Sylver and Gold

by Michelle Larkin

  It wasn’t even a complete phone number. How the hell was she supposed to call this idiot back?

  The pager continued to beep, spewing the same sequence of numbers, as if someone was repeatedly sending them every few seconds.

  None of the numbers looked familiar. She looked more closely: 716 reversed was 617. That one, she knew, was a Massachusetts area code. It suddenly occurred to her that these numbers could be a message. She flashed back to a time in elementary school when she’d discovered she could spell boob on a calculator. She flipped the pager upside down and studied it, searching for a hidden meaning. Like one of those optical illusions that took a while to actually see—and, once seen, couldn’t be unseen—the message swam up from the depths of her subconscious like a giant, hungry leviathan: Let…gil…go…

  It was the killer. The same man, she knew, who now had Mug.

  Were they working together, Reid wondered? A serial killing duo, one dominant, one submissive? It was certainly possible.

  Her mind returned to Mug. She instantly understood why the killer had taken him—he wanted to make a trade. Release Gil, and Mug would be returned.

  She was willing to do just about anything to make sure Mug was unharmed. Having monitored her from afar, the killer obviously knew how much Mug meant to her. He effectively had her by the balls now, and he knew it.

  The flip phone in her pocket vibrated against her leg. Caller ID unknown. “Sylver,” she answered.

  “I have something here that belongs to you.”

  “He’s not an object. He’s a dog. My dog.” She felt her temper dig in and take hold. “And if you lay a hand on him, so help me God, I’ll kill you in the most inhumane, excruciating way possible.”

  “Promises, promises,” he said, his tone revealing a smile that came through loud and clear over the phone’s speaker. “You have something that belongs to me. I want it returned.”

  The killer was demonstrating possessive tendencies—a clear indication that he was the alpha in the relationship. Perhaps her earlier theory was correct: Gilbert was his partner in crime. “Are you referring to the human being who’s sitting in my squad car right now?”

  “You’re going to release him in exactly five minutes and offer him a heartfelt apology. Then you’ll find Mr. Mustachio—humorous play on the name, by the way—and inform him that you and your partner made a big mistake, and Gil’s free to return to his duties.”

  The sonofabitch had been eavesdropping from the moment she and London set foot in the hospital. “Or what?” she asked. She had to know precisely what was on the line.

  “I’ll set your friend here ablaze with some gasoline and a match. I’ll take a video of him burning alive and send it to every screen you come within ten feet of for the rest of your life. You’ll never be able to erase the images and sounds of your best friend during his final torturous moments.”

  “You win.” She didn’t hesitate. Nothing was worth that price. She’d never leave Mug in the lurch like that. She’d rather die.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” he added. “After you make things right for Gil, you should have a heart-to-heart with London and tell her your secret.”

  “She already knows.”

  “Not about your grandmother. I realize that must’ve been difficult to share but, let’s face it, not nearly as difficult as your other secret.”

  She was quiet for long seconds as she pondered his words. He was obviously referring to her ability to communicate with spirits. Was he merely suggesting she share her secret, or was he making it part of the trade? With Mug’s life on the line, she couldn’t afford to take any chances and assume anything. “Are you making Mug’s release conditional on me telling London that I can talk to the dead?”

  “Make sure your phone is turned on so I can listen in, please.”

  Reid couldn’t wait to get her hands on this sonofabitch. “And if I do all that, you’ll release Mug unharmed?”

  She heard a click and realized he’d already hung up.

  London jogged over to her from the front entrance. “I reviewed the security footage. He hacked into their system. Deleted everything.”

  The killer was likely listening to their conversation right now. Probably also watching them via the video camera mounted on the streetlight above. It suddenly felt like he was everywhere. Reid was acutely aware of her words now. She had to play this carefully.

  “I’m going to open this door, unlock our former suspect’s cuffs, and release him—but not before I issue an apology on behalf of the BPD for the terrible mistake we’ve made.” She considered winking to clue London in but thought better of it. She didn’t want to do anything to risk angering the killer.

  “Former suspect?” London asked, looking totally confused.

  “That’s what I said. Some pertinent information has come to light. I’ll fill you in later.”

  London opened her mouth but stopped short and narrowed her eyes. “Are we also issuing an apology to Gilbert’s place of employment? We should probably let them know he’s free to return to work.”

  Reid nodded. This smart rookie was following her lead, just as she’d hoped.

  They released Gil and accompanied him back inside the lobby of the hospital. Reid stopped Mr. Mustaro on his way out the door and arranged it so that Gil could return to work immediately.

  “Back to the precinct?” London asked from the passenger’s seat as Reid slipped behind the wheel of their squad car.

  “Not yet. There’s something I need to tell you first.” She made a point of opening her flip phone and setting it on the dash.

  “What’s up?” London asked, her eyes on the phone.

  “You want to know how I solve every case?”

  London studied her, quiet. “Okay, I’ll bite,” she said finally. “How?”

  “I talk to the dead.”

  “You mean, like, talking out loud and cluing them in on the case? I know lots of people who do that. I still talk to my nana every night before bed. I’m sure people would think I’m crazy, but I tell her all about my day and—”

  “Stop. What I do isn’t the same as that.” Reid fixed her eyes on the dark shadows outside. She couldn’t stand to see the look of disappointment on London’s face when her confession actually sank in. “I’ve been able to communicate with spirits since I was a kid.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not. That’s how I’ve solved all my cases. In case you haven’t heard, I’ve solved every case that’s crossed my desk for the last thirteen years.”

  “I heard.”

  “Well, haven’t you ever wondered how?”

  “You’re testing me again, right?” London asked, shaking her head. “I thought we’d moved past all this.”

  She leaned back against the headrest. Best just to get it over with. Like the beginning of a mild headache, she felt a slight tug inside her head as she envisioned a door inside her mind. She knew, without even having to open it, that London’s grandmother was already waiting on the other side. She was filled with joy at the opportunity to chat with her granddaughter after sixteen long years.

  Reid opened the door and invited Beverly to join them.

  London’s grandmother popped into the back seat of their squad car with an audible whoosh. Reid resisted the urge to turn and look at her—she didn’t have to. She felt the woman’s presence as strongly as she would a live wire. The air always sizzled a bit when a spirit was close.

  Please tell her I’m here, that I’m sitting right behind her. Tell her I have my hand on her shoulder. And if she closes her eyes and remains very still, she’ll be able to feel it.

  “Your nana passed away?”

  “Not recently,” London admitted. “It happened when I was—”

  “Twelve. She fell down the basement stairs and broke her neck.”

  London sat up.

  She felt the rookie’s gaze boring holes in her head, but she didn’t return the eye contact. She couldn’t look at
London right now.

  “Did you read that in my file somewhere?”

  “Why would that be in your file?”

  “How else would you know?”

  “How do you think?” She couldn’t resist the pull of London’s gaze. They locked eyes.

  “I don’t believe you. That’s not possible.” This time, it was London who looked away. “How could you poke fun at something so hurtful? You’ve crossed a line, Reid.”

  “It was right before Christmas,” Reid went on, ignoring London’s skepticism. “She’d decorated the tree that year by herself because her husband—your grandfather—had died the year before. She was carrying a large red storage container with a green lid up the basement steps. It was full of Christmas decorations. She was getting the house ready for your visit. She wanted to surprise you.”

  London remained perfectly still and quiet.

  “Your nana called you Hug Bug. She was your best friend.” Reid hesitated, afraid to share too much. “She says she still is.” Finished, she took a deep breath, her thoughts skipping back and forth between London and Mug. She prayed this damn confession would bring Mug home alive. She also found herself hoping she hadn’t lost London’s friendship in the process.

  “No one knew she called me Hug Bug. Not even my mom.” London finally met her gaze. “Is she here? Now?”

  Reid nodded, glancing over her shoulder at the woman behind them.

  Tell her I was there the day she pulled that woman over for speeding and let her off with a warning because she reminded her of me.

  Reid told her.

  London’s mouth fell open. “No one knows about that!”

  Tell her I was there for all of her graduations, all the big events in her life. I was there for the small ones, too. I’ve never left her. Tell her I’m always here, by her side.

  London started crying as Reid finished relaying the message.

  And I’m so sorry her parents abandoned her when she needed them most. Tell her I would have been there for her. I would have believed her.

  Sensing London was on emotional overload, Reid considered reaching over to hold her hand but thought better of it. The sappy friend thing was London’s department, not hers. “Those were the big messages she wanted to convey.”

  London nodded, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.

  “By the way, your grandmother is way nicer than mine.”

  London laughed, in spite of the dark humor. “You said your grandmother and your old captain knew about this. Other than the killer, am I the only one alive who knows about your gift?”

  Funny. Reid shook her head and smiled. Cap used to call it that, too. Some gift. It wreaked havoc in her life daily and plugged her into a separate reality from everyone around her. Getting just a glimpse of friendship with London made her realize that she was a loner out of necessity—not out of some deep-rooted desire to be a one-woman army fighting to get justice for the dead, as she’d conned herself into believing. She looked up. “Just you, the killer, Sister Margaret, and the governor.”

  “Governor Sullivan?” London asked.

  Reid nodded. This was her cue to turn off the cell phone. London slipped hers from a pocket and did the same. Whatever the killer had heard, she hoped it was enough to satisfy him and stay true to holding up his end of the deal. But she couldn’t let herself forget that they were dealing with a sadistic serial killer—a predator with no conscience, no empathy for living things, and no moral compass. She said a silent prayer that Mug would be okay.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reid took a deep breath and cleared Mug from her mind. It was important to keep her head in the game. She didn’t know how much the killer knew about her phone call with the governor and his threat to take her pension if she left the BPD. But she couldn’t risk giving him more information than he already had.

  As she shared the details of her first phone call with the killer and her subsequent conversation with Boyle about her plans to retire, London set a hand on her arm. “Hang on. You were planning to retire because the killer threatened to reveal you can communicate with spirits?”

  “He didn’t threaten to do that, exactly. It was implied.”

  “Even worse!” London threw her hands up in exasperation. “I can’t believe you’d actually consider throwing away your career because of an implied threat the killer made to reveal something that makes you look even more amazing.”

  “More amazing?” She stared at London, wondering if the rookie was truly missing the obvious or just pretending to. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m a fraud.”

  “I don’t think that.” London stared back at her with a look of disbelief. “Who in their right mind would think that?”

  “How could you not think that?” She was suddenly pissed off with London for dismissing reality as it was slapping her in the face. Seeing things through rose-colored glasses did no one any good. “I’ve been solving cases pretending to be a homicide detective when all I am is a cheat.”

  “Did you plant or otherwise fabricate evidence to help you build your cases?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not. The evidence in every case I ever worked is legit.” That’s where the captain had come into play. He’d reviewed all of her investigations with a fine-tooth comb and helped manufacture a logical trail to account for how she found the evidence.

  “Then you’re not pretending to be anything,” London countered. “You are a homicide detective. A homicide detective who also happens to communicate with spirits, which just makes you way better at your job than the rest of us. I, for one, think that’s commendable. Judging from your success rate with the BPD—and what you just told me about my nana—you could’ve just as easily chosen a different path in life and cashed in on your gifts. Yet here you are. Not seeking fame or fortune. You’ve kept your gift a secret all these years, which was no easy task, I’m sure. You’re using your gift to find murderers and bring them to justice.”

  “I don’t get it.” Reid shook her head, unconvinced. “How can you have any respect for me as a homicide detective after what I just told you?”

  “I don’t have less respect for you. I have more. Now I feel like I know who you really are, at your core.”

  “Shit, London. Is the glass ever half empty with you?” She was fully aware she’d just lost the no-cussing challenge but too wound up to give a rat’s ass.

  “You just forfeited the keys to Boyle’s truck.”

  She sighed. “Fuck.” She’d probably never get another chance to drive Boyle’s truck.

  “Given the circumstances, I can probably overlook one little slip.”

  “Might want to hold off on forgiving me for my transgressions, at least until you hear what I have to say next.” She hadn’t even gotten to the part about the governor and wasn’t sure how London would take it. Reid turned the heater down and met London’s gaze in the dark. “Boyle refused my resignation. Instead, he pushed a mandatory two-week vacation on me. I went home, fully intending to resubmit my resignation once the two weeks had passed, but then the governor called me. He threatened to rescind my pension if I didn’t keep working for the department.”

  “He can’t do that,” London shouted. “That’s blackmail.”

  The rookie hit the nail on the head. The governor had, indeed, blackmailed her. She decided to come clean and tell London about her part in helping the captain end his own life.

  “Did you pull the trigger?” London asked.

  “Of course not.” Was that even a serious question?

  “Were you present in the room when he pulled the trigger?”

  “No.” She never would have agreed to that, and the captain never would have asked.

  “All you’re guilty of is allowing a terminally ill man to end his life on his own terms.”

  “Precisely. I knew about it and did nothing to stop him.”

  “But what if you did?”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “But wha
t if you did?”

  “How can I say I did if I didn’t?”

  “All I’m saying is there’s plausible deniability there. That’s all. Besides, in order to run with this, the governor would have to reveal he’s illegally wiretapping his own police department. That wouldn’t go over well with all our brothers in blue. He has nothing. You should’ve called his bluff.”

  Reid raised an eyebrow. “If I’d called his bluff, I wouldn’t be here working the case with you right now.”

  “Good point. Glad you didn’t call his bluff.”

  Reid pondered how to reveal the rest of what she knew about London’s parents. Brief and to the point had always worked best for her.

  “There’s something you should know about the governor,” London said, beating her to the punch. “He’s my godfather.”

  The governor had failed to mention that. “Shit. No way.”

  “Strike two.” London frowned. “One more, and those keys are mine indefinitely.”

  “Knee jerk. My bad.” For once, she wasn’t sure how to proceed with London. Was this rookie in the governor’s pocket, too?

  “I’ve known him my whole life, but I never really liked him. Money, power, prestige—that’s all he cares about.”

  Reid swore she saw the wheels as they turned furiously inside London’s head.

  “Oh. My. God.” London regarded her, wide-eyed. “Did he force you to train me?”

  “Sort of. Your parents asked him to make sure you were assigned to me for your training.”

  “My parents?” London’s forehead creased in confusion. “They haven’t talked to me in ten years. How’d they even know I made detective?”

  “He said they’ve been keeping tabs on you. They wanted to help.”

  “I don’t need their help.” London narrowed her eyes. “Never did.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.”

  “I’ve never once accepted a favor to get ahead on the job,” London said defensively.

  Reid put her hands up in surrender. “I told him you were quite capable of clearing your own path in life. Pretty sure you came out of the womb with a tiny machete in your hands.”