Never Look Away

by Linwood Barclay

  Dad was still going on about how I needed to get a lawyer even as I got behind the wheel of his car. On this, I had to admit he was talking sense, but I couldn’t bring myself at this point to explain everything that had happened in the last two days to someone new.

  I had too much to do.

  To placate him, I said, “You want me to get a lawyer? Go ahead and find me one. Just not someone who handles driveway disputes.”

  I kept watching my rearview mirror all the way up to Lake George. I wasn’t expecting to see the blue Buick Jan had spotted the last time I’d driven up here, but I did have a feeling that Detective Duckworth, or one of his minions, would be keeping an eye on me. If Duckworth truly believed I was a suspect, it didn’t make sense for him to let me out of his sight.

  If I was being followed, they were doing a good job of it. No one car caught my eye the entire drive up. I pulled off the road and into the parking lot of Ted’s Lakeview General Store shortly after three in the afternoon.

  The place was far from jumping. No one was pumping gas, and there were only a couple of cars in the lot. Assuming one belonged to whoever was minding the store, that meant maybe one customer inside.

  The door jingled as I went in. A thin man in his late sixties or early seventies was behind the counter. At first I thought he was standing, then saw he was perched on the edge of a tall stool. He gave me half a nod, and half a smile, as I came in.

  A plump woman already in the shop reached the counter before I did and set down a bag of Doritos, a king-sized Snickers bar, and a bottle of Diet Coke before him. He rang up her purchases, bagged them, and sent her on her way.

  Once she was gone, I said, “Are you the Ted?”

  “That’s me,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m a reporter for the Promise Falls Standard,” I said. “The police, Detective Duckworth, he told me he was speaking to someone here about that woman who’s gone missing. Would that be you?”

  “One and the same,” he said with a lilt in his voice. The suggestion that he was about to be interviewed had brightened him.

  “So this woman, Jan Harwood, she was in here?”

  “I’m as sure it was her as I am that you’re standing right there,” he said.

  “And you called the police? Or were they in touch with you?”

  “Well,” he said, slipping off the stool and leaning across the counter, “I saw her on the news the night before, them saying she was missing, and right away I recognized her.”

  “Wow,” I said, making notes in the pad I’d taken from my pocket. “But how could you recognize someone who was just in here for a minute?”

  “Normally, you’d be right about that,” he said. “But she was pretty chatty, gave me a chance to get a good look at her. Nice-looking lady, too.”

  Jan? Chatty?

  “What did she have to say?”

  “That she was up here for a drive with her husband.”

  “She just came out and said that?”

  “Well, first, she said how beautiful it was up here, that she’d never been to Lake George before, and I said are you staying somewhere up around here, and she said no, she was just up for a drive with her husband.”

  That all sounded plausible. Some friendly conversation. Why was Duckworth trying to make that sound like more than it was?

  “So then what?” I asked. “She bought something and left?”

  “She bought some drinks, I remember that. Can’t say what they were off the top of my head. An iced tea, I think.”

  “And then she was gone?”

  “She asked me if there was any interesting things to do around here. Something fun.”

  “Something fun?”

  “Aren’t you going to write all this down?” Ted asked.

  I realized I hadn’t been taking notes. I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll remember the good stuff.”

  “I just don’t want to be misquoted or anything.”

  “Don’t worry about that. So what did she mean, something fun?”

  “She wondered if there was something to do around here, because her husband had brought her up on a little car trip, and she was wondering why. She thought maybe he was planning to surprise her with something.”

  “Did she give any other reason why they were up this way? Like, I don’t know, that they were meeting someone?”

  Ted thought about that. “I don’t think so. Just that her husband had brought her up this way and wouldn’t tell her why.”

  I set my notepad and pen on the counter and didn’t ask anything else for a moment. Ted was confused.

  “There a problem?”

  “Why are you lying, Ted?” I asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “I asked why you’re lying.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m telling you the truth. I’m telling you the same thing I told the police.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think you’re making this up.”

  “Are you some kind of nut? She was here, standing right where you are. Only two days ago.”

  “I believe she was here, but I don’t believe she said those things to you. Did someone pay you to tell the police those things? Is that what’s going on?”

  “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “I told you. I’m a reporter, and I don’t like it when people try to jerk me around,” I said.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Ted said, “if you don’t believe me, get the police to show you the tape.”

  “Tape?”

  “Okay, I call it tape, but it’s on a disc or digital or some kind of shit like that. But look.” He pointed over his shoulder. A small camera hung from a bracket that was bolted to the wall. “We got sound, too. It’s not great, but you listen close you can hear what people say. I got robbed pretty bad here back in 2007, asshole even took a shot that went right past my ear and into the wall back here. That’s when I got the camera and the microphone.”

  “It’s all recorded?” I said.

  “Ask the cops. They came up here earlier today, made a copy of it. Why the hell are you accusing me of lying?”

  “Why would she say those things?” I said. But I was talking to myself, not Ted.

  I grabbed my notepad, slipped it back into my jacket, and started heading for the door.

  Ted called out, “When’s this going to be in the paper?”

  I was shaking my head, looking down as I went out the door, trying to come up with a reason why Jan would have told someone she didn’t know why I’d brought her up here. Why she would have said I was planning some kind of surprise for her. It made sense that Jan wouldn’t have told a stranger we’d taken a run up here so I could meet a confidential source. That would have been just plain dumb. But to actually start up a conversation for the purpose of saying those things—what the hell was that about?

  Maybe, had I not been so preoccupied, I would have had some inkling that Welland, Elmont Sebastian’s ex-con driver, was waiting to ambush me the moment I came outside.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Welland grabbed hold of me by my jacket and threw me up against the wall of Ted’s Lakeview General Store hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

  “What the—”

  It was all I managed to say before Welland had his face in mine. “Hey, Mr. Harwood,” he said. As I tried to catch my breath I couldn’t help noticing his was hot and smelled of onions.

  “Get your hands off me,” I said. Welland’s arms, like a couple of shock absorbers, had me pinned to the building.

  “Mr. Sebastian was hoping,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “you might be able to have a word with him.”

  I glanced over and saw the limo only a few feet away, the motor running, the tinted windows all in the up position. I’d have to take Welland’s word that his boss was in there.

  “I said get your fucking hands off me,” I said to Welland, still holding me against the building.

  Welland,
not letting up, said, “Let me ask you something.”

  I said nothing.

  “Some guys, guys like you, can actually go their whole lives and never actually have to prove themselves. You know what I mean? I’m talking in a man-to-man context.” He said that last word with pride. “You ever had to do that? Or was the last time you were in a fight when you were six years old?”

  I still said nothing. The door opened and Ted stuck his head out. “Everything okay out here?”

  Welland shot him a look. “Get lost, old man.”

  Ted went back inside.

  Welland eased off on me, but placed a viselike grip on my arm and led me to the limo. He opened the back door and shoved me through the opening.

  Elmont Sebastian sat on the far side of the thickly padded leather seat. In his hand was a Mars bar, the wrapper peeled back on it like it was a banana. I pulled my leg out of the way just in time to keep Welland from closing the door on it.

  “Mr. Harwood, a pleasure,” Sebastian said.

  Welland came around the car and got behind the wheel. He put the car in drive and sped out of the lot so fast I felt myself thrown back into the seat.

  “I think they call this kidnapping,” I said.

  Sebastian grinned. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, chewing. “This is a business meeting.”

  “I never saw you following me,” I said. “Big car like this is kind of hard to disguise.”

  Sebastian nodded. “We were a couple of miles back.”

  “Then how did you—”

  “We were sloppy last time, having you followed up here with one car, which, to your credit, you spotted. So this time, we used several to keep track of you. I brought in a few of my other staff. When you have a network of institutions such as mine, you have access to a large and varied workforce. Most of them know how to drive. Some of them probably took their driver’s test in stolen cars.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Anyway, once you stopped here again, that information was relayed to me.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked as Welland pushed the car north.

  “Nowhere in particular,” Sebastian said. “Just toodling about.” He finished the candy bar, wadded the wrapper down into a tiny ball, and tossed it to the floor. There was no other trash there, so I guessed Welland’s duties included more than just driving.

  “This’ll make quite a story,” I said. “‘Prison Boss Kidnaps Standard Reporter.’”

  “I don’t think you’ll write that,” he said, moving his tongue over his teeth, getting the last little bits of chocolate out of the way.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you haven’t heard my proposal. Once you have, I think you’ll be feeling more kindly toward me.”

  “What sort of proposal?”

  He reached out and touched my knee. “First of all, I totally understand if you don’t give me an answer today. I know you have a lot on your plate right now, what with this unfortunate business of your wife.”

  “You know all about that,” I said.

  “It would be difficult not to,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve seen the news. I believe some reports are calling you a ‘person of interest,’ which has always struck me as a nice way of saying ‘suspect.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “How soon did Reeves call you after he left the police station?” I asked.

  Sebastian grinned. “I will grant you, the only thing that travels faster than good news is bad news. But then, in your line of work, you probably already know that. Tell me this. Why do the media only focus on the negative? It’s so discouraging, dispiriting even.”

  “When a plane lands safely, it doesn’t tend to warrant a headline,” I said.

  “Yes, that’s true. Good point. But look at my situation. Here I am, offering a needed service, willing to bring jobs and prosperity to your little shithole town, and all I get is grief. At least from the likes of you.”

  “But not my paper,” I said. “It’s been very kind. Have you made a deal yet with Madeline to buy her land?”

  Sebastian smiled. “Star Spangled Corrections is exploring a number of options, Mr. Harwood.”

  “What makes you think that my current problems will stop me from writing about your plans?”

  “Well, I don’t know a lot about journalism, but I think even a minor newspaper like the Standard would have qualms about having a murder suspect actively reporting on the news. My guess is you’ll be on a leave before long.”

  Was that something he actually knew? Just a guess? Either way, he was probably right.

  “And frankly, even if your current problems, as you call them, should happen to disappear, I don’t think it’s in your interests to pursue this any further.”

  “And why would that be?” I asked.

  “Let’s come back to that later,” Sebastian said. “What I’d like to do now is get to my proposal.”

  “By all means,” I said.

  “I wondered how you’d feel about a career change.”

  “A what?”

  “A career change. There’s no future in newspapers. Surely you must be considering your options.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “When Star Spangled Corrections does set up here—and we will, let me assure you—we’re going to need a sharp media relations officer. Someone to deal with the press. I think someone familiar with how the media operates is the way to go.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “I am. Do I strike you as someone who likes to joke around, David?”

  Up front, Welland snickered.

  “No,” I said.

  “I’m being quite sincere here. I’d like you to be my media relations officer. I can guess what you’re being paid at the Standard. Seventy, eighty thousand?”

  Less.

  “Your starting salary would be nearly double that. Not a bad wage for a man with a wife and young son.”

  He seemed to linger on “son.”

  “You haven’t even broken ground yet,” I said. “I guess, in the meantime, I’d still be doing stories about the opposition to your prison.”

  “As a matter of fact, there’s so much prep work involved, I’d need you to start right away if you’re agreeable,” Sebastian said. When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “Look, David, neither of us is stupid. I don’t want to insult you. I’ll be honest. If you take this job, you solve two problems for me. Your editorial campaign against my facility ends, and I end up with a bright young man with a lot of media savvy. It’s the old axiom about having your enemies in the tent with you pissing out, instead of being outside pissing in. I’m asking you to come into the tent, David, and I’m prepared to compensate you well for your trouble.”

  After a moment, I said, “As you said, I have a lot on my plate right now.”

  He leaned back, nodded. “Of course, of course. What must you think of me, even making such a proposal when you’re going through such a difficult time.”

  “But I can still give you an answer now,” I said.

  “Oh,” Sebastian said, taken aback. “Well then, let’s have it.”

  “No.”

  He looked disappointed, but it seemed feigned. “In that case, that leaves just one other item of business. I had hoped, had you accepted my proposal, this next thing would be a simple matter. But now I suspect it may be more difficult.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Who’s your source?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Who was it you came up here to meet?”

  “I didn’t come up here to meet with anyone,” I said.

  Sebastian smiled at me as though I were a child who had disappointed him. “Please, David. I know that’s why you came up here Friday. I know a woman was in touch with you. And I know she didn’t show up. Now you’re up here again, only two days later, and you’d have me believe it’s not for the same reason? Were you stood up again?”

  “I’m not here to meet with anyone.”

  Sebastian si
ghed and took in the scenery flashing past his window. Without looking at me, he said, “Do you have time for a story, David?”

  “I’m something of a captive audience,” I said as the limo continued down the road.

  “One time, at our facility outside Atlanta, we were having trouble with an inmate who went by the nickname of Buddy.”

  Welland glanced at his mirror.

  Sebastian said, “He got that name because everyone wanted to be his friend. It’s not that he was the life of the party or anything. It’s just that everyone thought it was in their interests to stay on his good side. He was a tough character. Buddy was a member of the Aryan Brotherhood, a white supremacist gang that’s insinuated itself into correctional facilities across the country. Are you familiar with them?”

  I just looked at him.

  “Yes, of course you are,” Sebastian said. He shifted slightly to the center of the seat and called up to his driver. “Welland, given that you are our resident expert, how would you characterize the Aryan chaps?”

  Welland glanced into the mirror. “Scariest motherfuckers who ever lived.”

  “Yes,” Sebastian said. “A fair assessment. Welland, would you like to tell this? I’m always afraid when I do it sounds boastful.”

  Welland collected his thoughts a moment, licked his lips, and then said, “Mr. Sebastian had a problem with Buddy. He was an expert at piss-writing.”

  “At what?” I asked. All I could picture was taking a leak outside as a kid, writing my name in the snow.

  “You can use piss to write, and it’s like invisible ink. When you hold the paper up to the light or heat it, you can see the message. Mr. Sebastian found out Buddy was sending a lot of messages this way, communicating with his associates, and he didn’t want him to do it anymore. It wasn’t conducive to the smooth operation of the facility.”

  That made Sebastian smile.

  “So Mr. Sebastian here had Buddy brought to his office, keeping him cuffed, of course. One of the guards, he undid Buddy’s pants, pulled ‘em down around his ankles.” Welland coughed, cleared his throat, like maybe he didn’t enjoy telling this story. “And that was when Mr. Sebastian put fifty thousand volts to his package.”