The Evan Buckley Thrillers: Books 1 - 4 (Evan Buckley Thrillers Boxsets)

by James, Harper

  ‘They arrested someone?’

  He didn’t know why he said it, he knew it wasn’t true.

  ‘No.’

  She smiled then. It was a different one again. Not a polite one, not genuine amusement, something altogether different. Satisfaction that the God you pray to nightly has not forsaken you. Has instead answered your prayers—however un-Christian the thing you pray for might be.

  ‘The police don’t arrest dead men.’

  He went along with her, raised his eyebrows.

  ‘They found the car that hit and killed Leighton. They matched damage on the bumper to the stroller. But that wasn’t what was strange.’

  He waited, watched the satisfied smile widen.

  ‘The man who’d driven it was still in it, and he was dead.’

  ‘Did they say how he died?’

  ‘No, and we never asked. You don’t question the ways of the Lord.’

  He reckoned Crow would’ve liked that.

  Chapter 40

  ‘EARNED YOUR MONEY YET?’ Guillory said when he called her from his car outside the Yates’ residence.

  ‘Almost there,’ he said and filled her in on the latest updates.

  ‘A doctor, eh? Hanna would be very proud it all turned out so well.’ She laughed. ‘And you’ve got to wait two days to find out if this person really does exist. That’s going to be the longest two days of your life.’

  ‘There’s just one thing you can do for me.’

  He was keen to get her off the topic of two free days and how he might fill them.

  ‘What, while you’re at Hendricks’ place, you mean?’

  Gotcha.

  ‘You might as well buy it, you’re so keen to go back there. You can afford to now.’

  A long silence stretched out between them.

  ‘That was a joke, Evan.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, amused by the note of panic in her voice. ‘Although, the more I think about it—’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘You know what, Kate? I was you, I’d have asked to read the will, make sure I wasn’t making it up just to get you to do what I want.’

  ‘Live and learn. What do you want?’

  He gave her the details of the fatal hit and run in 1993, asked her to pull the file and call him back. He spent the time mentally burning his way through all that money. One thing he couldn’t shake was Guillory’s crack about buying the Hendricks place.

  ‘This is a strange one,’ she said less than ten minutes later.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘They didn’t get anywhere to begin with. No witnesses, nothing.’

  ‘Then they got an anonymous tip?’

  ‘You looked this up already?’

  ‘No. Just a guess.’

  She didn’t bother telling him what she thought about that. He heard her flicking through the pages of the file.

  ‘The caller told them where to find the car, told them to compare damage on the bumper to the stroller. It matched.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘This is where it gets strange. The owner of the car—’

  ‘Thompson.’

  He heard the sound of a noisy breath exiting through her nose, knew it was because her mouth was clamped shut in a tight line.

  ‘Thompson was still in it. Dead.’

  ‘Heart attack?’

  ‘If you know all this already, why’d you waste my time?’

  ‘I don’t know all of it. I know it wasn’t a heart attack—’

  ‘The guy was garrotted. Looked as if he’d been killed in the car.’

  ‘Nice.’

  A picture of Crow’s strong hands, the thick wrists, flashed across Evan’s mind—made for choking the life out of a person. He imagined the scene, Crow in the back seat of the car, straining backwards, those strong hands gripping the wooden handles, pulling with all his might, while Thompson bucked and thrashed in the front, the wire cutting into his flesh. He saw the windows misted by the breath choked out of his body, the smell of that final indignity filling the small space, imagined his dying thoughts, how had it come to this?

  What he wanted to know was, how come everybody thought he and Crow were so alike? He looked at his own hands, every bit as strong as Crow’s, couldn’t imagine killing someone with them.

  ‘Whoever killed him left a note.’

  He shifted in the car seat, leaned forward on the wheel. She was deliberately dragging it out.

  ‘That’s about it.’

  He wasn’t going to bite.

  ‘Okay, you win. It said: You reap what you sow.’

  It was the exact same phrase Narvaez told him Crow used. Did Crow see himself as an avenging angel, striking down evil wherever he found it?

  ‘Deep.’

  ‘Kind of suggests the guy was killed for revenge. For killing the girl. Like maybe it wasn’t an accident? Killing him in the car suggests the same thing.’

  ‘Could be.’

  It wasn’t nearly casual enough. He didn’t put enough oh, I hadn’t considered that into his voice.

  ‘Call me mushroom.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t mind being kept in the dark and fed horseshit, really. You can tell me what this is all about later.’

  Down the line he heard papers being turned over, something else that sounded like a pencil tapped on teeth. He’d gotten her hooked.

  ‘There is one more unusual thing. Could just be the guy that called it in having a joke. They asked him how come he knew where the car was, how come he knew to tell them to take a close look at the damage to the fender. Would have asked him his name too, but he didn’t do what most people do—’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘Hang up immediately. No, this guy says, calm as anything: A little birdie told me.’

  Evan laughed, unable to stop himself.

  Not so little and with a foul beak.

  Chapter 41

  ‘THE POLICE ASKED ME if I searched my father’s house,’ Lisa Stanton said.

  Hugh McIntyre opened the fridge, stuck his head inside so she couldn’t see his face. After the last few days it felt beautiful. He felt like climbing inside. They say you simply fall asleep and die peacefully in the cold. It was an appealing proposition.

  ‘Really. What did you say?’

  ‘I said no.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘They asked me if there was anyone else might have.’

  ‘I’d say it was ... what’s her name?’

  ‘Mrs Kitson?’

  ‘She was most likely tidying things away. You said the woman’s totally OCD.’

  He moved a carton of milk and a chunk of cheese to the side, pretended to look for a beer behind them. There actually was one sitting right at the back, next to the OJ. This wasn’t the best time to drink it, under the circumstances.

  ‘And my key is missing.’

  ‘I’ll help you look for it,’ Mr Helpful said.

  He said it a little too fast, like it was an answer he’d practiced in the mirror. He pulled his head out the fridge, hoping the cool air might have chilled it enough to keep his features under control.

  ‘Okay, thanks. Why don’t you start in your pocket?’

  ‘My pocket?’

  ‘Don’t be an ass your whole life, Hugh. What were you doing there?’

  There wasn’t any point denying it. She had her fists on her hips, shoulders squared. Her stance made him think of a pit bull. The temperament was right too. It took him a few awkward seconds to warm up his best smile.

  ‘Looking for his will, what do you think?’

  ‘Did you kill him?’

  ‘Why would I? He was dying anyway.’

  Her hand moved a couple inches along the counter towards the knife block. His palm throbbed just thinking about it.

  ‘Sorry. That was unkind.’

  ‘Did you push him down the stairs?’

  He hesitated too long. She took it as an admission of guilt. She pushed herse
lf away from the counter she’d been leaning against, looked around for something to kick.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Hugh.’

  ‘It was an accident. He shouldn’t have tried to hit me.’

  ‘So you pushed him down the stairs. You pushed a seventy-year-old man down the stairs. A seventy-year-old man with cancer.’

  He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders, let his fists uncurl.

  She was distraught. Her father just died. She doesn’t mean it.

  But if she said seventy-year-old man one more time he was going to punch her.

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘No?’

  She stuck her chin out, looked up at him.

  ‘No. He took a swing at me.’ He snorted, a scowl on his face. ‘It was like he wrote me a letter telling me the punch was on its way. I moved my head out of the way, like anyone would. He missed by a mile. He sort of hung in the air with his arm outstretched, lost his balance and fell down the stairs. It was his own fault.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  He showed her his palms. Well, one palm, one blood-soaked dressing.

  ‘I don’t know what else to say.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’

  ‘Okay, okay. It was a stupid thing to do—I’m having trouble thinking straight these days. I’m under a lot of pressure.’

  ‘Pressure? You don’t know what pressure is.’

  ‘And you do?’

  Her mouth turned down. It made him wonder what he ever saw in her.

  ‘I know it when I see it. Kevin was under pressure—’

  ‘Thanks a lot. I suppose you’d like me to go hang myself.’

  ‘My father’s under pressure—’

  ‘Not any more he isn’t.’

  The words were out before he knew it. Her face froze like she’d been the one with her head buried in the fridge. It wouldn’t be good for him when it thawed out.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He put a hand on her arm. She batted it away.

  ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that.’

  She turned and walked away from him, her arms clamped tightly across her body.

  ‘I was only doing it for us.’

  She stopped mid-stride, waited a couple of seconds, turned slowly back to face him.

  ‘Us? You don’t know what the word means. Me. That’s the word you were looking for.’

  He laughed. It sounded more like he was choking.

  ‘You just don’t understand, do you? If anything happens to me’—he waved the hand with the blood-stained bandage in her face—‘there won’t be an us.’

  She turned away again, mumbled something under her breath.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He gripped her upper arm and pulled her around.

  ‘What did—’

  ‘I said I don’t know if I want there to be an us.’

  She wrenched her arm out of his grip.

  ‘Everything’s gone wrong since—’

  ‘Since what?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘Since I ...’

  ‘Say it, Lisa. Since you ...’

  ‘Since I started screwing you behind Kevin’s back. Now Kevin’s dead, my father’s dead—’

  ‘And it’s all my fault, is it? I don’t know what you’re so worried about. You got Kevin’s money. Now you’ll get daddy’s money—’

  His head rocked sideways from the force of her slap. She drew her arm back to give him another one. He caught her wrist easily, squeezed hard, felt something give. She let out a sharp hiss.

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He wanted to say, hurt? Let me show you what hurt is, then take her out back and nail her hand to a table.

  She read his mind.

  ‘It’s not my fault you got involved with that sort of people.’

  ‘Thanks for the support, Lisa.’

  ‘I don’t care if they nail your head to the table next time. It might knock some sense into it.’

  ‘Maybe you want to watch? Because that’s exactly what they’ve got in mind if I don’t give them their money.’

  Her mouth opened. Nothing came out apart from a small squeak. She swallowed hard, trying to keep under control. She failed.

  ‘Their money? You mean my money.’

  He gave her a smug gotcha smile.

  ‘Kevin’s money, daddy’s money, your money, what’s it matter? Everybody’s money except my money. You go and get your nails painted, get a facelift. I was just thinking the other day, it’s almost time for a boob job, they’re sagging a bit. Don’t you worry about me, just trying to keep alive here.’

  It was the boob job crack did it.

  ‘Get out of my fucking house! Now!’

  He had the sense and the pride to keep his thoughts to himself.

  Where am I supposed to go?

  But he couldn’t keep his mouth shut completely.

  ‘There you go again. Your house, your money. And you’ve got the fucking cheek to say I’m the one who’s all me, me, me. You make me sick.’

  Despite how easily he managed to sidestep Frank Hanna’s haymaker—if that’s what really happened—he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the heavy crystal vase that flew through the air and caught him on the side of the head.

  If his head hadn’t been ringing from the impact, or the blood not roaring in his ears from the adrenalin, the front door slamming hard at his back, any of those things, he might have heard a small, tinny laugh coming from his pocket.

  ***

  THAT JUST PROVED IT, Evan thought as he closed the connection. Guillory didn’t know shit from shinola. Hanna’s phone wasn’t at the bottom of some lake, like she said, McIntyre was carrying it around with him.

  He’d joined the conversation at the since I started screwing you behind Kevin’s back point and enjoyed every minute of the rest of it. He’d felt the slap she gave McIntyre resonate all the way down the phone line. He was sure he felt his own face tingle. He had a feeling he’d missed some good stuff at the beginning, but hey-ho, all of it was a bonus. He’d got the gist of it—McIntyre would be twice as desperate now. He’d lost a lot of ground today. If Vasiliev found out Lisa had cut him off, getting his head nailed to a bench would be the least of his problems.

  It was time to kick a man when he was down.

  Chapter 42

  EVAN TRIED HARD TO dig up some sympathy for Hugh McIntyre sitting up in his hospital bed. It wasn’t happening. Guillory’s face told him she wasn’t even trying. A large proportion of McIntyre’s face was covered in thick gauze bandages. In contrast to the crisp white of the bandages, his eyes were black and swollen. A drip was attached to the back of his right hand. On his left hand there was a new dressing, right on the edge, where his little finger should have been.

  Guillory pulled over a chair, sat on it backwards, and leaned towards McIntyre on crossed arms. It was her movie-cop look. Evan knew she practiced it in the mirror at home, the inscrutable face too.

  ‘Nice pajamas, McIntyre,’ she said.

  Evan wasn’t convinced. You wouldn’t catch him wearing that color. Unless she asked him to, of course.

  ‘You want to tell us what made them stop at only one finger?’ she carried on, as Evan turned his head to the side to see if they looked any better from a different angle.

  If McIntyre’s eyes could have bulged, they would have. His swollen lips cracked open a fraction.

  ‘Only?’

  Evan and Guillory smiled at each other. Poor choice of word, perhaps. He’d get over it.

  ‘Sorry, I’m sure one’s bad enough.’

  Evan made a small ahem sound in his throat, almost as if he was embarrassed to ask his next question.

  ‘Did Vasiliev let you keep the finger?’

  McIntyre closed his eyes, laid back on the pillows.

  ‘Just go away.’

  ‘What?’ Guillory said. �
��And take the deputy outside the door with us, you mean?’

  McIntyre’s eyes opened again fast, his body jerking forward.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Tell me,’ Guillory said, ‘how’s it work with these people? What is it? A finger a day? Or does a thumb count as two days?’

  ‘Three,’ Evan said. ‘I’m pretty sure.’

  Guillory gave him a surprised look, then nodded her head, bowed to his greater knowledge.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘you’ve got seven fingers and two thumbs left—’

  ‘Shut up!’ McIntyre hissed.

  Guillory shrugged.

  Only trying to help.

  ‘Tell you what,’ she said, all hint of the fun and games gone from her voice, ‘I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll leave Evan here with you to make sure you’re okay, make sure you don’t bang your hand, anything like that. I’ll tell the deputy not to worry if he hears any shouting ... sorry, screaming.’

  ‘You want to take the newspaper?’ Evan said. ‘In case you’re there a long time.’

  He picked up the newspaper lying on the edge of the bed, held it out to her.

  ‘You don’t mind?’ he said to McIntyre.

  McIntyre looked from one of them to the other, not sure if this was really happening or maybe the nurse made a mistake with his meds.

  ‘No thanks,’ Guillory said. ‘What is it with men needing to take something to read when they go to the bathroom anyway?’

  Evan shook his head, beats me, dropped the paper casually on McIntyre’s hand. McIntyre yelped, more in surprise than pain, drew his hand back.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Guillory stood up and moved away from the bed.

  ‘Actually, I might just pop out for some coffee.’ She looked at McIntyre. ‘You want any? I bet the stuff in here tastes like shit.’

  ‘No!’

  She paused, her face taking on a schoolmarm air of disapproval.

  ‘You mean, no thank you?’

  ‘Manners, McIntyre,’ Evan said, wagging a finger at him. ‘No wonder Vasiliev gets so pissed with you.’

  McIntyre collapsed back into the pillows, closed his eyes again.

  ‘I mean don’t go. Don’t leave me with him.’

  Evan wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not. He wouldn’t normally be able to deliberately hurt somebody. But McIntyre was a special case after all. He touched his chewed ear automatically. McIntyre saw him do it, tried to push himself further back into the pillows.