Never Happened

by Debra Webb

  About ten seconds elapsed before the full impact of his words penetrated deeply enough to evoke a response. “Turned himself in?” She had to tread carefully here. Patton could be fishing. “Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?”

  “We’d already confirmed that the body pulled from the rubble wasn’t him. We just didn’t know who or why. Apparently Timothy couldn’t live with his conscience and he turned himself in.”

  “Did he tell you why his house blew up?” It seemed logical to her that he would do that. The kid feared for his life.

  “He told me what he told you,” Patton allowed. “Then he confessed he’d made the whole thing up to throw attention away from his own guilt in what really happened.”

  Alex didn’t get it. “What guilt? Someone tried to kill him.”

  Patton gave up on resisting the coffee and drank long and deep before continuing. “The explosion was an accident. He was afraid he’d be blamed for his friend’s death so he made up the story he told you just in case you were to go to the police with what you knew about Henson’s visit to him.”

  “You’re saying he used Henson’s accident for an alibi?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Another long draw from the foam cup. “Desperate people do desperate things, Jackson. No surprise there.”

  “But what about the contact lens he analyzed for Henson? O’Neill insisted it contained government data.” This didn’t make sense. O’Neill had been terrified when he gave her back that contact lens.

  “He made it up. The contact lens was just a contact lens. It blew up along with his house.”

  Alex tensed. “Where is he now?” O’Neill had lied. He’d given the lens back to her. But why turn himself in and then lie?

  “We have him in custody. He waived his right to call an attorney. We’ll keep him here, maybe get a psych eval done, until we can sort out this whole mess.”

  Her head was swimming with all the arguments she wanted to throw back at Patton but none of it mattered. O’Neill had confessed to blowing up his house. He’d insisted that everything he told Alex was a lie.

  “I was going to call you this morning,” Patton explained. “Losing Henson has been tough. O’Neill’s stupid game only made bad matters worse.”

  That didn’t explain Blake. “There’s something else.” She told him about the stranger who’d waited next to her SUV after the memorial service. She reminded him that she’s asked him about Blake when they talked on the phone last. “If O’Neill was lying, who is this Blake character? He claimed he was investigating Henson’s accident.”

  Patton turned his hands palm sides up. “He’s lying to you. The question is why. If you’ll give me a description of him and his car, I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Wait.” This just wasn’t right. “I went back to the scene of Crane’s suicide. The whole place was like a setup for a life that wasn’t being lived.” She told him about all the unused items.

  He leaned forward, set his coffee on the table. “Jackson, I’ve been a cop for a long time. If you really want to find trouble it’s always there. Henson’s death stunned us all. The way some of us deal with it is by denying the facts. We prefer to believe otherwise. Think about it. Focusing on the idea that he was murdered keeps you from having to face the reality that he’s dead.”

  That was the end of that conversation. Patton wasn’t going to buy anything she had to say. He wouldn’t let her see O’Neill. She’d wasted her time coming to him.

  At least she knew where she stood with the cops on the case.

  Henson had been murdered.

  And no one was going to find out why.

  No one, unless it was her.

  Her determination increasing as she exited the building, she came to an immediate stop when she saw Blake waiting near her 4Runner.

  Her first instinct was to run back inside and get Patton, but then something else kicked in. The mere sight of him ignited her fury, propelling her forward once more. Somehow he was deeply involved in this whole investigation gone awry.

  “The police aren’t going to believe you, Alex.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” She wanted to tell him to kiss off and then just drive away. But he was her only connection to everything Patton opted to deny. “Who the hell are you?”

  He pushed his hands into his navy designer trousers. “I’ve already introduced myself, Alex. You have my card. Why don’t we move past the formalities and get to the heart of the matter. Your friend is dead and you want to know why. I can’t help you unless you help me.”

  He wanted the lens or chip or whatever the hell it was.

  She went for the whole dumb blonde gig. “How could I possibly help you?”

  “Mr. O’Neill has taken himself out of the game for the moment. He doesn’t have to worry about running anymore. All he has to do now is sit back and let the police protect him.” Blake took a step closer to her. “I’m betting he gave you the item that started all his trouble in the first place.”

  He was one cocky SOB. “You know what?” She took that final step, went toe-to-toe with him. As angry as she was, some part of her acknowledged that he smelled great. “If you’re such a big deal fed you should be able to interrogate O’Neill wherever he is. Why don’t you just waltz in there and ask him yourself?”

  He smiled, the mocking attempt affected only one corner of his mouth. “What makes you think I haven’t already?”

  Patton would have told her…wouldn’t he?

  “Let’s get this straight, Blake. You stay away from me. Stay away from my home and my car. I don’t play well with bullies.”

  With that warning, she turned on her wedge heels and strode deliberately to the driver’s side door of her vehicle. Screw this guy. She was out of here.

  “Someone came into your home?”

  She almost climbed into the 4Runner and drove away, but some subtle shift in his tone gave her pause. She spun to face him. “Like you don’t know that already. You let the air out of my tire.”

  He didn’t look the slightest bit abashed. “You have to admit it was a great conversation starter.”

  “Back off,” she told him again. “I don’t have whatever the hell it is you’re looking for.”

  On some level she understood that the contact lens was all she had. The only connection to what really happened to Henson. She wasn’t about to turn it over to anyone until she had some answers.

  Taking her warning literally, he moved back two steps. He said nothing, but that blue gaze burned right through her, telling her far more than she wanted to know. This guy would not give up.

  She opened the door and scooted behind the wheel. The sooner she was away from him the sooner she could think straight.

  “One last question, Alex.”

  Again he’d startled her, walking around to her side of the vehicle. Damn him. She hesitated before closing her door, shouldn’t have but she couldn’t resist that he might give her some useful information.

  “Who else has to die before you realize I’m the only one who can help you?”

  Three beats passed before she could slam the door against the words that kept echoing in her head. She drove away, didn’t look back.

  Had that been a blatant threat? Against her? Against her mother or her friends?

  Alex drove faster than she should have, mainly because she was fiercely pissed off. How dare he threaten her!

  Damn. Realization slowed her rate of speed. She hadn’t checked her tires or the spot where she’d parked for any drained fluids. She pressed her brake lightly just to make sure it still worked.

  Relief flooded her when the vehicle reacted as expected.

  For the fifteen minutes it took her to maneuver morning rush hour traffic and get to the office, she steamed. Her fury, fueled by the idea that this guy thought he could control her, built steadily.

  “Better men have tried,” she muttered.

  She didn’t care what Patton believed. She didn’t care how smart Blake th
ought he was. No one pushed Alex Jackson around. And she never, ever let down her friends. Henson had been a friend. She would find out what happened to him.

  Brown and the Professor were already out on her calls when Alex arrived at the office. Marg was on the phone talking to a local who’s who magazine about doing a write-up on Never Happened. God love her. Alex was convinced that a large portion of the company’s success was because of Margie Jackson and her persuasive personality. Keep the booze and men away from her and she was amazing. Get her tied up in a physical relationship and she dived back into the bottle…headfirst.

  One look at Shannon’s face and Alex knew the day was only going to get worse.

  “What happened?”

  Shannon gave her one of those looks that said this was bad, very bad. “The Professor is on his way back here. He got to the dead veggie scene and almost crashed through the building.”

  Alex felt her brow furrow with the precursor to tomorrow’s wrinkles. “What do you mean? Was he hurt?”

  “No, he’s fine, but the brakes in the truck aren’t. They failed, Alex. The Professor almost crashed because of it. The mechanic who came and towed the truck away just called. Some brake line was damaged and slowly leaked out all the fluid causing the failure.”

  A chill sank all the way to Alex’s bones. “Have that mechanic check out all of our vehicles, one by one. I want to be sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  Shannon nodded and reached for the phone.

  As Alex headed for her office, over her shoulder she called, “When the Professor gets here I need to talk to the two of you. Get Marg to man the phones.”

  The next half hour Alex spent taking a stab at catching up. Wasn’t going to happen, but she kept promising herself she’d get all those reports done eventually. Eventually being the key word.

  She hated trying to catch up but it kept her mind off what had happened with the truck. God, it could have been so much worse. Timothy O’Neill’s warning echoed in her brain. You should disappear, Alex. Or you could end up dead, too.

  Thankfully the Professor arrived and he and Shannon rescued her from diving into that reality alone.

  Alex shored up her courage with a bolstering breath. “O’Neill turned himself in to the police.” The next two minutes were spent bringing the Professor up to speed on what had taken place during the past forty-eight hours. “No one is going to consider Henson’s death a murder unless I can prove that O’Neill’s original story is the real story. O’Neill warned me that I could be in danger and now we know he was right.” The idea that the Professor could have been killed in that truck twisted her guts into knots.

  “Let’s take a step back,” the Professor suggested, his demeanor remaining calm despite his adventure this morning.

  Alex gave him her undivided attention. God knew she wasn’t sure what to do from here.

  “This began with a suicide. Charles Crane. That is where you should begin.”

  “I went back to his place,” she said, only just realizing that she hadn’t told either of them about what she’d found. Shannon’s eyes grew rounder as Alex shared what she’d discovered at Crane’s place.

  “A cover life.”

  Both she and Shannon stared at the Professor questioningly.

  “Spies, undercover agents, men and women in those professions often live a shadow life to accomplish their mission. It’s not who they really are, sometimes they scarcely scratch the surface of living it. But this other life serves a purpose, usually as a protection of their true identity. Clearly Charles Crane was not who he appeared to be. Just as nothing that has occurred since his death has turned out to be what it appears.”

  “That’s how it felt,” Alex agreed, thinking back on what she’d seen. “The house looked as if it was being lived in, but it was all for show.”

  “This could be dangerous. We can’t prove someone tampered with the Professor’s brake line, but under the circumstances I’d say that’s a damned likely possibility,” Shannon tossed out. “Alex isn’t a cop or a spy. She could be getting herself into something that could get her killed. It could get all of us killed.”

  Alex shuddered at the idea that this whole crazy situation had already endangered her friends.

  The Professor nodded. “That’s why she must do the last thing they would expect.”

  Alex didn’t even try to speculate what he meant.

  “Allow Blake to believe you’re cooperating. Since he’s the only contact you have, we’ll start with him. Meanwhile we figure out who Charlie Crane was and why he died. Once we know who he was, things may become much more apparent. At the very least we’ll have gained some leverage.”

  Alex looked from her lifelong friend to her newer but equally cherished friend. “Henson is dead. O’Neill was almost killed. You,” she said to the Professor, “could have been killed this morning. Are you two sure you want to be involved in this thing?”

  “I resent that you would even ask,” Shannon snipped.

  “I, as well,” the Professor seconded.

  As much as she worried that this investigation would bring harm to them, it felt damned good to have someone on her side in this.

  “So I should contact Blake and lead him to believe I’m ready to cooperate?”

  “There’s an old saying, Alex,” the Professor offered sagely. “Keep your friends close—”

  “And your enemies closer,” she finished for him.

  She thought about the man, Austin Blake. Keeping him close wouldn’t be such a hardship.

  As long as it didn’t get her killed.

  CHAPTER 10

  Alex missed lunch again.

  She’d gotten a call from a lady who needed an estimate on getting an unsightly mess cleaned up ASAP. She indicated there was blood and other things but hedged whenever Alex asked for additional details. She insisted she would pay a bonus if the job could be completed today.

  Alex’s suspicions automatically kicked into high gear. Anyone who avoided the details and offered to pay a bonus usually had something to hide. Not that it was necessarily a criminal act. Might have been totally unintentional.

  People did that sometimes. Accidentally killed a loved one—it sounded unlikely she knew but it did happen—and then they were afraid to call the police. Alex would end up having to make the call for him or her while he or she sobbed hysterically about how he or she hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. Most of the time she chose to believe the story. The explanations were too bizarre to be made up.

  Alex felt reasonably certain this one would fall into that category considering the amount of blood the woman talked about. She hadn’t sounded hysterical but there had been an odd tension simmering beneath her calm. Only one way to find out. The woman clearly needed assistance of some sort.

  The temperature in her 4Runner—she meticulously checked the tires and undercarriage before heading out—took forever to cool down. The midday sun had turned the closed-up interior into an oven. If there was a body at this scene she hoped the house was air-conditioned.

  She made the necessary turns and then cruised along the specified street, watching for the house number of her potential client. Kids played in the yards, toys cluttering what was otherwise a neatly trimmed landscape surrounding equally neat cookie-cutter houses.

  The home of the woman who’d called was a different story, however. Chipped, peeling paint that screamed for attention. A tangle of overgrown grass, more brown than green as a result of the heat and continued negligence. The dented garage door was closed, the driveway was cracked and crumbling. Not exactly home sweet home.

  A middle-aged woman came out onto the porch as Alex climbed out of her SUV. She waved a hello. “I’m Alex Jackson of Never Happened.” Alex gestured to her vehicle. “I have to grab a few things but I’ll be right in.”

  “I don’t want you to do anything until I have an estimate,” the woman, who was hopefully Janet Bell, reminded.

  Alex nodded her understanding and went around t
o the cargo door to prepare for entering the house. Since she didn’t know what to expect outside blood, she pulled on shoe covers and gloves.

  “You’re Mrs. Bell?” Alex asked as she climbed the steps leading to the porch.

  “Yes.” Janet dragged in a heavy breath. “Prepare yourself, Miss Jackson, this is not a pretty sight.”

  Alex gifted her with a comforting smile. “Trust me, Mrs. Bell, it won’t be anything I haven’t seen before.”

  Mrs. Bell managed a tight smile. “This way.”

  Alex followed her inside. Air-conditioned. Good. But even the coolness of the interior couldn’t disguise the smell of blood. Coppery, goose-bump inspiring.

  No matter how often she walked into a scene and encountered the same bodily fluids, there was something about blood that made her shiver.

  They passed through the living room and moved down the dimly lit hall. Mrs. Bell hesitated outside what was probably a bedroom door. “I apologize in advance for this immoral image. Please don’t associate what you’re about to see with me.” She moved her head solemnly from side to side. “This has nothing to do with me.”

  Alex kept that smile of reassurance tacked in place. “Why don’t you stay out here while I have a look? There’s no reason for you to go in again.”

  Mrs. Bell nodded jerkily.

  Alex reached for the door but hesitated. As sorry as she felt for the lady there was one thing she had to know. “Mrs. Bell.” She turned to look at the poor woman. “Is there anything in here that merits calling the police? I wouldn’t want to contaminate a crime scene.”

  Her eyes rounded like saucers. “Oh, I couldn’t have the police coming in and seeing this. I’ll call them as soon as you’ve taken care of…” She motioned toward the still unopened door. “When you’ve done what you have to do, I’ll call whomever I need to.” Her shoulders squared with determination. “I couldn’t possibly bear the humiliation of having the media vultures get wind of this. If the police are called, the media, as you know, will come, too.”

  This was not good. Evidently this woman understood that whatever was in this room required the participation of the police. Alex couldn’t make her call, but, once she’d viewed the scene, she could damn sure call herself.