Nocturnal

by Nathan Field

  “Jesus, Pete!” He craned his neck to get a better look at my right side. “What happened to you?”

  “I had an accident.”

  “No shit. A car accident?”

  “Kind of.”

  He kept staring. “Any reason why you’re wearing shades? The sun went down two hours ago.”

  “My eyes are messed up. Long story.”

  “Lucky I’ve got all night.” Izzy nodded towards the bar. “Shall we go in? I’m dying for a beer.”

  “I’ll have to keep my shades on,” I warned.

  “That’s okay. I can live without seeing your baby browns.”

  We went inside. The crowd appeared to be a young, well behaved mix of post-grad students and junior civil servants. Everyone in groups of four or more, laughing and passing around bowls of nuts and olives like they didn’t have a care in the world. We took our bottled beer to a lamp-lit table near the back, away from the noisier groups and the dazzling overhead lights.

  “You want to touch it?” I said, aware that Izzy’s eyes had barely left my right cheek.

  He gave a quick shake of the head. “Sorry, sorry. But shit, that is a serious fucking scar.”

  “Most of the time I forget it’s there. Unless people draw attention to it.”

  “Hey look, I didn’t mean to…” He stopped himself, searching for my eyes behind my shades. “You’re not really pissed, are you?”

  I grinned, reaching for my beer.

  “Don’t tease me like that,” Izzy said, exhaling. “You could almost pass for a hard-ass, you know that?”

  “One of the few perks of my new face.”

  “Yeah, well I’m glad your fucked-up sense of humor hasn’t changed.” He laughed off the tension. “So what’s going on, Pete? Obviously I have a thousand-and-one questions, so it’ll be quicker if you just give me the full download.”

  “No, you first. What have you been up to the past eight years?”

  “Ha! That’ll take all of three minutes.”

  He wasn’t joking. Since my departure, Izzy had stayed happily married, doubled his brood to four – “and no more! I’ve had the snip” – and steadily worked his way up the ranks of the Tribune. He was now deputy features editor, and a front-runner for the top job when Tom finally retired next year. In short, he was still the happiest man in Sacramento.

  “That’s great, Izzy,” I told him. “You’ve always had your shit together.”

  “You mean I’ve always been boring.”

  “No, not all. There’s nothing boring about having a family and a great career. I wish my life was half as rewarding.”

  “Yeah. I know I’m a lucky man.”

  “Luck’s got nothing to do with it. You never complained, or fucked around, or chased cheap thrills. You just got on with life. And now you’re reaping the benefits.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Izzy said, averting his eyes.

  I suddenly realized how bitter I’d sounded. “You’ll have to excuse me. I can be a miserable prick sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Especially when your heart’s been broken. Anyway, what’s the deal with you? What brings you back to Sacramento after all these years?”

  I was eager to get down to it. “You remember the Piper family shooting a few years back?”

  Izzy shifted in his seat, the reporter in him awakening. “Yeah, of course. Over in Granite Bay. About the same time you disappeared.”

  “That’s right,” I said, ignoring the implication. “Well, the husband had four children from his first marriage. And for a reasons I won’t bore you with, I want to find out what happened to them.”

  Izzy suddenly slapped his hand on the table. “I knew it! Fuck, I knew she was the mystery blonde!”

  I did my best to appear baffled.

  “You’re a terrible actor, Pete. You know exactly who I’m talking about. What was her name again? The wife?”

  “Lucy.”

  “Lucy, that’s right. She’s the blonde who broke your heart just before you skipped town. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together now.”

  I held my tongue; waiting to see how much he’d figured out.

  “It was Wendy’s story,” he continued. “While you were missing in action, she asked me if I knew of any connection between you and the Pipers. She said you’d tipped her off about the shootings, and there was something fishy about how you’d got the jump on everyone else. When she showed me the family, I vaguely recognized the wife – the knockout blonde. I thought you might’ve shown me a photo of her once, but I couldn’t be sure. Does any of this ring a bell?”

  I shrugged, encouraging him to proceed.

  “Anyway, a few days later, Wendy said you’d turned out to be red herring. They’d found the wife’s secret lover, but he wasn’t involved in the shootings. It was a simple case of jealousy on the husband’s part. The story died of natural causes.”

  He stopped there, waiting for my response. I sucked on my beer, placing the bottle carefully on the polished table. I didn’t want to reveal any more than I had to.

  “Yeah, it sounds like an open and shut case,” I said. “But I’d still like to track down the Piper children.”

  “For reasons you won’t bore me with?”

  “That’s right.”

  Izzy groaned his displeasure. His expression turned flat. “Fine, have it your way. My answer’s no.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I won’t help you find them. Hire a private eye.”

  “Izzy, I need answers now. The Tribune must have information on file.”

  “Sure.”

  “Then it should be easy. I don’t need much, just numbers and addresses….” I cut my plea short. A small smile had appeared on Izzy’s lips. He knew he had the upper hand.

  I rubbed a hand over my face, muffling the blast of hot air through my nose. “Okay, you win. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Izzy said without hesitation. “From what happened eight years ago, to the reason you’re here now, wearing sunglasses at night and searching for a dead man’s kids. Give me the whole shebang, and I’ll have your information within twenty-four hours.”

  I stared down at my beer. A few days earlier, I wouldn’t have dreamed of opening up about my past. My affair with Lucy, the assault on Sterling, my complicity in a bloody murder-suicide – at best they weren’t details I was particularly proud of, and at worst they could land me in jail. But while I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of full disclosure, I realized it was the only way forward. In order to avenge Bruno, I had to expose himself.

  Izzy must’ve sensed my defensive wall crumbling. “And don’t forget the sex,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I want all the juicy details.”

  22. “Why are you following me?”

  It was ten-thirty when I arrived back at the Sacramento Park Royal. The hotel lobby was deserted except for two young clerks at the front desk. They stiffened when they saw me, greeting me with formal nods. I nodded back, but that didn’t stop them whispering as soon as I passed by. Their rudeness amused me more than anything. I was barely a passing curiosity in San Francisco, but in a small city like Sacramento, I felt like the main attraction.

  Riding up the elevator, I wondered how I was going to entertain myself for the rest of the evening. Normally I’d be at the office, but under the circumstances, work was out of the question. My mind was focused on bigger things.

  If Izzy came through for me, I was only one sleep away from unmasking a killer. Izzy’s eyes had grown bigger and bigger as I’d recounted my story. By the end, he seemed almost as eager as me to locate the surviving Piper children. He said if he couldn’t find them himself, there was a private investigator who owed him favor. Either way, he’d have the information in my hands within twenty-four hours. Leaving me with a nervous wait.

  Halfway down the corridor to my room, I spun on my heels and walked back to the elevator. I couldn’t face watching pay-movies in my hotel room again. There had to be a quiet
bar on J Street where I could get a drink and a plate of nachos. If not, I could always pick up a cheap bottle of bourbon from the liquor store instead of wasting money on the mini bar.

  My plan was instantly forgotten when the elevator door halved, and the white-pillared lobby came into view. Hawk Nose was leaning over the front desk, wearing the same camel overcoat he’d worn a few nights ago. His eyes lazily followed the ding of the elevator. He looked at me blankly for a moment before recognition tightened his features. Then he abruptly turned back to the concierge, slapping his hand decisively on the desk. “Great! I’ll be going then,” he told the concierge.

  “Sir?”

  “Thank you.”

  His shoes clicked over the marble floor, but I was already hot on his tail, mowing down the distance between us. Just before the hotel entrance, he stole a furtive glance over his shoulder. When he saw me closing in, he made a break for it, bursting through the revolving doors.

  I chased him out onto the street. Hawk Nose already had half-a-block’s head start. He was an ungainly runner, but fast, his long legs bouncing off the sidewalk like he had springs in his shoes. On a straight track he would’ve burned me off easily, but he hesitated at every corner, like he was afraid of running into traffic.

  Suddenly he cut across the road, heading towards the trees of Capitol Park. With room to run, he started to stretch his lead. My lungs were gasping for air. The chase seemed hopeless. But then I heard Hawk Nose cry out, and I saw him pitch towards the grass. He landed awkwardly on his elbows and knees. I reached him just as he scrambled to his feet, grabbing him by the lapels.

  “Don’t hurt me!” he howled.

  “Shut up,” I said, walking him backwards into the shadows. When we were sufficiently camouflaged from the road, I shoved him to the ground.

  He held up a protective hand. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said. “I’m only doing my job.

  “What job?”

  “I’m a private investigator.”

  I lifted my sunglasses, studying the cowering man in front of me. He looked even younger close-up, more like a student reporter than a private eye. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true!” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card, holding it up like a winning lottery ticket. I swiped it off him, tilting the type into the glow from a distant streetlight. “Gordon Conway?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  The card said he worked for Adelphi Investigations of San Francisco. I’d never heard of the firm, but the card looked legit. “Why are you following me?”

  “It’s a surveillance job.”

  “Yeah obviously, but why? Who hired you?”

  “I don’t know. Jack never lets me in front of the clients.”

  “Jack’s your boss?”

  He nodded. “My uncle.”

  “Ah-ha.”

  I offered him a hand up. “C’mon,” I said as he stared blankly at my hand. “I won’t bite.”

  Gordon allowed me to pull him to his feet. He stood quietly, awaiting further instructions. Even with a slight stoop, he was at least five inches taller than me. But he was a harmless beanpole. I was pretty sure I could make him squeal without exerting any pressure.

  “Gordon, you’re going to tell me everything you know about this job. Start from the top, and don’t hold anything back. I’ll know if you’re holding back.”

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  “And don’t even think about running off,” I said, aware that Gordon could easily give me the slip if he kept his balance. “Next time I catch you, I will hurt you. You understand?”

  He nodded; fully compliant. From the confession that followed, I learned that Gordon performed low-level tasks for his uncle’s firm: checking phone numbers, tracing people on the internet and, more recently, general surveillance work. He couldn’t deal directly with clients because he wasn’t licensed yet – something to do with a drug conviction when he was a minor – but his uncle had hired him in a provisional capacity.

  The surveillance job was simple. Gordon would receive a text message from his uncle advising of my location, and how long I needed to be tailed for – usually a few hours. The jobs only started a week ago, and so far Gordon had followed me on three separate occasions, with tomorrow scheduled to be the fourth. The client didn’t require pictures or detailed reports, only the basic facts: where, when and with whom. After the allotted time, Gordon would call in with a summary of my movements. He presumed his uncle then briefed the client.

  “So you don’t know why I’m being followed?”

  He shrugged. “All I got was your photograph and a license plate. I don’t ask questions.”

  “Your uncle didn’t say anything about the client?”

  Gordon shook his head, but his eyes slid off to the left.

  “Okay then,” I sighed, studying the fine print on his business card. I pulled out my cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” Gordon said.

  “Calling your uncle.”

  Gordon drew a quick breath. “Please don’t. It’s late…”

  “–It’s not that late. And I’m guessing the office line forwards to his cell.”

  “No…I mean yes, but he won’t give up client information.”

  “There’s no harm in asking. He can only say no.”

  I punched in the digits and lifted the phone to my ear. Gordon’s breathing grew agitated.

  “It’s ringing,” I said, even though I hadn’t pressed the send button.

  “Stop!” Gordon yelped, his hand jerking towards me.

  I took a step back, throwing him a cautionary glare.

  “I’m begging you,” Gordon pleaded. “I’ll give you something. Just hang up.”

  I lowered my cell. “Not something, Gordon. Everything.”

  “Everything I know. It’s not much.”

  “Then start talking. And remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”

  He took a deep breath. “The client’s a woman.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s all I know,” he said, looking down at the ground.

  And suddenly, I was tired of being mucked around. I aimed a straight right at Gordon’s bony nose. He flinched just in time, turning his head a few degrees and taking the punch on his cheekbone. It was a glancing blow, but he still dropped to the ground. I crouched beside him and drew back my fist. Gordon covered his head with his hands, groaning.

  “Stop lying to me, Gordon. Now, for the last time, tell me about this client. Full fucking disclosure.”

  Gordon spoke frantically behind his forearms, his paltry resistance crushed. “I haven’t met her and that’s the God’s honest truth. But my uncle said she was pretty, a pretty young woman with a killer body. He also said she was too good for you. Like he couldn’t picture the two of you together.”

  “But I‘m not in a relationship.”

  “I’m just telling you what he said. Maybe she’s a jealous ex. I mean, why else would she be tailing you?”

  I thought for a moment. A woman didn’t make sense. The phantom caller, Ralph Emerson’s impersonator, had been a man. Unquestionably a man.

  Then it occurred to me. “Have you ever called my office?”

  “What? No.”

  “Have you ever made threatening phone calls? As part of the job.”

  “No. Fuck no.”

  “What about your uncle?”

  “No. He’d never do that. He’d lose his license.”

  I stood up. Regarding the phone calls, at least, Gordon was telling the truth. “You got a name for me?”

  A moment’s hesitation. “But I told you my name,” he fudged.

  “Fucking hell, Gordon. If you don’t give me the name of your client right this second, I swear I will kick the living shit out of you.”

  “Lucy,” he said quickly, stopping my heart dead. “Her name was Lucy Piper.”

  23. “Are you ready for the black sheep?”

  I couldn’t get
to sleep that day. Every time I closed my eyes, a fresh deluge of questions swarmed my head. Was Lucy still alive? It was something I hadn’t even remotely considered before. Two people had died in the Piper house eight years ago. If the murdered woman wasn’t Lucy, then who was she? An unwitting stand-in? Could Lucy have pulled off such an elaborate trick?

  More than once I’d dismissed the theory as absurd. Pretending to be dead didn’t get Lucy’s hands on Sterling’s fortune. And why, after all this time, would she have returned to carry out a vendetta against her ex-lovers? It didn’t add up.

  Yet part of me wanted to believe it. Despite the fact Lucy had lied to me, hung me out to dry, and cast a long shadow over my life, the mere possibility of seeing her again was exhilarating. It stirred emotions in me I hadn’t experienced in years. I even entertained a twisted fantasy that she’d murdered Ralph as a sort of apology, proving to me that I was her one true love.

  But before I got carried away, I reminded myself that Gordon’s client had simply given a name. Just because she said she was Lucy Piper didn’t make it so. And when I thought with my head instead of my heart, I realized there was a far more rational explanation for recent events.

  I’d been focused on the wrong sibling.

  I was relieved when Izzy called me late in the afternoon, giving me a break from my thoughts. We arranged to meet in the hotel’s lobby bar at seven. I was fidgety from the sleepless day, so I headed down to the bar early and secured a dark corner table. I nursed a beer as the after work crowd drifted in. Even though I’d come to my senses about Lucy, I checked out every blonde who walked in. I still had that compulsion.

  Izzy arrived on the dot of seven, breathless but clearly excited. “You can thank me later,” he said, pulling out a seat and slapping a file folder down on the table.

  “You found them?”

  “I found them,” he confirmed, opening the file and shuffling through the handful of papers inside. “Actually, my private eye did most of the work. You owe him eight hundred bucks, by the way.”