The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  “Okay,” Flynn said. “That’s good to know. Thanks.” He checked his watch and looked back up at Dez with an apologetic grin. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got a meeting I need to get to.”

  “No problem. Thanks, Dad.” Dez stood and headed to the door but Flynn stopped him before he could fully turn the doorknob.

  “Dez? How are you doing, anyway? I haven’t asked.”

  “Fine, Dad. Quiet day.”

  “I meant about Sully. What you had to deal with, I know that has to be doing a number on you.”

  “As long as Sully’s okay, so am I.”

  “That’s what worries me. You’re a great big brother, kid, but sometimes you need to take a step back. I know what you went through with Aiden, and I know he’s a big part of why you pour so much of yourself into being there for Sully. That’s understandable. But you can’t let your highs and lows ride solely on him.”

  “I don’t,” Dez said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Sully’s really important to me, but so are Eva and Kayleigh and you and mom. It isn’t just Sully. It’s all of you. I don’t think I could cope if I lost anyone else.”

  “Yes, you could,” Flynn said. “Because unless we all go in some sort of freak disaster, you’re guaranteed to lose someone at some point. But this family will be here in whatever form to support each other should anything happen to any of us. That’s what family’s for, son. You need to remember that.”

  Dez smiled and nodded, hoping the response would be enough to convince his dad he would take the advice to heart. In all honesty, he was far from certain he’d survive any further changes to his family structure.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Dez’s move to leave was once again interrupted before he got through the door.

  “Dez? I meant what I said. I don’t want you anywhere near this investigation, all right?”

  Dez attempted a broader smile. “Got it, Dad. I’ll see you later.”

  Dez was happy enough to leave the investigating to Raynor—for about as long as it took him to get back down to his police cruiser.

  He took it as a sign from the universe that he was barely back out driving the streets when he spotted Edgar Maberly, one of the Black Fox’s now-displaced regulars.

  Eddie was no fan of police, having been picked up several times this month alone for being drunk in a public place. Which was probably why Eddie picked up the pace when Dez’s cruiser slowed next to him.

  Thankfully, Eddie knew Dez was as likely to take him home as to the brief detox centre, as long as his condition was such that Eddie’s wife was able to handle it. They were both in their early eighties now, but Mrs. Maberly was a tough nut, having grown sadly accustomed to her husband’s alcoholism. Eddie wasn’t a mean drunk, but Dez didn’t imagine that made it easier for his wife, who had likely spent most of their married lives picking up pieces Eddie would just scatter all over again.

  Dez stepped out of the car and jogged the couple of steps needed to catch up to the older man. “Eddie. Hey, Eddie.”

  “Oh, it’s you. Big Red. I’m not drunk, so I’m not needing your cab services just yet.”

  Dez took the customary whiff of the air around Eddie and found he was inclined to believe him. There was a smell of alcohol, but it was faint rather than so pungent people were at risk of getting high just off the fumes.

  “Where did you find to drink?” Dez asked.

  “Some damn pub down the road. Place isn’t friendly, though. Not like the Fox. I didn’t like the way the waitress was looking at me, so I left. I’ve got standards, you know.”

  “You heard what happened at the Fox?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Everyone’s heard. Crying shame. Betty was one of the last good people out there. Did you catch the guy yet?”

  “We’re working on it,” Dez said. “Problem is, the guy leading the investigation keeps looking at Sully.”

  “Sounds like the cops have their heads up their asses as usual—present company excluded, of course,” Eddie said. “I’ve been around a long time and I’ve met a lot of bad people. That kid doesn’t have it in him.”

  “I know. I guess that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve spent a lot of time around the Black Fox, and you knew Betty longer than anyone else I know of. Do you have any idea who might have done something like this?”

  “I didn’t know anyone with a bad opinion of Betty. Except, I guess, some of the people she booted out when they had one too many and got out of hand.”

  “Did she have to kick anyone out recently?”

  “Hey, that’s like a daily occurrence around there. Only thing is Sully gave her a hand as usual, so if someone had it in for her, they probably would have had it in for Sully too. And from what I hear, he was left alone.”

  “Unless the killer’s plan all along was to set Sully up for it, get at him that way.”

  “No offence, Red, but most of the people of my general acquaintance aren’t what I’d call skilled in the art of revenge. No one who hangs out at the Fox would know the first thing about framing someone for a murder, least not in a way the cops wouldn’t see from a mile off.”

  “Fair enough. And you haven’t heard anything else that might help us out?”

  “Sully’s really in trouble, huh?”

  “Yeah, I think he’s really in trouble.”

  “Then I’ll keep my ear to the ground for anything that might help him.”

  “Thanks, Eddie. I’d really appreciate that.”

  “Keep in mind, though. If I’ve got my ear to the ground, it’s likely I’m gonna need some help standing back up.” Eddie broke into a wheezy laugh at his own joke, and Dez made like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all morning—which, given the state of the day, wasn’t far from the truth.

  Heading back to his cruiser, Dez checked his phone; a text message from Sully showed on the screen: “Creepy guy at Lockwood is Betty’s husband.” Dez pulled up short and, once the shock had passed, returned to Eddie.

  Eddie was grudgingly patient. “What now?”

  “Eddie, did you ever meet Betty’s husband?”

  “Harry? Sure, I met him. Years ago.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Disturbed. Very disturbed. Something wasn’t right with him, you know? People said if he wasn’t crazy already, he got there pretty quick because of the things he saw.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “All sorts of things. Dead people sometimes. But mostly, he claimed he could see into the future. Harbinger Harry they used to call him. Finally lost what was left of his marbles and ended up in Lockwood.”

  “Did Betty still visit him there?”

  “No idea, but she wasn’t the type to just abandon people, so I’d imagine so. Hey, you think maybe he had one of his visions and said something to her about it? Maybe she tried to change whatever it was and pissed someone off. Or maybe Harry saw something he wasn’t supposed to and told Betty, and she was killed to keep her quiet.”

  “You’ve been watching those detective shows on TV again, haven’t you, Eddie?”

  Eddie shrugged. “My wife never misses Murder She Wrote.”

  “Okay, but if your theory’s true, wouldn’t someone have tried to kill Harry too?”

  “Seriously? What’s the point? The guy’s locked up in a nuthouse. It would be suicide to try to get in there and pick someone off in front of all those people. And really, who’d ever listen to him, anyways?”

  It was a good point, one that merited further investigation. The question for Dez was how to go about it, given Raynor was unlikely to listen.

  Receiving another assurance he’d get answers if Eddie heard one, Dez returned to the car and called his brother’s cellphone.

  “Where are you?”

  “Still at Betty’s,” Sully said.

  “Well, get the hell out of there.”

  “Did Thackeray leave the police station already?”

  “I have no idea. I told you I probably wouldn’t know when he
did. Just get out. You’ve already found more than you were expecting.”

  “I haven’t talked to Betty yet. I haven’t seen her.”

  “Sully, I mean it. Get out of there. Now.”

  “Shit.”

  Sully’s tone had been quiet, but it was the heavy kind of quiet, the kind that suggested something was wrong.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think Thackeray just got home.”

  16

  Sully had been tipped off by a frantic pounding at the door, one that had him abruptly ending the conversation with Dez and dropping the phone into his pocket as he scanned his immediate surroundings for a way out.

  His search had moved to the second floor and he’d made it partially back down the stairs when he realized there was no getting out that way. Through the glass of the front door, he could see Thackeray was indeed home and involved in conversation with Bulldog. There was no way to sneak past to get to the side door, either, not without Thackeray catching sight of him in his peripheral vision. Hoping instead for escape out an upper floor window, Sully retraced his steps, retreating into the room he’d just been searching.

  Betty’s bedroom overlooked the backyard with a large bay window, and Sully was banking on it that at least one of the panes would open enough to allow him to drop onto the veranda roof out back. He’d been paying attention during his search upstairs, and he knew he couldn't sneak around up here once Thackeray was inside. The floors didn’t just creak with movement, the old hardwood full-out cracked under the weight of footfalls.

  Unfortunately, it seemed he had picked wrong. The windows in Betty’s room weren’t just locked, they were sealed shut. The locking mechanisms, when released, didn’t help, and a closer inspection revealed nails had been driven into the wood frames from the outside. Why that was, he wasn’t sure, but his suspicions ran in the direction of Betty’s husband. If he’d begun to break down while still at home, it was possible Betty had been looking for ways to keep him inside to prevent his wandering the streets.

  Of course, that left Sully just as confined.

  He could hear the front door opening, the remnants of a tight conversation between Thackeray and Bulldog. He couldn’t make out the words from here, but there was a higher tone to Bulldog’s voice than normal, the sound of pleading that had Sully wondering if the guy had trotted out his lost dog story again.

  For now, it didn’t matter. Thackeray, unfazed by Bulldog’s plight, was headed inside.

  Eyes darting around for somewhere to hide, he settled on the small walk-in closet he’d poked through earlier. In the few seconds he figured he had before Thackeray heard someone upstairs, Sully dashed to the door and ducked into the cramped space, squeezing himself into one corner next to a laundry hamper and easing the door shut.

  The space was pitch black, the sliver of light coming from beneath the door not nearly enough to illuminate anything, even once Sully’s eyes adjusted.

  He leaned back on the hamper, sitting on the edge and trying to decide how he was going to get out of this. At this point, unless Thackeray decided to go out again, Sully figured he was stuck here until nightfall and whenever Thackeray hit REM sleep. He’d just have to hope the man snored; there would be no other way to know when it was safe to make his escape.

  Nothing was easy these days, and Sully found himself desperate for a quicker escape when the first sensations of cold crept into the closet. He knew the feeling coming with it, recognized it without needing to see. He closed his eyes, kept them squeezed shut for what felt like several minutes as he willed Betty’s husband to leave or, failing that, to build up the protection like Raiya had taught him. But it wasn’t easy, the confined space and the knowledge the ghost was now standing directly in front of him creating that debilitating terror the man always brought with him.

  Sully wondered if maybe this was why the ghost had let him inside. He hadn’t been looking to help Sully unbury secrets. He’d been trying to get him alone, into a situation where, anxieties already heightened, he’d be most vulnerable to the ghost’s will.

  Unable to find the calm he needed within himself, Sully sought it elsewhere, keeping his eyes shut as he fumbled for his phone. He cracked one open enough to see the screen, caught sight of the ghostly glow directly in front of him, yellow pyjama pants and blue slippers.

  Dez’s was the last number under his recent calls, and Sully tapped his brother’s name, pressing the phone to his ear and listening to the single ring before Dez picked up.

  “Bulldog told me you’re still inside. I’m coming to you. You somewhere safe?”

  Sully kept his voice low, tried to keep the panic from showing through, but knew he’d failed when his voice caught on the first word. “Dez, I need you to talk me through something. I’m in an upstairs closet and he’s here.”

  “You mean Thackeray?”

  “No. The guy from Lockwood.”

  “Harry?”

  “Who’s Harry?”

  “That’s his name, Sull. I ran into Eddie Maberly on the street and he told me they called him Harbinger Harry; everyone figured he went nuts because of the stuff he could see.”

  Harry wasn’t moving, which meant Sully wasn’t either. But having Dez’s voice in his ear provided just enough relief Sully could start picking through the terror as he searched for that so-far-elusive calm needed to build his defences against another possible possession.

  “Sully? You still there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Keep talking to me, all right? I’m almost there.”

  “I still haven’t found the thumb drive. But with all the stuff in this house, it’s a needle in a haystack.”

  “You really think she would have taken it home? Maybe there’s somewhere else.”

  “She kept it at her office, somewhere she could see it, make sure it was safe. I can’t see her taking it somewhere she wouldn’t be able to check on it. It’s got to be here.”

  “Well, if it is, maybe we’ve just got to accept we’re not going to find it.”

  “It’s important, Dez. I know it is.”

  “Okay, listen, I’m at the end of the block. I’m going to ask to talk to Thackeray about his father. I’ll get him to come outside which, given what you said about your earlier chat with him, shouldn’t be that hard. Once that happens, you get yourself out, all right? No more searching, you hear me?”

  “Believe me, right now all I want is to get out of here,” Sully said. “Problem’s going to be getting past Harry.”

  “Do what Raiya told you, man. Breathe and focus. You can do this.”

  “I’ll try. Not guaranteeing anything, but I’ll try.”

  Sully ended the call, not wanting to risk the possibility of Thackeray overhearing him. Losing Dez’s voice left Sully alone in the dark with Harry, but buried within the fear the ghost created was an unexpected sense of calm born of the knowledge that his brother was nearby, ready to give him a hand—if only with the flesh and blood part.

  But, for this moment and in this place, it was just the two of them, just him and this terrified-looking man standing within travelling distance of a breath should Harry have been capable of exhaling.

  “Harry, I’m not sure if you can hear or understand me, but I need you to let me out of here, all right? I need to help Betty, but I can’t unless you let me leave. Okay? Harry?”

  Sully supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by the lack of response, by Harry’s stubborn refusal to move from his spot in front of the door, leaving the younger man pinned back against the hamper.

  That was bad enough, but bad only got worse when Harry shifted forward, closing the short space that separated the two of them.

  There was no question what Harry intended and Sully allowed himself only the briefest moment of panic before deciding flight was the better option. Relying on science, on the fact the tightly packed molecules that made up flesh and blood beat the intangibility of spirit and energy, Sully pushed forward.

  A
nd hit a wall.

  It was cold, like falling down on the icy surface of a frozen lake. And although he remained on his feet, falling was exactly what this felt like. Sully knew if it wasn’t for Harry and whatever he was doing to defy the laws of physics, Sully would be lying collapsed on the floor of this closet.

  Battling terror, he worked to drag a deep breath into his lungs, the intended first of many that would—he hoped—take him to that place where possession was rendered impossible.

  But, as Harry’s wide eyes reached his own, Sully knew getting to that place was the real impossibility.

  There was no sign of Sully when Dez pulled up which, given the situation, was probably a good thing.

  There was, however, a very obvious sign of Bulldog, waving his arms frantically from a bluff of trees in the park across the road.

  Parking next to the house—no point hiding the obvious—Dez headed first to his friend.

  “I don’t have time for this, man,” Dez said. “I need to get Thackeray outside so Sully can get out.”

  “So you’re on top of this?”

  “I talked to Sully, yeah. We can discuss what happened later.”

  “Okay. Just so you know, I told the guy my dog took off on me.” Bulldog made a point of pulling out his beaten wallet and extracting a dogeared photograph of a black, long-haired mutt with soulful brown eyes and a lolling tongue.

  “Where’d you get that? You don’t have a dog.”

  “Found the photo lying in the street a couple years ago. The dog story’s come in so handy in the past, I figured I could use the picture for a few extra points.”

  “You’ve taken lying to a whole new level.”

  “I prefer to call it ‘occasionally necessary conversational creativity.’ Anyway, I showed Schuster the photo, and I’m showing it to you too ’cuz I’m figuring he’ll see us out here talking.”

  “Okay, got it, thanks. Head to the other side of the park and I’ll pick you up there once I’ve got Sully.”

  With Bulldog on the move, Dez did the same, crossing the street back toward the Schusters’ house where there was still no sign of his brother.