Blair’s words came back to Evan.
It’s not like I ran away with a married man and brought everlasting shame on the family reputation.
No, but you married your father’s rival’s son. That might have been enough to cut her out of the will.
It was all useful background information. His gut told him that the answer was most likely in there somewhere. But it didn’t help him with his immediate problem of finding Bella. That’s what the man sitting beside him cradling the steering wheel so lovingly was for.
‘Do you know what Thomas has hired me to do?’
‘I can guess. To find Arabella.’
‘Got it in one. That’s the same Arabella that made you change the subject with all the subtlety of a punch in the nose when I brought up her name last time.’
Leon keep his eyes on the road, his mouth shut. Evan hadn’t finished anyway. He counted the points off on his fingers.
‘Arabella suddenly reappears after thirty years just as her father is about to die. Her father is a very private man who has kept his illness under wraps. Yet somehow she knows about it because I don’t believe in coincidences like that. Somebody is feeding her information. Maybe it’s Aldrich. Except he’s the new kid around the house, never even knew her. That means it must be somebody else. Somebody who’s close to the family, who’s been around so long he’s part of the furniture. Who would you put your money on?’
Leon continued to concentrate on the traffic as if Evan’s voice was nothing more than the background drone of the radio announcer. Evan let his words sink in and a couple minutes later they pulled to the curb outside the terminal building. He opened the door, didn’t get out.
‘There’s one more thing you need to know.’ He waited until Leon turned his head, his face deadpan. ‘Somebody tried to kill her yesterday. My guess is they’ll keep trying until they succeed. The only reason they didn’t yesterday is because of me. If I can’t find her, they’ll probably get lucky the next time, or the time after that. It’s worth their while persevering, after all. We both know how much money is at stake. I’m only glad that if they do succeed, it won’t be on my conscience.’
They held each other’s stare for a long moment. Then Evan got out his wallet, shook a business card loose, tucked it in Leon’s top pocket. Gave it a double pat to make sure it was safe.
‘Tell her to call me. Or she can find me in the Jerusalem Tavern like last time.’
6
The next morning Evan was sitting at a table in the window of The Rusty Spoon diner eating his breakfast when his phone started to vibrate its way across the table. He put down his fork and caught it before it escaped over the edge, his pulse quickening at the sight of the unknown number on the display.
‘Evan Buckley?’
A man’s voice. His heart sank. And it wasn’t even Leon calling with Bella’s number.
‘That’s me.’
‘This is Detective Liam O’Brien of the Boston PD. I was wondering if I could have a word with you.’
‘Sure, go ahead.’
‘I meant face to face.’
There was no way he was getting on another plane and heading back to Boston two days in a row.
‘You should’ve called me yesterday. I was in Boston.’
There was a slight pause that made Evan think of an irritated head shake at a missed opportunity. What followed proved how wrong he was.
‘That’s okay. I’m not in Boston myself right now. I’ll come to you. Where are you?’
‘Having breakfast in The Rusty Spoon.’
He’d have expected an exasperated, where the hell’s that? from somebody from out of town.
Wrong again.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
The line went dead before he had a chance to reply. He thought about the conversation as he finished his breakfast. It could only be about one thing. Bella. Then he spent a while thinking about coincidences. And that made him pick up his phone again, send Guillory a quick text. He wasn’t one to append a line of kisses to his messages, and he didn’t do it now. But he did add something that was more likely to get her pulse going.
URGENT.
He put the phone in his pocket rather than leave it sitting on the table, thinking about her face when she read the text and the indignant outburst the word urgent would provoke, when he saw O’Brien coming down the sidewalk. He didn’t scream cop at you like some of them did, but it would’ve been in the top five if you had to guess.
O’Brien spotted him with equal ease, made him hope it wasn’t because he had a sleazy PI look about him. He half stood to shake hands, O’Brien’s grip firm and reassuring. He gave Evan a quick flash of his gold shield, then sat down.
‘Thanks for meeting me at such short notice.’
‘No problem. Should we wait for your partner?’
The cop shook his head.
‘He’s got other things to do before we head back. This shouldn’t take long.’
They waited while the waitress came over with a refill for Evan and took O’Brien’s order.
‘The eggs and bacon are good,’ Evan said, wondering if he should have a second helping.
O’Brien patted his stomach. It wasn’t easy to see through his shirt but Evan got the impression of something flat and ridged like a washboard under it.
‘Gotta watch my weight. Just coffee for me.’ This to the waitress.
‘How did you get my number?’ Evan said.
‘The bartender in the Jerusalem Tavern gave it to me. And your name. It’s a nice place.’
Evan was reminded of the evening before last when he met Bella there. She’d said the exact same thing.
‘Yep. Some people would say I spend too much time in there.’
O’Brien smiled like he knew how it was.
‘My wife says the same thing to me. Actually, it’s the Jerusalem Tavern I wanted to speak to you about.’
Evan shook his head.
‘I don’t think they’re hiring. But I’ll put in a good word for you if you like.’
They both laughed, him more than O’Brien. He wondered if Guillory had picked up the text yet. Or done anything about it.
‘I saw you in there two nights ago,’ O’Brien said.
‘The night there was a fight? More like a scuffle, I suppose.’
‘That’s right.’
Evan worked an incredulous look onto his face.
‘You came all this way just to talk to me about that? Surely it’s out of your jurisdiction?’
O’Brien found it harder to coax a smile onto his face this time, the patience-wearing-thin look on it too well embedded. As if he already suspected Evan was being deliberately obtuse.
‘No. I wanted to talk to you about the woman you were with.’
‘Kate Guillory? What’s she done now?’
If he’d been O’Brien, he’d have arrested him on the spot for wasting police time. Or being an idiot in a public place. Except if that were a crime, Guillory would’ve said he wouldn’t see the light of day very often. O’Brien’s voice was more strained when he spoke again.
‘No. The other woman you were talking to immediately before the fight broke out. Arabella Carlson.’
‘Bella, you mean?’
‘Yes, Bella.’
Evan shook his head, a look of regret dragging his face down.
‘Sorry. I only spoke to her for a couple minutes. I never met her before.’
At this point he wished he hadn’t told O’Brien that he’d been in Boston the previous day. He guessed O’Brien believed in coincidence about as much as he did. Which he now proved.
‘So that’s not why you were in Boston yesterday?’ Before Evan had a chance to reply, he raised a long thick finger that looked as if it would do serious damage to wherever he chose to poke it. ‘I’d think carefully before answering that.’
He leaned back, crossed his arms. Let the threat hang in the air between them.
‘How about you tell me what t
his is about first?’
‘How about we continue this at the local police precinct?’
‘Sounds good to me.’ He pulled out his phone, held it towards O’Brien. ‘Detective Kate Guillory is speed dial number one. Give her a call, ask her to get an interview room ready. No sugar in my coffee.’
They stared at each other, O’Brien making no move to take the phone, Evan hoping Guillory’s reply to his text didn’t come in now. Then O’Brien held up his hands.
‘Okay. Let’s back up a bit.’
Evan slipped the phone into his pocket, leaned away to mirror O’Brien’s pose.
‘I’m all ears.’
O’Brien looked like he wanted to suggest something else he was, kept it to himself.
‘We want to talk to Arabella Carlson. We followed her to the Jerusalem Tavern. I was waiting for her to finish talking to you and then I was going to approach her. Then the fight started and she ran out the back door. I went after her but I lost her. By the time I got back you were gone.’
‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t remember. But I was only outside for a minute or two before I gave up and came back inside.’
Evan thought about it. He’d followed Guillory out onto the sidewalk as she chased the two men who’d been fighting and the man with the knife. How long had they stayed outside? Two or three minutes? It was possible O’Brien had come back during that window.
‘And that’s when you asked Kieran about me?’
‘No. It only struck me the next day that they might know you in there. I was hoping you’ve got a way of getting in touch with her.’
‘I just told you. I never met her before. But it’s possible I can help you if you tell me why you want to talk to her.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You’ll have to make it quick.’
O’Brien did his best to keep the scowl off his face and the resentment out of his voice when he spoke.
‘We’re investigating a complaint that Ms Carlson has been stalking somebody.’
‘Who?’
O’Brien hesitated. Evan glanced at his watch again.
‘Gerald Bloodwell. He’s an extremely wealthy man . . .’
Evan tuned him out as he droned on about Bloodwell’s company and what an important man its founder was, his mind awash with the connections and implications. Blair had told him about the bitter rivalry between Bloodwell and her father, Thomas Carlson. Had Carlson’s other daughter, Arabella, come home to take up that fight on behalf of her ailing father, take it to a new and bloodier level?
‘That doesn’t sound like such a big deal. Has she attacked him?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘And you’ve come all the way from Boston? I know Bloodwell’s an important guy, but there must be more to it.’
He felt like a fisherman who’d cast his lure to where he’d seen a big fish roll, breathing on hold, willing it to bite.
‘There is. Twenty-five years ago, Mr Bloodwell’s son, who also happened to be Ms Carlson’s brother-in-law, died in suspicious circumstances. At the time the Boston PD were very interested to speak to her about that death. I don’t want to go into too much detail but it had something to do with her father’s will. There was a lot of money at stake. However, she disappeared and hasn’t been seen since. Now she’s resurfaced and we still want to talk to her. In light of her brother-in-law’s death and the current stalking complaint, it appears she’s got a problem with the Bloodwell family. A big problem.’
Evan’s mind went spinning out of control. What O’Brien was telling him partially answered a lot of the questions his discussion with Blair had not. How her husband had died. And the reason Bella disappeared. Except Bella’s being involved in Blair’s husband’s death was not consistent with Blair’s reaction to the photograph of her and her sister. Then O’Brien unwittingly answered a few more of his questions.
‘We believe she’s dangerous. She has a history of mental illness. She spent some of the time she was missing in a mental institution in the UK. Before she disappeared, she was in the Marine Corps but was discharged on mental health grounds.’
Now Evan felt as if he was drowning in answers. None of them were anything he wanted to hear. All of them raised more questions. He understood now the reason he’d felt that Blair wasn’t being completely honest with him. He’d do his best to keep family history like hers a secret. O’Brien saw the impact of his words in Evan’s face, went in for the kill. He leaned forwards, elbows on the table, down to the nitty gritty style.
‘The long and the short of it is, if you know or can find out her whereabouts, you need to tell us. Before anybody else gets hurt.’
Evan was saved from having to make an immediate decision by the pinging of his phone as a text arrived. O’Brien looked as if he wanted to snatch the phone out of Evan’s hand, throw it against the wall, when Evan pulled it out. Guillory.
‘Sorry. I’ve been waiting for this.’
He opened the message.
Detective Liam O’Brien checks out. Late forties. Receding ginger hair. You owe me.
Evan nodded to himself as he pretended to digest the contents of the message, his gaze seemingly lost in the middle distance, in reality concentrating on the man in front of him. On his full head of wavy dark-brown hair framing his mid-thirties face. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, the smile of a man who’s just received some good news on his lips.
‘Everything okay?’ Not-O’Brien said.
‘Perfect. I’ve got to take a leak and then I’ll make a couple calls, see what I can find out.’
‘No problem.’ The imposter’s face tightened suddenly. ‘Damn. I hate it when that happens.’
‘What?’
The guy was already on his feet, embarrassment on his face.
‘Somebody says they need to take a piss and my bladder starts yelling, me too, me too. Ends up with some guy thinking I want to go with him to sneak a look at his johnson.’
‘You can take a look at mine right here if you really want. The waitress won’t mind.’
They both laughed at that. Trouble was they were already halfway to the men’s room, side by side, Evan trying to picture the layout of it as they went. As far as he remembered there was only one urinal and one toilet stall.
They stopped outside the door. Evan extended his hand towards it.
‘After you.’
The imposter smiled, nice try.
‘No, after you. You’ve drunk more coffee than I have.’
Evan did the translation: I don’t want you pushing me in and running off.
It was the right thing for him to do under the circumstances. Except it backfired. Evan went in first. The bogus detective squeezed into the small room after him, closed the door behind him. Evan went directly to the urinal opposite the door. Not-O’Brien had a dilemma. Stand and wait for Evan to finish which would give the lie to his pretense of having a problem with his bladder. Or go into the empty stall, a tight, confined space on the left wall. Evan made the decision harder for him.
‘I shouldn’t drink so much coffee. Once I start, I can’t ever stop.’
The guy went into the stall, left the door open as he stood in front of the toilet. Evan glanced to the right at the mirror over the sink on the right-hand wall, saw the guy’s back to him, shoulders so tense they almost hummed, legs apart.
An open invitation.
It was a very small room to squeeze a urinal and a toilet stall into. The side of Evan’s leg was directly in line with the middle of the stall’s open door, a distance of not more than two feet. He twisted to the left, stepped six inches closer with his left foot to the open stall door, swung his right foot up between the imposter’s parted legs. Not as easy a shot as from the front, but good enough. There was a loud grunt of pain and surprise as Evan’s foot hit home. Then Evan’s fingers were in his way-too-thick, totally-wrong-color hair, slamming his face into the wall above the toilet, spreading his nose like a blowfly smeared across a window pane. He let go his
hair, hit him hard in the right kidney, hoped he pissed blood for a week, then hooked his legs away out from under him. The guy’s face smacked the back edge of the toilet bowl, the satisfying sound of tooth enamel shattering against porcelain filling the stall, a bloody smear down the wall marking the progress of his face. Evan worked his fingers into the guy’s hair again, bounced his forehead off the toilet bowl a couple times, heavy solid clunks, hauled him up by the collar and stuffed his limp body into the gap between the bowl and the side wall. A lead-filled sap hit the floor as Evan wedged him in tighter with his foot. He picked it up, dropped it into his own pocket, pulled out his phone and took a photo.
If only every visit to the men’s room was as satisfying, left him feeling as refreshed. He just hoped Guillory had been right about the hair and age.
He hesitated outside the door. To his right was the exit to the back alley. To the left the way they’d come from the dining area. There’d been four of them in the Jerusalem the other night, including the bogus detective who’d stayed on the sidelines. He wouldn’t be working alone today. If nothing else, there’d be a man covering the back alley.
He cracked the back door open a couple inches. Ten feet away a man was standing with his back to him. Hands thrust into his pockets, trying hard to not look like a man covering a back door. One man’s back looks a lot like any other’s but this one had a familiar feel to it. Last time he’d seen it, it was heading for the Jerusalem Tavern’s door after an abortive knife attack. Evan’s head ached with the memory of their collision.
He put his mouth to the opening, kicked the door loudly and hissed into the alley at the same time, a low urgent command.
‘Get in here!’
The guy startled, spun around. By the time he came through the door, Evan was behind it. He stepped out to the side, hit him behind the ear with his partner’s lead-filled sap. The guy sagged at the knees, hand stretched out in front of him grabbing at empty air. Evan hit him again, harder, put him on the ground like a brick wall had fallen on him.
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