The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set #5 - 7

by H. P. Bayne

  “People apparently thought Oliver was the first victim. But he wasn’t. I don’t think he would have left without talking to the family first; I know I’d do that to help them. I think he must have died somewhere in the woods, and no one ever found him.”

  “It’s too bad. The sort of thing he did for others, he deserved a proper funeral.”

  “I don’t know,” Sully said. “What we do, you, me and Oliver, it’s lonely. There aren’t a lot of people who understand, or try to. Maybe dying alone was the best thing for him.”

  “You’ve seen more than most, Sully,” Raiya said. “No one ever really dies alone.” She paused, as if thinking through whether to say something or not, before continuing. “I’m not sure you want the answers yet, but if the time comes when you want to learn more about this hangman, come and find me.”

  “I won’t ever want to learn more about him,” Sully said. “But there might come a time when I’m going to need to.”

  23

  Eleanor Kilpatrick simply shrugged when Dez told her they’d found the remains of who they suspected to be Lonnie Debenham.

  “Surprised it took thirty years, but all right,” she said. “How’d he die?”

  “No idea. They have to get him into an autopsy suite and see what they can piece together. It’s been a lot of years. Some evidence will be impossible to find now. But there might be other stuff: bullets, blood on the clothing, tool marks in bone, that sort of thing—if there was foul play. It very well might turn out to be something else.”

  Dez knew better, of course. Sully had seen Lonnie, after all. But it wasn’t the sort of murder that would necessarily leave clues—not when your killer was a ghost.

  One thing was certain: Eleanor would have had no call to be out with Lonnie that deep in the woods, and it was highly unlikely the petite, mousy woman would have the strength needed to overpower and murder a young man who apparently looked after himself. Even if he’d gone downhill those last couple of months, it wouldn’t have been so significant as to render him defenceless against the likes of Eleanor.

  Dez had something else on his mind. Sully had told him Eleanor mentioned a friend of Lonnie’s, a creepy guy who rubbed her the wrong way. He’d come equipped with one of the photos from Lachlan’s file, and he slid it across the kitchen table now.

  “You told Oliver about a friend of Lonnie’s, someone you didn’t have a good feeling about.”

  “Yes, and that’s him right there,” she said. “Tall fellow and muscular. That’s him, all right.”

  “It’s been thirty years. You’re sure?”

  “I’ll admit, I’m not great with remembering faces, but his… his I wouldn’t forget. I’ve rarely wanted to punch someone so badly as that night at the bar. Now I’ll admit, I wasn’t much to look at even back then, but he didn’t seem to care. He was all over me, and hands-on too. And Lonnie did nothing to help. I would have left, but it was dark and my car was parked a couple of blocks away. I didn’t want to risk walking out of there if there was a chance he’d follow me.”

  “You think he would have done something?”

  “He was a creep, and he had no concept of a woman’s personal space. At the time, I thought maybe he was picking on me because he knew Lonnie didn’t like me, but I think now it was more about my personality and build. I made for an easy target back then.”

  “Did you know anything else about this man?”

  “No, and I’ve never cared to either. All I know is he drove a big tank of a car, a four-door with a huge hood and a trunk.”

  “Why does that stick out in your mind?”

  “I saw the two of them drive off in it,” she said. “Him and Lonnie. They were both slobberingly drunk, but Lonnie was a little less so than his friend, so he drove. I debated calling the police, and I intended to, actually, to report them for impaired driving. But his father was there, and he said if I called the police, he would fire me. That night, and everything about it, is engraved on my brain. Lonnie changed after that night. I suspect his father tuned him in afterward. Took him down a peg or two.”

  “It struck me from talking to his family he was deeply depressed,” Dez said.

  “He got by okay at work. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t exactly spend much time around him, particularly at that point. He’d been promoted by then, and his office was on the top floor, near his father’s. Some days, I wouldn’t see him at all.”

  Dez nodded. “Okay. Thanks for talking with me. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Eleanor stood and saw Dez to the door. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know. I didn’t particularly like Lonnie, but no one deserves to die alone in the woods like that, and he certainly didn’t deserve it if it turns out it was murder. Now, his friend on the other hand….”

  She left the rest of her statement unsaid, but Dez provided the ending in his own head. Larson Hackman was one of the only people on the planet Dez would have been quite happy to see disappear permanently.

  Instead, he was on his way to see him.

  A quick phone call revealed Hackman was at home, his night shift not due to start for a few more hours.

  Hackman’s apartment was in one of the older buildings downtown, proof being a psycho psychiatrist’s primary henchman wasn’t a job that paid well.

  The unit wasn’t tiny, but the entry hall was small enough it couldn’t easily accommodate two large men. Hackman left Dez to close the door while he led the way into the living room.

  It was a mess, flyers and beer cans littering the furniture and floor, an empty pizza box lying open next to the beat-up sofa, and at least a week’s worth of food and beverage stains on the coffee table. Hackman took a leather recliner that was clearly his usual captain’s chair, leaving the couch for Dez.

  “Nice place,” Dez said, the dig clear.

  Hackman sneered. “Thanks. What do you want?”

  The baser part of Dez wanted to just come out with it, hammer Hackman with today’s find. Lachlan had called during Dez’s drive back into the city from Eleanor’s. They’d managed to have their expert do the dental check, and the body was indeed that of Lonnie Debenham. The news, if Hackman was as good a friend as he’d made out, would be shocking, even if part of him had to know the truth.

  Slamming home news like this and gloating over someone else’s shock and grief, that wasn’t Dez—no matter who the other person was.

  “I was back in the woods today, and I stumbled upon a body. It had clearly been there a long time, and there wasn’t much left of him, but they’ve had an expert do a dental comparison. It’s him.”

  Hackman paled. “Lonnie? You found Lonnie?”

  “Yeah. In the woods. The same area we found Emory.”

  “By Hollow Road?”

  Hackman knew the answer, obviously, so Dez said nothing. He was watching for further signs, something to tell him Hackman knew more about Lonnie’s death than he planned on letting on.

  So far, all Dez saw was shock.

  Hackman broke a few moments of stunned silence with a question. “How did he die?”

  “No word on that yet. An autopsy’s being done. I didn’t get a really good look at the body, so I don’t know exactly what’s left of him, but I’d imagine if there’s any tissue left to sample, they’ll send that off for analysis. It could be weeks or even months before we know a cause of death—if we ever do.”

  Dez didn’t mention the well in which they’d found the remains. If Hackman had anything to do with it, the less Dez provided, the better. It would make anything he blurted out in an interview room all the more valuable.

  Not that Hackman seemed the blurting-out type. He was quiet. Really quiet, actually. So quiet, it prompted Dez to check.

  “Everything okay?”

  Hackman’s eyes, previously focused on his tightly interwoven fingers, snapped back to Dez’s face. “Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, fine. Just a shock, is all. I’d kind of stopped thinking about it.”

  “He was your best friend
. I didn’t think it would be possible to stop thinking about it, the fact he disappeared without a trace and all that.”

  Hackman’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “That’s not what I meant. I got on with my life. I had to put it out of my head. You go crazy otherwise, wondering.”

  Dez wanted to respond with something cutting, but was reminded of his own truth. Sully had disappeared, was presumed dead. For a while, Dez had obsessed over finding him. But after a while, he’d simply allowed himself to fade, to give in to the grief of loss over his dad and his brother. He’d gotten on with life too. Not productively, and not in any healthy way. Come right down to it, he’d come as close as he could to screwing up every good thing left to him. He’d focused on drinking away the memories, the grief and the unanswered questions. It had taken time, and a lot of booze, but there were days he managed to forget.

  Sort of.

  If Hackman was to be judged, Dez wasn’t the one to do it.

  There was something else he wanted to discuss, a topic he was more uncertain of. Ghosts weren’t the sort of thing a person normally talked about with someone they barely knew, let alone someone they hated. He reminded himself Hackman was one of the few people out there who knew the truth about that other world. His help with Gerhardt’s experiments suggested he had to know.

  Even so….

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Dez asked.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “Come on, Hackman, you and I both know what you and that nutcase doctor are up to at that hospital.”

  “Look, I know you’re inclined to believe whatever Sullivan told you, but he was disturbed. He—”

  “He had ligature marks on his wrists and ankles,” Dez said. “He’d been restrained. More than once. And he fought. It backs up what he told me, so do you want to try that again? Just answer the question. You and I both know Gerhardt has a hard-on for psychics, that he experiments on them. So that suggests the idea of ghosts being real isn’t so off-the-wall. Anyway, Gerhardt told me that himself before Sully went in there.”

  “That he believes in ghosts?”

  “That he doesn’t rule out the possibility they exist.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t think they might exist. I’m just questioning your views on what we’re supposed to have done to Sullivan and these other supposed psychics you’re talking about.”

  “All right, fine. We won’t talk experiments or psychics. Let’s narrow the scope to ghosts. You believe in them?”

  “I’m like Dr. Gerhardt, I guess. I can’t rule them out.”

  “So you’re likely aware of a ghost people have talked about around Loons Hollow.”

  “Faceless Flo? Of course. Everyone knows about her.”

  “Lachlan and I have been looking into another missing persons case that started around the same time as Lonnie’s. Nora and Ben Silversmith, a mother and her infant son. She was last seen wearing a Faceless Flo costume. She’d just been to a Halloween party.”

  Hackman lost a little colour, shifted in his chair.

  “Something wrong?” Dez asked.

  “No. Why bring that up? I thought we were talking about Lonnie.”

  “We were. But we think there might be a connection there. Did you talk to Emory about why he went missing?”

  “He hasn’t been in the talking mood.”

  “Not with you, anyway,” Dez said. It was catty, but he couldn’t help it. He continued before Hackman could get a retort in. “He told us he followed Faceless Flo into the woods. Thing is, we’ve since come to believe there is no Faceless Flo. It’s Nora people have been seeing. Or her ghost, anyway.”

  Hackman shifted again.

  “A friend of mine also went missing briefly. He also said he followed Faceless Flo into the woods. All three of them—my friend, Emory, Lonnie—they all ended up trapped, injured or dead because of her. She’s seeking revenge for something, and I’m beginning to wonder if there might be a connection here somewhere.”

  A creak of leather suggested Hackman was starting to squirm again, but he caught himself at the last second. He opted instead to crook an elbow so he could rest his chin on his hand in what appeared to be a bid at nonchalance. The new position looked awkward and uncomfortable. “What kind of connection?”

  Dez had been a cop only a few years, but he’d dealt with a fair number of suspects in that time. He’d been lied to—a lot—and he’d learned how to read the tells like researchers read books. Hackman hadn’t yet told an outright lie, but he wasn’t providing the truth either.

  The truth had already been revealed by his body posture and tone. Larson Hackman knew more than he was saying. Far more, if Dez was any judge.

  “You know something about that connection, don’t you?” he asked. “There’s a reason she’s going after people like Lonnie and Emory. It seems to me you’re one highly possible connection. You knew both of the missing guys, after all.”

  “What about your friend? Do I know him?”

  Dez’s turn to lie. “No, but he was there trying to find your son. We think she led him into a dangerous situation to keep him from rescuing Emory. My question’s the same. Do you know something about Nora Silversmith’s disappearance?”

  The answer came far too quickly. “No, I don’t.”

  “Do you even remember the case? It didn’t exactly get quite the same news coverage at the time as Lonnie’s.”

  “I remember it.”

  “Why?”

  “I just do, okay?”

  “Is it because you had something to do with it?”

  Hackman dropped the hand, started to shift again. Anxiety morphed into anger, brows lowering over his eyes as he sat forward, pinning Dez in a glare. “What are you suggesting, exactly? That I killed some woman and her kid?”

  “Actually, I was wondering if Lonnie killed them.” It was true. The connections had started to form as they sat here, talking. Lonnie had fallen into an inexplicable deep depression approximately two months before he disappeared—approximately the same time Nora and Ben went missing. And Sully believed Nora was responsible for Lonnie’s death. But there was another side to this, one that seemed to involve Hackman. Dez hadn’t accused him of killing anyone, yet the man had leapt to that conclusion. Hackman’s son—who happened to closely resemble his father—had recently fallen victim to Nora’s ghost, and had barely survived the ordeal. Now Hackman was sitting here, squirming every time Nora was mentioned.

  “Lonnie didn’t kill anyone,” Hackman said.

  “But you did, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You know something about this, Hackman, far more than you’re letting on.”

  “You’re crazy, Braddock. They should reserve a room for you at Lockwood. You’d fit right in.”

  “You can believe I’m crazy if you want, but the situation remains the same. Nora Silversmith is haunting those woods, and she seems to be targeting people connected to you. Emory and his girlfriend are ghost hunters, and their video blog gets the most hits when they cover Loons Hollow. You think they’re going to give that up? If anything, what happened to him will only serve to whet his appetite. No one will ever be able to stop them going up there, and Nora will go looking for him again. I’m no expert on ghosts, but I’ve heard they stick around to deal with unfinished business. Could be you’re that unfinished business, Hackman. Maybe she’s coming for you next. And if she can’t get to you, she’ll find Emory.”

  Dez had said more than he’d planned, but the longer he’d continued, the greater the effect on Hackman. He’d grown pale, so pale Dez worried he might collapse. A sheen had broken out on his face, and Dez could count two beads of sweat already trickling from his hairline. And the anger had faded. In its place were eyes widened and mouth popped open in terror.

  Hackman tried to speak, but the words got caught halfway. “Y… you… you d… don’t….”

  Dez sat forward. “I can help you, but you need to tell me the truth. Help us help Nora
and maybe she’ll leave you and Emory alone.” He sealed it with an additional thought, one he knew would drive additional fear into Hackman’s heart. Anyone else, Dez wouldn’t have dared. But this was the man who had helped torture Sully, who had ensured terror was driven into him repeatedly during his time at Lockwood. Dez’s sympathy didn’t extend to this man, a person so awful even his own son didn’t want anything to do with him. “Ghosts can get around. Could be she’s following Emory now, waiting for the right moment. Or maybe she followed you. You were out there the day we found Emory. She probably saw you. How do you know she’s not standing in the corner right now”—Dez wagged his chin toward a section of the room behind Hackman, pleased when the man turned to look—“waiting to get you the moment I leave?”

  “Stop it!” Hackman shouted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Then why are you so nervous?”

  “It was an accident, all right? Just an accident! We didn’t mean for it to happen. We were drunk.”

  Dez jumped in before Hackman could rethink the would-be confession. “What happened?”

  “You can stop her? You can protect me?”

  “We can try to give her what she wants. Part of it is probably the fact she doesn’t know where her son is. But you know, don’t you?”

  Hackman’s colour changed again, his skin taking on a greenish cast. Dez hated watching people vomit, and he prepared himself for the possibility, just in case.

  “It’s been a long time,” Hackman said quietly.

  Were he still a cop, Dez would have moved long past the point of putting the man under arrest and reading him his rights to remain silent and seek legal counsel. As it stood, he was no longer a police officer. He could take this further now, and he did.