Resurrection Blues

by James, Harper

  ‘That it was your wife who came in. This gentleman was with her at the time.’

  Simon misinterpreted the shock on Evan’s face. A pink glow climbed up his cheeks.

  ‘I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t mention it before because . . .’

  Evan laughed, shook his head.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You were being discreet, didn’t mention it because my wife was in here with another man who wasn’t me. You didn’t want to cause her any problems.’

  Relief washed through Simon’s face.

  ‘That’s right. But you obviously know the gentleman.’

  On the outside, Evan gave him a big it all worked out in the end smile. On the inside, he was wondering how to capitalize on Simon’s gratitude for being let off the hook so easily.

  ‘There’s one thing you might be able to help me with.’

  Suddenly Simon looked like an overgrown puppy, eager to please. If he’d had a tail, he’d have wagged it.

  ‘Certainly, if I can.’

  ‘It’s rather delicate. Can you tell me who paid for the bracelet?’ He gave an apologetic shrug. ‘The gentleman with my wife is my brother-in-law, her brother. I know what he’s like. I’d put money on the fact that he insisted on paying. He probably suggested it so that the purchase didn’t appear on my wife’s credit card statement and she wouldn’t ever have to tell me what happened to the original.’

  Simon gave an understanding nod.

  ‘But now that I’ve found out,’ Evan carried on, ‘I want to repay him. My wife can carry on thinking that I don’t know, but I don’t want him to have to pay for it.’

  Much as it made him cringe inside, Evan gave Simon a knowing wink, we’re all men of the world here.

  Simon scuttled off and disappeared through a door behind them. Evan wasn’t sure how long he was gone, but it was definitely the longest time he’d ever held his breath.

  ‘You were right,’ Simon said when he returned with an invoice in his hand. ‘Mr Waits paid with his credit card.’

  ‘I can’t tell you how much help you’ve been,’ Evan said, taking Simon’s hand and pumping it energetically, a feeling like squeezing a damp Kleenex.

  He only wished he could have told him what it all meant. And who the hell Waits was.

  Chapter 22

  THE KEY TO A satisfying life, Evan knew, was to be found in keeping your expectations in check. As a result, he never expected a whole day to work out his way. After the progress made that morning at the jewelry store, it meant he should expect an unsatisfactory afternoon.

  And fate never disappoints.

  He was sitting in his car in the office parking lot as the shitstorm approached, thinking through the morning’s developments and what they implied.

  It was now beyond doubt that Lauren Stone was alive. Ergo, her death had not occurred, it had been faked. Somebody else had burned to death in her car, somebody wearing her bracelet—and with her teeth in their mouth. Who, why, how, and a million other questions zipped around in Evan’s mind in a vain search for answers. Guillory would’ve said it wasn’t the best place to look for them.

  In a perfect world, he would have had access to that information before he talked to Ivanovsky. In the real world, he’d be speaking to him again to discuss his incompetence or culpability.

  The photograph of Lauren and the man he now knew was called Waits was a recent one. The fact that Waits had accompanied her to the jewelry store and paid for a bracelet identical to the one her husband had given her suggested that they were not involved in a secret sexual liaison. So who the hell was he?

  Finally, an unidentified man with two pet maniacs was looking for her, the maniacs ready and willing to rip out fingernails in pursuit of their quest. She’d annoyed somebody in the past, somebody with a grudge and a long memory. Whether that was before or after her putative death he didn’t yet know.

  And he thought he had problems.

  However, that was where the second half of his day came into play, to balance out the progress, if that was the right word, made that morning.

  A blue pickup truck with a noisy exhaust drove into the lot and parked a few spaces down from him. The passenger door swung open and a walking stick appeared, planted on the ground, followed by a hand clamped on the open door. Then Jack Adamson lowered himself carefully down from the cab. The driver remained out of sight behind the wheel. Adamson looked around, across the empty spaces between their two vehicles and through Evan’s open window. He looked directly at Evan, nothing registering for a few beats. Then he smiled a smile like light flashing on a blade, put his head back in the cab. A second later the driver’s door opened.

  A hard, weathered-looking man got out, his shoulder length hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a cut-off denim jacket over a white T-shirt that showed off his tightly muscled physique. A filterless cigarette was parked behind one ear. He was very relaxed, very sure of himself, most likely ex-military like Adamson.

  Together they walked towards Evan’s car, Adamson in front, Ponytail behind, scraping his feet along the ground as he walked to slow himself to Adamson’s pace. Evan expected Adamson to stick his head through the window. Instead, he walked around behind the car and climbed into the passenger seat like he owned it.

  Evan nodded to him as you do when a released inmate from a hospital for the criminally insane gets into your car. He kept one eye on the mirror, watching Ponytail as he passed behind the car.

  ‘They let you out.’

  ‘No reason to keep me in. I haven’t done anything.’

  Ponytail walked down the side of the car. He stopped in front of the hood, staring at them through the windshield, hands resting on his hips. He spat noisily on the paintwork.

  ‘You here to see me?’ Evan said, thinking any help with washing the car was better than none at all.

  Adamson grinned, mainly at what Ponytail had just done.

  ‘Hell of a coincidence if I wasn’t.’

  ‘You want to come up to the office?’

  Adamson shook his head, glanced around the interior of the car. He ran his finger along the dash as if he was checking up on the valeting job he just paid for.

  ‘No. This’ll do. Nice car, by the way. But then you can afford it.’

  It was at that point Evan got the first inkling that the afternoon was going to get away from him. That, by the time he went to bed, the balance of the day would come out on the negative side.

  But before Adamson had a chance to explain exactly how he was going to spoil Evan’s day, Ponytail turned away from them and sat heavily on the hood. The front end of the car dipped.

  ‘What’s your friend’s name?’ Evan said.

  ‘Billy.’

  Evan stuck his head out the window, saw Billy’s shoulders shift subtly in anticipation.

  ‘Hey, shit for brains, get off the car!’

  Billy was off the car in an instant, maybe because Evan asked so nicely. By the time he’d taken two paces towards the driver’s door Evan was standing behind it, one arm along the top edge, the other one resting on the roof.

  ‘Good boy,’ Evan said as if he was talking to a dog he’d caught jumping on the bed. ‘And stay off it.’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Feel free to find out.’

  They played eye-contact chicken for a long moment, Evan waiting for Billy to make whatever move was floating through his stunted mind like a cancer cell. Then a feral grin popped onto Billy’s face. He put a hand like a shovel against the door and snapped his arm out rigid, trapping Evan between the door and the frame. The other hand reached around to his back pocket, the door blocking Evan’s line of sight.

  That’s why Evan kept one hand on the roof. And if the cigarette behind Billy’s ear wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was.

  He whipped his arm around, his palm cupped, hand relaxed and wrist flexible. The strike hit Billy hard and fast on the ear, driving a pocket of air into his ear canal, the explosive pressure rocking his brain.


  Billy yowled, staggering sideways with his hand over his ear. Ears are ears, no matter how big your muscles are. Evan wiped flakes of tobacco from his palm onto his pants leg as Billy retreated to the safety of his pickup, then got back into the car.

  ‘Feel better now?’ Adamson said as if Evan had got back from visiting the men’s room.

  ‘Much. He called it. Nice friends you’ve got. What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve been looking you up. That last case of yours. Finding the heir to Hanna Pharmaceuticals. I was impressed.’

  Evan gave a small dip of the head in acknowledgement, feeling like a cockroach had complimented him on the amount of dirt in his kitchen cabinets.

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Being thorough, that’s all. Did you know a person’s will is a public document? Anybody can go down to the County Clerk’s office and take a look at it. Seems like they bury all your privacy rights along with you.’

  It explained Adamson’s comment about Evan being able to afford a nice car. In his will, Frank Hanna had specified a handsome bonus if Evan successfully located an heir to his fortune—which he did.

  ‘See, I was thinking of hiring you,’ Adamson said.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Noncommittal seemed best at the present time until he saw where this was going.

  Adamson chuckled.

  ‘Hiring’s not really the right word though. Seeing as I don’t plan on paying you anything. Not with money, anyway.’

  Evan got a quick mental image of Guillory twirling the bracelet around her little finger. The only thing she was wrong about was how soon she was proved right. He gave another uh-huh.

  For a moment Adamson looked a little disappointed he didn’t bite. Then something predatory and mischievous appeared in his eyes, something that told you he knew where your soft spot was and he was going to poke it until it bled.

  ‘Why don’t I tell you what I want you to do?’

  Evan shook his head.

  ‘No. Why don’t you tell me what you’re offering first.’

  A sly grin crawled across Adamson’s face.

  ‘Okay. Got a cigarette?’

  ‘Don’t smoke. I think I saw one behind your friend’s ear, but it might be a bit squashed.’

  Adamson pulled a packet of Marlboros out of the top pocket of his jacket. He stuck one between his lips.

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said around it. ‘But you do have a lighter, don’t you?’

  ‘You know I do. It doesn’t work though. Too long sitting around in that basement chamber you’ve never been in.’

  Some of Adamson’s smugness slid off his face. He found a disposable lighter in his pocket and lit his cigarette. Evan didn’t object. He knew the wisdom of choosing your battles and this wasn’t one of the important ones. Adamson wound down his window a second later anyway, blew smoke out of the window.

  ‘I was talking to Floyd Gray,’ Adamson said. ‘You remember Floyd.’

  Evan wasn’t about to forget anytime soon. Standing in a forest clearing, his arms clamped around his nephew Kyle’s legs as he hung from a noose while Floyd took shots at his with a hunting bow. His leg throbbed with the memory of where the arrow had cut into his flesh.

  ‘You remember the story Floyd told you? The one about how I came to have that Zippo lighter you carry around in your pocket. Who I got it from.’

  ‘I also remember what else he said. You want to hear it?’

  Adamson took a long drag on his cigarette, tried to pretend he wasn’t interested. He looked out the window. Evan told him anyway.

  ‘He said, Adamson was full of shit. I don’t know I ever believed a word came out his mouth.’

  Adamson spun around.

  ‘Maybe he’s right. You’—he jabbed Evan on the shoulder with a nicotine-stained finger—‘have to decide if you want to take the risk I might not be. You might want to get it from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘The horse’s what?’

  Adamson put his cigarette in his mouth and took hold of the door handle.

  ‘Have it your way.’

  Evan’s arm shot out. He grabbed Adamson by the throat and slammed his head against the headrest, dug his fingers into the flesh under his jaw.

  ‘You know what your trouble is, Adamson?’

  Adamson made a strangled squeak that might have been a yes, might’ve been no.

  ‘You’re too clever for your own good. You just told me how thorough you’ve been, looking me up. How do I know you haven’t found some old article about my wife disappearing and now you’re making something up about it?’

  He was squeezing Adamson’s throat too hard. Adamson couldn’t speak, couldn’t get any proper words out, a sound like wind howling in a tunnel coming from his throat. But his mouth could still open. The cigarette dropped onto the back of Evan’s hand, lighted end down. Evan yelped in surprise and jerked his hand away. The cigarette dropped into Adamson’s lap. He swatted at it with his hand, knocking it to the floor. Then he stretched his neck, swallowed a couple times. But he didn’t make a move to get out.

  ‘That’s the thing, you don’t know. Maybe Floyd’s right. You want me to get out of the car or not?’

  Evan clamped his hands on the steering wheel to keep them away from Adamson’s throat a second time.

  ‘Yes or no?’ Adamson said. His voice had a mocking, sing-song quality to it now. It made Evan want to pick up the smoldering cigarette butt from the floor and stub it out in his eye.

  He was glad Guillory couldn’t see him now, pleased he didn’t have to listen to told you so. Although, after the upset of the night before, he knew there wouldn’t be any pleasure or satisfaction as she said it. The thought that the taunting empty husk of a man sitting next to him was able to make him hop to it with a snap of his fingers, make him do things that brought pain to the people he cared about, caused him to go very still, staring out at the parking lot, not blinking, his eyes gone dark, waiting for an excuse to erupt.

  As if on cue, his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the display. Guillory. Adamson craned his neck to see, moved his face out of the way just in time as Evan brought his elbow sharply up.

  ‘Guillory?’ Adamson said. ‘That’s the cop isn’t it. Floyd told me. Your girlfriend.’

  The phone stopped ringing, went to voicemail.

  ‘Last chance,’ Adamson said. ‘You want to hear what I’ve got to say or not?’

  Evan breathed in deeply and closed his eyes so Adamson didn’t see the hatred in them that burned like trash can fires in an alley at night. He felt the phone flex in his hand. He pushed it all away, tried to find a calmer place inside himself, then turned to face him.

  ‘No. Now get the fuck out of my car.’

  Adamson’s mouth dropped, the arrogant, mocking smile sliding off his face like birdshit off a windshield. But if Evan thought he had the last word, the last laugh, he was wrong.

  Adamson pushed the door open with his stick, climbed out. He didn’t turn around as he walked away. He knew damn well Evan heard every word he said.

  ‘Maybe your new girlfriend’s the reason you’re not interested in what I’ve got to say about your wife.’

  Chapter 23

  ‘BAD TIMING?’ Kate Guillory said when Evan called her back.

  His silence told her he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone,’ she said, ‘and now I can feel the tension coming down the line like something you could cut with a knife.’

  He realized he hadn’t closed the car door that Adamson had left open. He leaned over and pulled it shut. Harder than he meant to.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I was closing the door Adamson left open.’

  There was another silence, coming from her end this time, if a silence comes from one person rather than both of them.

  ‘Adamson?’

  ‘You were right. He’s out.’

  ‘He didn’t waste much
time. Or did—’

  ‘I hope you aren’t going to say, did I go looking for him.’

  ‘You couldn’t blame me if I did. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d camped out by the prison gates.’

  The light-hearted tone and words were in stark contrast to the emotions behind their conversation the previous evening. It didn’t mean he didn’t know it was all still there, festering away under the surface.

  ‘So, what does he want,’ she said, ‘in return for—’

  ‘His lies?’

  ‘You said it, not me.’

  He took a deep breath and rested his head on the headrest, let it out slowly. More than anything, he wanted to see her face, see her expression when he told her he kicked Adamson out of the car.

  ‘You want to meet and I’ll tell you?’

  It was worth a try.

  ‘No. Tell me now.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Tell me.’

  He laughed and that didn’t help one little bit. There was a sound like a piece of meat dropped on a butcher’s slab as she slapped her hand on the desk.

  ‘It’s not funny, Evan.’

  ‘I didn’t mean I don’t know whether to tell you over the phone or not. I meant I don’t know what he wants.’

  The words took a few seconds to sink in.

  ‘He still hasn’t told you? He really likes stringing you along, keeping you hanging on his every word.’

  Her voice had hardened. He pictured the angry head shake, the flared nostrils.

  ‘It’s not that. I told him to piss off before he had a chance to say.’

  It was the face accompanying the silence that now stretched out between them that he’d have loved to see. Her voice was more of a high-pitch squeal when she managed to find it.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard. He was baiting me, He kept on and on, do you want to know or don’t you? He was having a lot of fun at my expense.’

  ‘And you told him to get lost.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Not those exact words.’

  Adamson’s parting taunt went through his mind.

  Maybe your new girlfriend’s the reason you’re not interested in what I’ve got to say about your wife.