What the hell? he thought. Where is he?
Dothan checked the text. It had not been from the car company, or from any of his contacts. The mystery number was blank, and the ID was anonymous, but the first line of display piqued his curiosity.
Text from: Unavailable
Don't tell J.
725 203rd st ne
everett, washington
What the actual fuck? Who was J? Did they mean January?
He entered the texted address into his phone’s map application and grabbed a street-level view. The image expanded to show a ramshackle house in a downtrodden neighborhood.
No way I’m going there.
He replied to the unknown sender, but the message bounced.
Screw this cloak and dagger shit.
It was a prank or someone was trying to get him out of the apartment, maybe to ransack it again. As the courtesy car rolled into the parking lot, Dothan placed his laptop into his bag and made sure every window was closed and locked.
The car rental place offered him a cheap deal on an economy vehicle with no luxuries. He slid into the uncomfortable driver’s seat and brought up his phone’s navigation, directing it to Agnes’s house. After throwing his backpack onto the passenger side, Dothan set off, relieved the old woman lived less than ten miles away.
He arrived at a neighborhood of cookie-cutter bungalows built during the time of the Great Depression. With just a few feet of space between the houses, there were no driveways, and he pulled the car along the front curb of Agnes’s house. The state of the unkempt lawn and weedy flower borders surprised him. It was unlike her to leave things untidy.
Dothan climbed a dozen steep concrete steps and surveyed the painted wooden porch. Uncollected packages lay in piles, and the terra-cotta pots of flowers appeared to have withered from lack of water. He tried to peek through a small, curtained window, but, except for a table lamp still illuminated in the daylight, the ruffles and frills blocked his view.
At the front door, he opened a squeaky wooden screen and knocked hard, but there was no response. He twisted the doorknob and pressed his shoulder against the heavy wood panel, but it remained immovable. A walk around the perimeter of the house confirmed locked doors and drawn curtains.
I’ll try calling her. Maybe she’s just out doing stuff.
After descending the uneven stairs, he dialed Agnes’s number, but the phone transferred to voice-mail on the third ring. As he began his message, Dothan watched a dark gray van drive past the house. The vehicle’s tinted windows made it impossible to view who was inside, but he surmised they could be opportunistic porch pirates scanning the neighborhood for an easy haul. He ended the call and returned to gather Agnes’s packages and take them back to his rental car. The dragon lady might be a complete bitch, but those idiots were not stealing her stuff.
He pulled the vehicle onto the road and turned. It was possible Agnes was screening her calls, but after learning Dothan had protected her deliveries, she might answer a text. He parked behind a large pickup truck and sent the message. As he reached for the ignition, though, the same gray van drove past him. He watched them turn onto Agnes’s street in the rearview mirror. Either those were desperate pirates, or someone was prowling around trying to find her.
If the old lady was aware of being followed, it could explain her disappearance. Maybe she had sent the text hoping he could meet her at that address in Everett. It made sense for her to insist he come alone since she did not trust January.
The gray van turned the corner toward him. Dothan slid low in the bucket seats and waited until its dull gray shadow passed his rental car. With trembling hands, he turned the key in the ignition.
What the fuck was that about?
He tried to calm himself as he merged into the middle lane of the busy interstate. The navigation showed twenty minutes before arriving in the small city of Everett.
Dothan searched through the local radio stations until he found one specializing in eighties pop, remembering how he loved the hyper-happy, bubblegum tunes. Without understanding why, the music carried him back to the one joyful memory of his childhood, when his mother and he waved their hands, dancing and singing, to her favorite song.
As he tried to remember lyrics to the tune, a figure with a deadened hollow face flashed across the windshield. Its bony finger pressed through the glass, causing Dothan to swerve to the shoulder of the interstate.
“No. No!” His voice rose to a shriek as the gnarled finger grew closer. “Why won’t you even let me have this? This was your fault, not mine. You wanted to die. You did this, not me. Leave me alone!”
His breath was coming in short bursts as blood throbbed in his veins. Dothan covered his face with his hands.
What was I supposed to do? Those bottles and empty plastic containers were all over that awful room. She just laid there staring at me with those horrible eyes, pointing and putting all the blame on me.
“You wanted me to do it,” he whispered. “This was your fault. Your fault.”
The smoldering fury ripped through him with the force of an oncoming freight train. He pounded on the steering wheel until the apparition disappeared.
His cellphone played a thumping ringtone. Wild with anger, he threw back his head to find January was calling him.
“Shit!” He took a few slow breaths and commanded his phone to answer.
“Hello?” He leaned his forehead on his hands as they gripped the wheel.
“Hey, you,” said January. “Why aren’t you home? I thought you’d be panting at the door when I got back. Where are you? You sound out of breath.”
The soft silk of her voice was magic, comforting him and easing the madness. It was stupid not to have told her he’d gone to find Agnes. She could have joined him and kept him from slipping into the dark places.
“Hey,” he replied, trying to sound cheerful.
Tell her. Tell her the truth.
“I’m in a rental car,” he said.
“Um, why?”
“I figured I’d try to get Agnes to spill on whether she arranged the break-in the other night. I knew you wouldn’t want to be a part of it anyway, so I—”
“What did she say?”
“The house was empty. It was weird. There’s a light on in the living room, but nothing else. I’m thinking she’s got a lot more going on than we might have considered. I’m wondering if it’s tied up with those encrypted files we found.”
“So she’s gone?”
“Seems to be.”
“I understand you were trying to think of my feelings, but I wish you’d told me. Haven’t we been through enough?”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was stupid of me not to tell you. Can I make it up to you when I get home?”
“Will you be here soon?”
Tell her.
Dothan checked the navigation. He was within five miles of the address given to him by the text. The Agnes confession had gone better than he expected. Maybe it was time to spill it all.
I can’t, he thought. Not until I find out who sent that text.
“I’m heading to the college to see my idiot study partner,” he said. “She’s blackmailing me for a coffee date since she had to take care of the last of my stuff on the project. I should be back before dinner, but I promise to let you know if traffic is a bitch.”
“So you’re leaving me naked under these sheets to play by myself?”
“Oh damn girl.” He laughed. “That is not the kind of shit to throw at me while I’m trying to drive.”
“Sorry, I’m busy. What did you say?”
“My brain says if I don’t go do this now, I could lose my pitiful grant money, but my dick says if you keep doing that, I’ll turn this car around and make you pay.”
“Is that a threat? Oh dear, I’m scared now.”
“I�
��m turning around.”
Dothan smiled as he listened to her bright, silvery laugh.
“No,” she said. “I’ll behave. You just go appease your study partner. I’ve got a lot to catch up on tonight.”
“I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay?”
“Maybe. You never know. The maintenance guy might show up first.”
He laughed. “Bitch. Talk to you later.”
Two stoplights and several turns brought Dothan to a street filled with large, well-kept Victorian residences. As the navigation guided him further into the neighborhood, the houses deteriorated. Broken fences, patches of long, dry grass, and vast swathes of mossy roof lines created an eerie scene.
He parked the car across the street from the address he had received in the anonymous text. The house appeared deserted. A red sticker on the door announced in huge black letters the city had condemned the building. The windows were covered in sheets of plywood, and a broken storm door hung from one hinge. The massive hole in the roof must have made the house a very unpleasant shelter for anyone desperate enough to live there. Even his mother had better taste in squats.
An old man stumbled past broken-down vehicles lining the cracked and dirty sidewalk. It occurred to him it might not be a safe place to be sitting around in a new economy car. Dothan checked his watch. Five minutes more. That was it.
The time ticked by, and he put the key into the ignition. As the car roared to life, the front door of the ramshackle house opened. An overweight, bearded man with sparse, curly hair closed the door and placed a baseball cap low over his eyes.
Oh my god, he thought, that’s Lucas Gilmore.
Chapter Fourteen
The bearded man hunched his shoulders and placed his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants as he hurried along the front walk.
Dothan grabbed his phone to call January, but dismissed the idea. The man resembled Lucas Gilmore, but there was no point in risking her well-deserved anger for an anonymous bum squatting in a broken-down house.
The bearded man disappeared around a corner and Dothan followed him to a dilapidated storefront selling marijuana. He leaned against the side of the chipped brick building as he waited for the man to leave the shop
Dothan walked beside him. “Are you Lucas Gilmore?” he asked.
The man turned, his eyes wide. “What?”
“I asked if you were Lucas Gilmore.”
“No,” growled the man.
He resumed his journey with hurried steps, but Dothan followed.
“Look, I know it’s you,” said Dothan. “I just need some information on Sibella Gale’s death.”
The man wheezed with each step. “Get lost, asshole.”
“If you’ll just tell me what I need to know, I’ll fly.”
“How did you find me anyway?” he asked in a half-whisper.
“I got an anonymous text with this address.”
“Bullshit!”
“I swear it’s the truth. So, I guess you’re Lucas Gilmore?”
“You already know the answer to that, you little fucker. Do
you have a car?”
“Yeah, but I…”
“Listen,” whispered Gilmore, “pretend we’re old buddies,” He broke into a cheery smile and slapped Dothan on the back. “If you want any information, we’re gonna power walk to your car, and drive away as fast as fuck.”
Dothan nodded and tried a half-hearted chuckle. As they walked toward the miserable house, he pointed out the rental car.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Lucas.
They ran to the car and slid into the narrow seats. Dothan gunned the underpowered engine, squealing the tires as he sped toward the highway.
The lawyer watched the surrounding roads as Dothan wove through the city blocks. “I don’t see anyone following us,” said Gilmore, “but I won’t be sure until we’ve made a few quick turns. Slip off the interstate here and get on again at the Bothell exit. I’ll watch out.”
“Who do you think is after us?”
“It’s better you don’t know, and I’m asking the questions. Who the fuck are you?”
“My name is Dothan Knox.”
Gilmore took off his cap and combed back his thinning auburn hair. “And why do you want information about Sib’s death?”
“I have a friend who needs to know the truth of what happened.”
“A friend?” Lucas stared at him for a moment. “Who?”
“January Kinsie. She’s the reason I wanted to find you. She deserves to know the truth.”
Lucas laughed. “January? You’re telling me she sent you to find out what happened to Sib?”
Dothan shook his head. “She doesn’t know I’m here, but she’s been trying to find out who murdered Sibella for two years.”
“That’s what she told you, is it?” Gilmore replaced his cap and shook his head. “January Kinsie. My god, what a fucking beautiful woman. She’s impossible to say no to, but you already know that or you wouldn’t be here.”
Dothan got his phone, but before he could power it on, Gilmore snatched it from his hand.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The lawyer’s eyes were wide with terror.
“I’ve got to call her,” said Dothan.
“If you tell her you’ve seen me, you’ll get nothing.”
“And if you want me to help you escape whoever is chasing you, then you have to talk to her.”
Lucas pointed to an upcoming exit. “Turn around there and head for Highway 2 toward Monroe.”
“Did you hear what I said? No deal unless you agree to talk to her.”
Gilmore’s eyes narrowed. His face was flushed. “If you want to know what happened to Sibella, you don’t say a fucking word to January, got it?”
Dothan turned to Gilmore, who stared at him with angry, bloodshot eyes. “Are you saying you know who killed her?”
“I’m saying I have everything you want to know, but until I give you the go ahead, you keep it to yourself.”
It was worth it if he could give January the entire truth. “Yeah, fine.”
“You can drop me somewhere near the Welcome 2 You Inn. I’ll text you when I’m in the room.”
They were silent on the drive along Highway 2 until Lucas pointed to a side road.
“There’s a service trail behind that trailer park,” said Gilmore.
Dothan stopped the car along a desolate dirt road surrounded by imposing pines.
“Cut those running lights,” said Gilmore.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
He switched off the engine and every light. Gilmore reached into his pocket for his phone. As he did, Dothan glimpsed a black pistol grip.
“Give me your cell number,” said Lucas.
He lifted the phone, trying to keep his trembling hand still while Gilmore copied it.
“How long before I’ll hear from you?” asked Dothan.
“Less than an hour if everything is good.” Gilmore grinned with yellowed teeth, riddled with decay. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you over. Seems to me you’re already getting enough of that with no help from me.”
Gilmore jumped from the car and disappeared into the overgrown woods.
Dothan drove along the dirt path toward the highway. It irked him the way Gilmore spoke of January. He didn’t know her. She said she had only seen the lawyer in passing a few times.
Despite his agreement with Gilmore, it was wrong to hide what had occurred. He had promised January there would be no more lies, yet had spent the entire day being dishonest. The moment he found a place to pull over, he would call and confess everything, starting with that stupid text and how it led to Gilmore.
A vibrating buzz from his phone rattled the center console. Dothan pulled into the parking lot
of a shopping plaza and checked his notifications. Detective Barclay had called but left no voice mail. Dothan dialed his number and waited.
“Barclay.”
“It’s Do…it’s George. I think you called me.”
“I did. I’m emailing you a list of the high-end antique places in Seattle. It’s a long-shot, but at the very least they can tell us the style or manufacturer of that table. It would help if you could send me that retinal scan.”
“I don’t think I’m comfortable doing that.”
“If you and I are going to do this, you need to trust me.”
Dothan cringed. He did not want to give Sibella’s optogram to a police detective, but there was no point in offending him. “Fine. I’ll email it to you tonight, but I don’t want anyone else seeing it.”
“Outside of the antique places, it’s just between you and me. Let’s meet up tomorrow and go over that list of dealers.”
“Tomorrow won’t work for me. How about Tuesday afternoon?”
“Three on Tuesday, then. Do you need a lift?”
“Yeah, I don’t have a car at the moment.”
“Okay. Let me know where to find you. I’ll call a couple of the antique places tomorrow to see if I can get some—”
Several police cars muted the detective’s words as they raced past Dothan with blaring sirens.
He checked his phone. No text from Gilmore. Another police car raced past the parking lot in the direction of the motel.
What the fuck?
“George?”
“Sorry,” said Dothan, “an ambulance flew by. I think you said you’re going to check out the antique dealers?”
“I’ll let you know what I find. Since you’re the tech guy in this, try to do a bit of research on that table. See if you can date the thing. Later.” With a click, Barclay ended the call.
Dothan turned the key in the ignition and entered the busy highway.
Why did I let Gilmore go without getting that information first? When I’m sure he’s in that motel, I’ll call January.
As he approached the Welcome 2 You Inn, a Monroe police officer directed him away from the complex. Dothan made a U-turn at the intersection. Five official vehicles, their blue and red lights flashing, surrounded the run-down buildings. He flinched at the sight of flimsy yellow tape waving across the door of a lower room.
The Optogram Page 16