Never Coming Home

by A.R. Wise

  * * *

  The closest hospital to Eversprings was twenty miles down the mountain. Lincoln and Darcy were in too bad of shape to answer many of the officers’ questions about what happened at the cabin, and the police resolved to wait.

  Lincoln was placed on a stretcher, and he finally understood the enormity of his wounds. He’d lost a lot of blood from Angel’s shotgun blast, and he’d suffered several broken bones, including his arm and three ribs, when Devin hit him with the sledgehammer. Darcy had been hurt badly as well, but she was able to sit in the ambulance with Lincoln instead of being taken on a stretcher separately. The EMT riding with them explained that the hospital only had two ambulances, and one of them had been sent to get Bentley, who’d survived his gunshot but was in critical condition.

  Lincoln asked if they’d sent an ambulance to get Angel, and was informed that she didn’t need one. He didn’t need to ask why not.

  The next few hours were a blur, and Lincoln passed out at least once. He was given a wealth of pain killers, and lost track of time as he was stitched up and mended as best he could be. He was finally moved to a single bed at the hospital in the early morning hours, where he was left alone to recover with the warning that the police would pay him a visit soon.

  An officer arrived sooner than he expected, just as the sun had barely started to lighten the horizon.

  A tall, thin detective woke Lincoln gently, and apologized.

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Pierce, but we’ve got a hell of a lot of questions we need answered.”

  “I bet,” said Lincoln, woozy and feeling spacey from the pain killers. His stomach churned, and he was reminded of waking up with a hangover, but this time the room didn’t spin. Instead, he felt all the symptoms of a pounding headache except, oddly, the pain. The right side of his face was bandaged, including his eye, and he had to lay his head on its side to see the officer. His arm was in a cast that was affixed to his side, limiting his movement.

  “My name’s Detective Blythe with the Boulder PD, but you can call me Jim. I need to get your side of the story here.” He looked down at the pad of paper he was carrying and raised his brow. “It’s a hell of a tale, that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Where should I start?”

  The detective took out a digital recorder, showed it to Lincoln, and then turned it on before placing it on the hospital bed’s over table.

  “Well, how about we start with your investigation. From what I’ve been told, you were looking into the case of Betty Kline and Devin Harcourt’s deaths. That’s what led you up to Angel Harcourt’s home. Is that right?”

  Lincoln tried to sit up, but he was weaker than expected and just slumped back down again. He groaned and said, “Yeah, that’s right. She asked us…” he paused, and his loose grip on reality tightened with concern about his friend. “Hey, do you know how Bentley’s doing? Is he going to be all right?”

  “Too early to say for certain, but they think he’ll pull through. They downgraded him from critical to serious condition, so that’s a good sign.”

  “Oh good,” said Lincoln. “He’s a good kid.”

  “I’m sure he is,” said the detective. “Now back to the story.”

  “Right, right. Angel asked us to come up there because she wanted to confess that she’d paid off the Klines to keep some secrets about her ex. But it was a trap. Her son tried to run us off the side of the mountain.”

  “Devin Harcourt,” said the detective before he took a deep breath. “The media’s going to be all over this one. You’ve got no idea what sort of circus is headed your way here, pal. Let’s start with what you think really happened ten years ago.”

  “What department did you say you were with?”

  “Boulder,” said Jim. “You’ll have some other local officers coming by later to talk about what happened, but I thought I should get here first. This investigation’s going to end up dipping into a lot of departments before the end of it. Even Loveland’s anxious to talk to you. They think Devin might be the culprit in a murder there as well.”

  “No kidding?”

  Jim nodded. “Looks like you caught yourself a real nasty one here, Mr. Pierce. My hat’s off to you. Now why don’t you tell me your version of Devin’s story so that we can make sure we’re on the same page before the press gets involved.”

  Lincoln nodded and tried to clear his muddled head. “Well, I think that Devin Harcourt watched his father abuse Angel, and it twisted up his head. He was in love with Betty Kline, and thought he should treat her the way that his dad treated his mom. It went bad, and he killed her. Then he told his mom, and she helped him cover it up. I wish I had my notes, but I think they’re in my car at the bottom of a mountain.”

  “It’s all right, just do your best. We can compare notes after you’re done.”

  “All right. Angel must’ve found out what happened, and she was scared that her son would be put in jail, so she decided to cover it up. She called her ex, and he faked his computer logs at work to try and hide the fact that he left to go help her, but he took the toll road to get around traffic. They got a picture of him on the toll road, but it was time-stamped after the crime, so no one suspected him of anything other than lying to his work. He must’ve picked up Devin and Betty’s body and took them somewhere.” Lincoln raised his brow as he considered a new possibility. “Hell, they probably took Devin up to Eversprings to hide out in one of the cabins that Angel’s family owned. Then they got rid of the body, and Frank came back down to join in the search for the kids. Angel did a good job of acting like a concerned mom – she was a pretty good actress, from what we heard.”

  Lincoln was trying his best to piece the final pieces of the puzzle together, and he took a moment to consider the details before continuing. “She must’ve been drawing Devin’s blood.” He nodded, convinced he was right. “She was a phlebotomist.”

  “A what?”

  “A phlebotomist,” said Lincoln. “That’s someone whose job is to draw blood. She probably knew exactly how much blood she could take from Devin without hurting him, and how to preserve it. She must’ve drawn his blood over the course of a few weeks, or however long it was before they found the shed. It was around that time that the detectives started to focus on Trent Kline, and they showed her the pictures from his journal. Then she took Devin’s blood to that shed and mocked up a crime scene. She’s the one who drew those pentagrams and symbols all over the place in there, to trick people into believing that Trent had done it. She must’ve also been the person who planted the evidence in Trent’s back yard.”

  The detective corrected him, “Not according to her confession.”

  “Is Angel still alive?” asked Lincoln, surprised.

  The detective shook his head. “She passed.”

  “But she confessed?”

  “She called the police after you left her cabin. She’s the one who told them that her son had your daughter. She said she called Devin, and she could hear Darcy screaming. So she called the police and confessed to everything. I guess it was her attempt to clear her conscious before she died.” The detective reviewed his notes and said, “According to her, everything played out pretty much like you said. Her son accidentally killed Betty Kline in their shed, and she worked with her ex-husband to cover it up. They hid Devin, and gave him a new identity. He became Arthur Harcourt.”

  “His dad?”

  “His brother,” said the detective. “Frank and Angel had a premature son who died shortly after birth. They named him Arthur. It was a family name. Frank’s first name is Arthur too. They got a social security card for their first son when he was born, because they thought he’d survive. He didn’t, and so they let Devin take that number and assume his identity when they needed to help him disappear. He didn’t use it very often though, except to get a driver’s license and things like that. He’s been living up here ever since, hiding with his mom.”

  The detective continued, “Angel said t
hat it was her ex who planted the evidence at Trent’s house. He buried it there just before Angel got her church to start putting pressure on the media about supposed satanic activity related to the crime. Although we’re going to have to take her word for it. I doubt we’ll ever find Frank. Angel’s garage was filled with his things. I think the story about him going to Mexico is bull.”

  “She told me he’d been dead for years,” said Lincoln.

  “Makes sense.”

  “Do you believe everything she said?”

  “Don’t have much of a reason not to,” said the officer. “She told us where Betty’s body’s buried. A crew dug her up an hour ago, up on the mountain in an unmarked grave.”

  “Do you think she killed Frank?”

  “Probably. It wouldn’t be surprising to find out two conniving pieces of shit eventually turned on each other. The whole thing’s a damn shame. They played everyone like a fiddle, and that Trent kid got railroaded. He took the blame for one of the most infamous crimes this area’s seen in recent history; until today, of course. Like I said, Mr. Pierce, you’re about to get an awful lot of attention for this case. I hope you’re ready for it.”

  “After last night, I’m ready for anything.”

  The detective took back the recorder, switched it off, and then slipped it into his pocket. “I’ve got something you should see.” He had the morning paper, and placed it on the over table, pushing aside a Styrofoam cup of water that a nurse had placed there earlier. “Your story didn’t make today’s edition, but check out the bottom of page one.”

  Lincoln groaned as he got in a better position to read. He flipped the paper over to look at the bottom of the first page, and his stomach dropped.

  ‘Convicted Dealer Found Dead.’

  The story was about how Grant Hedland had been found dead, shot execution style in his apartment. Apparently he’d been preparing to flee the area, but had been caught before escaping.

  “You think Angel did this?”

  The officer smirked and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure someone else we know took care of him.”

  He looked at the officer with new suspicion. “Who are you?”

  “I told you who I am,” said the officer.

  “Who are you really?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I really am. What matters is that you’ve never met Clyde Pettigrew. You’ve never spoken with him about his businesses, and you certainly have no reason to suspect he influenced Grant Hedland to lie on the stand.”

  “Jesus Christ,” said Lincoln, annoyed.

  “I’m here to help you, Mr. Pierce. I’m here to keep you off the front page of the papers.” He winked and then said, “Or at least keep you off it for the same reason Grant ended up there. It’s in everyone’s best interest that Clyde’s name not come up in your discussion with the other detectives. Do we understand each other?”

  “That son of a bitch has his tentacles dug deep, doesn’t he?”

  “You’ve got no idea.” The detective grinned. “Just do yourself a favor and keep his name out of things.”

  There was a light knock at the door, and then a nurse opened it and asked, “Sorry to interrupt. Is it okay for Mr. Pierce to have a visitor?”

  “Sure thing,” said the detective. “I was just leaving. Thanks, Mr. Pierce. You’ve been very helpful.”

  Lincoln flipped him off and said, “It’s been a delight.”

  Hector came in as the detective left. “Hey there, bossman.”

  “Hector,” said Lincoln, happy to see his friend. “Boy did you dodge a bullet by not coming with us last night; a bullet, a shotgun blast, and a sledgehammer to be exact.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Like hell, but they’ve got me pumped up with so many drugs I couldn’t tell you where it hurts. There’s just an all-around, full-body ache going on.”

  “Ellen’s here. She’s with Darcy.”

  “How’s Darcy doing?”

  “Um, well, she’s banged up and all, but they’re taking good care of her.”

  “And what about Bentley? I heard they took him off critical care.”

  “I’m not sure. They’re not telling us much about him. Dan’s on his way here, along with some of Benny’s family.”

  Lincoln could tell that Hector was distraught. “Don’t worry, man. Benny’s going to be fine. That kid’s a fighter.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m not worried about him.”

  Hector still seemed upset, and was looking down as he walked closer to the bed. Lincoln said, “Don’t be so glum, man. We might be a little worse for ware, but we just solved a major case. You should be happy.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s something else that you need to know.”

  “Oh great. What is it?” The last thing he needed was more bad news. He wondered if Danny was pissed, or if Pettigrew’s men had confronted Hector. However, Lincoln was convinced they could handle whatever trouble was headed their way next. Maybe it was the pain killers, or barely surviving multiple attempted murders, but he was feeling invincible.

  Hector sighed, and said, “It’s about Darcy…”

  There was another knock at the door, and then Lincoln’s ex-wife revealed herself. She’d been crying, and her eyes were puffy as she asked, “Can I come in.”

  Hector was quick to say, “Ellen, hi. Yeah, please.”

  “What about Darcy?” asked Lincoln as he forced himself to sit up despite how his beaten frame demanded he stay still. “What’s the matter?”

  “I haven’t told him,” said Hector to Ellen.

  “Okay, I will,” she said.

  “Tell me what?” asked Lincoln, his racing pulse was displayed on the monitor beside the bed.

  Ellen walked closer as Hector left the room. She knew that Lincoln’s stress needed to be eased, so she said, “It’s okay, Darcy’s fine. I mean, she’s stable, or whatever. She’s in the next room, and she’ll come see you as soon as the doctor meets with her and says it’s okay for her to get out of bed.”

  “What’s going on, Ellen?” asked Lincoln, aware that his ex-wife was merely softening the coming blow.

  She walked over to Lincoln’s side and gingerly took his hand.

  Lincoln knew this day would come. He’d been dreading it. He spoke before Ellen had the chance, “The cancer’s back.”

  Ellen nodded. “That’s what they think. They did a CT scan on her, because of what that bastard did to her, and they found a mass. It’s nothing for sure yet, but it looks like… They think it’s…”

  Lincoln’s stomach clenched with grief, and the painkillers did nothing to stop what he felt rolling through his entire body, ravaging him from head to toe. “Where?”

  “In her left breast. It could be nothing. They still have to do a biopsy.”

  “How’s she taking it?”

  Ellen smiled and said, “Better than me, I think. You know how she is. Nothing scares that kid.”

  Lincoln squeezed Ellen’s hand.

  “If it does turn out to be… you know.” She struggled with the word. She always had. “We’re going to need you back for this. She’s going to need her Dad there.”

  “Of course,” said Lincoln. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for…”

  “You have to be back a hundred percent. Darcy needs you. I need you. No more hiding, and drinking, and wasting away.”

  “Ellen, come on. I never…”

  “Stop,” she said as she let go of his hand. “Just stop. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you break her heart by drinking your way through this. Not again. Not this time.”

  Ellen headed for the door, and Lincoln wanted to protest, but he just watched her leave. He could hear the faint cries of his daughter in the next room as he sat there helpless, staring out into the hall through teary eyes.

  “Hector,” he yelled out for his friend.

  “Hey bossman,” said Hector as he came back in.

  “I need you to do something for me.”