Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1)

by James, Harper

  She looked across to a number of framed photographs sitting on top of a baby grand piano. There was a boy and a girl; the usual collection of graduation photographs and other family stuff. Lots of perfect dentistry on show; it would have made Jacobson swell with pride.

  'That's why I agreed to talk to you. I wouldn't normally talk to a private detective. I thought they only did sleazy divorce work and that sort of thing.'

  Her nose turned up and the words almost caught in her throat. She made private detective sound like the lowest type of life form she was likely to come across in her happy little suburban life. Her husband was probably a junior under-manager, acting vice president at some savings and loan association. Doubtless he turned people like Evan down every day. Evan felt grateful he'd been allowed to sit on the couch without some sort of protective cover being put down first.

  'There's a top and a bottom end in most jobs,' Evan said, wondering if Guillory had fully explained his role of repentant sinner atoning for past misdeeds. 'Can you give me a bit of background information on Barbara?'

  'She used to come over here when she couldn't stand it at home any longer. She stayed over all the time.'

  'What was going on at home?'

  She gave him her you wouldn’t believe it if I told you look and leaned in closer. Evan did the same.

  'Have you met her husband Max?' Her voice had dropped to a whisper.

  Even said that he had. He chomped down hard on the smile as the mental picture reappeared.

  'Well, there you go. Do I need to say any more? He's a horrible man and he used to beat her all the time. I think it's because he's German. They never got over losing the war.'

  'I noticed an accent.' And I think I detect a whiff of xenophobia in this very room.

  'When they got married they lived with his parents in that house he still lives in.’ She made that house sound almost as bad as private detective. Clearly it was dragging the whole neighbourhood down, perhaps by as much as ten to fifteen per cent. ‘His parents were German refugees and were very strict with him. When she moved in they were very strict with her too.'

  'How so?'

  'They treated them like they were children. Didn't like them to stay out late, that sort of thing. He was already indoctrinated and Barbara felt it wasn't her place to say anything because it was their house after all.'

  'It doesn't sound like an ideal start to married life.'

  He was suddenly taken back to the start of his own and Sarah’s married life. They’d “christened” every room in the house within the first day. He couldn’t have imagined moving in with either his or her parents. He swallowed hard. When would these memories stop ambushing him?

  'It got worse when the parents died. He started laying down the law as if he owned her.' It was clear from her tone of voice who wore the pants in the Doyle household, and it wasn’t the junior under-manager, acting vice president.

  'He isn't a sociable man. He had no interest in going out and he didn't want Barbara to either. But she was full of life and so she went anyway, and then when she came home he would accuse her of all kinds of horrible things and hit her.'

  She looked down at her hands clasped together in her lap, as if the answer to domestic violence was hiding in the folds of her floral skirt.

  'Did you ever think that was why she disappeared? That he'd got carried away and killed her?'

  'When she first disappeared it crossed my mind.'

  'Did you say anything to the Police?'

  'I don't remember. I think I might have done but they obviously didn't take any notice.' A slight flush had spread across her cheeks and she wouldn’t meet Evan’s eyes.

  It was likely he’d be thrown out on his ear if he asked if it was Fukner that she’d talked to, and it didn’t really matter who it was who didn’t do anything. 'That seems odd.'

  She looked up at him now. 'There was no history; she'd never had to go to the hospital or anything like that. She was too proud.'

  'When I spoke to her husband he said she was seeing other men. The trouble is, he’s not the most rational man I’ve ever met and I don't know if I believe a word he says. Do you know if there's any truth in it?'

  Virginia Doyle opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. She looked down at her lap again but there were still no answers there. She was obviously happy to chat until the cows came home about the faults of Max Schneider, but saying anything against her friend was a different kettle of fish.

  'It's crucial to my investigation,' Evan said to get her back on track. 'My client really needs to find out what happened to her little boy.' He put a lot of emphasis on the little boy.

  Even though she would have liked to continue with her diatribe about Max Schneider, she could see that Evan wasn't about to let that happen.

  'She was seeing someone else just before she disappeared,' Virginia said, 'but I don't know who it was,’ she added a little too quickly.

  Evan knew he was only going to get carefully filtered facts, but anything was a help.

  'Didn't she tell you who it was? You were such good friends after all.'

  'She was terrified of Max. She thought the less people who knew, the better. Me included.' The fact that her friend hadn't seen fit to trust her completely didn’t sit well with her, that was for sure.

  'Do you think she might have run away with him?'

  'I don't think so - but you couldn't blame her if she did.'

  'Detective Guillory told me that you heard from Barbara after she disappeared.'

  She brightened visibly. 'Yes, she rang me about six months later. I couldn't believe it when I heard her voice. She sounded so happy.'

  'What did she say?'

  'She said she couldn't take it any more so one day she just walked out. Took one small bag with a few clothes, got on the bus and never looked back. Good luck to her.'

  'So she didn't mention anyone else.'

  'She said she'd met someone else and was very happy.'

  'But it wasn't clear whether she met them before or after running away?'

  'No, but I got the impression she ran away on her own and then met someone else later.'

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just a feeling. Call it a woman’s intuition.’

  He would have liked something a little more concrete than that, but he knew he wasn’t going to get it. 'Do you still speak to her on a regular basis?'

  The brightness faded from her face. 'Not really. We don't have that much in common now. I'm sorry to say that most of our friendship seems to have been based on the support I gave her dealing with Max. Once that went away, there didn't seem to be much left.'

  He could see that she was deeply hurt by her friend's rejection and lack of confidence in her. 'Do you have her number?'

  'I do, but I couldn't possibly give it to you.’ He thought the amount of emphasis on the you was uncalled for. She looked at him as if he’d just asked her to open her knees a bit wider so that he could have a quick grope under her skirt.

  ‘She specifically asked me not to let anyone know where she is or give them her number.'

  'That's okay. If I give you my number, would you pass it on to her and ask her to call me if she wants to.'

  He stood up and walked over to the piano. He picked up one of the photographs and admired it. 'It might help if you tell her why I want to speak to her.'

  That seemed to push the right button as he’d hoped. She took his number and he left with confident promises that she would persuade Barbara Schneider to ring him, plus a copy of The Watchtower. Evan didn't share her confidence, particularly if it turned out that it was Robbie Clayton that Barbara had been seeing before she disappeared.

  Would she have any interest in helping the wife of the man she'd been seeing and might have run away with? Evan doubted it.

  CHAPTER 22

  Back at his office Evan went down to see if Tom Jacobson had any more information for him.

  'I've been so busy
I haven't had a chance,' he admitted. 'How about you – what have you dug up?'

  Evan told him about his visit to the County Recorder's office and the dead end he'd run into with the last recorded owner listed as Jason Saunders. 'That's why I was hoping you'd have something from the local grapevine.'

  'I'm sure the person I have in mind will be able to clear it up for you.' He was pensive a moment. 'You know, there is another possible explanation you haven't mentioned.'

  'What, like Carl Hendricks killed Jason Saunders, buried him, and is living in his house.'

  Jacobson nodded. 'In a manner of speaking, yes. What if Carl Hendricks is Jason Saunders?'

  It was so obvious; Evan couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it. He slapped the heel of his hand on his forehead. 'You mean he changed his name. I can't believe I didn't think of that.'

  'And he didn't get round to notifying the recorder's office of the change.'

  'That makes sense. You'd have to change your driving license and bank accounts and all the things you use every day, but maybe you'd forget the property deeds.'

  'Or choose to deliberately not change them...'

  'What makes you say that?'

  'Maybe you've got something to hide. Why do people change their name in the first place? It’s not just because you’re born Dick Assman – that’s a real name, by the way. He’s a gas station owner in Saskatchewan. I saw it on the Late Show years ago.’

  ‘No kidding! Apart from that, I suppose it’s to leave behind something you’d like to forget.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. And this just muddies the waters a bit more. A lot of people wouldn't be bothered to look any further. Blame it on inefficient local bureaucracy.'

  'But not a super sleuth like me, eh.'

  'Exactly. There is just one thing though...'

  'What's that?'

  'You've got to find out if it's true.'

  Evan realized that it made such perfect sense, he'd already taken it as the truth. 'Right. I sort of got carried away there. Shouldn't be too difficult to find out.'

  The questions and possibilities were already starting to multiply in Evan's mind. Certainly none of them pointed to an innocent explanation.

  'I would still like some local info, Tom. The official records might tell you what happened, but I need some insight into why.'

  'Uh huh. You realize insight can be spelled g-o-s-s-i-p.'

  'I know, but it's still useful to have. A skilled investigator like me can separate the wheat from the chaff.'

  He was almost out the door when Jacobson called him back.

  'Hey Evan, before you go - can you do this next root canal for me?'

  Evan laughed. He knew what was coming next.

  'It's just that since I'm doing your job, I thought maybe you'd like to do mine.'

  CHAPTER 23

  He went back upstairs and sat at his desk. The last thing he wanted was another trip to some local government offices to wade through more official records. It was four pm on Friday and he knew he wouldn't be able to get to the District Court before it closed. That meant he was going to have to wait until Monday morning. That wasn't a massive problem in itself apart from the fact that it gave him a bit of a dilemma.

  If Hendricks really was Jason Saunders, then he would want to do a whole lot more digging to try to find out if he had anything in his past that he was hiding. In which case, the quicker he got started, the better. On the other hand, if Hendricks wasn't Jason Saunders, he didn't want to waste a lot of time and effort chasing something that ultimately led nowhere.

  The real problem was how was he going to pass the weekend if he didn't, because his conversation with Jacobson had shaken loose a lot of doubts and worries that he didn't want to have to deal with.

  He went back down to Jacobson's office. Jacobson was getting ready to go. 'Uh oh, I see someone in need of a beer.'

  'What are you, a mind reader?'

  'No, I read faces. In my job you need to be able to see the level of fear in a patient's eyes. And I see fear in yours.'

  'Fear of what?'

  'Of being alone. Of not trusting what you might do left to your own devices. Come on, let's go.'

  They went to the same bar as before. It was still early so they got settled into the best seats at the end of the bar. On the short side in the corner, not the long, front side where everyone buying drinks keeps leaning over you and dripping beer on your pants.

  There was something wrong with the TVs so they were off, which was an added bonus. If Evan had his way they wouldn't allow TVs in a bar. If you wanted to watch TV, stay ay home. If you wanted a beer, go to a bar. Simple. Besides, they were only there for the bar staff to stop them getting bored.

  'What's on your mind,' Jacobson said, after he'd got the first round in.'

  'Talking about people changing their names makes me think things I don't want to think. About Sarah.'

  Jacobson nodded and sipped his beer.

  'I've always thought something must have happened to Sarah,' Evan went on. 'Killed or abducted or whatever.'

  He sat there with the terrible thoughts that plagued him pushing their way to the forefront of his mind. He didn't think he'd ever voiced them aloud. He didn't know if he'd be able to. He swallowed thickly and took a long pull on his beer to give himself a few more seconds. Jacobson waited for him to continue. For once Evan could have done with the inane background noise of the TVs.

  'Or is it that I've always wanted to think that something happened to her. Because the alternative is too awful for me to deal with.'

  It was easier to say than he had thought it would be. He didn't want to think about what that might imply. Christ, you could drive yourself mad.

  'Because the alternative is that she chose to go.'

  It was all pouring out now. 'Because she couldn't stand to be with me any longer. Just like the Schneiders. She made a conscious effort to disappear because I'm as bad as Max Schneider. Then changed her name so that I couldn't ever find her.'

  Jacobson put his hand on Evan's shoulder. 'Don't do this to yourself, Evan.'

  'I can't help it. Most of the time I'm okay, then suddenly something will set it all off.'

  'Okay. So what stops it again?'

  Evan turned his head to look at Jacobson. 'A hangover usually.'

  'Coming up,' Jacobson said, slapping him hard on the back. He downed his beer and ordering the next round.

  'I don't want to be too boring and practical, but I do need to know,’ Evan said. ‘If I knew she chose to walk out then I'd stop trying to find out what happened and try to move on.’ He met Jacobson’s steady gaze and wondered if his life was as complicated.

  ‘But if something happened to her then I can't ever give up. She could have been abducted and she's still alive in some shitty basement, hoping I'll find her. If there's a one in a billion chance of that being true, I've got to keep looking.'

  Jacobson took a deep breath and let it out again. 'You certainly know how to torture yourself.'

  'As I said, I'm okay most of the time and the possibility of finding her alive keeps me going. It's just that every now and then something happens to make me start thinking all this shit.'

  'I'm guessing that's when you lock your door and hit the whisky bottle.'

  'You know, Tom, you've really got to stop auditing the trash cans.'

  Jacobson laughed. 'I don't mind. My clients get high on the fumes and it saves me paying for novocaine.'

  Evan ordered two more beers. At this rate the hangover-induced catharsis was practically guaranteed.

  'It get's even worse you know,' Evan said.

  'Is that possible?'

  'Oh yes. It makes me question whether I ever really loved her.'

  Jacobson swivelled in his chair, clamped a huge hand on each of Evan's shoulders and shook him violently. 'Enough, already!'

  Evan started to speak again so Jacobson shook him even harder. After Evan didn't say anything for a few seconds Jacobson took his han
ds away. Evan leaned away from him and lifted his hands up in appeasement.

  'Just let me just say this, okay?'

  Jacobson shook his head sadly but didn't say anything else.

  'If I really loved her then I'd want her to be alive and happy whether it's with me or someone else. But if it's not with me then I'll feel a whole lot better if she's dead. That way I can go on living with my memories and not have to look at myself too hard. I'm putting my feelings over her life. Does that sound like the dictionary definition of love to you?'

  'There's no hope for you Evan. You're determined to give yourself a hard time. I suggest we try the hangover method first and if that doesn't work, I'm prescribing a lethal dose of novocaine. It's your round.'

  CHAPTER 24

  Evan felt like shit the next morning. Something unpleasant had crawled into his mouth during the night and died. Jacobson was a big guy and had drunk him under the table. But despite his physical symptoms Evan felt a lot better for having got it all off his chest. He felt like he had a chance of making it through the weekend at least.

  In his drunken state the previous evening it had occurred to him that it might be worth checking with Faulkner to see if he knew anything about the possibility of Hendricks having changed his name. He was in his car on his way to Faulkner's trailer park when his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the number but he answered it anyway.

  'Mr Buckley, this is Barbara Schneider.'

  In his surprise he swerved and almost hit a car coming in the other direction, its horn blaring and then receding into the distance.

  'I can call back if you're driving,' she said. She had a lovely voice. Probably the sort of voice you heard if you called a phone sex line, not that Evan had ever done that.

  'No, no, it's okay,' he said pulling onto the shoulder.

  'Ginny Doyle said you wanted to talk to me. She said it was very important.'