Never Coming Home

by A.R. Wise

  * * *

  Angel Harcourt hadn’t expected two of them, evident by her expression when she saw Bentley get out of the car. She had a timid smile that faded further when she saw Bentley, and she uttered a disappointed, “Oh.”

  “This is Bentley,” said Lincoln, picking up on Angel’s disgruntled greeting. “He’s working with me on the case.”

  “Hello, Bentley.”

  “Hi, Ms. Harcourt. Thanks for having us up here. This is a beautiful place. Was this one of your family’s cabins?”

  She nodded, and forced a smile. Something was making her nervous, and she fidgeted with a necklace made of shells. She had on another sun dress that was shorter than the last, and she wasn’t wearing shoes. Her naked legs looked cold, almost bluish, like the faint color of her eyes.

  “I thought you were coming alone. It’s all right, I guess.” She moved aside, and motioned towards the door. “Come in.”

  Her hand was trembling.

  “Is everything all right?” asked Lincoln.

  Angel was about to say, ‘Yes,’ but then she conceded the truth. “No, not really.” She crossed her arms. “Come in out of the cold. I’ll make tea. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Lincoln and Bentley went inside, and Angel got the tea from her cabinet. A kettle was on the stove, steam rising slowly from the spout, barely whistling. She took the kettle off the stove and poured them each a cup. Next she meant to place the kettle on a metal trivet, but missed. The kettle tilted and rattled on the counter. She apologized for her clumsiness as she picked the kettle back up. Instead of putting it on the trivet, she turned around and placed it back on the stove, causing it to whistle for a moment before fading away. Her mannerisms seemed frantic, disjointed, and nervous.

  “What’s wrong, Angel?” asked Lincoln.

  The three cups of tea sat on the counter between them, steeping. Lincoln saw that there was also an unopened bottle of Tanqueray, his preferred brand of gin, on the counter. He wondered if Angel had bought it in anticipation of his visit.

  “I wish you would’ve come alone,” said Angel, forcing a timid smile. “What I need to say is… it’s embarrassing.”

  “I can step outside if you want,” said Bentley.

  She shook her head. “No, that’s okay. You’d find out eventually.” She sighed and looked down at her pale, cold hands. “Everyone’s going to find out. Heck, you probably already know.”

  Lincoln waited a beat for her to continue before asking, “Know what?”

  “The truth.” She looked up at him with glassy eyes. “The truth about my marriage. You said that the Klines gave you the last investigator’s notes, right? Did you see what he found out about Frank?”

  “What about him?” asked Lincoln. He wanted let her speak, and didn’t want to reveal anything about what he did or didn’t know.

  “About his… uh, activities.”

  “Are you talking about…” Bentley started to ask, but Lincoln put his hand out to silence him.

  “What activities?” asked Lincoln.

  “His sexual activities.” Angel seemed frustrated that he made her say it. “The things he was into; the prostitutes; the things he made me do. The abuse. He was violent, but I never went to the cops about it. I let him do what he wanted. The only thing that bothered me was what Devin would think. Frank didn’t care, though.”

  “The Kline’s investigator found out that Frank used to abuse me, and they were going to use it as evidence about his character. They were planning on going public with it. But then their investigation hit a wall. Frank had proof that he couldn’t be the killer, because he was on the toll road at the time. The Klines came after me, threatening to release everything. That was right before Frank went to Mexico. The Klines blackmailed us. Their investigation almost bankrupted them, and they came after us for money. Frank wanted to let them release the information. He didn’t care. He said it wouldn’t matter. He even threatened to go to the press himself, before the Klines even had a chance. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t let them. I was afraid it’d get picked up by the media, and that we’d have another circus with reporters digging into our private lives. I couldn’t let that happen, so I sold some of the property I own out here on the mountain and I used the money to pay them off. Frank and I had been trying to work things out. We were thinking of getting back together, but he… The whole mess with the Klines convinced him he needed to leave. He left right after we paid the Klines off.”

  “That explains a few things,” said Lincoln.

  “I’m not sure how much you already know about it. Deborah and her husband said they would keep it quiet, but I know they sent you the last investigator’s files. I saw Frank’s file at your place last night. I wanted you to hear the truth from me instead of reading about it.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Lincoln. He reached across the counter to pat her hand, but she pulled away.

  Angel held her tea cup with both hands as she backed up to the other side of the kitchen. “Frank wasn’t a good person, but he didn’t kill Betty.” She paused, and then added, “Or Devin.”

  Bentley’s cell phone rang, and he apologized as he reached into his pocket and switched off the ringer. He didn’t take the phone out to check who called, affording Angel the respect her revelation demanded.

  “I was going to tell you last night, but I didn’t feel comfortable.” She gave a weak laugh. “I still don’t. That investigator found out things I never wanted anyone to know. He found out about how Frank used to…” Her emotions got the better of her, and her voice stilled as she looked down into her tea. “He used to… choke me. He would do it in front of Devin. And he would hit me. Devin used to scream at him to stop. He used to try and protect me.”

  “How can you be sure a guy like that didn’t have something to do with Devin and Betty’s deaths?” asked Lincoln. “Maybe things didn’t happen the way you think.”

  “He didn’t have anything to do with it,” said Angel. “That’s exactly why we didn’t want anyone to find out about it; because they’d say the same sort of thing that you just did. They’d use our past as another reason to say Trent was innocent, and I didn’t want to go through all that again. I’d rather just sell off some land and be done with it. So that’s exactly what I did.”

  Angel set her cup on the counter, looked down, and shaded her eyes as if too ashamed to look at them. “I probably should’ve just called you, but I felt like I should tell you in person.”

  “I appreciate that,” said Lincoln. “As long as everything you’ve said is true, you don’t have anything to worry about. We’ve all got things in our past we’re not so proud of.”

  Angel reached for her tea cup, but she struggled to hold it with her trembling hand. She tipped the cup over, and cursed as the steaming hot tea spilled onto the counter. “I’m sorry… I’m just… I’m upset. I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want things to turn out this way.”

  “It’s all right,” said Lincoln as he came around to comfort her. “We’re not planning on releasing any of the info about your private life. We just want to figure out what happened to Devin.” He reached for her hand.

  She bristled at the attempted consoling. “Maybe this was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I’ve just got to think things through. I shouldn’t have made you come all the way out here. Do you mind if we put this on hold for now? I’ll come down to the office tomorrow, and I’ll tell you everything. I’m just not… I’m not ready to do it tonight. I thought I was, but I’m not.”

  She was on the verge of tears.

  “Of course,” said Lincoln. “Give me a call in the morning and we’ll set a time for you to come in.” He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder despite how she seemed to want to avoid contact. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Angel.”

  Angel clasped his hand with surprising intensity. She looked into his eyes, and the anguish she felt was evident as she said, “Quit the case. Just let it go. You’re not doing anyone
any good here. I want you to stop, the Klines want you to stop… Just quit the case. Tell me you’ll quit the case.”

  “I can’t do that,” said Lincoln as if in apology. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll sort this all out.”

  She turned away, and didn’t say goodbye.

  Lincoln and Bentley left, and looked at one another with raised brows. They stayed silent until they got in the car, and then Bentley spoke with exasperated flare, “All right then. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “It explains a lot,” said Lincoln. “It explains why the Klines were dodgy, and why we’re missing so much of that report.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Lincoln was about to say, ‘Yes,’ but then thought about how Darcy had chastised him for being gullible. “I don’t know who to believe anymore, but it sure seemed like she was telling the truth.”

  “It would explain why the Klines’ debt issues disappeared.” Bentley took out his phone to check who’d called a moment ago. “And it explains…” he stopped as he saw who’d left a message.

  Lincoln was backing up to turn around and head down the long, gravel driveway when he saw Bentley’s concerned expression. “Is everything all right?”

  “I got a text from Polly.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “She’s asking if I’m with Darcy.”

  Lincoln became suddenly concerned, almost to the point of panic. “What?”

  “I thought Darcy was meeting up with Polly and the rest of the band for practice,” said Bentley.

  “She was,” said Lincoln as he took his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call her mom. Maybe she’s with her.”

  Lincoln started to dial his ex-wife’s number, but Bentley stopped him. “Wait. Why don’t you check the geolocator? She uses it too. Maybe it’ll show us where she’s at.”

  “Good idea,” said Lincoln as he handed his phone over to Bentley. “You check it while I drive.”

  Bentley set his own phone in the cup holder and took Lincoln’s. He quickly opened the app as Lincoln drove down Thatcher road and approached the switchback.

  Bentley was stunned by what he saw. “It says that Darcy’s up here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s up here in Eversprings, not even a mile up the road.” He turned to look behind them and said, “Back that way.”

  Lincoln looked in the rearview just in time to see a truck approaching fast behind them with its lights turned off.

  Arthur

  Arthur sped up as they approached the switchback. He collided with the back of Lincoln’s car. The impact jostled his vehicle, but he didn’t hit the Mercedes with the intention of causing massive damage. Instead, he hoped to push it off the side of the mountain.

  Once their bumpers were against one another, Arthur sped up as Lincoln tried to stop. Red lights colored the front of Arthur’s truck as they neared the switchback, and then Lincoln tried to turn, but their momentum was too great. Lincoln’s tires squealed and smoke filled Arthur’s truck as they both sped towards the edge.

  The guardrail was already weakened. Arthur had taken care of that earlier by sawing its wooden posts. There was nothing but trees to stop Lincoln from tumbling down the side of the mountain.

  Lincoln’s attempt to turn caused his Mercedes to move to the right as they neared the edge, but not enough to save him. Arthur hit the brakes just as they came to the curve, and watched as Lincoln’s car slid off into the short expanse of dirt preceding the drop. His attempt to turn became more successful after Arthur stopped pushing him, and the front end of the Mercedes collided with a tree. Lincoln’s car stopped, teetering at the edge, and Arthur could see that the airbags had deployed inside, momentarily protecting the occupants.

  Arthur felt a surge of rage at the thought of Bentley and Lincoln surviving the crash, and he hit the gas again. He planned to collide with the car and send it off the cliff.

  His front end hit the passenger side door, and the Mercedes’ back end spun. The impact against the tree had been damaging enough that part of the car’s wheel well was stuck, clasped to the tree as if gripping on for dear life. Arthur continued to push the front end of his truck into the car, but now he was getting dangerously close to the edge himself. Part of Lincoln’s back end was dangling off the cliff, and Arthur heard the wrenching of the Mercedes’ frame as it clung to the tree.

  Arthur had to back up. He was getting too close to the edge. His tires spun uselessly, the back ones squealing on the pavement as the front dug into the dirt. In his haste to push Lincoln off the mountain, his truck had become pinned on an obstruction beneath him, causing the truck to teeter on the edge.

  The passenger side door of the Mercedes opened.

  Arthur scrambled for his gun. He grabbed the pistol and then opened his door to get out and shoot Bentley and Lincoln. They would die one way or another.

  As he got out, his foot slipped in the mud that his tires had kicked up, and his left leg slid out from beneath him. He fell and nearly slid off the cliff, but was able to stop himself and crawl back up towards the road. The cliff wasn’t a straight drop down, but was a steep slope dotted with trees and rocky outcroppings. Stones fell away from beneath him as he clambered back up, and he heard them banging against rocks as they bounced down.

  He walked around the back of his truck, nervously gripping his pistol. He could hear the men in the car yelling.

  “I got you,” said Bentley. “Come this way.”

  “Get out of the car,” said Lincoln. “Get out before it falls.”

  Bentley’s back was to Arthur. He was half out of the Mercedes, and was reaching in to help Lincoln escape. Arthur took aim, and then stepped closer. He didn’t want to miss.

  The Mercedes creaked, and its tenuous hold on the tree gave way. A chunk of wood broke free, and the car slid a few feet further down the cliff. The wheel well was now wedged into the tree with a stronger hold, but the car was in a more precarious position, with its front end facing the road and its rear dipping down. Bentley fell out of the car, and was about to try and get back in to help Lincoln when he caught sight of Arthur.

  Arthur fired.

  Bentley curled and screamed out, his arms wrapped around his midsection as he fell to his knees on the rocky hill. He put his left hand down, and Arthur saw blood.

  He aimed and squinted, hoping that his second shot would hit his target in the head.

  Bentley took his right hand out from beneath his suit coat, and Arthur was startled to see that he had a gun as well. Arthur fired in haste, but his shot missed as Bentley raised his weapon and fired.

  Arthur was struck in the chest, but not by a bullet. Bentley wasn’t wielding a pistol, but a stun gun. The three prongs lodged in Arthur, their leads hanging loosely between the two men like a dog leash. Arthur was overwhelmed with sudden pain and shock, and he fell to his knees, involuntarily shaking. He dropped his gun and fell to his side, still shaking as electricity coursed through him.

  It took several moments before he regained his composure. His hands tingled, and his head was pounding as tears fell down his cheeks. He gasped for air and tried to push himself up, but his muscles had been drained by the electrocution. His arms wobbled, and he rolled to his back as he listened to Bentley moan in pain.

  The tree that was anchoring the Mercedes finally gave way. The wheel well’s edge tore free, and the car slid off the edge of the cliff, rolling over the rocks and then slamming into trees further down that spun the vehicle as it was hopelessly mangled. The entire mountain was dominated by the horrendous sound of twisting metal and breaking trees as the wreck tumbled away.

  Arthur found the strength to get up to his knees, and he searched for his gun. Now that Lincoln was surely dead, crushed along with his car, he just had to finish off Bentley.

  But the gun was gone.

  He crawled off the road and into the dirt, certain the gun had to be close by. Arthur felt a tinge of pain from the barbs stuck in his chest, and he gripped
the flimsy wires to yank them free. Then he spotted the Beretta, resting close to the wounded tree, stuck in the mud where the Mercedes’ tires had dug a trench.

  There was a man beside the gun, and Arthur was stunned to see that it was Lincoln. Somehow the private detective had managed to get out of the car, and was now only a few feet from the pistol. Lincoln saw Arthur’s gaze, and discovered that the gun was within his grasp. He lunged for it, and Arthur almost leapt down the hill to fight for the weapon, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance of getting to it first. Instead, he turned and fled.

  He chose to run instead of fight. There was more left for him to do tonight.