The old man stared at his back a few beats, then nodded and set off again, dragging the still-straining dog behind him. Evan waited until they’d turned the corner, the dog’s yaps faded to nothing, and rang the bell again. Nothing. Then, in the distance, the sound of a police siren. Was it coincidence? Or had the dog walker called it in? He couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to get anywhere that night anyway. And he didn’t want to have to explain himself to the police, not smelling like he did. He left a business card in her mailbox and jogged briskly back to his car.
Halfway to the corner a police cruiser swung wide into the street ahead of him, slowed and straightened up, its red and blue lights dazzling him. The two cops both gave him a hard stare as they rolled slowly past. He smiled back at them, breathed easy. They were looking for a dangerous intruder on foot after all, not a man in a car. Lucky the nosy old man hadn’t seen him get in it.
It was just after nine p.m. when he got back to the office. He made himself some more coffee and settled comfortably into his chair, legs stretched out, ankles crossed. He decided against turning on the TV, laced his fingers over his stomach and closed his eyes, tried not to think about Sarah or Kevin Stanton or his mystery visitor or anything else.
The next thing he knew, it was almost midnight. He was still in his chair with a stiff neck and an aching back. The coffee on the table next to him was cold and untouched. He was shocked he’d dozed for so long. He massaged the back of his neck, tried to ease the kinks out of it, then took a sip of cold coffee before pouring the rest of it down the sink. He’d have to check to make sure he hadn’t accidentally bought decaf.
Chapter 6
EARLY NEXT MORNING JACOBSON came by to see him again. Since his last visit, Evan had thrown out Stanton’s whisky bottle, washed and stacked the glasses. His sleeping bag was neatly rolled up out of sight behind the armchair. It was a beautiful spring day and the window was open, early morning sunlight slanting across his desk. Sitting at his desk, Evan looked for all the world like a conscientious, hardworking P.I. getting right into his heavy caseload. He was just about to look up his nocturnal visitor.
‘You’re looking a lot better than last time I came up,’ Jacobson said, dropping into the visitor’s chair.
Evan wished he wouldn’t keep sitting there. It made him think of Stanton.
‘Yeah, I think I’m over the worst of it,’ he lied.
He’d actually been feeling pretty good until Jacobson sat there and reminded him of Stanton.
‘Well I hope I’m not going to be the one to spoil that, but there’s something you should know about.’
‘That sounds ominous.’
‘It’s probably nothing. I was at a seminar yesterday and came back here around ten p.m. to sort a few things out, get ready for today.’
Evan hoped the surprise he felt didn’t show on his face. Jacobson must have come back while he was asleep and he hadn’t even woken up. He hadn’t realized he’d been out so completely. He’d have sworn he was only dozing.
‘I was just about to leave when I heard somebody outside in the corridor. I thought it must be you—I know you’ve been keeping pretty late hours—and they were headed up here.’
Something about the way he said it told Evan that Jacobson was aware he was virtually living in his office. But there was no edge or accusation in his voice. Maybe it was just his guilty conscience.
‘So, I locked up and then, on a whim, I thought I’d come up and see if you wanted to go for a beer.’
Evan waited for him to go on, but he already had a good idea of what was coming next. It hadn’t been him in the corridor outside Jacobson’s office.
‘When I got up here there was a man outside your door, trying to look through the glass. I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He turned around and walked towards me, starting to say something or the other, and then suddenly he shoved me out of the way and ran back down the stairs and out of the building. I ran down after him but he was fast and my knee isn’t so great. He was already across the parking lot by the time I got outside, so I gave it up. It would have been different in the old days.’
Evan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a cold triangle of sweat sticking his shirt to his back. He’d slept through the whole thing. The intruder—it had to be Hugh McIntyre—had found him and got into the building and had been only seconds away from breaking into his office. On top of that, there’d been a scuffle in the corridor right outside his door. And he’d slept through it all.
But what did McIntyre want? The lights had been off in his office and he’d been quietly asleep in his chair. The office would have looked empty. Unless McIntyre had followed him to the office hours earlier and waited outside all that time, he’d have thought he was breaking into an empty office. He must think Evan had something in his files that he wanted to get rid of.
‘What did he look like?’ Evan asked. ‘Actually, don’t bother trying to answer that. Let me show you a picture.’
He opened up Stanton’s file and clicked on an image of McIntyre and Stanton’s wife outside the motel.
‘Is that him?’
‘That’s him. No doubt about it. I assume that’s the guy who was fooling around with your client’s wife. And that’s the wife.’
‘You got it. Hugh McIntyre.’
‘What’s all this about, Evan?’
‘I have no idea. I thought the guy just wanted to break a few bones, that sort of thing, but it looks like he’s after something else.’
‘The photos?’
‘Can’t be, it’s too late. The police already have Stanton’s copies.’
They both sat thinking it over. Evan was positive he didn’t have anything else of interest to McIntyre.
‘Beats me,’ Jacobson said, ‘but you need to be careful. This guy obviously means business. Whatever it is, he wants it badly.’
He got up to go, but Evan stopped him.
‘There’s something I want to ask—or tell—you, Tom. McIntyre isn’t the only strange visitor I’ve had recently.’
Jacobson gave him a look that suggested he might be regretting his understanding attitude and lowered himself back down.
‘Do I really want to hear this?’
‘No, it’s not connected. Or at least I don’t think it is.’
Then Evan told him all about his elusive visitor and how he had no idea who it could be or what she wanted.
‘The thing is, Tom, you’ve been really understanding and generally great about this whole situation I’m in. It crossed my mind you might have steered some work my way. Someone you know who needs my sort of services.’
Jacobson shook his head.
‘No, it’s nothing to do with me. If I could help out that way, then I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend you. I’ve got my rent to think about after all. But I’m afraid I can’t lay claim to this one, Evan. It looks like you’ve got two mysteries on your hands.’
Chapter 7
WITH HER ADDRESS AND license plate number it didn’t take Evan long to find out that the woman’s name was Linda Clayton. The name didn’t mean anything to him, but he knew a good place to start his digging. Around five thirty he went downstairs to see Jacobson again. Jacobson had lived in the area forever and would be a good source of local information. He found him getting ready to go home and suggested they go for the beer they hadn’t had the previous night. Jacobson was more than happy to join him when Evan told him he’d identified the mystery woman.
They walked to a bar called Arnold’s just down the street, a beautiful old place, with original woodwork and what looked like some of the original customers too. Evan liked it because it was a no-bullshit local bar. Not a lounge which is what everywhere seemed to be called these days. You wait for a plane in a lounge, not drink beer.
They got settled up at the bar, and the bartender served them a couple of cold ones. Evan told Jacobson that although he’d found out who his mysterious nocturnal visitor was, he still had no idea what she wanted.<
br />
‘Her name’s Linda Clayton. Since you’ve lived around here for about a hundred years, I wondered if you maybe knew her. Perhaps she’s been the lucky recipient of some of that famous root canal work.’
Jacobson smiled. ‘Well if she had, I wouldn’t be able to discuss her personal information with you, but, luckily for you, she’s not a patient. I also happen to know exactly who she is.’
He drained his beer, put the glass down on the counter and sat back in his stool. Evan called the bartender over and ordered another round.
‘I’m treating this as rent-in-kind you know.’
‘I also know why she came to see you,’ Jacobson said. ‘She’s well known around here. Not exactly a celebrity but everyone knows who she is. And her story.’
He took another long pull of his beer and sat lost in his thoughts, as if Evan wasn’t there. Evan waved his hand in front of his face.
Jacobson flinched slightly.
‘Sorry, I was just thinking back to when it all happened. It’s like it was only yesterday, but it must be ten years ago at least. Everything in Linda Clayton’s life was rosy. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a normal family. Happily married to a good man, Robbie, with a great kid. Daniel.’
He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. He wasn’t a sentimental man and Evan knew not to expect any kind of a happy ending to the story.
‘Then in the space of a month her husband and the boy both disappeared. She’s never recovered.’
Evan didn’t know what to say. He understood more than most what it was like to lose someone you loved too early, but your husband and your child in such a short space of time was unthinkable.
‘So what happened?’
‘Actually, I’ve got that the wrong way around.’ Jacobson said, clearing his throat again. ‘The boy disappeared first and then the husband.’
‘Were they connected?’
‘Who knows? They must have been, too much of a coincidence otherwise. They both just disappeared off the face of the earth.’ He looked directly into Evan’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Evan, this must be terrible for you.’
He was right, but he would probably never understand quite how terrible. For the second time in seventy-two hours Evan had been transported back in time to a place that he didn’t know if he wanted to forget or live in for the rest of his life.
‘I think it’s obvious what she wants,’ Jacobson said, ‘but why you and why now, I have no idea.’
Evan felt something rising up inside him. A deep-seated resentment that he’d lived with for the past five years.
‘Did the police do anything? I mean, a missing kid’s important, right. Something to be taken seriously’—it came out as a sibilant hiss—‘a totally different kettle of fish to a missing adult. Someone who probably chose to run away.’
He knew he sounded bitter, but he couldn’t help it and he didn’t much care anyway. Not after three or four or was it ten beers. Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Gypsy’ was playing on the jukebox. Thank God it wasn’t ‘Sarah’.
Jacobson put a massive hand on his shoulder and squeezed, then let it rest there. Evan took a deep breath and rubbed his face.
‘Page one of the manual states, and I quote, ‘Do not form an emotional attachment with the client’. How do you think I’d do on that score if I take her on, Tom?’
‘I think you’d give it your best shot. That’s all that matters. And I think it would be good for you. Catharsis.’
‘Did they get anywhere at all with the kid? What about the father?’
‘They pulled out all the stops on the kid as you’d expect, but they didn’t get anywhere. They took a hard look at the parents as they always do, and then when the father disappeared too, they pretty well assumed that he’d done the kid in and then cut and run. But they didn’t find him either.’
Evan shook his head as he tried to comprehend what Linda Clayton must have gone through.
‘So Linda Clayton had to live with the loss of her husband and son, and, as if that wasn’t enough, listen to all the whispered gossip that her husband had probably killed the boy. Jesus wept.’
‘That about sums it up. I’m sure you’re aware how unkind people can be. End result is, she’s pretty much become a recluse. You never see her out in the daytime. That’s why she came to your office at night.’
‘I still don’t understand why me. I’m not what you’d call a famous detective. My reputation doesn’t exactly precede me everywhere I go.’
Jacobson was kind enough not to point out the simplest explanation—that she’d tried everybody else already.
‘You’ll have to ask her that when you meet her.’
He was right. There was no way on earth he was going to let this drop now. Even if Linda Clayton didn’t want to talk to him he wouldn’t be able to walk away. Patterns he didn’t want to see wormed their way into his mind. He didn’t want to think too hard about the possibility of a connection between a young boy and a grown man disappearing ten years ago and Sarah’s disappearance five years later. Unfortunately, you don’t have much control over the things your subconscious decides to push to the forefront of your mind. You just have to deal with them once they’re there.
There was a loud crack as Evan’s glass exploded in his hand. He’d been gripping it so tightly, it had shattered. It was empty but a shard of broken glass cut him on the palm. It wasn’t too bad and he sucked the blood out of it as the barman picked up all the pieces.
Then he ordered two more of the only answer he could think of at the moment. They weren’t the last two either.
***
HE COULDN’T GET TO sleep that night, lying awake in his sleeping bag and thinking about the Claytons, and what might have happened to them. That segued far too easily into morbid thoughts about Sarah and what might have happened to her. His mind played horrible tricks on him at times like these.
Had she deliberately left him? He would get vague memories suddenly spring into his mind of a terrible argument they’d had the night before she disappeared. The worst part was, he could never swear for sure that it hadn’t actually happened. He had a recurring nightmare that he’d killed her and buried her in their yard. Then he’d sold the house and forgotten all about it until now, when the new owners had dug up her body and he was about to be caught. But whatever strange tricks his mind played on him, there was always a common thread running through it all—it was his fault she was gone.
***
THE GLASS PANEL IN the door exploded inwards, showering Evan with tiny shards of glass. A hand reached through the hole and unlatched the door. Evan struggled to sit up in his sleeping bag. He couldn’t move his arms. He’d tossed and turned so much, they were trapped in the twisted folds of the bag.
The door swung open and Hugh McIntyre stepped into the room. He was dressed exactly as when Evan had last seen him, wearing just his pants and without any shoes. His chest was broad and muscular, his stomach flat and rippled, and he had a prominent bulge in the front of his pants. He was sweating heavily and the salty, almost chlorine, smell of sex came off him in waves.
He smiled contemptuously, his eyes still wild, as he watched Evan’s pathetic attempts to free himself.
‘You should have reversed back over me when you had the chance, you pervert,’ he said in a voice that sounded a lot like Stanton’s. ‘That’s a mistake you’re going to live with for the rest of your life.’
Evan tried to speak but nothing came out, his mouth opening and closing uselessly like a goldfish. He watched helplessly as McIntyre walked slowly across the room, oblivious to the shards of glass as they crunched and lacerated his feet. He twisted frantically from side to side trying to get himself free, but the more he struggled, the more caught up he became.
With a shock he noticed McIntyre was carrying a coil of thick rope—the sort Stanton must have used. Where the hell had that come from? He hadn’t been carrying that a minute ago.
Everything was moving in slow motion. McIntyre walked over t
o the desk and saw the bottle of scotch. The smile grew wider.
‘Even better,’ he said, throwing the rope on top of Evan.
He picked up the bottle and slowly unscrewed the cap. He threw back his head and took a long pull on the drink. Mesmerized, Evan watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he poured the whisky down his throat. Then he stopped, stretched his arm out over Evan and upended the bottle.
Evan tried to cry out but again nothing came. He watched the amber liquid as it fell slowly through the air before splashing onto his face and hair, the stinging liquid running into his eyes and throat, making him cough and splutter. He threw his head from side to side but that just made it go up his nose. He was choking. He couldn’t free himself. The bottle was never ending. The whisky ran off his skin and soaked into the sleeping bag and the carpet until he was lying in a pool of it.
McIntyre whooped and threw the bottle at the window, smashing the glass and letting the chill night air in. He pulled a box of matches from his pocket. He struck one and casually let it drop. Horrified, Evan watched it as it tumbled through the air, slowly turning over and over. McIntyre struck another one, then another.
‘Toot! Toot!’ he laughed, mimicking the sound of Evan’s car horn. ‘Remember that, do you?’
The first match landed in the pool of whisky on the floor and spluttered out. The second one landed in Evan’s hair. So did the third. The scotch ignited with a roar and Evan felt a searing heat crawl over his scalp. He screamed and jerked himself into a sitting position. He looked around him, the scream dying on his lips.
McIntyre was gone. The door was closed, the glass intact. The window wasn’t broken. His hair and his body were slick and sticky but only with sweat. The sleeping bag was damp with sweat too. There wasn’t a rope or any whisky. It was just a dream. He ran his hand through his hair and flopped backwards and lay staring up at the ceiling waiting for his heart and his breathing to slow.
The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets) Page 4
