It's the best I can do. I have found an alternate host for our original arrangement. I shall not be returning to Massachusetts. With Regrets, Bud Maygan.”
Clare folded the letter back up and replaced it. So the man who had given her life now had a name. And through his guilt he was responsible for her house. Yet the answers she now sought would not lie in this museum. They lay out in the wilderness with a detective she had never heard of.
Feeling safer armed, Clare returned to the kitchen. On the table rested several letters, the foremost postmarked 'Worcester Medical' with Jeff's name on it. Ripping the envelope with no care for the letter inside, she pulled out one piece of folded paper, crisp and thick. It was not a detailed note, just a couple of sentences. The note was signed 'Dr Burren', whoever that was, and countersigned by Julian Strange. Clare's legs went weak as she fixated repeatedly on the words 'contact us urgently', reading them again and again. The name at the top was Jeff's but it was her blood that had been tested. Her heart thumped and her stomach tightened. It couldn't be. Not now.
Chapter Fourteen
Early morning found Clare staring at the wall across the living room, not seeing it as she considered her future. “Contact us urgently,” she said for the umpteenth time. Steve stirred on her lap. She had others to consider in this, even if they were tiny. The killer had struck four times in quick succession and then nothing. Three days since the last murder and there was no obvious motive, no clue as to how he was even going about the grisly task. Just the evidence in a document she could never use showing her parents died the same way. The only way to beat whoever did this was to find the information in a place nobody suspected. She had to find the missing agent. Harley wasn't gonna help her. It was a necessary decision, Clare wanted to put the letter to the back of her mind but found it hard to do so. Shoving it in her bag along with the rest of yesterday's mail, she hoped she had time.
Her constant weariness combined with the lack of sleep left her in a bemused state. Nothing seemed real. She made coffee, downing two or three cups before she realized what she was doing. Still thirsty despite the liquid sloshing inside her stomach, Clare forced herself out of the kitchen.
“What's up with you?” Jeff asked as he stumbled down the stairs, fighting his way into a brown woollen sweater. “What was that letter from the hospital?”
Clare paused. He had never read the name on the front. Her secret was still somehow safe. “I… Yeah. They want me to come in for some tests. That's gonna have to wait though. I'm going upstate for a day, maybe two.”
“You don't look in any position to drive,” Jeff pointed out.
“I know. I'm hitching a ride. If you need me, I'll have my cell. Are you staying much longer?”
“Long enough to keep ol' Steve fed. I can work from here and in truth I'm enjoying the silence. I might have a visitor from Boston as well if that's allowed under house rules.”
“Fine with me, Jeff. Anyone of note?”
“It's just a friend from work, a colleague. You don't know her.”
“Her?” Clare smirked. Jeff had never brought anyone out from Boston before. “Should I hang about and meet Miss 'Friend from work a colleague'?”
“You'll meet her soon enough sis, if all goes well.” Clare realized she'd been so obsessed with seeking closure for the dead, she'd ignored the living. She promised herself that would be remedied when she returned.
“That's great. I'll be in touch. Just don't make too much of a mess. Try to leave some food in the fridge.”
A car pulled up on the drive, and the horn honked.
“My ride,” Clare said. With a farewell scratch behind the ears for Steve, who whined his displeasure at their parting once more, she grabbed her bag and went outside.
Terrick waited in a brown Lincoln of a similar age to her Impala, a good thirty years old. The door creaked in the same arthritic manner when she opened it.
“I swear this must be some ex-pat community of Cuba, the way we all drive around in relics,” Terrick said as she buckled up. He was dressed in civvies, brown leather jacket and jeans, no sign of a badge or a gun.
“Either that or we just have really refined taste,” Clare beamed a smile. “This isn't your usual flavour.”
“The car belongs to Candace. I had to promise not only would I take care of you but if she gets so much as a scratch, I have to drive her for a year and she gets a new car.”
Jeff waved from the doorway as they set off, keeping a firm hold on Steve. The tortoiseshell cat tried in desperation to extract himself from Jeff's grip, presumably to run after her.
“Everythin' all right there?”
Clare stared at the dash, her eyes losing focus. “Goodbyes can be hard. For everyone.”
Terrick glanced across at her. “You're holdin' onto that bag real tight. You luggin' the family jewellery about?”
The letter she had opened the day before weighed heavily on her mind, like a lead weight in the bag. To avoid the conversation, she pulled out the gun, her hand glancing off the frigid metal before she got hold of it. With deliberate movements she held it up for Terrick to see.
“A Smith and Wesson. Nice. Old too. You don't see 'em much anymore with everyone packin' glocks.”
“It was in the family. I have no license.”
Clare's admission surprised her more than the sheriff. He just shrugged. “Let's hope you never have to use it.”
Clare watched her brother recede into the distance as they drove along Sunnyside Avenue, turning left onto Main Street. The fire station and St Mary's church passed them on the right and, in no time at all, they were out of Holden and halfway to the next town, Rutland. She sipped at a bottle of water, the compulsion to drain it threatening to overwhelm her. “Yeah, they'll be fine. What about you? How does Candace feel about her husband aiding a potential fugitive?”
“She feels her husband is too damned old to be drivin' young ladies out into the middle of nowhere lookin' for trouble. But she knows it's the right thing to do.” Terrick looked askance at her. “That gun's not the reason you're claspin' that bag so tight, girl. Come on, what's really up?”
Clare closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was difficult to admit to herself, let alone tell anybody else. “I submitted some blood samples to Worcester Medical and I got this.” Clare pulled the letter out and waved it.
“What's it say?”
“They want me in as soon as possible.”
Terrick slowed the car. “Jesus, girl, we should take you there now. It could be serious.”
“No. Terrick, we need to find answers. We need them now. This can wait. If it had been that bad they'd have called me direct. As it is, I think it might just be diabetes.”
“Don't know much about that,” Terrick admitted. “Insulin and needles; is that the one?”
“Yeah. You get thirsty a lot, and tired. They can control it once they diagnose it. It's a gradual illness.”
“But you should still go. I can take you.”
Clare turned to regard her driver. “Let's try to get some answers first, then hospital. If I go back to Worcester, I'm probably getting arrested, and the killer is free to suck the life out of whomever he wants. We need to go back armed with information beyond the control of Harley.”
“I sure hope you're right.” Terrick's voice was full of doubt. Clare had no more to say on the subject. If diabetes was what she had, she didn't have much time left before she became seriously ill.
Clare came to alone in the car. The metallic creaks of the engine told her she hadn't been left alone for long. A solid-looking building rose up to the left of the parking lot, the shadow of which kept her out of the direct glare of the sun. It was early afternoon already. She licked her dry, cracked lips, and finished off her bottle of water.
“There you are,” Terrick said, poking his head into the car. “Thought you were gonna sleep all day the way you dropped off.”
“It's been hours. Did we stop? How far did we get? Petersham? Or
ange?” They were the next two towns along the highway. Clare hadn't learned all the places.
“Bernardston.”
“What, already?”
“Girl, you went out like a snuffed candle. I wasn't gonna wake you to point out hills and waterfalls. This here's Crystal Watson.” Terrick stood back to reveal a rotund young woman with short brown hair and a smile who raised a hand in greeting. “She'll take you in and see to your needs. Then we got a meeting with the chief.”
Impressed, Clare climbed out of the Lincoln. “You don't hang about.”
Following her host, Clare used the restroom and in short order was back in the reception of what appeared a recently-refurbished police station. Three cells, all clean with their bars slid back, sat opposite two small offices. Several potted plants were on the sill of the internal window.
“It's quite cosy for a station,” Clare observed. “Would be great to have my precinct this tidy. But for the cells you'd just think it was an office in any small town.”
Crystal smiled. “You can't escape the fact we are what we are, honey. The town's so quiet we've not had to use the cells at all in a year or more. Doesn't mean we can't have a few home comforts.
Terrick approached with another man, muscular and well-fitting in his police uniform. “Better?”
“Much. I haven't slept like that in days. I could use a drink though.”
“Clare, this is Jim Deane, chief around here.”
The police chief extended his hand. “It's a pleasure, ma'am. Terrick here says you're on a bit of a fact finding mission. Come into my office and let's discuss it.”
Clare shook the proffered hand, her own being engulfed in his grip. With Terrick at her side, she followed the chief into his office where they sat down in functional, basic wooden seats opposite him. Clare went immediately for the jug of water that had been placed between them, not failing to notice the glances of misplaced amusement from both men.
“So what can I help you with?” Chief Deane leaned back in his chair, very much at ease in his surroundings.
“Jarret Logan, a detective out of Worcester was reassigned here a decade or so back. We believe he has information crucial to a case I'm looking into.”
“And what would that be?”
It was more information than Clare wanted to give but clearly, it was the only way to deal. “It's multiple homicide of a very strange nature. The bodies appeared drained of all liquid.”
Deane's eyebrows rose at this. “Jarret Logan, you say.” He pulled out a report that had seen better days, old proper typeface with worn staple binding. Flicking through it with a doubtful look on his face, the chief eventually dropped the report onto the desk. “I can't help you there.”
This stunned Clare. It was not the answer she assumed she would get.
Terrick noticed the look on her face and asked, “You mean you have no record of him?”
“No record of him, never heard of him.”
“That can't be,” Clare said, crestfallen. The wooden seat felt much harder. What was she to do now?
“Can. Is. I've been Chief for eight years, since this building was built. Before that I was a patrolman in the department. Look about you here. We aren't exactly an army. Your man here says that Worcester has no record of this office. Either someone has sabotaged your records or just never bothered to keep in touch. We used to be policed by the Shelburne Falls department of the State Police. Some joke we are so far removed from anywhere of note in Massachusetts that we may as well be Vermonters. Maybe someone in the big city had problem with us. As it is, we keep ourselves to ourselves. As long as Bernardston is free of crime and Pioneer Valley is safe, I'm a happy guy.”
Clare walked out of the Bernardston Police Department dejected and confused. “I just thought it would be so easy. What a fool.”
Terrick waved thanks to Crystal Watson, who watched them leave as they headed north through the town.
“He had no idea,” Terrick concluded. “He wasn't interested, just very provincial. I get the feelin' he didn't want any trouble comin' his way.”
“Maybe there was more to this little set-up than we saw,” Clare supposed.
Terrick laughed. “Hey girl, now don't be seein' ghosts where there ain't no shadows. You've already caused enough of a ruckus back in Worcester.”
The phone Tina had given Clare began to ring. Clare put it on speaker. “Tina?”
“Hey there sweets. How're you hanging?”
“I'm thirsty,” Clare admitted. “I'm with Terrick. You?”
“Anxious. Clare, I think Harley suspects. There are rumours around the department that someone broke into the records rooms and messed with Federal documents. They aren't confirming who or what yet.”
Clare thanked Tina in silence for getting her to copy rather than retain the documents.
“The place is on lockdown, Clare. They are calling everybody in to account for themselves. Everybody, do you understand? When they can't find you…” the unspoken consequence was thick in the air.
“What do you think I should do?”
“Stay close to the sheriff, and keep your head down.”
“You should keep yours down too.”
There was a sigh from the other end of the line. “That's not hard, sweets. There's all manner of weird going on down here at the moment. I'm on a rape case with Caruso where the perp is damned-near impossible to detect. There was footage from the hotel, yet every time we look at the tapes he's a ghost. Nobody can remember him.”
The name 'Caruso' caused Clare to shudder, pushing herself back into the worn fabric of the Lincoln's passenger seat.
“Listen, I have to go. Stay safe Clare. Are you alone?”
“No, I have Terrick with me.”
“The sheriff? Good call.”
“Thanks for the approval,” came Terrick's dry response.
There was a pause. Tina clearly had not expected a conference. “Look after her, Sheriff. And stay away from police stations. If they decide to hunt you, better be in the wildest backwater imaginable. Harley's tenacious.” The line clicked off. Clare sat in silence.
“So we can't go home, and we have no leads,” Terrick surmised. “It's time for food. You look starved. Pie?”
“Sure,” Clare sighed. “If we're gonna go all 'Deliverance', I guess we'd better stock up first. Did you see anywhere on the way in?”
“I noticed a couple of good-lookin' places. There's an Italian called Antonio's up by the highway and somewhere a little less conspicuous up here on the left.”
Clare waited in anticipation as Terrick drove at a painfully normal speed through Bernardston. As the buildings began to increase in frequency, she noticed a large lake off to the right in the distance.
“Fall River Reservoir,” Terrick said, noticing her stare.
“It looks peaceful.”
“Hah. In this part of the state, look in any direction and all you get is a whole lot of peaceful. Here's the restaurant.”
On their left, a light brown building, wide and squat with a dark brown roof caught like a bug beneath a spider web of powerlines, emerged from the treeline. The sign out front read 'Four Leaf Clover'. Clare wished a bit of their luck would rub off on her.
Terrick pulled into the parking lot, the Lincoln bumping over the gaping cracks in the asphalt. They parked under the shade of a giant Linden tree, next to a quaint white house with a blue roof, well away from the road. The parking lot was busy, and they merged with the traffic.
Clare attempted to give Terrick a stare that implied they could have parked closer.
He picked up on it. “It's best to remain unobtrusive. You may not have noticed but we've been tailed since about a mile out from the station back there. No, don't try and look. Just act normal. There's a red Chevy just pullin' into the lot. Get out, act normal. Go into the restaurant. I'll be watchin'.”
Clare did as bidden. Her heart was thudding in her chest. Blood pounded in her ears and she felt faint. The day was cloying
and hot, the sun paining her eyes as it shone off the cars around her. Near the exit, a cherry-red Chevy Malibu was pulling in. It moved past. Clare wanted to turn and stare at the driver yet she kept her head straight.
“Okay marked him,” Terrick confirmed. “Old dude, grey hair stickin' out seven ways from Sunday, bearded.”
“What do we do?”
“We go eat; try not to make a fuss.”
Clare pushed through the door, wishing nothing more than to get inside and away from the view of their pursuer. She was met by the bustle of a restaurant in full flow of the lunch shift. People crowded round the bar making it difficult to hide. Clare squeezed round them and leaned against a counter covered in vases. Cocktail glasses hung upside down behind the counter.
“Help you, darlin'?” called a redhead in a red-patterned blouse. Her name tag bore the name 'Julie'.
“Got a table for two? Somewhere quiet?” Clare asked, wondering how the hell there was any space left for anybody.
“Sure thing, foller me,” she said with a smile, swishing her way between two rotund men, one who swatted at her behind.
“Nuff o' that, Clyde,” she admonished him. Clare gave him a look. If he did the same thing to her she wouldn't be as forgiving.
Terrick chuckled. “Way to keep a low profile.”
Julie led them to a booth obscured on the far side of the restaurant by the bar. It offered concealment from the entrance. The sides and back of the wooden booth reached past her head and Clare settled as far in as she could get.
The Eyes Have No Soul Page 12
