by Joe Hart
“Listen, I don’t know what this is about, but—”
“How much did you get from the reporter for giving her my name and what I looked like?” Liam asked.
Nut opened his mouth to protest, but Liam reached over and pulled the glass of beer out of the other man’s hand. Nut watched Liam drag the glass away and frowned.
“Fifty bucks,” Nut said. Liam pinned him to the wall with a glare until Nut squirmed. “I’m sorry, okay? You make do with what you have, and I was short this morning.”
“Short on beer funds.”
“Yeah, well. How the hell did you know anyway?” Nut asked.
“You’re the only person outside of the investigation that knew I was in town.”
Nut nodded, dropping his head so that he looked at the pitted tabletop. Liam slid the beer back in front of him, and Nut raised his eyes again.
“I want to ask you a few things,” Liam said.
A smile broke out on the man’s stubbled face, and he grasped the beer. “Sure, whatever you want to know, buddy.”
Liam glanced around the room to see if their table was being observed. The rest of the diners and drinkers seemed to be immersed in their own conversations; he caught no one eavesdropping or even looking in their direction.
“Tell me about the Shevlins.”
Nut tipped the glass to his lips and sucked down almost half its contents in a few swallows before wiping his mouth on a stained sleeve. “Rich as rich could be,” Nut said, lowering his voice. “Kind of the flagship couple for Tallston—old money and good looks combined. Jerry was born with two silver spoons, one in his mouth and one up his ass. His daddy was a land baron of sorts, owned thousands of acres across the river. From what I understand, he leased it to crop farmers, mostly wheat if I remember right.” Nut paused to slurp more beer. After stifling a belch, he continued. “His daddy sold most of the land about twenty years ago, and Jerry became a businessman before he was twenty-five.”
“What did he do for a living?” Liam asked.
“One of them day traders or some shit,” Nut said. “Invested in God knows what.”
“How about his wife, what was she like?”
“Easy on the eyes, Karen was. Don’t remember quite when she moved here. Don’t recall seeing her around much before she became Jerry’s girl in high school. They were homecoming king and queen, got married right out of school. Only thing that marred their perfect life was the death of their first child.”
“What happened?” Liam asked.
Nut finished the last of his beer and set the glass down on the table next to Liam’s elbow, staring at it until Liam motioned to the waitress to bring another. When the empty glass was gone, Nut took a long pull from the fresh brew and sat back in his chair.
“Where was I?”
“They lost their first child.”
“Oh yeah. Rumor was that their first boy died of complications at birth. There’s a little tombstone in their backyard where they buried him. That sobered them up a little, and it must have been too traumatic for them to go through it again, since they adopted Eric years later.”
Liam’s mind hummed with flickering thoughts. Connections like strings began to attach themselves to a bleary map in his head. “Did Jerry or Karen have any enemies in town? Did he have any business deals that went wrong?”
Nut drained more of his beer and appeared to search his mind, his dark eyes rolling almost straight up at the ceiling. “Not that I know of. The deal with Colton must have gone through fine, since the project across the river is still scheduled to start soon.”
“Colton Incorporated? Is that what the signs are for all over town?”
“Yep. Colton is out of Sweden somewhere, I believe. Huge paper company with depots all over the US. They purchased the land across the river from the Shevlins over a year ago. Talk around town is they’re gonna tear down the old foundry and build a processing plant for pulp and whatnot. I suppose they’ll use the river for transport—that’s why they chose the spot.”
“How does everyone feel about the plant going up in a small town like this?” Liam asked, something catching on a burr in his mind.
Nut shrugged and nearly finished the second beer. “Mostly good. Be more jobs created. There’s a small activist group that’s trying to stop it from going through. They say that by cutting down the trees on the other side of the river it’ll damage the ecosystem or some bullshit. Buncha hippies, if you ask me. I’m sure that big shot from Colton is fit to be tied about these murders, though. Something like this might put a hold on the city’s vote that’s coming up.”
“Who’s the big shot?”
Nut finished his beer, and without prompting, Liam had another brought to their table. “Name’s Donald something or other. He’s rentin’ a big place on the south side of town, right smack on the river. He and his team of suits have been here for a few weeks, buttering up the local government, I assume. The mayor’s got his head up his ass, so he’ll believe anyone with a little money to wave around under his nose.” Nut sipped his beer, and Liam saw the other man’s pupils tightened to pinpoints under the influence of the alcohol. “You know that shithead wanted to cut the local soup kitchen out completely? I mean, there’s not a lot of us around town without places to go, but you can’t take that away from us. Some of my friends aren’t as industrious as I am, and they count on at least one meal from that place every day.”
“You mean they’re not as good at selling information?” Liam asked.
Nut licked his lips and blinked. “I’m taking that as an insult.”
“Good.” Liam opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. He watched Nut’s eyes follow it as he placed it on the table between them. “You’re with me now, okay? If you hear or see anything else that you think might be important, I want you to call this number.” He pulled a piece of scratch paper out, grabbed an errant pen from a nearby table, and jotted his cell number down. “Anything, do you understand?”
Nut nodded, still staring at the fifty within his reach. “You some kind of cop?”
“Not anymore.” Liam stood and turned to the bar to settle up the bill.
“I’m sorry I told those vultures your name.”
Liam stopped and studied the homeless man’s drunken eyes, and nodded. “You do what I asked and we’ll call it even.” Nut smiled and raised the dregs of beer to him in a toast.
Liam paid the tab and made his way outside into the deepening dark of the night, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.
Sleep wouldn’t come. It never came like before. He remembered the sensation of drifting off, the steady pull of exhaustion dragging him down into a soft slumber. He would awake sometimes in the early-morning hours in slight surprise at having fallen asleep without realizing it.
But those nights were gone.
What he had now was waiting. The slipstream of time slowing to a crawl, the minutes stretching into hours, his mind and body helpless with the compulsion to check the clock constantly.
He stared up at the hotel ceiling, longing for a drink. Something powerful. Several pulls of whiskey would do the trick. But he didn’t want to get drunk, and passing out wasn’t the same as sleeping; it was similar, but without the rest. He tried the breathing exercises the doctor had taught him. Inhale, hold, exhale slowly and count to ten, until all the air was out. Repeat. Think of the states and their capitals. Retrace the roads he had driven on that day, see the landscape in reverse, strive to make it all the way back to where he had left from.
Liam sighed and rolled over, trying to keep his eyelids closed. He pictured Dani standing at the bar. She was still beautiful, just as he remembered. God, he hadn’t thought of her in years. He wondered if she was married. He couldn’t see how she would be single, but if there was a man in the picture, wouldn’t he be here with her for support? He could still feel
the warmth of her hand in his own. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for some time, the touch of another. Liam closed his fist lightly, allowing the illusion to continue. He slipped toward the edge of sleep . . . and saw the black eye of the gun barrel.
His eyelids flew open and he sucked in a breath, his heart speeding up from a plodding walk to a sprint in less than a second. His brow furrowed, breath shuddering within his chest, the air hot as sweat broke out over his body. He clenched his eyes shut and forced away the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears.
CHAPTER 4
The sound of thunder woke him.
Liam opened his eyes to the surrounding hotel room, battled the immediate confusion of where he was, and let the memory of the day before settle over him. He turned his head to look at the clock: 6:15. The last time he saw the clock it was 3:10. Three hours of sleep. He inhaled and then breathed out. It would have to do.
He drank two cups of coffee in the little kitchenette off the hotel lobby and gradually began to feel like he was awake. His stomach was an aching, flaccid sac that cried out for food. He managed to choke down three hard-boiled eggs and a slice of toast, promising himself that he would make more of an effort to eat regularly. If he couldn’t sleep, he’d at least give himself fuel to keep moving.
The morning was cooler than the previous day. The sky was bruised in the east above the hulking bluffs, a few lacerations of sunlight leaking through mottled clouds as they attempted to close the wounds fully, with the occasional sound of thunder.
As he snapped the door of his truck shut, intent on taking care of his brother’s final arrangements, Liam realized he had no idea where Allen and Suzie banked, invested, or lawyered. He sat still behind the steering wheel before drawing out his phone and searching the online Tallston directory for lawyers. There were three in town. Luckily, he picked the correct one on the first try. The secretary who answered said that without ID she couldn’t say whether or not his brother and sister-in-law did business with them, but if he’d stop by, the owner would be happy to speak with him.
Liam hung up and drove to the north end of town, turning down two wrong streets before he saw the squat brick building with Fenton Law Office on its front. The reception area was small but comfortable, the walls a cool green. A stern-faced woman in a business suit sat behind a counter and studied Liam as she punched an intercom button on her phone and murmured something into the headset she wore. A few minutes later a middle-aged man in a tweed suit appeared from behind an oak door at the far end of the room. His hair was dark and flecked with gray at the temples, and his blue eyes sat amidst delicate lines of crow’s-feet that spoke of a good nature.
“Mr. Dempsey, I’m Chris Fenton. So sorry for your loss,” Fenton said, shaking Liam’s hand.
“Thank you,” Liam said.
“Please come in.”
Liam followed the lawyer into a spacious office lined with dark wood baseboards and rows of modern bookcases filled with leather-backed tomes. Fenton slid into a seat behind a massive desk, and Liam sat in a plush chair across from him. The lawyer moved several sets of folders and then interlaced his hands before him on the desk, his eyes morose.
“Terrible, terrible thing. Allen and I were friends. We golfed together once a week. It’s quite a shock. I’m so very sorry.”
“Thank you.” Liam struggled for something else to say, but he had nothing to offer, his brother an angry enigma that he had kept in the back of his mind until yesterday.
“I’m sure you’d like to get things in order as quickly as possible, which I should be able to do for you. Not that the family resemblance between you and Allen isn’t apparent, but I will need to see some ID, just a formality.” Liam brought out his wallet, and after only a few seconds of examining his driver’s license, Fenton handed it back to him. “I managed to gather all of Allen and Suzie’s paperwork here. There’s only a few things you need to sign, actually. Their finances and wills were in excellent shape.” The lawyer paused as he shifted documents and looked across the desk at Liam. “You are the last living relative, correct?”
“Yes,” Liam said. “My mother’s been gone a long time, and my father died two years ago. There’s no one else close except for Suzie’s side of the family.”
“Yes, well, I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll just say it,” Fenton said. “Your brother didn’t name you in his will or on any of the insurance policies. It looks like their liquid assets will be distributed between four different charities, one local and the others international. The house is to be sold and the revenue is to be divided in the same way.”
“I’m not surprised,” Liam said, feeling a small rise of anger at his brother before it became absorbed into the bitter miasma surrounding Allen’s memory. “I’m happy to sign whatever you need to get things under way.”
“Okay, but there is one other matter.” The lawyer studied him. “Suzie took out a policy several years back, and the sole benefactor is you.”
There was a beat of silence. “What?”
Fenton leaned forward and turned a binder of papers toward Liam so that he could read them. “She created this insurance policy unbeknownst to Allen, or it appears that way. You’re listed as the recipient of the policy amount.”
Liam’s head swam with confusion and a new wave of sorrow. Suzie, always kind, always thinking of him. “I didn’t know anything about this. I haven’t seen either one of them for over two years.”
“Yes, I understand. This was created on June 11, 2011.”
Liam closed his eyes, remembering the date. The day after Dad’s funeral.
“I’ll just need your signature on the bottom of these, as well as your bank account information for the deposit.”
“How much did she set the policy for?”
Fenton glanced up at him. “Five hundred thousand.”
Liam cringed internally. Half a million dollars. More than enough motive to kill.
“I don’t want it.”
Fenton stopped scribbling something and looked up at him, his eyes slits. “What?”
“I don’t want it. I’m refusing the policy.”
“Well, Mr. Dempsey, you can’t really refuse it, you’ll—”
“Then I’ll donate it. Give me a few days to think about where I want it to go, and then we’ll do the paperwork.”
Fenton sat back in his chair, appraising him. “Sure, we can do that.”
“Can I take the rest of the paperwork to look over in the meantime?” Liam asked, motioning to the folders on the desk.
“Yes, by all means. I’ve got all the places that you need to sign marked. Like I said, the execution of the will doesn’t really require anything, so yes, go ahead.”
The attorney closed the documents and handed them to Liam, whose heart picked up its already hurried pace.
“Thanks very much for your help. I’ll be in touch soon,” Liam said.
The two men shook hands as they stood, and without waiting for the lawyer to say anything more, Liam opened the office door and moved as quickly as he could outside, leaving Fenton to stare after him.
Liam flipped through the pages of his brother’s life. He searched the numbers and words of Allen’s last testament, trying to build a picture out of the symbols or patterns in the paperwork. Nothing stood out to him. He looked for monetary connections to the Shevlins, and other than Allen and Suzie being named Eric Shevlin’s godparents, there seemed to be no indications of debt or loans between the two families. The will was straightforward. His anger at Allen for not being named in the will dulled with each passing second, and soon it was just another facet of his brother’s familiar rancor.
Liam sat back and rubbed his eyes. They felt swollen, coated in lead. He glanced at the separate packet of papers that lay to the left of everything else on the small table. Suzie’s policy. He stared at the number on the paper. He knew why she’d
done it, but her kindness was now a curse. Phelps would gain access to their records, if he hadn’t already. He would see the policy, and it would be a klaxon going off, a neon arrow pointing to Liam as a suspect. The rumblings of anxiety constricted his chest, but there was something else there too. A warm flame of pride, soured only by grief at the thought of Suzie going behind Allen’s back to make sure he would be taken care of if anything happened to them.
“She was too good for you, asshole,” Liam said to the empty hotel room.
The sudden chime of his phone made him jerk, and when he looked at the screen, he saw that the number was unavailable again.
“Hello?”
“Liam, this is Sheriff Barnes. Could you come by the station sometime today?”
“Of course. Has there been a development?”
Barnes hesitated. “Nothing groundbreaking, just something I thought you’d like to see.”
“Okay, I can be there in ten minutes.”
“Good. Hit the buzzer near the back entrance and I’ll let you in.” The sheriff hung up.
Liam stood, ready to head out of the room, but he paused. After a few seconds of thought, he reached into the bottom of his bag and found the hard angles of the Sig, softened by the holster hugging it. He undid his belt and threaded it through the concealment holster. The holster molded to his lower back on the inside of his jeans and when he tightened his belt, he could barely feel the weight of the gun there.
With a flip of his T-shirt and a quick check to make sure the handgun wasn’t visible, Liam turned off the lights and left the room.
Liam approached the rear door of the station, the clouds overhead expanding with bloated bellies that spoke of a deluge. There were two squad cars parked in the rear lot, along with a late-model Land Cruiser. Liam eyed the shiny vehicle as he passed it, noting the severely tinted windows and the chrome spokes within the rims. He was just about to push the round button mounted beside the door when it opened from within and the sheriff’s deputy he’d seen at his brother’s home the day before stepped outside.