Looking up at the shimmering figure, though it remained unformed, she nonetheless recognised who it was. Sydney blinked and wept and welcomed its presence for the first time.
‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’
‘Who else would it be, baby?’ he replied.
Perhaps she witnessed a broad smile, though her father’s form flickered in and out like a broadcast on an aged TV screen. Still only a dream, but one she desperately wanted to play out.
‘I wondered if you would come to me, Daddy. I so badly wanted to have one last chance to see you again, to speak to you and say all the things I should have said while you were still alive.’
The vague, iridescent figure shook its head in the darkened room, faint wisps first curling around it and then dissipating like trails of smoke or thick fog vanishing into the distance. ‘There’s no need, my dear, sweet child,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘There is nothing you can possibly tell me that I do not already know.’
‘But still I should have told you while I had the chance.’
‘What, how much you loved me? How much you respected me for raising you to be the woman you are? Oh, Sydney, that much and more has been clear to me every single day since your dear mother passed on.’
‘I’m sorry if I don’t always remember to think about you,’ Sydney sobbed, a deluge of tears flooding down both cheeks. She reached out a tremulous hand, which traced the curve of his face somewhere in the space between them. ‘Or if at times I can’t recall your features.’
‘None of that matters,’ her father gently insisted. ‘It’s immaterial. You hold me in your heart, Syd. It’s where I’ve always been. It’s where I will always remain.’
‘Daddy, it’s so lonely here without you. The house feels too small and cold when you’re not in it.’
‘A house is just a home, a home merely a place of shelter. What matters, all that truly matters, is that which we carry in our hearts and minds. Move on, Syd. Move on and take me with you wherever you go.’
Eyes still squeezing out hot tears, Sydney stared at her father’s kind features projected by the writhing figure, which remained tantalisingly out of reach. A question lodged in her mind and before she had time to consider the consequences of asking it, her mouth was forming the words.
‘Who did this to you, Daddy? Do you know? Did you see them?’
Before she was even finished speaking, the undulating ethereal trails began to unravel, stripping aside every strand fashioning her father’s indistinct form, tearing apart his very essence, before binding together again in a wholly different, unrecognisable guise. This misshapen creature before her stood deformed and grasping, green eyes glowing in fierce condemnation of her questions. In a sudden movement it lunged for her, sending Sydney rearing back until her spine jammed against the padded headboard.
‘No!’ she screamed, raised arms warding off its foul approach. But the hollows inside Sydney’s stomach told her she was already too late and too slow to avoid its despicable lunge.
Thirty-One
When she awoke to bright sunshine and birdsong, Sydney immediately remembered the intense presence in her room during the night. With a huge sigh of relief, she rubbed her eyes and dismissed the recollection as a nightmare brought on by the stress and trauma of recent events. Despite the warm air, she shivered. Her thin cotton nightwear felt cold and clammy to the touch, and she realised her body must have been bathed in sweat at one point. Relieved to find herself unscathed, Sydney shook her head in wonder at allowing herself to become so consumed by a silly dream.
That respite lasted only as long as it took her to stagger yawning and stretching into the bathroom, where she immediately saw two words written in toothpaste on the mirror above the sink.
WALK AWAY.
Her response was immediate and involuntary. Unable to hold it back, Sydney fell to her knees and vomited loudly and copiously into the toilet. The acidic taste of bile rose into her throat, which she spat out in disgust. It took her three attempts. Continuing to hug the bowl, and grateful for having tied her hair back before going to bed, she mentally told herself to calm down and snap out of it. Although the message on the mirror had come as a terrible shock, she couldn’t understand the reaction it prompted. Throughout her time working in law-enforcement, she had witnessed the aftermath of the most awful atrocities imaginable; numerous visually graphic, emotionally draining incidents which she took in her stride with professional decorum and fortitude.
Why, then, was she becoming so untethered? First the unsettling nightmare, and now throwing up after realising someone had been inside her home while she slept. How was it that these recent events had taken such a toll upon her, when previously she had dismissed and ridden out far worse?
After a few minutes, with her stomach settling and the heat in her forehead and cheeks having cooled, Sydney pulled herself back to her feet. At the sink, she wiped her lips with a wet flannel and cupped water into her mouth, which she then swilled around her palate before spitting it out. Looking up, she caught sight of her reflection. The Hello Kitty on her V-necked navy T-shirt was impassive, but the Avengers characters on her Marvel pyjama bottoms appeared shamefaced and unwilling to meet her eye. The child-like nature of her attire made her smile for the first time that morning, and she immediately felt better for it. Dabbing her face with a clean towel, her eyes fell upon the frosted beaker in which both her toothbrush and paste usually resided.
The brush leaned against the rim on its own.
She spent the next few moments searching the tiny bathroom, to no avail. Finally she looked at the contents of the waste basket, and there inside its liner was the toothpaste tube curled up into a tight ball.
Keeping her wits about her, Sydney fetched a zip-loc freezer bag from the kitchen cupboard and, pinching a sheet of toilet tissue between her fingers, carefully hoisted the tube out of the bin and placed it inside the plastic pouch. The casual discarding of her toiletry item suggested whoever had broken in during the night had been wearing gloves, but with both her strength and confidence returning she was in no mood to take chances.
That was the evidence taken care of. It was time to decide what to do with the information. That somebody had been inside her home on at least two occasions was a terrifying notion. That they had done so this time while she lay in bed aching for sleep, ratcheted up the fear level by several notches. Yet on neither occasion had anyone sought to harm her, which provided a small measure of comfort. She thought back to the previous night and the dream-like creature’s round green eyes. Had they been night-vision goggles? Had the intruder been looking down at her in that strange tinted light, seeing her more clearly in the darkness? Had they witnessed the conversation with her father? Worse, perhaps even taken part in it? His part?
If it had happened at all. She wouldn’t take bets on which part of the night had been reality and which had not. The only certainty was the message on her bathroom mirror.
Shuddering, Sydney fetched a lightweight dressing gown from her room and pulled it tight around her neck and then tied the belt in a firm bow at the waist. The stale morning air trapped inside the house was thick and heavy enough to choke her, yet still her skin was too chilled to throw open any windows. Her body was reacting to shock and Sydney became exasperated by it. Heat rose high into her cheeks, and something buried deep inside snapped in a rapid unfurling of anger.
‘Pull yourself together, Sydney Merlot,’ she chided herself, hands balling into fists, nails digging into her palms. ‘Are you your father’s daughter or not? Is this the way Sidney Merlot’s kid reacts to a violation of trust and a stupid nightmare? So somebody came into your home and fiddled with your computer. So somebody, maybe even the same somebody, entered your home again last night and stood in your bedroom peering down at you. So what? It’s done. Nothing you can do about preventing it from happening once it’s happened. What you can do is figure out who it was, what they were after, and then find a way to make sure they never do it
again. That’s what Sidney Merlot’s little girl would do.’
The echo of stern words spoken to herself had barely faded when there was a loud rapping at the front door. Sydney just about climbed out of her skin at the harsh sound bouncing back off the walls. Clutching a hand to her skipping heart, she walked across the room, pulled back a blind and looked to see who stood outside on her porch. She blinked once and then frowned.
Duncan Baxter.
Checking herself to ensure she was entirely presentable, Sydney pulled the door open. But not before realising that the deadbolt was no longer in place. Certain that she had snapped it closed before going to bed the previous night, her next thought was to wonder if she was wrong and that the night-time intruder had come and gone the same way because of her own lack of care and attention.
‘Hi, Duncan,’ she said, quickly gathering her wits. ‘I’m surprised to see you here this morning.’
I’m surprised to see you here at all, is what she was thinking.
The retiree was not in the mood for small talk. ‘I came here to warn you,’ he said, barrelling past her into the living area. Stiff with tension, the man was all sharp angles and ill-concealed fury.
Closing the door behind him, Sydney said, ‘What do you mean by warn me? About what, exactly?’
‘I had an uninvited visitor last night. At my home, Goddamnit! They didn’t manage to get inside, but they did screw around with a window. My security system is too sophisticated for such amateur tampering, though. Someone tries to force a window open without first slipping the internal catch, another lock snaps into place tighter than a nun’s… well, real tight is what I’m saying.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ Sydney strode barefoot across to the sofa, onto which she slowly lowered herself, tucking the robe beneath her legs. Her mind scrolled through all manner of scenarios.
‘Of course I am. You think I don’t know my own alarm rig?’
Sydney shook her head. ‘Sure. Sorry, Duncan. Please sit down. Tell me what you know.’
He dropped into the armchair closest to where she sat. Spread his hands wide. ‘Not a whole lot more than that. My camera to the rear of the house caught a figure in dark clothing, hood pulled down over their face enough to mask it. They made sure to keep looking down, too. Must have known about the security, or had noticed it on their way in. Anyhow, they crept around the side of the house, which is where they tried to gain access. Must have heard the safety lock pop, or perhaps the alarm beeping inside. Either way, they ran off.’
Sydney’s thoughts were drawn by his description of the figure to the one captured by the camera monitoring her father’s office inside the house. ‘Did you go after them?’
‘Sure did. I grabbed up my rifle, went outside, checked my perimeter, but they were long gone.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I didn’t figure you in until a short while ago. At the time, I assumed it was a burglar looking for some easy money. But then my mind got all stirred up, I thought about what you and I have been discussing lately, and I was worried in case the same thing happened to you at some point.’
Sydney pushed out a long sigh of resignation. ‘It already has, Duncan.’
She told him all about the laptop, the dream which she was certain must have been some sort of reality wrapped up in the haze of sleep. Her initial relief when she woke, followed by her discovery in the bathroom.
Baxter’s expression grew all the more rigid. ‘The bastards!’ he snapped, then clamped his jaws together.
‘Truth is, Duncan, I’ve been on edge for a couple of days without being able to explain it. Carrying around with me a sense of unease, that all is not quite right. I feel as if I’m being watched, you know what I mean?’
He did.
‘There’s something else I need to tell you,’ Sydney said, her voice guarded. ‘The truth is, until you turned up on my doorstep and told me about your own trespasser, I wasn’t at all sure about why someone had taken an interest in me to such a degree. You see, I am also investigating the husband of a woman who kind of became my client because she was the last of my father’s contacts. In fact, they met the night he was killed. And I have a terrible suspicion that her husband was responsible for running my father off the road. As a result, he and I had a… I guess you’d say a confrontation on Friday, and until you mentioned you’d also received a visit from an intruder, I did wonder if it was him who broke in here.’
Baxter leaned back into his cushion, eyes thinning. ‘You figure you needed another battle on your hands?’
‘That’s your take on everything I just told you?’
‘All I’m saying is, it seems like an awful lot to have to deal with in one go.’
‘This is my father we’re talking about. If this man killed him, then you’re damned right that’s a fight I am not turning away from.’
‘I get that.’ Duncan nodded, threading the fingers of both hands together in his lap. ‘But you got me involved in this Kevin Muller business. Something that goes against the people in this town, the police, sheriff’s office, not to mention the mayor and his cronies. You split your attention the way you have been and it’ll end up costing you. I don’t want that, and I sure as heck don’t want it costing me, either.’
Sydney recognised the wisdom in his words. It had already counted against her. While her thoughts had strayed across to Gerry Kasper, they ought to have been focussing on whoever stood to lose out most of all if Dexter Muller’s claims about his son were correct.
Thirty-Two
Visitors to the area often assume Twain Harte was built as a fictional town for a movie or television series. Pleasantly surprised to discover it was a real place with a rich history, tourists took great delight in telling local people how the name sounded a little bit quaint and an awful lot fake. Founded in the early twentieth century and named after the renowned author Mark Twain and the less famous scribe, Bret Harte, it was now home to a shade over two thousand residents who revelled in its distinctive moniker.
Running late for her hastily arranged meeting with Sonia Kasper, Sydney nosed the truck off highway 108 and headed towards Twain Harte lake. The two were due to have met in the Snack Shack at 1.00pm, but it was a quarter past the hour and she hoped her client was still waiting for her.
It had been Duncan’s idea to confront the woman about her husband.
‘You go on following a man like that and he catches sight of you again, you better be prepared to draw your weapon and use it,’ he told her. ‘I have no way of knowing if the guy is guilty of more than running around on his wife and leaning on her too hard and too often, but neither do you, Sydney. And to be honest with you, I don’t see how you can possibly build a worthwhile case against Kasper by trailing him and hoping he does something stupid.’
‘I thought I’d find evidence of his having used one of the vehicles he drives to shove my father’s SUV down into that hollow. It may still be the tow truck for all I know. The fact that I didn’t see any clear damage doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I’m sure a full forensic sweep will come up with something concrete, though.’
‘Only I’m guessing you don’t have enough for a warrant.’
‘Not nearly. Not anything, other than a gut feeling. And my gut has been known to make mistakes before. For all I know, I’m latching onto the first potential suspect to have crossed my horizon.’
‘So, if you can’t confront him, how about the wife? All you know about the man is he’s a lug who likes to throw his weight around and isn’t taking his impending divorce too kindly. If I were you, I’d ask her straight out: is Gerry Kasper capable of killing another man because he suspects that man of dating his wife? If she says he is, then that’s not all you’ll need, but it’s a start.’
Sydney agreed. She was feeling helpless and isolated without the protection and support her badge usually afforded her. So many avenues became blocked when that authority was not available for her to use, doors slammed closed in her fa
ce before she even had a chance to reach them. Looking into the eyes of the woman who knew Gerry Kasper better than anybody while she asked if her husband had it in him to be a killer, was no more than a small step. But it was a definite stride in the right direction.
Before Sydney made the call, Duncan insisted she keep him out of it. ‘I’m gnarly and generally intolerant, and although I’m by no means a timid man, this thing here with the Kasper couple is your business, Sydney. I’m as annoyed as hell with what happened to Kevin Muller, so I’ve got a stake in that. What you’re talking about here is personal, so you’ll have to handle it on your own.’
Having accepted his argument, Sydney waited for him to leave before calling Sonia and making arrangements. With time on her hands after she had showered and dressed in casual but Twain Harte accepted attire, she jabbed the WhatsApp icon on her phone and brought up Jordan’s name.
He made her laugh immediately by giving a low whistle. ‘Wow! You look tasty enough to eat, babe,’ he said. Conversely, her boyfriend appeared tired and hungover. Not that she mentioned it.
‘Just for that,’ she said with exaggerated eyelash flutter, ‘when you come up here next weekend, I’m going to cover my body in chocolate syrup and invite you to lick me clean.’
Jordan held his watch to the camera on his phone. ‘Hey, I think I can still catch the redeye out tonight if that’s what’s on the menu.’
He was great at that. Nobody put her at ease the way he did. He made her laugh. Moreover, so far had never made her cry. They talked for twenty minutes. Irreverent chatter between two people who needed the connection more than the conversation. When she ended the session, Sydney wondered if she would ever tell him what was going on here in Moon Falls.
This was not his world. But, if she read him right, she was starting to become his. If it mattered to her, it mattered to him. If it affected her… The thought trailed off and she was happy not to chase it. It didn’t do to dwell on things that had already taken place. She had not mentioned anything about her new clients, nor her suspicions relating to her father’s death. That she had chosen not to was a future bone of contention they would eventually chew over if they stayed together long enough. He was due to be by her side in the Falls on Saturday morning, which gave her not far off six full days to settle everything she had going on.
Fifteen Coffins Page 22
