‘Hey,’ she called out, settling on a different tack. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. Everything okay?’
Aiming for levity, her voice emerged strained and sounded like someone else entirely. She inched her way along the hallway, faltering when no response came back. Then it dawned on her that Gerry was most probably asleep. Between work and hard drinking, he was always complaining about how tired he was these days.
When she reached the lounge feeling relieved that she would not have to confront him until he awoke, Sonia tentatively pushed the door all the way open before stepping inside. When it came to her husband, she had learned to fear the worst, but nothing had prepared her for what she saw next.
What came as a punch to the solar plexus was not the fact that Gerry lay sprawled out on the lounger as expected, but that he was soaked with blood, swollen bumps around eyes leaving them little more than thin watery lines etched between bulging lids. Deep gouges had torn ragged chunks from both cheeks, skin flapping open in several places to reveal the raw pulp beneath. He had a rag stuffed way down inside his mouth. Harsh, uneven breaths escaped his crusty nose, blood bubbling from one nostril with every exhalation.
But if seeing her husband in this pitiful condition caused the hair on her arms and the nape of her neck to stand erect, the sight of the stranger by his side chilled her bones to the point where she thought her next breath would cause them to splinter and snap like icicles.
‘Nice of you to join us at last,’ the man said.
The worst thing about him, Sonia thought immediately, was that he looked so… ordinary. His voice was equally conventional. He stood no great height, carried no real weight, wore an uncreased suit and a shirt and tie which were completely unruffled. Yet this insignificant looking man had left her brute of a husband resembling raw hamburger meat. His nature being what it was, Gerry had taken a beating or two in his time, but Sonia had never seen him looking so utterly broken.
‘Please take a seat,’ the stranger continued. ‘Gerry and I have been getting to know one another. I imagine he considers himself to be a real man when he takes those meaty hands of his, clenches them into fists and starts laying into you with them. So, while we were waiting for you to arrive home, I asked him a few questions and every time I didn’t get the response I was looking for, I taught him the error of his ways. I confess, I got carried away and pistol-whipped him on a couple of occasions.’
The man paused and turned his piercing gaze upon her own terrified eyes.
‘I’m hoping you’ll be more accommodating, Sonia. I have no wish to humiliate you in the same way as I have Gerry here, but please believe me when I say that I will have no compunction when it comes to delivering the same beating on you if I have to.’
‘I’ll… I’ll tell you anything you want to know,’ Sonia said as she sidled down onto the sofa before her legs betrayed her entirely.
‘You do that and we should get along just fine. Gerry won’t be joining in the fun anymore, I’m afraid. I think he’s had quite enough, and I doubt he’ll be able to speak again for a few weeks or more.’
‘Ask me anything. Anything at all. Just… just please don’t hurt me.’
The man considered her words for a moment. Finally he stepped around Gerry’s outstretched legs and came to loom over her. ‘I always think that when people talk about hurt, it’s such a relative term. I mean, if I give you a paper cut it’ll hurt. But if I give you a thousand paper cuts, it’s not going to hurt a thousand times more, is it? At the same time, if I chew off your ear that will hurt you quite a bit. But if I don’t, and instead I stick one of your knitting needles into that same ear, then you will know what pain is all about. I guarantee you that, Sonia.’
Tears had been slipping from her eyes ever since the man started talking, but Sonia was also becoming increasingly damp between her legs. She constricted her muscles in her stomach and groin, but the seepage continued. The look on his face told her he was already aware she had soiled herself, and humiliation burned in her cheeks.
The man bent forward at the waist, leaning over her so that their faces were no more than eighteen inches apart. Close enough to feel his warm breath on her face, smell the dinner he had eaten which had contained fried onions and red meat. He sniffed the air around her, enjoying her obvious discomfort.
‘Sonia, I’m sure you know precisely what kind of man you married. What I don’t think you know is how Gerry here tried so hard to intimidate your new BFF, Sydney Merlot. I realise the Merlot woman thinks your husband ran her father off the road and killed him, but what I need to know from you, Sonia, is what you told your BFF about that and whatever else you discussed over lunch yesterday.’
Startled by the switch of attention to Sydney Merlot, but eager to keep this monster from hurting her, Sonia was all too keen to speak up. ‘I told her exactly what Gerry told you, I’m sure. That he had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to Mr Merlot.’
The stranger nodded. ‘And for what it’s worth, I believe you. The difference is, I have to be certain. For reasons I can’t begin to explain, it’s very important to me. Gerry was kind enough to eventually insist that he couldn’t have been responsible for the hit-and-run that night because he was elsewhere. In San Francisco, he claims. Are you able to confirm that, Sonia? And before you respond, let me tell you I will want specifics from you.’
For a moment she said nothing, but then finally a slow realisation crept over her. ‘Yes! I’d forgotten all about it, but he and his buddies went to the game. Football. The Niners at the Levi stadium. He was there that night.’
‘You’re certain about that?’
‘Absolutely. A friend of his who went with him told me what a great night they all had.’
The man twisted his lips. ‘That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear.’
‘But it’s the truth. I swear it.’
‘Oh, I believe you. It’s the same story Gerry told me. But if he was there then he can’t have been around to kill Merlot, and that rather spoils my plans.’
‘Then, if that’s all you came here for, please… let us both go.’
‘Except that’s not all I came here for, Sonia. Not entirely. Like I said before, I want to know everything you and Sydney Merlot talked about yesterday. And I do mean every single thing.’
‘And then you’ll let us go? I think Gerry needs a hospital.’ She desperately wanted to believe this evil man would release them. The alternative was too awful to contemplate.
He paused to consider his response before speaking again. ‘Gerry’s current predicament is far worse than you think, Sonia. But don’t worry about him. Concentrate on yourself. Focus on telling me what I want to know. Because keeping me happy is all that stands between life as you know it and life as the vegetable Gerry here is going to be. If he survives at all.’
Thirty-Nine
Sitting alone in the dark gave Sydney the opportunity to think. Nervous tension jangled so hard its vibrations rattled through her body. Curiously, she was also more relaxed and alert than she had been in several days. It was a peculiar mix of emotions, not all of which were unwelcome.
Sydney considered herself to have had an exemplary career so far. She had been an incisive and conscientious cop, a diligent and thorough detective, and an assured and determined agent for the Bureau. Her involvement in any number of dangerous situations had resulted in her being shot at and having to return fire. She had seen one partner murdered in Sacramento, a sergeant under whose guidance she had blossomed. That had been hard to take, but not nearly as tough as having to deal with shooting and killing his murderer.
Etched deeply into her consciousness, she was certain that night would remain with her for all time, like a shadow accompanying her wherever she went. She and Antonio Gonzalez were backing up a drug bust, on the fringes providing support if the raid went south. Which it did. The crew ran, two of whom came their way. Sydney and Gonzalez laid down defensive fire, but a few seconds in her partner got hi
t twice, the second bullet ripping out part of his throat. She recalled the next few moments in Hi-Def detail, not hesitating when one of the shooters stood in her sights.
Grief was something you fought to ameliorate and learned to overcome, but you never fully recovered from taking another life. Not if you were wired correctly.
Despite all her experience, Sydney admitted to herself that she had been off her game since returning to Moon Falls. Whether she was still mourning her father, or her judgement and instincts were being clouded by trying to do too much at the same time, she didn’t know. Only that by juggling the fallout from her father’s death, attempting to cope with the possibility of it not being an accident after all, and in investigating the shooting of Kevin Muller, she was being torn in too many directions and was failing whichever way she turned.
She had needed focus, and finding the listening devices earlier that night had flicked the correct switch in her brain. Finally, she allowed herself to think about one problem at a time.
Suspecting the presence of bugs in her home was one thing, discovering it was true quite another. It didn’t merely anger Sydney, it enraged her. To the point where she came close to blowing the entire search by screaming at whoever was listening in and then stomping on the bugs one by one.
Fortunately, she managed to hold it together long enough to carry out the rest of her plan.
The Bug Detector had worked like a charm. Set to elicit a red pulse the moment it detected a signal, and modulated to seek GSM traffic, Sydney located three listening devices in all. The first she found stuck on the underside of the decorative table on which the landline sat, another placed beneath a dining room chair, and the third behind the lamp in her bedroom.
Initially she left them in place, while she fumed and stewed and went for a walk in the back garden, necking a cold beer and desperately trying to work through her fury. She had to leave her rage behind in the cooling mountain air before returning indoors. What she had by way of discovery was enough to go to both Benton and the Sacramento field office. By tracing the serial numbers they would be able to pinpoint the location from which the bugs were sold, and hopefully to whom.
But doing so was to play her only card. After all, if whoever planted the devices was even halfway clever they would have arranged for an online store to mail them to a PO box, fake identification leaving no possibility of tracking the purchaser. In all likelihood, summoning the cavalry at this juncture would serve no useful purpose other than to rob her of the only leverage available. So Sydney made it work for her instead.
First thing she did was to use her phone to photograph the devices, both in situ and close up to reveal all of its manufacturer information, including the serial numbers. She did so while taking care to wear a pair of nitrile gloves which she always carried in the side pocket of her deep shoulder bag. Before repositioning the bugs, Sydney used a basic fingerprinting technique employing corn starch as powder, which was ideal for a flat, dark surface, plus one of her makeup brushes after first washing and drying it by rolling it between her palms to spin out all the excess water, and a roll of common adhesive tape. Unsurprised to obtain prints from each listening device, Sydney realised they were more than likely from the hand of the entirely innocent person who packed them into a padded envelope, not the man who planted them around her house. Nonetheless, obtaining the evidence made her feel a whole lot better.
The camera on her phone was whisper smooth and she doubted it had registered enough to activate any of the bugs. Her handling of the devices was equally careful, so again Sydney was confident nothing would have been picked up. Using the adhesive tape to pull prints was a risk, but when carefully removing it she hadn’t heard a single sound as the tape gradually released its traction.
Sydney then heeded Hank’s advice by making sure there was sufficient noise in the house, forcing the bugs to work overtime. Whoever was listening in would surely realise that the lifecycle of the batteries was coming to a natural end earlier than imagined, and would have to re-enter her home to swap them out. Not knowing what her plans were for the following day or evening, she was convinced they would come in the early hours of the morning.
Sydney went through all the little rituals she usually practiced when retiring for the night. Though her appetite was negligible, she cooked herself a small meal, spent some time on the phone with Jordan, used her laptop, watched TV. Nothing out of the ordinary before deciding it was bedtime. As soon as the lights were extinguished, she crept from the bedroom back into the living area and positioned herself to get a clear view across from the wooden front door to the two sliding glass back doors. She had engaged the bolt on the door that led into the house from the garage, preventing any attempted entry that way.
Once comfortable, she settled in for the long haul, her handgun by her side.
Sydney hunkered down for close to three hours before her attention was first caught by something amiss. In that time she had become familiar with the ebb and flow of noises occurring in and around the house, but her head jerked up when she heard a sharp rustle of fronds. The Western Sword ferns growing alongside the driveway provided a dense border between the paved drive and front lawn. They made a distinctive sound when the wind blew through them. Only this time the gentle crackle accompanying the sway had occurred outside of the gust pattern she had been listening to and fallen into rhythm with, and Sydney instinctively knew someone had brushed against the plants.
Her hand wrapped around her weapon and she moved into a low crouched stance beside the chair. Arms outstretched she covered the front door, waiting for whoever was out there to enter her home uninvited. She had decided to bide her time until they had closed the door behind them, and was fully prepared to fire if they turned to run.
A different noise reached her ears, this time the scuff of a shoe or boot sole on the paved path leading towards the porch. She listened for the anticipated groan of wood as somebody placed their weight upon it, and sure enough within a few seconds she heard a board creak. Whoever was out there now stood on the stoop, and they were not being subtle about it.
Her breathing shallow, Sydney waited for the delicate sound of the lock being picked, for the lever to turn, and for the door to open. She licked her lips in anticipation and blinked a couple of times to clear her vision.
Stay sharp, Syd, she told herself. Stay sharp and do not panic.
But her intruder did not slip quietly into the house. Instead, she heard scuffling on the porch, feet stamping around, muffled curses, followed by a loud grunt, a sharp cry of pain, somebody running, and then the distinct sound of a body collapsing to the boarded floor.
Sydney sprang up from her position. She dashed to the front door, disengaged the lock, grabbed hold of the handle and yanked it back. Gun angled down in one hand, she used the other to switch on a narrow beam flashlight.
‘Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!’ came the startled cry from the man leaning back against a corner porch post, his legs spread-eagled on the decking itself.
Sydney lowered her pistol, shocked at who was sitting there looking up at her. ‘Hank? What on earth..?’
He flapped a hand at her, cursing angrily. As the flashlight picked him out more fully, she saw blood streaming down his face. He winced, and looked to be in a good deal of pain. She ran over to him, tossed her gun and the Maglite to the floor before tearing off her sweatshirt and clamping it over his head.
‘It’s okay,’ he grunted. ‘I’m okay, too. It’s only a scalp wound, but you know how those suckers like to bleed.’
Sydney pressed what had become a rag down over what she thought was the source of all the blood. Hank’s reaction told her she’d got it right.
‘What the heck are you doing out here, Hank? Who did this to you?’
He clamped a hand over hers to add weight to the compress. As the blood flow eased, he looked up at her pitifully and shook his head, clearly irritated by his failure to capture the person he had struggled with.
‘I couldn’t sleep because I worry about you being out here alone with all this bullshit going down. I guessed your intruder might pay you a visit tonight. I also figured you’d tell me to back off if I said anything to you, so I decided to stake the place out on my own. As for who did this to me, I think I recognised the guy. I didn’t get my own licks in, because the bastard must’ve heard me sneaking up on him. He caught me out as he turned to confront me. I don’t recall the guy’s name, but I’m pretty sure he’s one of Chase Ebben’s boys.’
‘Chase Ebben? Never heard of him.’
‘Works for the mayor.’
‘Jubb? He’s one of Chauncey Jubb’s men?’
‘Uh-huh. His chief of staff and political fixer, no less.’
‘What on earth has this Ebben character or the damned mayor got to do with… are you suggesting the Moon Falls mayor’s office may be implicated in this, Hank? That he sent his man to spy on me, intimidate me? All because I’m helping Dexter Muller to find out what happened to his son?’
Flinching beneath a fresh wave of pain that touched his eyes, Hank shrugged and said, ‘I don’t know, Syd. I wouldn’t put it past Chase Ebben to do something like this all on his own, though I have to say I don’t think the man takes a dump without Jubb’s say-so.’
Sydney put her head back and clamped down on a scream of frustration. First Benton, then the Sonora PD, and now the mayor’s office. She was treading on some seriously big toes. The plant fronds moved again, their rustling this time prompted by a swift and sudden breeze moving in off the mountains.
‘Come on inside,’ she said softly, gathering herself enough to recognise his needs were more urgent than her own. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up and see if that wound needs stitches.’
‘I ain’t going to no hospital,’ he complained as Sydney stooped to help him back to his feet.
‘Don’t be such a baby,’ she shot back, taking his weight. ‘And once we’ve established how badly you’re hurt, you can explain to me why you ignored everything I said and decided to act as my backup, anyway.’
Fifteen Coffins Page 27
