Dig Two Graves

by James, Harper

  Then he got the hell out.

  He couldn’t have been more confused if the roles had been reversed and he was the one who’d been hit on the head a couple times. Was a single word of what the man masquerading as O’Brien had said true? If so, did it corroborate or contradict what Blair and Leon had told him?

  One thing he knew for sure. He couldn’t go back to the Jerusalem and wait there on the off chance that Bella got in touch. He wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do instead.

  7

  Aldrich LeClair sounded like he was answering the third obscene phone call in under an hour.

  ‘Mr Buckley. Calling with good news for Mr Carlson already? I knew we made the right choice hiring you.’

  Evan bit back the reply LeClair deserved, asked to speak to Leon instead. He got the response he knew he would.

  ‘If you tell me what it’s about, I can ask him for you.’

  ‘I’d rather speak to him directly.’

  ‘I’m sure you would.’

  The silence stretched out between them. He tried not to think about the supercilious smirk on the other end of the line. He cleared his throat a couple times, put a sheepish note into his voice.

  ‘I’ve lost my wallet. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the car.’

  There was a small, theatrical pause, then LeClair’s mocking voice.

  ‘You can’t find your wallet?’

  Those were the words he said. The incredulous and derisive tone ensured Evan heard a fuller version.

  We’ve hired you to find Mr Carlson’s daughter and you can’t even find your own wallet.

  ‘Just ask him, will you? And get him to call me back, unless you want to deal with that yourself, too. I’m sure you must have more important things to do.’

  He ended the call, hoped LeClair did have other things to do like work his tongue further up old Mr Carlson’s ass, or that he was bored with the game he thought he’d already won.

  He was in luck, although Leon’s voice was equally skeptical when he called back a half hour later.

  ‘You’ve lost your wallet?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t. I had to think of something. Unless you wanted me to ask LeClair to put me through to you because I think you’re secretly in contact with Arabella, feeding her information about her father’s health.’

  It came out sharper than he’d have liked. That was Leon’s problem. None of it would’ve been necessary if he’d been straight with him. That didn’t stop the sullen silence from Leon’s end. He filled the void by telling him about the bogus cop’s attempt to get information out of him. He didn’t say anything about the things he’d said about Bella. But he stressed how it proved that whoever was behind it wasn’t going to give up.

  ‘So the best thing would be if you give me her number right now.’

  He paused, gave Leon the opportunity to do so.

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  He resisted the urge to shout down the line, even if he couldn’t keep all of the frustration out of his voice.

  ‘The word you’re looking for is won’t. At least change the message you give her. She can’t come to the Jerusalem Tavern now. They’ll be watching it. Tell her I’ll be in Henry’s Bar.’

  He took a taxi there as soon as he got off the phone, not wanting to advertise his presence by parking his ‘69 Corvette outside. If they knew he frequented the Jerusalem, they knew what car he drove. Henry’s Bar was a depressing place. The sort of dive where men and women who wanted a drink at ten o’clock in the morning went to be amongst like-minded folk, where they didn’t feel the weight of people’s disapproval grinding them further into the hopelessness of the lives they would never escape. It was dark enough that you couldn’t see the dirt, not that any of its patrons would notice, their gazes never straying far from the bottoms of their glasses as they sat nursing their drinks and grievances.

  The bartender smelled like he didn’t get enough time to go home and wash between shifts, most likely because at the end of each one he simply switched which side of the bar he was on.

  Evan told him he’d have coffee.

  ‘We don’t serve coffee. It’s a bar.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll have a Coke.’

  The guy came back with a cheap cola and a dirty glass.

  ‘Got any ice?’

  ‘The machine’s broken.’

  ‘How about a slice of lemon?’

  That was just for the fun of it.

  He passed the time watching a game show on the TV above the bar. It was as disheartening as everything else in the place. Like all game shows, the idea was for people to make as big a fool of themselves as possible for the smallest prize money outlay. At one point he was sure he felt some wetness on the side of his neck, guessed it was his brains dribbling out of his ear.

  He was on his third cola, most of his teeth having already dissolved, when the woman came in. Same sort of age as Bella, a similar self-assured look that the predatory stares from the men lining the bar couldn’t dent. She glanced around, recognized him immediately.

  ‘Are you Evan Buckley?’

  ‘Just about.’ He picked up his drink. ‘Much longer in here drinking this stuff and I don’t know who or what I’ll be.’

  She smiled briefly, then a grimace rippled across her face as she glanced around the room. She dropped her voice.

  ‘It’s pretty grim. I’m Bella’s friend, Liz.’

  The bartender was watching them, unsure whether to approach as if he suspected that the surreptitious glances and whispers implied a price was being negotiated for services to be provided in the alley outside.

  Evan had no reason to believe Liz wasn’t who she said she was. But after the incident with the fake Detective O’Brien he wasn’t taking any chances.

  ‘Call Bella. Ask her what was the toast I proposed when I bought her a beer the other day.’

  She looked mildly offended that he doubted her, went outside to make the call anyway. The small smile curling her lips when she came back suggested Bella had come up with the right answer.

  ‘To bad pickup lines.’

  He shook his head. Her face fell momentarily before he put her out of her misery.

  ‘I said cheesy pickup lines.’

  She slapped him on the arm, eyes narrowed.

  ‘She told me to watch out for you. C’mon, let’s go.’

  ‘You don’t want to stay for a quick drink first?’

  She gave the room a longer look this time, shaking her head.

  ‘I thought I’d been in some shitty places in the world, but this place . . .’

  The comment made him think. The word world suggested overseas, made him wonder if the fake O’Brien had been telling the truth about Bella having been in the Marine Corps. And that Liz had, too.

  They headed for the door, the sticky floor sucking at their shoes as they went. Outside, an ancient Ford Taurus that wouldn’t have been worth the price of the gas needed to get it to the dump was illegally parked at the curb. He looked up and down the street, didn’t see anything to worry him, then got in.

  ‘Where’s the blindfold?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass.’

  He wouldn’t have blamed Bella if it had been true and he was being taken to a secret location. As it was, Liz drove them a couple miles to a cheap hotel. He didn’t miss the fact that she took a circuitous route, looked regularly in her mirror the whole way. She stopped outside to let him out.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’

  ‘No. She’s in room twenty-six.’

  ‘What’s the secret knock on the door?’

  She laughed, already looking in the mirror again.

  ‘I said don’t be an ass. Now get out.’

  He went through the lobby, took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, along the corridor to room twenty-six. It was at the end, right next to the fire escape. He knocked once. The door opened almost before his knuckles left the wood as if she’d been waiting immediately behind it. Liz had
sent a message of some sort. He stepped inside, the door clipping his elbow Bella closed it so fast behind him.

  ‘I suppose I should say thank you for the other night,’ she said.

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘I hear you’ve been busy since then.’

  He shrugged, all part of the everyday rough and tumble, heard again the sound of the fake cop’s teeth breaking on the toilet bowl.

  ‘Returning lost property is a lot more complicated than people think.’

  Thinking to himself, ain’t that the truth.

  ‘Have you got it with you?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘My family?’

  ‘I gave it to your sister.’

  He ran through the visit, touched on everything that Blair and Leon had told him. She listened without interrupting. It felt as if it was out of politeness, her agitation increasing as she waited for him to finish before asking the question written all over her face.

  ‘How is my father?’

  There was no way to sugar-coat it.

  ‘He’s very ill. I don’t suppose he’s got long left.’

  Two additional words is all it would’ve taken to increase her anguish tenfold.

  Missing you.

  ‘He hired me to find you. To take you home. Like the other toast we had. Except we both know it’s more than that.’

  She dropped heavily onto the bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands. He stared at the top of her head.

  Was this the woman who was stalking Gerald Bloodwell? The woman who was suspected of being involved in his son’s death?

  ‘Your father doesn’t know anything about the attempt on your life.’

  She lifted her head to look at him. The lighting had been less harsh, more forgiving, when he talked to her in the Jerusalem Tavern. Even so, she’d aged a lot in the past two days. His words went some small way to reverse the process.

  ‘Thank you for sparing him that.’

  ‘But I had to tell your sister.’

  She shook her head, eyes closing.

  ‘That’s not a problem. Blair’s stronger than she looks. She’s had to put up with a lot worse than her big sister nearly getting stabbed.’

  He couldn’t stop himself from wondering whether that included dealing with the suspicion that the same big sister was involved in her husband’s death. That thought segued easily into questions that shone an uncomplimentary light on the rest of her family. He was spared from having to ask them by a soft knock on the door.

  He startled at the sound. Bella shook her head, it’s okay.

  ‘It’s Liz with the car key.’

  He didn’t care. He moved to the side of the door, the phony cop’s sap in his hand. Nodded at her. She opened the door, shoulders relaxing at the sight of Liz standing there alone. Liz handed her the key and they hugged briefly. Then she was gone, down the fire escape, a whispered Good luck trailing behind her.

  He pushed away the thought that if she was relying on luck it was already too late, got to the difficult question he couldn’t avoid any longer.

  ‘Who do you think is trying to kill you?’ He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he brought up the most unpalatable option, saving her from having to say it. ‘The way your father’s will is drafted means your nephew Merritt stands to gain the most from you dying before your father.’

  ‘I know. But it can’t be him.’

  ‘Can’t be, or you don’t want it to be?’

  ‘Both. You don’t know him.’

  She saw what was in his mind like it was stamped on his forehead in red ink.

  Nor do you. You’ve been away thirty years.

  He absolutely didn’t want to think the thoughts that pushed their way into his mind now. If it wasn’t Merritt, that only left her sister, Blair. What if it was nothing to do with the money? What if Blair herself suspected Bella of being involved in her husband’s death, wanted her revenge? And the timing was nothing more than pure coincidence. After meeting Blair, witnessing her reaction to the photograph of the two sisters standing in the sea, the way she’d said I remember that, it didn’t seem possible.

  He moved on.

  ‘Whoever it is isn’t giving up. I assume Leon told you what happened to me this morning.’

  ‘The phony cop. He didn’t give me any details.’

  He ran through it for her, didn’t say anything about the reasons the guy had given for wanting to find her—the stalking of Gerald Bloodwell, the suspicious death of his son, her own supposed mental illness. At this point, all or none of it could be true. When he’d finished, he pulled out his phone.

  ‘I’ve got a picture of him. It’s not pretty. But I want you to look at it, see if you recognize him.’

  The image of the guy crammed into the space between the wall and the toilet bowl, his face a bloody mess, didn’t faze her. Again, it made him wonder if she was accustomed to violence.

  ‘You don’t mess around.’

  There wasn’t a lot to say to that.

  She studied the photograph a long while before holding the phone out towards him.

  ‘It’s hard to tell after what you did to him, but I don’t think so.’

  He took the phone, looked at the image again himself, the damage he’d done. She watched him, sucked air in through her teeth.

  ‘You should see your face.’

  He didn’t ask her what she meant, didn’t want to hear what she might have seen showing itself in an unguarded moment.

  He put the phone away, thinking that was the end of it. He was wrong. A frown pinched her eyebrows.

  ‘What did he say I’d done that supposedly made the police want to talk to me?’

  It could’ve been nothing more than idle curiosity. It might have been a fishing expedition to determine how much he knew about her past. What it definitely was, no doubt about it, was a pain in the ass to answer. He picked the least-contentious option.

  ‘He said somebody made a complaint about you stalking them.’

  ‘Stalking who?’

  ‘Gerald Bloodwell.’

  She didn’t react or say anything for a split second as the name registered. Then she laughed, a stuttering bark like a lunatic who’d missed her meds. She leapt from the bed, stared at him in disbelief.

  ‘Are you serious?’ She jabbed her breastbone with her middle finger. ‘Me, stalking him?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Ha! He’d know all about it if I did.’ She shook her head, totally bewildered. ‘Did he say why I’d want to stalk that old bastard?’

  He had three options.

  Tell a straight lie. Say no.

  Tell the truth. He said you’ve got a problem with the Bloodwell family.

  Make something up.

  ‘He thought it was to do with the business rivalry between Bloodwell and your father. You were doing it on his behalf because he’s too old and ill to do it himself.’

  ‘Good God. I don’t know how some people’s minds work.’

  He didn’t offer any insights even though the idea had been spawned in his own fertile mind. Guillory would’ve said it was too many sugary drinks.

  He was precisely no further forward, didn’t know who or what to believe. One thing he did know—they had to get going, find somewhere safer to make plans.

  ‘Get your stuff together. We need to go.’

  ‘What’s wrong with this place.’

  ‘Nothing. Except Liz knows where you are.’

  ‘She wouldn’t . . .’

  He didn’t need to point out that even if a person starts out wanting to keep a secret, they change their mind pretty quickly when the toenail pliers come out. She started stuffing clothes into a small, battered suitcase.

  ‘I refuse to think about things like that.’

  Refuse all you like, he thought but didn’t say.

  8

  They went down the fire escape to the parking lot behind the hotel where Liz’s Taurus was parked in the shadows of the hot
el’s back wall.

  ‘Where to?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a secret. But you’re going to like it.’

  In a past life, before he saw the error of his ways, he’d spent a lot of his time doing divorce work. What Guillory’s partner Ryder called snapping dirty pictures. Following cheating husbands and wives to sleazy hotels and catching them in the act. So, he was well-acquainted with all of the no-tell motels that offered anonymity and rooms by the hour. He directed her to one of them now, stopping on the way to get something to eat and drink in the room.

  She smiled as they pulled into the parking lot.

  ‘My kind of place.’

  With a spring from the worn-out seat sticking into his ass and the sound of an engine on its last legs in his ears, he could believe it. He left her in the car, went to check in. The desk clerk was eating a sandwich when he walked in. He made no attempt to hide it or disguise the fact as Evan walked up, but almost dropped it when Evan explained what he wanted.

  ‘Two rooms? And for the whole night?’

  ‘That’s right. And I want them at opposite ends of the motel.’

  The clerk grinned at him, picked up his sandwich again, took a big bite.

  ‘Sounds like you’ve brought your wife.’

  Evan laughed with him, tried to ignore the specks of half-chewed sandwich that landed on his shirt. He pulled out a big wad of cash. The clerk stopped mid-chew, stared at it like it was something tastier to eat. Evan leaned in closer.

  ‘The thing is, we’ll only be using one room. You won’t even have to clean the other one. I’ll give you a hundred bucks to tell anyone who asks that we’re in the empty one. All you have to do is keep it empty.’

  He put two fifty-dollar bills on the counter.

  The clerk thought about it. Evan watched his mind turning over. A hundred bucks in cash for an empty room that wouldn’t need cleaning. The cash would be in the clerk’s pocket before he was out the door. The rest of the game had to be played first, of course. The clerk made his opening gambit.

  ‘Hmm.’