wasn’t kidnapped, Ethan.”

  Frowning, Ethan shook his head; he didn’t believe that.

  Nodding with the conviction of someone who knew more than he was willing to share, Klein repeated, “Your wife wasn’t kidnapped seven and a half years ago.”

  “But she was.”

  “I’ve worked kidnapping cases my entire career. And, I’m telling you, she wasn’t kidnapped.”

  “But… How…? Why…?”

  “Too complicated.” His stern gaze told Ethan that he wasn’t bluffing. “In all these years, even the most prolific abductions don’t have the kind of the complexity that this one has.” He glanced down at his nails, but not for long. “Three EMTs in an ambulance. A nine-eleven call that, what? Got intercepted?”

  There’d been no records of Ethan ever making a call to 911, one of the reasons the investigation had turned on him. “Of course it was.” He hadn’t imagined making the damn call with his very own hands. Chicago EMS had screwed up; they were supposed to record those things. So if they said the call didn’t happen, it was because they were covering up their oversight.

  “An intercepted call sure is clever,” Klein said, his smirk indicating otherwise. “But that’s something you do if you’re trying to abduct the head of state or PEP.”

  “A what?”

  “Politically exposed person. High stakes Ethan Hunt in Mission Impossible shit, the kind that requires elaborate schemes and gadgets to kidnap these types of highly protected people. And this—” He made a circular, stirring motion with his finger an inch above the countertop “—is pretty elaborate for. . . remind me what Raleigh did for a living, Ethan.”

  Sure. What Klein was saying made a lot of sense. Too much sense. But if it hadn’t been an “elaborate scheme,” then what had it been?

  Klein snapped his fingers, less patient now that he’d gone without a cigarette for more than twenty minutes. “What did your wife do for a living, Ethan?”

  “Senior research analyst. ParkerPharma.” Ethan massaged his temples, remembering some of the drugs she’d been working on. Namely the cure for opioid addiction. “There’s just so much of a coincidence between what Hyatt did and what Raleigh was working on.”

  Letting out a sigh, Klein gave an understanding nod. “Just because she wasn’t kidnapped, it doesn’t mean I won’t look into it. But, Ethan, you’ve got to prepare yourself for some possibilities you might not like or want to believe.”

  At least Klein, unlike the Chicago detective—Tate, right?—was willing to investigate the Hyatt connection. So Ethan nodded his understanding, relieved to have someone on his team, but unconvinced that Klein would put much effort into it.

  “You know something, if we find Raleigh? Even if you can’t stand her after everything she’s been through, or, more likely, the other way around and she can’t stand you . . . you’ll have to repay that insurance money.”

  “Gladly.” He wouldn’t even flinch at seeing the money go, not if it meant having Raleigh back.

  Klein did some more nodding.

  Ethan could tell Klein was jonesing for a cigarette, eager to get out of the house so he could light up. Fact of the matter was that Ethan was eager for him to leave, too.

  “I’ll put in a few hours, but no promises, okay?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “Like you pointed out, we’ve got the coincidence of Hyatt’s business affiliations competing with Raleigh’s work. We also have an identity; we can dig up some of Hyatt’s associates, cross-reference them to other missing person cases that remain outstanding.”

  Ethan nodded some more. “Whatever it takes.”

  “I also want to have a look into the file, get reacquainted with the minutiae because, frankly, I just don’t remember everything.”

  All Ethan could do was nod, surprised that agent Klein would vocalize his to-do list at all. Maybe there was a point to that, some hidden agenda that Ethan just couldn’t see because his heart was racing and his hopes were vibrating at the possibility of seeing Raleigh again, hearing her voice, feeling the tingling that her fingertips left whenever they traced along his arms.

  “And then there’s that little detail that you’ll do just about anything to see Raleigh again.” He smiled, an awkward scene because agent Klein wasn’t the type of man that smiled often. And that awkwardness surfaced in the way his lips curled but the rest of his face looked entirely uncomfortable.

  “I’ll be forever indebted to you, agent Klein.”

  Pushing out of the stool, Klein started down the hallway toward the front door. As he slipped his feet into his shoes and worked on tying up the laces, he looked up at Ethan. And then he just stared, tying those laces as if by memory and allowing the silence to stew. It was an old trick—the waiting game—but Ethan fell for it anyway.

  “I just want the love of my life back, agent Klein. It’s not about the money, it never was. It’s always been about having Raleigh back.” In case Klein hadn’t picked up on that yet.

  Once he finished with his shoes, Klein stood up and brushed his knees in case a spec of dirt or fiber had been transferred from the floor to his pants. He definitely wanted that smoke, Ethan could read the craving in his eyes.

  “I’ll see what I can get done,” Klein said, but to Ethan’s ears it sounded more like a promise. “But I need you to do something for me.”

  “Of course. Anything. Whatever you ask.”

  “I need you to avoid the kind of drama you instigated at that funeral home, okay?”

  After promising that he would, Ethan said, “Just bring her back.”

  Without wasting another second, Klein reached back and grabbed the doorknob. Once the federal agent let himself out, Ethan engaged the locks and slipped into the next room, a reading area with two modern reading chairs on either side of the large window that overlooked the street. Standing off to the side, and using the low-hanging drapes as something of a shield, Ethan watched the federal agent open the self-closing gate at the end of the walkway and step to his Ford Taurus on the street. Before he opened the driver side door, though, the agent reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a pack of Winston cigarettes. With the kind of cool ease that existed only in a Clint Eastwood flick, Klein pressed a cigarette to his lips and used a fancy butane lighter to get it lit.

  Satisfied that he’d been correct about the agent’s jonesing, Ethan finally stepped away from the window and went straight to work, preparing for the hard-core work that lie ahead.

  Chapter Ten

  Although Special Agent Klein hadn’t detailed what he meant when he’d asked Ethan to not instigate the type of drama from the funeral home, it seemed like he’d made a request. To Ethan, it didn’t quite feel like an official demand, and it certainly hadn’t come across as a condition of his work on Raleigh’s ancient case.

  But, for the most part, Ethan planned on obeying that request. In fact, if it had been more of a demand, he was more than happy to meet whatever conditions Klein rolled out before him, including that bit about the drama. And so, for the next week, whenever he wasn’t busy with some project around the house—like redoing his formal living room to make it more welcoming for Raleigh’s return—he would slip upstairs to the office and settle at the computer.

  No drama in that.

  He would tap away, avoiding drama as requested, and he quickly discovered that Paul Hyatt sti
ll had a Facebook profile. Except it was locked down so tight that only his “friends” could access the content. Hyatt also had an obituary on the Reid Sanderson Funeral Home website, the kind of write-up that allowed site visitors to make a donation (to MADD, which incidentally suggested to Ethan that the Ford pick-up driver had been impaired) or leave a comment.

  Already, seven days since Paul’s official funeral, the site’s counter badge reported two thousand and ninety-six visitors, seventy-five of whom had left comments. A surprising number were addressed to Paul directly—gonna miss you at the Mackinaw Race this year, buddy. Had such a blast with you and Lisa these past six year. Paul, you weren’t just my partner (in crime, hahahaha), you were my best friend and I’ll miss our Starbucks chats about pharmaceutical deregulation more than I ever let on. Hey, Pal, from high school to high places, right? Save me a seat (and an Ambien!) next to the Big Guy in the sky!—as if Paul Hyatt had access to the internet in heaven, or, more likely, hell given his role in Raleigh’s abduction.

  Patiently, Ethan read through most of those vomit-inducing comments, keen on seeing a side to the faux-EMT that his distrustful, skeptical bias just wouldn’t allow. Knowing that Hyatt had played a role in Raleigh’s disappearance, he couldn’t appreciate how close so many of these people had been to this monster. A man, Ethan realized, with a dark, secret side that few knew existed.

  One common theme among those seventy-five messages was Paul’s affinity for the water. The comments about the various boating races, tours, and excursions during the summer months reminded Ethan of the photos he’d seen on the overhead televisions during his short yet “dramatic” stint at the Reid Sanderson Funeral Home in Lake Forest.

  How many of those photos had featured Paul on a boat?

  A lot.

  So much that the photos, in conjunction with the comments on the site, suggested that Paul spent a lot of his summer months on a boat. He’d built an entire real-life social network around that hobby of his.