Never Happened

by Debra Webb

  “She left less than an hour after she got here and never came back.” Shannon shrugged, then pointed to the message in Alex’s hand. “They’re in kind of a hurry. Wanted to know if you could come right over. I was about to call you.”

  Alex read over the message. Apartment building over in Carol City. She knew the place. “What’s the rush?” Not that she didn’t understand the need to get a cleanup done, considering the most plausible source of the problem, but hurrying wouldn’t change the fact that someone was most likely deceased.

  “The guy lived on the second floor. Apparently he’s been dead for almost two weeks without anyone missing him. He might not have been missed at all if his downstairs neighbor hadn’t noticed something oozing from her kitchen ceiling.”

  Ugh. Her favorite kind of duty. “I’m on my way,” Alex mumbled with about as much enthusiasm as a prisoner on his final walk toward execution.

  She popped into the bathroom and took care of business, pulled her hair up into a ponytail and stared at her reflection, wondering what Fate had against her. She was reasonably intelligent and attractive, why was it that her primary skill appeared to be cleaning up after the dead? Somebody had to do it. That was her stock answer whenever she felt sorry for herself.

  Maybe that was the reason her life had not taken the usual journey. Never had a husband. No kids. No serious relationships. But that was what she’d wanted? Wasn’t it?

  She thought about Henson and what he’d wanted, a long-term relationship…a commitment. What if she’d chosen that path? What if she’d taken the chance…?

  She would have been sorry. Henson would still be dead and she would be…left with all the emotional baggage.

  That was precisely why she never went there. No risk, no regret.

  “Damn straight,” she growled at the uncertainty she saw in her eyes.

  She never second-guessed herself like this. Evidently the recent rash of deaths involving people who basically lived alone or had no one who looked in on them had gotten under her skin. Yeah, right. If only it were that simple. It was Henson. Dammit.

  Shaking off the annoying sentiments, she headed for Carol City. The sooner she dived into the apartment’s cleanup, the sooner she’d be done.

  The building’s super led her to the first-floor apartment where the neighbor had discovered the leak in her ceiling. The fluids had seeped through the ceiling and oozed down the wall next to her kitchen table. She’d refused to return to the apartment until it was cleaned up and repainted.

  No problem for Alex. She’d have this place tiptop in no time.

  The apartment on the second floor was a different story. The moment the super opened the door, the stench assaulted Alex’s olfactory nerves. Decaying flesh and dissipating putrid gases were never pleasant smells. The tenant had been dead, according to what the M.E.’s office had told the super, at least twelve days. He’d died in his kitchen, lying on the floor, directly above the kitchen on the first level.

  Twelve days. That was more than enough time for things to get ugly. Immediately after death the body temperature started to drop, and rigor mortis began, only to reverse itself about two days later. After nearly a couple of weeks putrefaction had already taken place and things were pretty much flat and creamy. The body fluids that had escaped had seeped into everything, including the kitchen downstairs.

  Alex donned her hazmat jumpsuit, gloves, et cetera, and went to work, cleaning not only every surface involved but also the air. The gases released by decomposing body fluids, such as spinal fluid, could be extremely toxic. The better part of the day passed before she was packed up and ready to go. The super planned to do the painting himself, which was fine by her.

  She loaded the hazmat bags containing the remains she would need to dispose of into the cargo area of her 4Runner. The jumpsuit, gloves and shoe covers she’d worn were bagged and ready to dump, as well.

  Her work was done.

  It wasn’t that late. She should probably go back by the office after she’d taken care of disposal. Or maybe she’d go talk to Henson’s partner again and broach the subject of the contact lens and the house over in Morningside.

  All she could do was try to convince him that something very wrong had gone down last night.

  “Alex Jackson?”

  Alex almost ran off the causeway at the sound of the male voice coming from her backseat.

  Her fingers went automatically to the console and the pepper spray she kept there.

  “Whoever the hell you are,” she warned, “this stuff is potent. I’m going to pull over.” She was already slowing, simultaneously moving toward the emergency lane. “And you’d better get the hell outta here as soon as I stop or you’ll regret it.”

  “Wait! Please. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  She relaxed marginally. Okay, what kind of robber, rapist or killer apologized?

  “Who are you?” Though she’d eased off the brake and shifted her foot back to the accelerator, she kept her hand on her weapon.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m going to sit up now. Don’t freak out, okay?”

  She glanced at her rearview mirror. “Okay.” What was he, a leper or something? He’d apologized for scaring her when he was the one who sounded terrified. Not to mention he’d prepared her for whatever she would see when he sat up. What kind of bad guy went to all that trouble?

  Green eyes, sandy blond hair appeared in her mirror. Young. Twenty-something, she guessed.

  “Who are you?” she asked again, her fight defenses still firmly in place.

  “My name is Timothy O’Neill.”

  Her surprise had her weaving into the left lane much to the dismay of the other drivers on the street. Horns blasted.

  She let go of the spray can and allowed her right hand to rejoin her left on the steering wheel. At least she knew now why he’d warned her not to freak out.

  Her first thought was to ask why he’d been hiding in her car. Second was…hell, she didn’t know what. But there was one point she had to raise. “I thought you were dead.”

  What the hell was she supposed to do with him? Take him to the police? How had he found her? More importantly, why?

  “I’m supposed to be,” he said quietly. He looked away when she would have made eye contact with him again.

  “It was a buddy of mine. Back at my house. He was pirating movies and—”

  He abruptly shut up.

  “Don’t worry,” she encouraged, “whatever your friend was doing doesn’t make any difference now.”

  His jaw worked futilely a couple of times before anything actually came out. “Anyway, last night I was upstairs getting something to eat. I saw Detective Henson’s car pull into the drive. I mean—” he cleared his throat again “—I didn’t really see his car. It was dark. I saw the headlights, but I knew it was him. I was expecting him. But when he came in he wasn’t alone.”

  “His partner was with him?” She felt certain that wasn’t the case, but she needed to ask. She didn’t know Patton that well, but he was one of the good guys. Henson had said as much plenty of times.

  “I didn’t see the guy but I heard his voice.” He shrank back into the rear seat, looking like a small boy rather than a grown man. “I don’t think this was his partner. Detective Henson was saying stuff like You won’t get away with this and Leave the kid alone, he was just doing me a favor.”

  A keen sense of anticipation zinged through Alex. She’d been right. Timothy O’Neill was the guy Henson had visited last night. And apparently Henson had met with someone else on his way to Timothy’s house. Why hadn’t he mentioned that to her? Her breath hitched. He’d said he was getting another call before he said good-night. Could that caller have been the man who killed him?

  Henson hadn’t been alone. The guy with him had to be the caller, someone he’d rendezvoused with after talking to Alex. Goose bumps spilled over her skin. “What did you do, Timothy?”

  He was staring out the passenger side window now. “
I knew the kid Henson was talking about was me. He always called me kid.” His voice sounded distant. “So I hid. I didn’t think. I just reacted. I hid in the pantry. Henson and the dude with him went down to the basement. I could hear all this shouting….”

  Ten seconds passed before he spoke again. Alex’s heart pounded three times for each one.

  “I just froze. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t call out for help. Not that it would have done any good.”

  Alex kept quiet. Let him continue in his own time. She picked up some speed, eased more fully into the flow of traffic on the causeway and tried to focus on driving. Back to her office? Home? She couldn’t decide so she just drove.

  “There was a lot of noise.”

  Alex met his eyes in the mirror but he wasn’t looking at her. He was remembering.

  “I figured the guy was tearing up my lab. I could hear Lenny. My friend,” he explained. “He was yelling that he didn’t know what the guy was talking about. Henson was saying something, but I couldn’t make out his words. I knew…” Alex glanced up again, this time his gaze collided with hers in the mirror. “I knew we were all going to die.”

  But he hadn’t…obviously.

  “What did you do then?” she prompted quietly when he remained silent for more miles than she could bear.

  “I got out. Ran. Tried to wake one of my neighbors so I could call the police but no one was home. Or they were in bed.” He scrubbed a hand over his pale face. “I made my way back to my house, would have gone back inside to try to stop whatever the hell was going on, but Henson and the guy came out.”

  “Did you see the guy’s face this time?” Adrenaline did a number on her pulse rate. This could prove Henson’s accident was no accident.

  “No.” The croaked word was barely audible. “It was dark and I couldn’t see from where I was hidden in the shrubs next door.” He released a shuddering breath. “When they’d driven away…I was going to go back and check on my friend….” He blinked. “And the house exploded right in front of me.”

  Poor guy. Damn.

  “You okay?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Then the idea that she was talking to him kicked in. “Yeah…sure…I’m okay.”

  “We should go to the police.” Fury burned through her. The guy he’d left with had no doubt forced him to drive to the very place he would die that night. His accident hadn’t been an accident at all. Someone had killed Henson. Someone who had something to do with Charlie Crane’s death and that damned contact lens.

  “No way.” Timothy sat forward. “Just let me out here. I’m not going to the police. Whoever the hell that guy was, he wanted just one thing. I’m not getting involved with this. No way. It’s too dangerous.”

  He scooted to the passenger-side door.

  Alex divided her attention between him and the traffic all around her. She had to calm him down. “Let me take you to my place. You’ll be safe there.”

  “You don’t get it.” He looked ready to jump out the door with her moving at fifty-five miles per hour across the causeway. “This thing you gave Henson is like poison. Anyone who touches it is going to end up dead.”

  Shifting her full attention back to traffic she tamped down the natural trepidation his words evoked. “What exactly is it?”

  “Some kind of new technology storage device, works just like a computer only it’s tiny and somehow the brain issues commands through the optic nerve. I’ve heard rumors about that kind of stuff but I had no idea it existed yet. That thing has a shitload of classified information on it. Most of it’s encrypted.”

  “What kind of classified information?” She’d made up her mind. They were going to the cops. If she could keep him distracted long enough he might not even notice until they were there already.

  “Government stuff. The kind of stuff we civilians aren’t supposed to see if we want to stay alive.”

  Government? Classified? She thought about Charlie Crane. He hadn’t exactly looked like the James Bond type. But then again, she’d never known a real-life spy.

  “Let me out at the next light.”

  “Look, Timothy.” She sped through the amber light instead of slowing for the stop, afraid he’d make a run for it. She needed him. Without this guy Patton would never believe her. “We really need to go to the cops.”

  He moved up close behind her seat again. “I just wanted to warn you. I figured you deserved a chance to save yourself since Henson liked you so much.”

  Her chest tightened. “If we don’t go to the police they won’t be able to find his killer.”

  “I have to stay dead.” Their gazes locked in the rearview mirror once more. “It’s the only chance I’ve got of staying alive.” He reached past her seat and placed a small plastic sandwich bag on her console. “I’d get rid of that thing if I were you.”

  She didn’t have to look to know it was the lens she’d given to Henson. “You had it on you when Henson and the killer arrived?”

  He nodded. “It was too important to leave in the lab with my friend.”

  His dead friend.

  Damn. This was even worse that she’d suspected.

  “Make the next right,” he instructed. “I have to disappear for a while.”

  Alex took the turn and found a place along the street to park. A quick check of her mirrors confirmed that she hadn’t been followed.

  “Do you have a car?” If walking was his plan for disappearing, he needed to rethink his strategy.

  “I have transportation,” he told her without telling her anything at all. “Like I said, I would have disappeared already but I needed to warn you.”

  “I appreciate that.” What next? She had to convince him that going to the police was the only reasonable option.

  “I don’t know what he might have gotten out of Henson before he killed him,” Timothy cautioned, “but I wouldn’t take any chances. You should disappear, Alex. Or you could end up dead, too.”

  Jesus, she hadn’t even thought of that. What if Henson told that guy that she’d seen the contact lens? Would it matter? No. She was certain Henson wouldn’t have done anything to endanger her. No way. He would have died first.

  Emotion swelled in her throat.

  “Timothy,” she countered with as much determination as she could muster, “we have to talk to Henson’s partner.”

  “You don’t get it,” he snapped, “if they know I’m still alive, if they figure out I’ve contacted you, we’re both dead.” He reached for the door handle. “I’ve done all I can do.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Alex sat on her closed toilet lid and stared at the contact lens, storage device, whatever the hell it was that Timothy O’Neill had given back to her. It was hard, like a small piece of glass or firm plastic. Nothing like the usual sort of contact lens.

  The words government, classified, encrypted kept whirling in her thoughts, getting all mixed up with the idea that this tiny gadget had gotten her friend as well as at least one other person killed.

  And it was her fault.

  If she hadn’t found it.

  If she’d just tossed the damned eyeball.

  But she hadn’t. She’d done her job and now Henson was dead. The worst part was that no one seemed to be aware of how and why he’d died. To say no one cared would be wrong. Henson had too many friends, including his partner. But no one had ruled out the whole “accident” assumption.

  She stared at the telephone receiver she’d been clutching in her hand since she’d come into the bathroom. Doing nothing was wrong. She had to do something. Holding her breath, she turned the receiver button side up and entered Patton’s number. She knew it by heart after more than an hour of sitting here trying to decide if she should call him or not.

  Most likely he’d think she was crazy, but she had to do this for Henson. He deserved justice, by God.

  Jimmy Patton answered after only the second ring.

  “This is Alex Jackson.”

  She didn’t actually
have to bother with her full name, most of the homicide detectives knew her, but she’d felt the need to make this sound official.

  “What’s up, Jackson? Oh damn. I was supposed to call you about the memorial service. It’s been crazy all day. I’m just now getting away. Gotta get back to the hospital and see my wife and baby girl.”

  Alex could hear the pride in his voice as well as the traffic sounds in the background. Patton was apparently on his way home. He drove a convertible T-Bird, kept the top down all year round he was so damned proud of it. She wondered if that would change now that he was a father. He’d probably convert to a minivan the moment he saw how uncool a car seat looked in the backseat of his T-Bird.

  She swallowed, steadied her voice and took the plunge. “Anything new on Henson’s accident?”

  Silence.

  Could he possibly already know foul play was involved? Would he find her question suspicious? After all, she was one of the last people to talk to Henson last night.

  “What was that?” he asked. “You cut out there for a sec.”

  Wetting her lips, she tried her best not to let her voice reverberate with the tension gripping her throat. “Did you determine if Henson’s accident was an…accident?”

  “That’s what it looks like so far. No reason to suspect otherwise. We’re still waiting for a couple more reports.” He hesitated. “What’s going on, Jackson? Why do you sound so nervous?”

  Damn. Alex cringed. “What was the time and location of that memorial service?” She hoped like hell the abrupt question would derail his suspicion.

  “Tomorrow, two-thirty. St. Mary’s over on Second Avenue. The family’ll conduct a private funeral later, after the autopsy.”

  What did she say now? “Thanks. I…just can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Patton made a knowing sound in his throat. “Had you and Henson…you know…thought of getting back together?” He chuckled good-naturedly. “I knew he still had a thing for you.”