by H. P. Bayne
Fists clenched white, Brennan spun and stalked to the door, slamming it shut as he left the room. Sully waited until he heard the key in the lock before allowing himself to sink back onto the mattress.
He looked up at the blood-soaked teenager standing in the corner, finding her large eyes fixed on him. The fire was gone, exhaustion left in its place, a sense that she’d taken the beating he’d just avoided.
And, just like before, she faded and disappeared.
This time he didn’t call out for her to stay.
This time he knew he didn’t have to.
13
Dez gave it half an hour but Lucienne didn’t return.
He supposed it should have come as little surprise, crawling as the area was with cops. If someone unknown were after her, no doubt the last thing she’d want was to be embroiled in an attempted murder investigation.
Sitting in the late-afternoon warmth and silence of his SUV, Dez had entertained the possibility Lucienne might be Lachlan’s assailant. He’d given up on the theory almost as soon as it had formed, considering the woman’s small stature and—most crucially—the severity of Lachlan’s injuries. Tough bastard though he was, Lachlan couldn’t have been lying there all that long. Dez had seen plenty of serious wounds in his career, enough to know there wouldn’t have been much left of Lachlan to save if Dez and Lucienne hadn’t turned up when they did. While Dez hadn’t timed it, he guessed Lucienne had been with him for close to an hour—far longer than Lachlan could have survived without help.
The more he considered it, the more Dez decided the attack lent credence to the woman’s story. If someone had taken Sully and was also after his mother, it was possible they’d gone after Lachlan looking for her. He’d have contact information for her, after all, would either know where she was or how to find her.
Dez’s internet search on Lucienne Dule had come up empty. Near as he could tell, the woman didn’t have a social media account or any other kind of online profile, at least not under the name she’d given him. There wasn’t a single photo or reference he could locate tracing back to the woman he’d met in the cemetery. He recalled her saying she worked in IT—which seemed the perfect profession to enable someone living in fear to vanish off the grid. If there was something mother and son had in common, it looked to be their ability to both see and become ghosts.
Having given up on Lucienne, Dez headed back in the direction of his apartment, stomach rumbling and Pax likely in need of a good meal.
He had just crossed the river when his phone rang. He grinned as he saw Eva’s face on his call display, and he pulled over to answer.
“Hey, Evie.”
“Dez, what the hell? I just heard you’re the one who found Lachlan.”
“Word travels fast.”
“It does around here, especially where you’re concerned.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
He was on the defensive, and her heavy sigh told him she knew it.
“It means people know you’ve had a rough go of it the past couple of years and they still give a damn about the big goofball they used to work with. Now stop being so damn touchy and tell me something. You reported you were with a woman when you found Lachlan. Do you mean Lucienne Dule?”
“Where are you right now?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m alone in my car. Listen, I checked her out—or tried to. There’s nothing much about her in the system, save one incident: a suicide attempt when she was fourteen, when she tried to jump off the Forks Bridge. There was a full complement of officers called to that one, including a crisis negotiator. Eventually, they talked her down. She was complaining the spirits wouldn’t leave her alone. The file ended with her committal to Lockwood.”
“Huh. She didn’t say anything about that.”
“What did she say exactly?”
“All she said was that she sees ghosts, like Sully does. She definitely didn’t say anything about Lockwood.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. What were the two of you doing at Lachlan’s office?”
“She said she hired him to find Sully.”
“Why now, after all this time?”
“She said she believes he’s in danger. Rightly so, apparently.”
“Dez, be careful. It sounds like there’s a good possibility this woman isn’t stable. I think you need to consider she might be the one who hurt Lachlan.”
“I thought about that,” Dez said. “But the way I figure it, I had to have been with her when all that went down. She was already standing in the cemetery when I saw her, and we talked there for about twenty minutes. Another twenty for sure passed before we got down to Lachlan’s office. I wasn’t watching the time. The whole thing could have been less than forty minutes. No way he was lying there that long, not with those injuries.”
“And she was with you the whole time?”
“I never took my eyes off her.”
“They’re still going to want to talk to her, given she was probably his most recent client.”
“Or maybe he was working on something else, or had done, that pissed someone off enough to come after him.”
“Believe me, they’re looking into that. I’ve been told to be on the lookout for several cheating spouses and workers’ comp fraudsters Lachlan outed in the past few months. I’m headed over to help pick one of them up now.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“Always am. Listen, you be careful, too. Until you know more about Lucienne, I’d watch how much you share with her.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m all over that. Listen, Eva, there’s a file on Sully from when he was abandoned. I’m wondering if you could—”
“Goddammit, Dez. No, I’m not getting you that file. I looked into Lucienne only because I was worried about your safety. I am not putting my career on the line by removing a police file and handing it over to a civilian. I’m sorry, but that’s more than I can do.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. I get it.”
“Don’t try to guilt me, Dez. You know it doesn’t work.”
Actually, he knew it did work, but he felt guilt all his own for having made the attempt. She was right. What he was asking was punishable by permanent dismissal and there was no way he’d be able to live with himself if that happened to her because of him.
“I’m not trying to guilt you. You’re right. It was stupid to ask. I’ll find another way.”
“What other way?”
Dez smiled. “Way I figure it, I saved Lachlan’s life. If I know anything about him, he wouldn’t take on a client without researching the hell out of them first. Anyway, he managed to connect Lucienne to Sully when no one else ever had. I’m hoping I can convince him to tell me.”
“If he lives.”
“That bad, huh?”
“He’s in emergency surgery, I hear. I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’d like to be able to talk to him as soon as he wakes up. And, yeah, I know there’s an ‘if’ there.”
“What makes you think he’ll talk to you? I don’t know if it’s covered by any real confidentiality clause, but I’m guessing private investigators aren’t supposed to be sharing info about their clients with random people who come calling—even random people who’ve saved their lives.”
“I’m not just any random person, though. I’ve more or less taken over Lachlan’s job with Lucienne.”
“Just don’t take on everything that’s come with it. I’d rather you don’t end up in the hospital bed next to Lachlan’s.”
“Me too,” Dez said. “The guy’s an asshole.”
While Dez felt he was making no real progress in finding Sully, Lucienne wasn’t proving nearly as elusive.
He was letting himself and Pax in the back door of his building when the dog’s quiet growl told Dez to check his surroundings. Lucienne emerged from somewhere and was moving cautiously down the alley toward him, eyes fixed on Pax.
“Pax, it’s okay
,” Dez said. Then to Lucienne, “Where’d you get to?”
Reaching him, she shook her head. “Not here. Inside.”
Dez led the way up the narrow back stairs, forced to stop just this side of his suite door as the one to Emily Crichton’s opened.
“Any luck?” she asked, spectacle-magnified eyes darting between Dez and his latest houseguest.
“Nothing, Miss Crichton.”
“Desmond ….”
“Sorry. Emily.”
Miss Crichton beamed and nodded approvingly, before fixing her gaze on Lucienne and extending a small hand knotted with age and arthritis. “Emily Crichton.”
Lucienne gripped the other woman’s hand. “Victoria Ward.”
Dez turned back to his door, fidgeting with the lock to prevent his being dragged into the lie.
“It seems Desmond is having all sorts of visitors lately,” Miss Crichton said. The words were followed by a giggle, but it was clear the woman was fishing for information.
Luckily, Lucienne had picked up on the same cue and spared Dez the necessity and guilt of contributing to the tall tale. “I’m an old friend from his policing days,” she said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Miss Crichton said. “He was quite upset earlier. And if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’d like to help if I can.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” Dez said over his shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
He ducked inside his apartment before she could correct him on his use of name for her, holding the door for Lucienne and Pax. Miss Crichton looked as though she wanted to join them but Dez, knowing Lucienne was unlikely to come clean with him with someone else in the room, closed the door with an apologetic smile at his neighbour. Besides, there were some things—namely Sully’s earlier presence here—he wasn’t quite ready to share with Lucienne, not until he’d had more of his questions answered.
Once inside, he recalled he was still short on groceries. Opening first the fridge and then the cupboards, he found a couple unopened cans of meat stew, which were quite possibly past their best-before dates, leaving him hoping for the best as he dropped the contents into a large bowl and, from there, into the microwave.
Dez hadn’t yet made up the pullout, so waved Lucienne toward one of two kitchen chairs.
“Sorry for the state of the place,” he said. “I’m usually neater than this. It’s been that kind of day.”
“What was your neighbour talking about?” Lucienne asked. “Why do you need help?”
Dez kept his eyes focused on rinsing out the cans to avoid being caught in a half-truth. “It’s a long story, and we’ve got more important things to worry about right now. What’s with the false name?”
“Until I know what’s going on and who I can trust, Lucienne Dule doesn’t exist.”
Dez set the cans upside down in his drying rack, opting to lean back against his counter rather than join Lucienne at the table. “I can assure you, Emily Crichton is plenty trustworthy.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I know her.” He crossed his arms as he regarded Lucienne. “A damn sight better than I know you, actually. Why’d you take off earlier? Why not stick around and talk to investigators? You’re acting like you’ve got something to hide.”
“I do. Myself. Listen, Dez, I know I sound paranoid but I think you would be too under the circumstances. It appears someone is after both me and my son, and it’s evident they mean business. Look at what happened to Mr. Fields.”
“We don’t really know what happened to him,” Dez said. “He pissed off a lot of people while he was a cop, and no doubt he’s pissed off plenty more as a P.I. His being attacked isn’t necessarily about you or Sully.”
“Pretty big coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Could be, yeah. We won’t know until Lachlan wakes up and starts talking.”
“So he’ll be okay?”
“Too soon to say. Speaking of, you said you saw his ghost, but he wasn’t actually dead.”
“But he was close to death. You’ve probably heard about near-death experiences? I’d imagine that’s why I was able to see him.”
Dez wasn’t completely satisfied, but it didn’t seem like a debate worth having. “Look, given what’s happened, I’m not about to argue with you on whether you go around using a fake name with the world at large. But I really think you need to talk to the police about Lachlan, and you need to do it as Lucienne Dule.”
“I can’t. Why can’t you understand that? Once I become involved in a police investigation, I’m out there in the open. My name, address and phone number get written on a file somewhere, and that becomes available to everyone who touches this case. I’ve gone to great pains to avoid sharing that information with anyone.”
“Even Lachlan?”
“Of course. I paid him in cash, asked that he keep things quiet. As far as I know, he didn’t keep any paperwork of our dealings.”
“I hate to tell you, but it’s going to be pretty obvious what he was looking into once investigators start checking. His name will be connected to searches, whether it be his internet history or whatever digging he was doing with various agencies or people connected to you or Sully.”
“That’s right. His name will be connected. But mine won’t. Please, Dez, I can’t be involved. I just can’t.”
The microwave beeped the completion of its task, but Dez had other things to deal with first. He studied the woman a moment before lowering himself into the other chair, the one he’d sat on last night as he talked to his brother. The brother whose fear of Lockwood had been so palpable the very mention of it had sparked a flashback. This woman had once had her own experience with the place, likely providing her with plenty of reason of her own to be afraid.
He approached the upcoming interrogation gently, as one might when dealing with a fragile witness to a terrible crime.
“I did a little digging after you took off,” he said. “I know you spent some time at Lockwood.”
She didn’t speak right away, but the variety of expressions that flitted across her face, one after the other—shock, anger, dread—said plenty all on their own.
“I covered for you with the police,” he said. “I needed to know I was doing the right thing, lying to them. For all I know, you were the one who attacked Lachlan.”
Lucienne’s brows crawled up her forehead, drawing her eyes wide. “What?”
“I’ve seen weirder. Besides that, my loyalty is to my brother first, not to you. I need to know I’m not putting him in danger, drawing him out for you—if, of course, you’re right and he’s still out there somewhere. You couldn’t have expected anything less of me. The reason you came to me was because you know I’ll go all in to protect him.”
She appeared to be giving it some thought, and he held her eye as she went about it, determined he’d catch her if she started putting together another fakery like the one she’d sold Miss Crichton. When at last she opened her mouth, there was nothing in words or expression but acceptance and slight defeat.
“I understand,” she said. “I wish you hadn’t checked into me, but I understand.”
“So, Lockwood. How long were you there?”
“The longest two years of my life. I wasn’t really trying to kill myself on the bridge that day, you know.”
“What were you trying to do?”
She looked at him as one might a child who hadn’t been paying attention. “Exist,” she said. “I was fourteen years old, living with parents who cared more about what I should become than who I was. I didn’t have any real friends, and the thing that set me apart from everyone else, that made me special, was something I could never share. I told a good friend once that I could see the dead. She never spoke to me again. So I kind of became a ghost myself, just blending unnoticed into the background. I guess the bridge was my way of making people see me.”
She stopped and when she didn’t immediately continue with the explanation, Dez decided on some gentle prodding.
“But that wasn’t all it did, was it?”
Lucienne shook her head, and Dez saw in her eyes the same haunted expression he’d witnessed only recently on the face of his brother. “My parents already thought I was strange. They knew about my ghosts. They knew but they didn’t believe. What they did believe was that I was crazy, and the bridge became their excuse to send me away, to have someone fix their disturbed daughter. But the doctors there, they didn’t fix anything. I wasn’t mentally ill, after all.
"But I was smart. I got good at playing their game. I stopped fighting them. I pretended I didn’t see. After about two years there, they declared me fit to be returned to my parents. I dreaded the idea of going back to Lockwood so I kept on playing the game. I became the perfect daughter, I pulled up my grades, I learned to cook. But behind their backs, I was more screwed up than ever. That’s how I ended up getting pregnant. And I guess that’s why I didn’t fight them as hard as I should have when they told me I had to give him up. It wasn’t all about their plans for me and their lack of support and funds if I went against them. It was the knowledge they could drop me back into that hellhole any time they wanted. If I went against them any more than I already had, I would have been thrown back in Lockwood, and Sullivan would have ended up raised by strangers anyway. At least this way, I got to choose where he went, who he went to—or at least that’s what I told myself. I know now how wrong I was.”
“Let me ask you something. I’m not trying to upset you, but I need you to tell me. Do you think there’s any possibility it’s someone over at Lockwood—Gerhardt, for instance—who’s looking for you? If Sully is alive, could it be they’re trying to get ahold of him again? Or maybe that they already have?”
“I guess it’s possible,” she said. “You think he could be there right now?”
He echoed her words. “I guess it’s possible. He escaped, after all. What about you? What reason would they have to want you back there?”
She broke eye contact, scanning the tabletop as if looking for answers in the woodgrain and crumbs. Unfortunately, the table provided as much help as anyone might have anticipated, and Lucienne came up with the same answer Dez already had.