The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2)

by Joe Hart

  “So where were you the night Alexandra died?”

  “What does that have to do with Valerie being taken?”

  “Maybe a lot.”

  “You saying I had something to do with either case?” Dickson set his cup down and leaned forward. The muscles in his neck rose beneath the skin.

  “No, but I’m trying understand who Valerie is. I need to paint a picture so I can figure out what this all means. Valerie became disabled after—”

  “I know what she became. Don’t you think I would change everything if I could? Don’t you think I’d go back and be waiting for Alex at that church? Try to stop her?” Now there was a sheen of moisture on Dickson’s eyes. “I loved her.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but I need you to tell me where you were.”

  “I was here at home. My mom wasn’t working that night. We normally spent the evenings that she had off together, after my dad left us.”

  “Why weren’t you at the party with Alexandra?”

  “Because we’d argued the week before and she said she wanted some time to think. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Liam ignored the jab. “What did you argue about?”

  “Stupid shit. She’d mentioned marriage, partially to piss off her father, and I wasn’t a hundred percent on the notion so she threw a fit. She wanted me to propose so bad. But it was more than that.” Dickson paused and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “It was like she’d changed over the weeks before she died. She started having a little less time for me when I didn’t pop the question the moment she suggested it. I almost got the feeling she was seeing someone else but I couldn’t be sure.”

  “Did you mention this to anyone else? The cops?”

  “No. Didn’t seem important when I was worried that they were going to murder my mother.” Dickson lowered his gaze to the floor and turned his coffee cup in a circle. “I told Valerie a few days before Alex died. She said not to worry, that Alex loved me and she’d get her head straight.” He swallowed and blinked, looking away out the back window. “But she didn’t.”

  “Did you notice anything other than that? Strange behavior? Did she say anything that might’ve hinted at what she was planning?”

  “No.”

  “Can you remember—”

  “I don’t want to remember!” Dickson’s voice was suddenly hard, all the sadness replaced by anger in an instant. “I really don’t know what your game is. Valerie’s missing, not Alex. I know where Alex is. I can show you her grave.”

  Liam brought his hands up. “Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. You come out here rehashing shit that I try to forget every day and then expect me to be happy about it? Look out that window, look at all that shit in the yard. You know what that is? My career. I haul junk and scrap metal to the dump for cash. I fix cars up and try to sell them, but who wants to buy one from the nigger that drove a lovely white girl to her death?”

  “Dickson, I’m here to help. I’m just—”

  “No. If you want answers, go outside and read the writing on the wall. There’s your answers. That’s all I’ll ever be.” Dickson stood and bunched his fists. Liam tensed and slowly rose to his feet. “It doesn’t matter what I say! Do you get it? People don’t forget, they just pass the hatred down to the next generation.”

  “Dickson, please.”

  “No. You’re barking up the wrong fucking tree. I’m at the end of my rope and if one more cop comes calling, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

  “Valerie—”

  “She hated me,” Dickson said, poking a thumb into his chest. “Val was one of my best friends and the day after I lost the love of my life, she told me it was my fault that Alex was dead.”

  “If you really loved Alex, you’ll help me now,” Liam said, knowing his words would tip the scale one way or the other. Dickson didn’t hesitate. His head and shoulders lowered and he rushed across the space between them. Liam had a split second to register how fast the man was, along with the fact that he’d definitely played football.

  Dickson’s shoulder caught him in the stomach, shunting the air from his lungs. He felt the other man’s arms wrap around him, driving him toward the counter at the closest wall of the kitchen. Liam slipped his forearm beneath Dickson’s throat as they collided with the countertop. The pain was a hot bed of nails in his lower back but he kept his hold on Dickson, sliding the guillotine choke in deeper. Liam brought his arm up, cutting off the blood flow in the man’s throat. Dickson started to panic, trying to lift him up and slam him to the ground, but Liam pulled harder and felt the fight drain from him like water. He waited another beat and just as Dickson’s body began to slacken, he released him.

  Dickson tried to remain on his feet but his eyelids fluttered and he fell to the floor. He sat there sucking air, arms wobbling as he tried to hold himself up. Liam drew the photo of Valerie and Alexandra out of his pocket and tossed it on the floor between Dickson’s splayed legs.

  “I believe you loved Alexandra. But if Valerie dies and you refuse to help me, then you had a hand in her death.”

  Dickson coughed and rubbed his throat. “Fuck you.”

  Liam turned and walked out of the kitchen. “I’m staying at the Farrows’ if you have a change of heart.” He shoved the door open and stepped outside, running a hand over Fletcher’s head as he passed. “Good boy,” he muttered and continued to his truck.

  CHAPTER 5

  He stopped at a café atop a hill overlooking the nickeled surface of Superior.

  Despite the chill weather, he ate outside, letting the cool air gust against his face as he spooned steaming bites of clam chowder into his mouth. The cold always helped him think. It crystallized thoughts into tangible things he could almost touch. He kept his office at home a brisk sixty-five degrees despite Dani’s constant complaints about the draft from beneath his door. He finished his soup and fished his cell from his pocket.

  How’s shopping? he texted.

  Only seconds until a reply flashed on the screen: Bought the whole store.

  Better not have.

  Haha. How are you doing?

  Okay. Nothing concrete yet.

  How’s Owen holding up?

  Not bad considering. He’s partially in shock but he’s a strong guy.

  Hope you find her soon.

  Me too. Hug Eric for me.

  Done! I love you.

  And I you.

  He stood and gazed out at the lake, the frosted waves rising with the wind like folding pages. The land on the far side was a curved dagger of purple fading to gray the farther north he looked. How cold would that water be today? How would it feel to slide beneath it and have it close over your head?

  Superior doesn’t give up its dead.

  Liam shivered and zipped his coat up tighter before paying for his meal.

  When he arrived back at the Farrow home, there were fewer squad cars on the street. Perring and Sanders’s vehicle was still gone as was Webb’s. When he entered the home every person on the task force looked up at him before going back to monitoring their computers. An officer speaking on the phone in the corner of the room gave him a curt nod as he passed. He found Owen standing with another man in the kitchen, their voices low over two cups of coffee. Owen spotted him and an air of relief appeared to wash over him.

  “You’re back, good. I was just about to call you,” Owen said, setting his coffee down.

  “Did something happen?”

  “No, not yet. But this is Dr. Frank Reilly, Val’s therapist.” The other man stepped forward offering a hand, which Liam shook. Reilly was a bear in a suit. He was easily four inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than Liam with long arms and fingers like jointed sausages. He had ruddy cheeks above a thick, red beard that parted enough to reveal a warm smile. His grip was like shaking hands with a vise.

  “Nice to meet you,” Reilly said.

  “You also,” Liam returned. “Could
we sit in the living room?”

  Owen nodded. “Sure.”

  They sat in three chairs, the low conversation of the task force rising and falling while the wind pushed against the windows, its voice hushed and hollow. Reilly barely fit in his chair but managed to retain his professional stature as he made himself comfortable.

  “Doctor, I’d basically like you to tell me about your sessions over the years with Valerie.”

  “Well, Mr. Dempsey, I already mentioned this to Owen when he called me, but I’m really not at liberty to expound on details of Valerie’s treatment. It would breach the doctor-patient confidentiality agreement. I can however tell you general information—”

  “Doctor,” Liam said, sitting forward. “Valerie, your client, this man’s wife, was taken last night from this house. Right now we have no idea where she might be or who her assailants are. I don’t have to tell you we’re walking on thin ice here and I really need you to help us make some headway. It could literally mean the difference between finding Valerie alive or not.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Owen flinch but he kept his gaze locked on Reilly.

  “I understand the crisis but Valerie trusted me with the things we spoke about and I cannot—”

  “Doctor, if something you tell us helps bring her home I can almost guarantee that she will be most grateful for the help you gave us. Am I right, Owen?”

  “Yes,” Owen said.

  Reilly stared at Liam for a long moment before flicking his gaze to Owen. “I understand Mr. Dempsey is not an official investigator on this case.”

  “He’s here at my request,” Owen said. “And the lead detective has given him the same power as any official working to find Val.”

  Reilly stroked his beard and finally dropped his large hands to his lap but said nothing.

  “Doctor, how long have you been treating patients?” Liam asked, staring out at the lake.

  “Nineteen years.”

  “And how many have died under your care?”

  A long pause. “Two.”

  “Both suicides?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you feel when you got those calls?”

  “How do you think I felt? I was devastated.”

  “I’m sure you asked yourself what you could have done differently.” Liam brought his gaze back to Reilly. “You can help Valerie now and hopefully that will be the difference in the call you receive when we find her.” Reilly’s mouth opened and it looked as if he were going to rise from the chair, but slowly he settled back into it, his overall presence seeming to shrink.

  “I could lose my license over this.”

  “And Valerie could lose her life.”

  “Go ahead,” Reilly rumbled after a moment.

  “You’ve been treating Valerie since her sister’s death, correct?” Liam asked.

  “Yes, I first met her when she was nineteen. Her father hired me initially.”

  “And what was her emotional state when you started seeing her?”

  “She was very emotionally withdrawn with flares of anger and violence, but those were short lived, only flashes in the darkness of her state. I diagnosed her with acute agoraphobia accompanied by chronic panic attacks at twenty years old. She complained of indigestion, ulcer-like symptoms, sleeplessness, hyperventilation, sometimes the feeling of drowning, and of course, the overwhelming fear of being in public, or even outside. Later that year she refused to see me at my office. Six months after that she wouldn’t have me in her home. We continued our sessions via phone four times a week up until three days ago.”

  Liam sat forward. “What happened three days ago?”

  “She didn’t answer when I called at our appointed time.”

  “Had she ever done that before?”

  “No. She called my office a few hours later and left a message with my secretary apologizing and saying that she’d been napping.”

  “Does that seem strange to either of you?”

  Owen shrugged. “I know sometimes she napped during the day if she didn’t sleep well. But it’s not like her to miss one of her appointments.”

  “I’ll be honest, it worried me somewhat,” Reilly said. “But at the time I took it as a good sign.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because Valerie had been improving over the past two years. Her progress had been stagnant before then. We would take a step forward and then two steps back. So when she didn’t answer the phone I thought that perhaps she had finally ventured out of the house or at least was attempting to. I’m not sure if Owen told you about the incident she had?” Reilly shot Owen a look and Owen nodded. “That was the anniversary of her sister’s death, a particularly difficult time for her.”

  Liam looked at Owen. “I didn’t know that was the date.” Owen swallowed, his face darkening as he nodded again.

  “I may have been able to discern more of the signs and warnings if I’d seen her in person. It’s one of the drawbacks of strictly phone counseling. People can lie to you easier if they don’t have to look you in the eye.”

  “But you say she’d been improving lately?”

  “Yes, very much so. Her mood especially had risen. She actually laughed two weeks ago when I spoke to her.”

  “Did you notice a change in her behavior or mood?” Liam asked Owen.

  “Not really. She may have been in a little better spirits, but it was always so hard to tell. She was sleeping better, I know that. Lots of times over the years I’d wake up and she would be in her office working or reading Alexandra’s diary. But lately she would still be asleep when I’d leave for work.” He shrugged. “I guess I was just thankful that she was getting more rest.”

  “How often did Dickson Jenner come up in your conversations?” Liam said to Reilly.

  “Many times. He was an unavoidable subject.”

  “And what did Valerie say about him?”

  Reilly sighed. “He was the cause of some of her angry outbursts. I had to be very careful when mentioning him. I approached speaking of him from angles if you will. We would talk about Alexandra and then I would ask her something about the days leading up to her death. Then I would broach the subject of Dickson. Most times she would simply shut down when his name came up. She felt he had attacked her on multiple levels. The first was that he was in some way responsible for taking her sister away from her, but another was she felt betrayed since up until then she’d counted him as a close friend.”

  “So she definitely thought Dickson had something to do with Alexandra’s death?” Liam asked.

  “Yes. For quite some time she confided in me that she was sure Alexandra had been murdered, though she mentioned the fact less and less over the years. I took it as a sign that she was beginning to rise past her fears and anger. You see many times when someone is lost, especially in cases of suicide, the survivors look for someone to blame other than the deceased. It’s a coping mechanism of sorts, a way to transfer the pain and rage.”

  “Was there a change in her medication recently?” Liam asked.

  “No. We adjusted her meds when she had her incident, but after that it was the same dosage and prescription,” Reilly said.

  “And as far as both of you know she hadn’t left the house in some time?”

  “Not in over two years,” Reilly said, dropping his gaze to the floor. “It wasn’t for lack of trying. One of the therapies I employ for agoraphobia is controlled exposure. The patient slowly exposes herself to certain fears or phobias under controlled conditions. For example, I tried repeatedly to give Valerie homework that involved leaving the house. The first step was unlocking the door. When she was able to do that the next action would’ve been turning the knob, then actually opening the door and so on until she could take a step outside. Of course this is all done over a period of weeks and months, but you get the idea.”

  “And how far had Valerie gotten?” Liam asked.

  Reilly clasped his hands. “She never even unlocked the door.”

 
Footsteps came from the kitchen and Perring entered the living room followed by Sanders. Both detectives wore sour looks that only deepened when they saw the therapist sitting across from Liam. Owen stood and moved toward them.

  “Was it him?” Owen asked.

  “No.” Perring glanced past his shoulder at Liam and Reilly. “Completely unrelated domestic dispute that blew up. Who is this?” she said, motioning to Dr. Reilly.

  “He’s Valerie’s therapist,” Owen said. Perring’s eyes narrowed and she tilted her head to one side, just enough for Liam to notice. He stood and made his way toward the kitchen. Perring followed him and put a hand on his lower back, guiding him through the French doors and out onto the porch. The wind bit into the thin shirt he wore and the waves were a constant hushing chorus. Perring snapped the doors shut behind them and turned, her index finger like a dagger pointing at his heart.

  “Was I unclear in any way this morning about our arrangement?”

  “No, ma’am,” Liam said.

  “Then what in the fuck are you doing interviewing without my permission?”

  “I thought it would be helpful to hear what Valerie’s therapist had to say about her condition.” Liam crossed his arms, trying not to shiver. Perring didn’t move, seemingly oblivious to the cold. “I was going to give you and Sanders a full report when you got back.”

  “I’ll tell you one more time, Mr. Dempsey, do not try to work around us. I don’t want to have to send you home since it will be trouble for all of us, but so help me God, if you step out of line again, I will.”

  “Understood.”

  “Good. Now what did you find out from her doctor? He was on my list of people to call this morning.”

  “That she was making progress over the last two years. It sounds like she was slowly coming around even though she still wasn’t able to leave the house. Owen told me she’d been sleeping better also.”

  “And this pertains to her disappearance how?”