Storm Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  “So, you want to pick up a bottle of champagne on our way home? Although if Gibbons isn’t paying us the balance he owes us, maybe we should stick to soda.”

  “We don’t need his money,” Sam said. “Anyway, I feel like we were working less for him than for those six people. Let’s go grab a burger somewhere. I’ve got an idea I want to explore.”

  Lacey turned her car toward home, but kept an eye out for lunch places along the freeway. Spotting one of their favorites, she pulled off and wheeled into the parking lot.

  “It’s been quite a day already,” she said as they slid into a booth. “I’ll be okay with taking it easy this afternoon.” She perused the menu. “What’s your idea?”

  He glanced at the menu and tossed it aside. A waitress appeared to take their orders, and Sam waited until she walked away before answering.

  He fiddled with his napkin. “Gibbons has shown his true colors,” he began, “and they’re not the most honorable. I’m afraid he won’t report back the truth to the families of those people.” He rested his gaze on Lacey. “I feel like we need to do that.”

  She considered that. “I believe the police will do that once they’ve investigated the drainpipe completely,” she said softly. “But if you want…”

  He nodded. “I do want. Gibbons said earlier that Pam’s family was asking questions. I would think they might all be doing that.” He sipped his water. “The least we can do is offer.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “When we get home, I’ll call Gorman and see if he can give me contact information for all of them.”

  “Good,” Sam said. He let out a long breath. “It’s all so senseless. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…”

  “I know.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I know.”

  ~~~

  Lacey waited until late in the afternoon to call Gorman. Let the man work, she thought. When she did call, he picked up right away.

  “Detective Gorman,” she said, “this is Lacey Fitzpatrick.”

  “It’s Dale, Lacey.” She could hear his smile. “If you’re calling about the investigation, it’s going to take—”

  “No, I’m not,” she said quickly. “I know it takes time. What I am calling about is the families of the victims. We know you’ll talk to them once the investigation is complete, and we also know that Gibbons won’t happily agree with your findings. What Sam wants to do is… give them all some closure. He wants to explain what happened. What he felt from each of the victims. I’m pretty sure your guys can’t do that.”

  Dale’s voice was quiet. “You’re right about that.”

  “So,” she continued, “I was wondering if you could give me some contact information. I could certainly research it myself, but you could save me some time…”

  “You got it,” he said. “Hang on. Let me grab the file.”

  She heard paper rustling, then Dale was back on the line. “Got a pencil?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Shoot. I mean, go ahead.”

  Dale chuckled.

  As he gave her the names and numbers, she jotted them down. He also provided the relationships, which would be helpful. By the time he was done, she had quite a list of parents, spouses, siblings, and grown children.

  “Sam’s going to have his work cut out for him,” she noted.

  Dale was silent for a moment. “Do you two… do this often?”

  Lacey sighed. “Not a lot. Often times the souls we encounter have no living relatives we can trace. But these… This is still so fresh. Couple that with the, ‘Hi, we’re ghost hunters’ message and you can imagine the reception we may get.”

  “Yeah.” His voice was quiet. “Well, if there’s anything else I can do to help…”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You’re doing plenty. Did Gibbons leave you alone after we left?”

  “Oh, yeah. Not happily, but he left. Probably had to go check on more of his slumlord properties.”

  She shook her head, even though Dale couldn’t see her. “I hate people who are more interested in money-grubbing than people’s safety. Nothing but parasites.”

  “I hear that,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be eradicating them any time soon.”

  “No, probably not. Well, thanks, Dale. I appreciate all your help.”

  “Sure thing. And good luck.”

  She made a face as she ended the call. They could use a little luck.

  Or a lot of it.

  ~~~

  Sam read the list of names and created a tentative plan for calling.

  “Looks like the majority of these are Southern California, judging by the area codes,” he said. “I’ll start with those. The others might be back east somewhere, so I’ll try those earlier in the day.”

  “I’ll find out exactly where those area codes are,” Lacey offered. She fired up her laptop at the breakfast table in the kitchen. Sam got out his phone.

  “No time like the present,” he said. “I’m calling Pam’s parents.”

  Lacey glanced at the list. Jim and Elaine Devlin.

  “Is this Mrs. Devlin?” she heard Sam ask. “My name is Sam Firecloud. Ray Gibbons hired my partner and I… Oh, he told you?” He glanced at Lacey, his eyebrows up near his hairline. “You know… Well, good. I’m glad to hear that… Yes, I did walk the property. Actually, I’m wondering if my partner and I could meet with you and talk about it.”

  Sam got to his feet and began to walk. Lacey knew he thought better on his feet. She bent to the list and the unfamiliar area codes.

  Hugh Bellamy, the truck driver, was divorced but had two grown sons, both of whom had different area codes. She checked the first one: Kansas. The second was for North Carolina. Daytime calls for those two, for sure, she thought. She marked them.

  No listing for a wife. Either dead or long gone out of the picture.

  Tate Beall, the other forklift driver, had parents Suzanne and Paul. Their area code, Lacey found, was for Denver. Mountain Time Zone, so a daytime call would be best.

  The rest were all in California, if not strictly local. Mario Escobar’s wife was named Luz. Lacey wondered how she was doing with the six kids, and realized she herself couldn’t even imagine what the woman was going through.

  Jay Rafferty’s parents were Lois and Andy. Now that Sam had discovered Pam’s folks knew about his and Lacey’s involvement, she wondered if Jay’s parents knew as well. Sometimes future in-laws became friendly. How sad for the four of them, who had been planning a wedding and instead ended up with funerals.

  Finally, Warren Knox, the manager, had a wife named Rosalie. He’d had three kids and two grandkids, but no contact numbers for any of them. The wife was enough.

  Just as Lacey finished noting the details on her list for Sam, he ambled back into the kitchen. His thoughtful expression told her little.

  “So?” she asked. “Good conversation?”

  Sam took a chair before he answered. “Yeah, kind of. The good news is that she’s open to meeting with us, she and her husband and their twenty-year-old son. They’ll get back to us about when. The bad news is that she’s pretty sure the results of the investigation are not going to be comforting.”

  “What’d you tell her?” Lacey asked softly.

  He exhaled heavily. “Just that we’d uncovered additional evidence and the police were handling it. I got the distinct feeling, though, that she doesn’t like or trust Gibbons.”

  Lacey snorted. “Good for her. Too bad those other people trusted him. Scumbag.”

  Sam looked at the list again. “I’m going to call Mario’s wife. His last thoughts were for her, and their kids.” He punched the number in his phone. “Then that’s enough for today,” he said.

  Phone to his ear, he left and paced the living room. Lacey agreed that was enough. These conversations were never easy. She’d had her share, too.

  She turned her thoughts to what she could make for dinner.

  Sam had spoken only briefly to Luz Escobar; the poor woman
was too tearful to talk for long. She understood what Sam was offering, however, and promised to call back. Sam thought the Latina culture kept her open to the idea of spirits, and he felt she was grateful for the chance to have a last few minutes with her husband’s.

  So when Sam’s phone chimed halfway through dinner, Lacey expected it to be Luz. It was not.

  “Elaine Devlin,” Sam said, checking the screen. “Be right back.”

  Lacey let out a sigh. It would be nice when they wrapped this up. Daniel’s birthday party was a week and a half away; she hoped they’d be able to put all this sadness and anger to bed so they could share fully in the fun of the party, and she dearly hoped Daniel could, too.

  When Sam rejoined her at the table, he was grinning.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “We’ve got a meeting on Sunday evening,” he said, “at the Devlin’s house. Them and their son, Pam’s brother, and… the Rafferty family as well.”

  “Oh?”

  Sam nodded. “They all want to be there, all want to hear from us. The Raffertys have twin daughters, both married with kids. It’s gonna be a full house.”

  “Wow,” Lacey said. “That should be… interesting.”

  “I’m sure,” Sam said. “Well, it’ll be good to talk to them all at one time.”

  Lacey agreed. The more ghosts they could lay to rest, the better she liked it.

  ~~~

  FIFTEEN

  The balance of the week was a patchwork quilt. Sam returned to his ceramics studio and the hands-on work he loved; Lacey immersed herself into background checks. In between times, Sam contacted more family members, or tried to. He left messages for Hugh Bellamy’s sons, but never heard back from them. Tate Beall’s parents in Colorado were angry, and more focused on prosecuting Gibbons than talking about spirituality. Sam referred them to Gorman.

  Warren Knox’s wife, Rosalie, was in the middle of packing up and selling her home, moving in with her oldest daughter. Sam said the woman sounded scattered and overwhelmed, and thanked Sam for his call but, he thought, didn’t really hear him. He gave her Gorman’s number as well, in case she had questions once she got settled.

  Luz Escobar returned Sam’s call after a few days and asked to meet with them the following week. She wanted the meeting to be early on a week day when all her children were in school. Sam scheduled it for Monday morning at ten.

  Dale Gorman checked in and told them the test of the drainpipe showed exactly what they all suspected: no water made its way through the clog of decaying leaves. Fully two-thirds of the pipe was blocked as completely as if it had concrete in it. The LAPD was reviewing Gibbons’ records in regard to maintenance, but those records were woefully lacking.

  Gibbons’ future looked much more troublesome than the insurance windfall he’d been hoping for.

  On Saturday, Sam and Lacey put it all aside when they picked up the kids.

  They talked with Christine as the kids got their backpacks.

  “All set for next weekend?” Sam asked her.

  She nodded with a smile. “All set. Start time is eleven, pizza served at noon, then fun and games until three.”

  “I’m guessing,” Sam said, “parents should not be too obviously in attendance.”

  “Right,” she said. “Unobtrusively playing video games, fine. Hovering, taking massive amounts of pictures, definitely not.”

  “Got it,” Sam said.

  “How’s he doing?” Lacey asked in a low voice.

  “Oh,” Christine sighed, “I don’t know. He’s not as angry, but still very quiet. Still moody.”

  “Still Daniel,” Sam said.

  “Exactly.”

  Kenzie danced into the kitchen, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

  “I’m ready,” she sang out.

  “Hi, kiddo,” Lacey said. She gave Kenzie a quick hug, which the ten-year-old happily returned.

  “Know what I want for my birthday?” the girl asked archly.

  “What?”

  “I want a picnic and then to go horseback riding.”

  “That sounds like a full day,” Lacey said. She glanced at Sam and Christine. Both were looking very thoughtful. Kenzie’s birthday was little more than a month away.

  “We’ll talk about it,” Christine said.

  Daniel finally made an appearance, his Dodgers cap pulled down low over his eyes. He waved to his dad and Lacey, but then just stood waiting.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “Let’s go. See you tomorrow, Christine.”

  “Have fun,” she called.

  In the car, Kenzie continued her lobbying effort. “Madison, my friend at school, said they have horseback riding at Griffith Park. And there’s picnic grounds there and everything.”

  “That’s true,” Sam said. He shot a sideways glance at Lacey, no doubt remembering their case there.

  “Since Daniel’s having ten friends at his party, I can have ten at mine, right?” Kenzie went on.

  “We’ll see,” Sam said. “It’ll depend on the cost, you know.”

  “Oh.” That seemed to put a damper on Kenzie’s big plans.

  “You all set for your day?” Sam asked Daniel.

  “Yeah. But this will be my last birthday party,” he said in a low tone.

  Lacey glanced into the rearview mirror. “You going to stop having birthdays?” she asked with a smile.

  “No.” He shrugged. “But parties are just… kid stuff.”

  “Ah.” Lacey thought she understood. “And you’re going to have more adult things to think about, like driving,” she said.

  “That’s right.” Daniel sat forward. “When can I start learning? I know I can’t get my learner’s permit for six months, but I need to start before that.”

  Sam thought about that for a moment. Lacey kept quiet.

  “Yeah, we can start doing a little bit in an empty lot somewhere,” Sam said finally. “You can’t hurt my truck much.”

  Sam’s truck was almost twenty years old—older than Daniel—and didn’t have an undented panel or fender on it. He’d gotten it when he’d started working construction, and hadn’t wanted—and couldn’t afford—a new one.

  “Can’t I drive Lacey’s car?” Daniel asked hopefully. He’d been very fond of the bright red Rav4 since the day Lacey bought it.

  “Truck first,” Sam said. “Car later.”

  Lacey was glad to hear that.

  “Okay,” Daniel agreed morosely. He sat back and stared out the side window again.

  Back at their apartment, Lacey went to the kitchen to figure out lunch. Kenzie wanted to see her dad’s new pottery designs, and Daniel tossed his pack in his room and wandered aimlessly. Finally he peered into the kitchen as Lacey was pulling out bread and sandwich fixings.

  “Hey,” she said. “Did you finish your paper on the Miranda thing?”

  “Yeah.” Daniel moved into the kitchen and eyed the peanut butter, cheese and lunch meat scattered across the counter. He pulled a knife from the drawer and began laying slices of bread on napkins.

  “How’d you do on it?” she asked.

  Daniel grinned at her. “Got a B+.”

  “Good job!” Lacey said. “Congratulations.”

  “I’m going to have peanut butter,” he said. He began slathering Chunky on a slice of bread.

  “I think I’ll have that, too,” Lacey said. “Will you make me one?”

  “Sure,” Daniel said.

  “I’ll go see what your dad and Kenzie want.”

  Lacey was heartened by Daniel’s sporadic engagement and conversation. While he occasionally slipped back into morose silence, it wasn’t as encompassing as it had been last weekend. She felt sure time was doing its slow, inexorable healing.

  Thinking to get a jump on Kenzie’s birthday, Lacey checked online for the rates of horseback riding at Griffith Park. If they kept the ride to an hour or two and kept the picnic simple, they could bring the cost down. It was doable. She mentioned to Sam that it might be worthwhil
e to go out and take a look, as long as the sun was shining. They could do a little hiking while they were at it.

  The ground was still damp and the hiking trails had their share of puddles, but it felt good to get out and stretch their legs. The scent of eucalyptus flavored the moist air. The many down, wet leaves that littered the ground reminded Lacey of the warehouse, so she lifted her eyes to the brilliant blue sky instead.

  Kenzie chattered incessantly about the possibilities for her birthday. While Lacey had a feeling the girl was overreaching on the scope of the party, she thought having a celebration out here would be a good thing. Neither she nor Sam had spent any time here since that long ago case of the missing jogger. She thought it would be good for them to supplant those sad, serious memories with some positive ones: a gaggle of eleven-year-old girls running and giggling; balloons and cake and ripping open presents. They could all do with a little frivolity.

  Maybe, she thought, like Daniel, they could all use a little healing.

  ~~~

  SIXTEEN

  Sunday evening, they took the kids home a little early and headed once again for Inglewood. The weekend had been a welcome break from the scattered concerns about the warehouse. Now, though, came some of the hardest work: delivering a tragic message and helping the survivors make sense of it all.

  Lacey pulled up in front of the neat ranch home and parked at the curb. The sun had set but the sky was still light, casting the house and the manicured lawn in a flattering golden glow. There were multiple cars parked in the driveway and on the pad in front of the two-car garage. Two families, first joined by love, now joined by tragedy.

  She wasn’t looking forward to this, and felt some guilty relief that Sam would be taking the lead.

  They walked to the front door and Lacey rang the bell. In a moment the door was opened by a smiling woman with short, brown hair.

  “Mrs. Devlin?” Sam asked.

  “Yes. Elaine, please. Come in, come in.” She pulled the door open wider for them, and was joined by her husband as they stepped into the entry hall.