‘Charlotte should never have put you in that position.’
Evan shrugged. Water under the bridge now.
‘Come on,’ Mitch said, ‘let’s have a beer.’
‘Good luck with that.’
Mitch’s face readjusted itself several times.
‘You drank all my beer too?’
Things were suddenly looking serious again. Getting the better of a guy in his own garage, okay, they could move past that, but drinking all his beer ...
‘There was only one can. There’s still half of it left, if you want it. I was saving it for you, Charlotte said you were coming.’
‘Where is she, anyway?’
‘Out with Louise.’
He nodded like that explained everything.
‘So what happened here?’
Evan shrugged.
‘An intruder, I don’t know.’
He explained about the exhaust fumes coming into the house, the draft from the open door, the attack and Max coming to his rescue.
‘Lucky you were here, I suppose,’ Mitch said grudgingly.
‘Yeah, I suppose it was.’
He felt slimy, but what was he supposed to say?
It only happened because I was here.
‘You want to call the cops?’
‘Not if you don’t. It’s your house.’
Mitch gave it some thought. Evan felt sure he was about to come out with some crack about how it didn’t feel like it.
‘I’ll see what Charlotte wants to do. Maybe I’ll move back in for a while. Get a security camera.’
Evan kept his face deadpan, his eyes flat. Mitch turned back towards the garage.
‘Wait here. I’m gonna get some beers. Try not to cause any more trouble while I’m gone.’
Evan walked with him to the side door, glanced into the Corvette as he passed it. Before everything kicked off, he heard the door being quietly shut—and he knew now it wasn’t Kyle sneaking back, he’d been upstairs. There was only one other person who had been in the garage. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper on the passenger seat that hadn’t been there earlier when he sat in the car with Kyle. He waited until Mitch drove off, then got in the car and read Carl Hendricks’ latest message.
Chapter 22
EVAN STARED AT THE words on the paper and wished he knew what the rest of it said.
Protect what you love
Because it was actually a piece of paper torn in half. He had a bad feeling there was worse on the other half—spelling out what would happen if he failed to do just that. He also knew he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to find out what it was.
It wasn’t hard to work out what this part meant. The note was left in this car, in this house, where his sister and her family lived. With Sarah gone, they were all he had left to love and protect. The note was a threat against them.
It made him question the wisdom of letting Charlotte and Mitch decide whether to bring in the police or not. They didn’t have all the facts he did. Should he show them the note, tell them his concerns?
He pulled out his phone and called Guillory. It went straight to voicemail. He sent her a text.
Call me when you get a chance.
He sat in the car and thought about Floyd Gray, the sort of man he was. A man who leaves a dead fish on your caved-in windshield, who keeps a trained attack dog that responds without question to a single whispered command. What else was he capable of? He was still sitting and thinking when Mitch got back five minutes later, carrying two six-packs of beer and banged on the window. He followed him into the kitchen. The white tiled floor was covered in bloody drool.
‘Better get that cleaned up before Charlotte gets home,’ Mitch said.
Evan fetched a mop from the garage. Together they got the kitchen cleaned up, drinking a couple of beers as they worked, their differences a thing of the past.
‘Sure you don’t want to call the police?’ Evan said.
Mitch looked at him for a long while.
‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’
Evan passed the note to him.
‘What’s that? A joke?’
‘Somebody’s stalking me. It wasn’t a case of lucky I was here tonight, it was because I’m here.’
Mitch shook his head and leaned against the kitchen counter.
‘You’re being paranoid. There was a break-in down the street last week. I’m sure it’s the same guy or gang. I’m definitely getting a security camera.’
‘And the note?’
‘I don’t know. How do you know it’s anything to do with you? It doesn’t say hey, Evan, protect what you love, does it?’
There wasn’t any point arguing that one.
‘What about the dog?’
‘What about it?’
Mitch’s voice had an edge of irritation to it now.
‘How likely is it you take your dog along when you’re planning on breaking into people’s houses?’
Mitch snorted and shook his head again.
‘A lot more likely than a maniac using a dog to hunt you down. I know the job you do, Evan, but I think you’ve been watching too much TV. Same thing happens to Kyle if we don’t restrict it.’
He got a couple more beers from the fridge.
‘Have another beer, relax.’
Evan took the beer, didn’t relax.
‘I’m not being paranoid. I’ve had a number of threatening notes like this one.’
Mitch put his beer on the counter, rested his hands on his hips.
‘Okay, let’s say you’re right. There’s some lunatic after you and he followed you here tonight to leave you that message.’ He paused and held up his hand. ‘Now, don’t get me wrong here, but if you really think that’s what happened, then don’t come around here anymore.’
It came out a bit too strong, especially since they’d only patched things up in the last half-hour. He made an effort to soften his tone of voice.
‘Not for a while anyway, until it sorts itself out.’
He gave Evan an easy-when-you-think-about-it look.
‘I’m worried he might try to get to me through you.’
Mitch’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide.
‘Me?’
‘Charlotte, the kids.’
‘Okay, that’s it, no more of this crap.’
He gripped Evan’s elbow firmly, steered him into the living room.
‘Sit down and drink your beer. And not a word of this shit when Charlotte gets home. Clear?’
‘I had to say it—’
‘Are we clear?’
It was no use arguing, not for the moment anyway. He nodded, feeling like a little boy being told never to utter that bad word he’d been caught saying again. Then Mitch caught sight of Max curled up comfortably on the couch, his bloody muzzle resting on the cream-colored cushions.
‘What’s he doing on the couch? Jesus Christ, he’s got blood all over it.’
Evan’s phone rang before Mitch could accuse him of encouraging the dog. It was Guillory calling back. He went back into the kitchen and out into the garage to get some privacy and get out of Mitch’s way.
‘This better be good, Evan.’
In the background he heard glasses clinking, men talking in both Spanish and English, a jukebox playing.
‘Sorry to spoil your date.’
‘I’m not on a date.’
‘Whatever you want to call it.’
‘Five ... four ... three ...’
‘Okay, okay. I got another message from Hendricks. Delivered in person by Floyd Gray and his Doberman, Marlene.’
‘Marlene?’
‘Yeah, nice name, except when it’s trying to bite your head off.’
‘Where was this?’
‘At my sister’s. Let me read it to you.’
He recited it to her, didn’t need to read it, then explained his problem.
‘The problem is, Mitch—’
‘Mitch is there too? You two didn’t have a punch
up, did you?’
He laughed, more like a release of nervous energy.
‘No, we’re good, apart from the fact I let the dog sit on the couch. The problem is, he thinks I’m paranoid, won’t even consider the possibility that his family might be at risk.’
‘What’s your sister think?’
‘She’s out with a friend. Mitch doesn’t even want me to say anything about it to her.’
A long yawn came from her end of the line. He imagined her stretching like she always did when she was trying to think.
‘I still don’t think there’s anything we can do. I can just imagine trying to tell the captain I want to put a car outside the house around the clock because you got an ambiguous note and the house owner doesn’t want us involved.’
‘So we wait for him to abduct one of the kids?’
‘Uh-uh, don’t try to put any of that shit on me. This guy hasn’t actually done anything yet, apart from smash your windshield. He’s sent a few messages.’
‘And set his attack dog on me.’
‘Attack dog?’
‘Yes, attack dog. That’s what it did, attacked me.’
‘So every mutt that bites the mailman is an attack dog, is it?’
‘Thanks for taking it so seriously, Kate. I’ll let you get back to your date.’
Even down the phone line he heard the breath exiting her nostrils.
‘Okay, leave it with me. And it’s not a date.’
‘Of course it isn’t.’
‘You should have been quicker off the mark.’
The phone went dead in his ear.
Chapter 23
FIRST THING NEXT MORNING Evan went to see Anthony and Helen Fox, the couple he was certain had adopted Margarita’s baby. They were both still alive and active, a fact that was immediately evident when they both arrived at the front door at the same time and appeared to have a squabble over who was going to open it.
They were in their seventies, putting them in their mid-twenties when they adopted Franciso Javier Narvaez as he was at the time.
‘Mr and Mrs Fox?’
They both said yes at the same time. Evan introduced himself. They shook hands, Anthony Fox’s grip firm, his hand rough and callused, his wife’s not much different. As always, the best approach was to jump straight in.
‘I was hoping to talk to you about something that happened fifty years ago.’
A look passed between them, which he would have missed if he hadn’t been paying attention. They invited him in, led him through to a bright sitting room overlooking the back yard. A white cat was curled up asleep in the sun in front of the window. He admired the view. From the look of things, they spent most of their time working in the yard—which explained the feel of their hands.
He turned away from the window and glanced around the room, saw framed portraits of a couple of children, one boy, one girl, dotted around the room. All the usual suspects were there covering the different stages and milestones of their lives, grandchildren in the more recent ones.
It was exactly what you’d expect to see in the home of any elderly couple. The only unusual thing was, even from a distance, he could see that every photograph in the room was of a child or an adult with blond hair. And he’d bet, even without picking any of them up, every eye was blue—as were Anthony and Helen’s.
It wasn’t remotely possible the boy in the photographs was Margarita’s son, Francisco Javier. It was possible the Foxes adopted Francisco as well as having their own children. Surely there would be photographs of him as well. A framed photo montage had pride of place on the wall, no black hair standing out amongst all the blond.
The Foxes were looking at him strangely. Then Anthony Fox laughed.
‘Anyone would think we were the ones said we wanted to talk to you about something that happened fifty years ago, not the other way around.’
‘Sorry. I was distracted. I wanted to ask you about a complaint you made to the police—’
‘About Jesús—’
‘—Narvaez.’
He looked from one to the other. Anthony Fox had started talking and then his wife talked over the top of him. And it was like being back with Narvaez himself. Everybody on this case remembered everybody else. What did they need him for?
‘How did you know that?’
‘Because he’s the only person—’
‘—we ever made a complaint about to the police.’
Once again, his wife took the words out of his mouth. It was unnerving, as if they’d been practicing for this exact occasion. Or had been expecting it for fifty years.
‘Can you tell me what the complaint was about?’
‘He was—’
‘—stalking us.’
Anthony Fox gave his wife a dirty look.
‘Can Helen get you something to drink, Mr Buckley?’
‘No, you get it, Anthony, I’ll talk to Mr Buckley.’
They stared at each other, a stalemate, each as stubborn as the other. On the window ledge the cat stretched luxuriously and then jumped down. It crossed the room and rubbed itself against Evan’s legs. He reckoned there was more chance of the cat making him a cup of coffee than either of the Foxes.
‘It’s okay, I don’t want anything, thank you. When you say stalking, what exactly did he do?’
Neither of them said anything, looked at each other as if to say you talk then.
‘We saw him loitering. Watching the house.’
‘On three separate occasions.’
‘Four.’
‘It was very unsettling.’
‘Creepy.’
Anthony Fox gave Evan a small smile.
‘What my wife is alluding to is that—’
‘He looked like a freak!’
He put his hand on her knee, got it batted away for his trouble.
‘Don’t say that, it’s so unfair. He was horribly disfigured. His eye. I don’t know what had happened. And it was still fresh, the scars I mean. You don’t want anybody lurking in the shadows, watching you, and you certainly don’t want anybody looking like he did.’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Helen said. ‘He gave me nightmares.’
Evan gave it a couple of seconds, not wanting to belittle the trauma she had suffered.
‘Did he do anything else?’
‘We found the back door open one time.’
‘Twice. He’d been in the house.’
‘You don’t know that, dear.’
For a split second his hand hovered as if he was about to try another pat on the knee before he remembered what happened the last time.
‘Don’t dear me. He was in our house.’
‘Was anything taken?’
It was Helen Fox’s turn to laugh, a hollow noise that left Evan with an aftertaste of bitterness.
‘Not like you think.’
‘He didn’t steal anything,’ Anthony Fox said quickly, before Evan had a chance to ask her what she meant.
‘He followed us too,’ Helen said. ‘Followed me, I mean, when—’
‘So we reported it to the police before things got out of hand.’
They stared at each other, fifty years of something passing between them, although Evan had no idea what.
‘What did the police do?’
‘Sent somebody to wait in the house. Next time we saw him, we pointed him out.’
‘The policeman in the house called somebody on his radio.’
‘A police cruiser came and picked him up. He tried to run but they caught him.’
Evan was exhausted trying to follow the two of them back and forth, talking over each other.
‘Did anything happen after that?’
Once again, they stared at each other. Anthony Fox cleared his throat and swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. His wife produced a kleenex from the folds of her skirt. She started to pull it apart.
‘We never saw him again,’ Anthony said.
Evan was suddenly alert.
Th
at wasn’t what I asked.
‘Do you know if anything happened to him?’
‘No.’
It was said with a finality that suggested the interview was at an end. There was nothing else they had, or wanted, to say. Evan stood up and admired the photo montage on the wall.
‘Good-looking kids.’
‘Thank you. Do you have any?’
‘No.’
He hoped he put a similar degree of finality into the word, stop dead any further questions, polite or otherwise.
‘There was something else I hoped to talk to you about.’
Anthony Fox nodded.
‘I know.’
‘I recently came across a birth certificate that listed the parents’ names as Anthony and Helen Fox. When I heard about the complaint you filed, I jumped to the conclusion that it was you.’
Anthony Fox’s head was bowed. Evan had the impression his eyes were closed. It was as if his wife wasn’t in the room, the depth of stillness that surrounded her. He plowed on regardless, couldn’t stop now, despite the effect his words were having.
‘It was an amended birth certificate, issued when the child was adopted. The child’s first names were Francisco Javier. The reason I thought it was you was because his surname was Narvaez.’
Neither Fox said a word. A stifled sob came from Helen’s direction.
‘Then I came here.’
He waved his arm, took in all the framed photographs, then walked over to the montage on the wall. He studied it closely, saw his first impressions had been correct, an unbroken sea of blond heads.
‘I saw the pictures of your children and grandchildren, saw that you hadn’t raised a dark-haired Latino boy.’
‘You’re right,’ Anthony Fox said, looking up at last, his eyes red-rimmed, ‘we didn’t raise Francisco Javier Narvaez. But we did adopt him.’
‘And that freak stole him from us,’ Helen screamed.
***
THE ECHOES OF HELEN Fox’s scream faded away leaving an empty silence, her whole body collapsed in on itself, head bowed.
‘You don’t know that, dear,’ her husband said quietly to the top of her head.
You’re a braver man than me, Evan thought, using the word dear again.
‘I know it’s true, even if you refuse to believe it.’
Sins Of The Father Page 13
