Omega Series Box Set 1

by Blake Banner

  “What the hell do you want?”

  I threw a pack of Camels on the desk as something like a peace offering and sat in the chair opposite him.

  “I work for Carmichael, remember?”

  “I don’t know what idea you got, Walker, but working for Carmichael doesn’t give you the right to come in here insulting me. So if you’re bringing me more of your attitude, you can get the hell out of here. Carmichael or no fucking Carmichael.”

  “I hear you.”

  “What do you want?”

  I scratched my forehead. “The blood. The blood at the scene.”

  “What about it?”

  “There was a lot of it.”

  He shrugged. “She was shot four times in the belly with a .38 at close range. She took a long time to die and bled out. What of it?”

  “Did you have the blood tested?”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “What the hell would I do that for? She was lying in a pool of her own blood, why the hell would I have it tested? It’s her blood!”

  I stared at him a moment, then shook my head. “Yeah, see, I don’t think she was killed there.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think she was killed there. I think she was killed somewhere else.”

  He sat forward and put his elbows on the table. “That is the stupidest, the most fucking ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my entire, fucking life!”

  “Will you humor me?”

  “Humor you? You want me to fucking humor you? You come in here playing fucking detective, exploiting the vulnerability of a man whose wife was murdered in his own house, insulting people, playing the fucking wiseass special ops hot shot, and in the end you ain’t nothing but an asshole! Check the fucking blood? Humor you? You’re lucky I don’t throw you in my fucking jail!”

  “Take it easy, will you?”

  “Take it easy? Get out of my fucking office. That’s the second time I’ve thrown you out and it’s the last. Don’t come back, Walker, I’m warning you.”

  “I’m going.” I didn’t move. I sat looking at him for a moment. “What do I have to do to convince you to have the blood tested?”

  “Nothing. It’s a stupid idea. It’s the most stupid idea I ever heard. I am not going to do it. It is not going to happen. Get out.” I hesitated a moment and he narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you have information pertinent to my investigation? Are you withholding information?”

  I thought about it for a full five seconds while I stared at his face. In the end, I shook my head and stood. “No, no information. You’re probably right. But you should test the blood. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t murdered in her room at Carmichael’s place.”

  He made a face like I disgusted him and flapped his hand at me. “Yah, get out of here you fucking clown.”

  Outside, there was a steady whistling from the wind blowing through the overhead power cables, and a sighing and groaning from where it was surging through the trees and the buildings. I crossed to my car, battered by the air, wrenched it open, and clambered in and slammed the door, leaving the howl and bluster outside.

  I dialed Simone’s number, and while I was waiting for her to answer, another call came through. It was Carmichael.

  “Lacklan, we need to talk.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “The DA has been in touch. He’s a friend. Just come over, will you?”

  “Sure, I’m on my way.”

  As I fired up the engines, I was aware of the alarm bells going off in my head, I just wasn’t sure exactly what they were telling me. But whatever it was, I knew it wasn’t good.

  I was shown into his study. He looked unhappy as he stood up to greet me. He shook my hand and gestured me to one of his chesterfields. As I sat, he sat across from me.

  “Lacklan, the DA has been in touch with me. They are ready for the preliminary hearing. He is satisfied that it will be a slam dunk. I don’t know what to say…” He sighed. “I put your concerns—our concerns—to him. He dismissed them out of hand. I asked him for more time, but he believes I am being foolish. Jackson feels the same way. It’s…” He shrugged and sighed again. “It’s an open and shut case.”

  “Do you believe that?”

  “Let me ask you. Have you made any progress? Have you found anything?”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  His face cleared. “Then by all means, fill me in. Give me something I can take to him; something we can adduce at the preliminary hearing.”

  I thought for a moment. “Give me a second, will you?” I pulled out my phone and called Hirschfield.

  “What?”

  “Good morning, Hirschfield. Listen, don’t ask questions, just answer. Can you legally get access to prosecution material evidence?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a blood sample from the crime scene.”

  Carmichael frowned.

  Hirschfield said, “Access how?”

  “To have our own tests carried out.”

  “Of course. But why would we?”

  “I want the victim’s blood tested.”

  Carmichael went white and stood, staring at me.

  Hirschfield said, “What? Have you gone insane?”

  “I have my reasons. Can you do it?”

  “Yeah, I can do it, but why the hell should I?”

  “Because I’m asking you to, and I have just told you I have my reasons.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’ll file the request.”

  I hung up. Carmichael had moved to the window and was looking out at the silent, tossing trees.

  “What is this, Lacklan? Why can you possibly want to test the samples of my wife’s blood?”

  “Because I don’t believe she was murdered here.”

  He turned from the window. His face had turned from ashen to crimson. His voice was choked with emotion. “I found her! The bed…”

  “I know, Mr. Carmichael, I saw it. But there are too many things that don’t square up.” I hesitated a moment. “Are you able to answer some tough questions for me?”

  “I hope they are not all going to be as… bizarre as that one…”

  “I think you should sit down, Mr. Carmichael.”

  He frowned at me like I’d said something outrageous, but came around the chair again and sat. “What is all this about, Lacklan? This is not what I expected when we spoke the other day.”

  “If the answer was predictable, you wouldn’t have needed me. Jackson could have taken care of it. The very nature of this murder is telling you it is something unpredictable, something out of the ordinary, isn’t it?”

  “What’s your point?”

  I was trying to read him, but all I could get was anger and pain. Finally, I asked him, “Did you ever visit Sarah at her studio?”

  He clenched up his face, like he thought I was going crazy. “What the hell are you talking about? What goddamn studio? Walker, I am beginning to think Jackson is right…”

  I ignored him. “The one she inherited when her parents died. Simone got the house, she got the smaller place on the bayou.” I pointed in the general direction. “In the woods on Solitude Road.”

  His mouth sagged. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Am I? What makes you say that?”

  “There is no studio, no house… If she had inherited anything I would know about it!”

  “So you had no idea that she owned a place in the woods where she used to go and paint?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I was there last night.”

  “How…?”

  “Simone told me about it.”

  “Why did she keep it a secret from me?”

  I felt for him, but I had no choice. “I think you need to level with me, Mr. Carmichael. Things were not perfect between you and Sarah, were they?”

  He averted his eyes, looked at the cold fireplace. “All couples, Lacklan… We had our small problems. You can’t live wit
h someone day in, day out without small problems arising.”

  “I guess that’s true. Only in this case it had gone beyond that, hadn’t it?”

  “No.” He still wouldn’t look at me. “That isn’t true. We just needed to talk things through a little more.”

  “Did you know she was thinking of divorcing you?”

  Now he looked at me and his face was savage. “You’re lying! How could you possibly know that?”

  “She discussed it with Simone the night she died.”

  “Simone is a lying bitch!”

  “Is she? What makes you say that?”

  His mouth worked, like the words wanted to come out, but he was fighting them. Eventually, he looked away. “She is a dissolute woman, decadent. She poisoned Sarah’s mind.”

  “You think she was lying?”

  “In all probability.”

  “Either way, she was at the studio. It’s where she painted.”

  “Painted?” He narrowed his eyes at me again, like I was talking crazy, but I went on.

  “Your wife was a talented watercolorist, and it seemed she was moving on to oils.”

  “This is madness!” He stood again and walked across the room, staring around as though he was searching for something that made sense. “I don’t know this woman you are talking about! My wife had no interest in art! She never even spoke about it! Search the house! Where are the books, the paintings, the watercolors, the brushes? Where are they?”

  “At her studio.”

  He swallowed.

  I went on, “There was also a brand new duvet on her bed, brand new sheets, and a brand new rush mat under it. So new the bed legs had not even made an indentation. You should sit down for what I am about to tell you next.”

  His breathing was heavy. He returned to his chair and sat.

  “What cigarettes did your wife smoke, Mr. Carmichael?”

  “Sobranie, why?”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t smoke. The odd one, socially, whatever is going. I don’t buy them.”

  “What was her drink?”

  “White wine! Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

  “Yes. I found an ashtray on her bedside table. It had two cigarette butts in it. A Sobranie Black Russian and a Marlboro. There were rings on the tables, from a whiskey glass and a white wine glass. I found the glasses washed up in the kitchen, on the drying rack.”

  “Oh no…” His face crumpled and he shook his head. “Oh no, Lacklan, no. Don’t do this to me.”

  He buried his face in his hands. Either it hurt or he was a damn good actor. I couldn’t help wondering about where he had spent the night, at the Full Moon, but I guessed that didn’t mean much. People have crazy ways of dealing with bereavement.

  After a bit, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dried his eyes and blew his nose.

  “Forgive me, Lacklan. This has been a devastating shock. Do you mind if we continue another time?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Carmichael, I’m afraid we aren’t done yet. Time is one thing we haven’t got.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the slug in the freezer bag. I dropped it on the table. “This was under the bed. It looks to me like a .38.”

  He gaped at it, picked it up, and examined it closely. “But you have to give this to Jackson. This changes everything.” He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”

  I leaned forward, took it from his fingers and dropped it back in my pocket. “I am not giving this to Jackson. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but I don’t trust him. He’s too damned keen to ignore facts and go for his slam dunk.” I sat back and tried again to read his face. It said he was really confused. I said, “Somebody was shot in that bed. The bedding and the mat were removed and probably dropped into the bayou.”

  “You think Sarah was killed there? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Right now, nothing makes any sense. Bat Hays smokes Marlboro, but why the hell would he shoot Sarah at the studio and then come and frame himself at your house? None of it makes sense.” I stood. “I have some things I need to do. When is the preliminary hearing?”

  He seemed to gather his thoughts. “The day after tomorrow, the storm permitting.”

  Twelve

  Overhead, the clouds were starting to boil and twist, trailing long shreds and spitting rain. I climbed into the Zombie and caught a glimpse of Carmichael staring after me through the window. I pulled out of his drive onto Route 61 and turned right. I drove slowly, thinking.

  The wind gusted and battered the car. I pulled out my cell and called Simone again. She still didn’t answer.

  Two minutes later, I pulled into her drive and parked in front of the steps to her veranda. The wind was strong enough to make me unsteady on my feet. I climbed the wooden steps and hammered on the door. She didn’t answer, so I hammered again. I was pounding a third time, considering picking the lock, when the door opened. She didn’t say anything. Her hair was rumpled and her eyes were puffy, and she was wrapped in a white satin robe.

  “We need to talk.”

  “You need to talk. I need to sleep.”

  She turned and walked away, but she left the door open, so I followed her into an airy room with broad windows and low, modern furniture. It should have been bright, but it was heavy with gloomy, gray light, and in the garden the silent trees bobbed and waved like dancing shrouds. She moved over to a bamboo and wicker trolley and started mixing herself a gin and tonic.

  “I’m guessing it’s too early for you,” she said.

  “Who was Sarah’s lover?”

  She froze with the bottle of Beefeater half way to the glass. Then she continued to pour.

  “I told you she had no lovers.”

  “You lied.”

  “You have no manners.” She added the tonic and turned to face me. “How dare you come into my house accusing me of lying?”

  She said it without much feeling and sank into a large peacock chair. She had a small table beside the chair. On it, there was a pewter box. She opened it and took out a cigarette, placed it in her mouth and lit it with a match.

  When she was done, I said, “I was at the studio last night.”

  Her face hardened. She avoided my eye. “Who let you in?”

  “Me.”

  “So?”

  “There had been a man there.”

  “How can you tell?”

  I ignored the question. “He smokes Marlboro. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe…” I paused. I walked to the couch and sat, placing my elbows on my knees, studying her. She sipped and sighed, like it was doing her good. “Maybe you don’t fully understand,” I said.

  She looked me over and waited.

  “My friend is facing life in prison, or worse, for a murder he did not commit. This is a man I owe my life to several times over.”

  “Spare me the brothers in arms act, Lacklan. My sister just got murdered, remember?”

  “And I’m trying to find out who did it, remember? And you and I both know you’re lying and hiding something from me. But if you think I am going to stand aside and let Hays go down, just because you don’t feel like talking…”

  “What? What will happen if I think that?” It was a challenge, but it was a lame one.

  I shook my head. “Don’t do it. There is nothing—are you hearing me?—nothing I will stop at to save his life. You had better think this through, Simone. You want me on your side. You don’t want me as an enemy.”

  She raised an eyebrow and sucked on her cigarette. “Am I supposed to be afraid?”

  “You’d be wise to be.”

  She looked worried but tried to hide it.

  “Work with me, Simone. Who was it? Who was her lover? Was it Hays?”

  She rubbed her eyes and sighed. “You son of a bitch…” After a bit, she opened her eyes and studied me for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Of course you
want to help him, he’s your friend.”

  “Was he her lover?”

  “There was more than one. Satisfied?”

  “Was Hays one of them?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t tell me about them.”

  “Why?”

  She frowned. “What the hell do you mean, ‘why’?”

  I felt a pellet of anger start in my belly. “Come on, Simone! Snap out of it! You’re her sister, her friend! She’s telling you about her sex life with her husband, that she’s considering divorcing him. You advise her about the studio and being creative, making a space for herself… You’re intimate! For crying out loud! Why would she not tell you about her love affairs?”

  She stared at me for a long moment, then looked away at the ashtray while she tapped ash. “God, you’re relentless.”

  “Get used to it. Now answer the damn question.”

  “It’s not relevant.”

  “I’ll decide that.”

  “No! You will not!”

  I raised my voice. “Sweetheart, I have the meanest son of a bitch attorney in Louisiana on my payroll. If you are worried about protecting your sister’s reputation, you better get with the damned program. Because if I give him the studio on Solitude Road and her lovers, the yellow press are going to have a feeding frenzy right there, in the gutter. Now talk!”

  Her eyes blazed. “You piece of…”

  “Yeah! I’m all that! What are you hiding from me, Simone?”

  She turned away. I could see the muscle in her jaw working. She stood and carried her glass to the window. I saw the glint of a tear on her cheek.

  “I was very close to Sarah…”

  “You were her sister.”

  “No, more than that. I…” She stopped, hesitated, took a deep breath. “When my mother married Geoff, her father—you know, normally, stepsiblings resent each other. There is a lot of jealousy and rejection. But Sarah wasn’t like that. She had the sweetest, kindest nature you could imagine.”

  She turned to face me and sat on the sill.

  “She missed her mother. They were very close. Geoff was distant, moral, upright… Just the kind of man my mother would go for.”

  “You’re losing me. Where is this going?”

  She sighed. “Sarah was lonely. So was I. When our parents married and we all moved in together, Sarah and I immediately formed a bond. We became friends, sisters. But as time went by I…” She held my eye for a long moment, willing me to understand and save her the shame of saying it. I didn’t. I waited. Finally, she said, “I began to have feelings for her.”