Grain of Truth

by V. J. Chambers

  He got out his phone and dialed.

  But before he could hit the send button, his phone rang in his hands.

  He didn’t recognize the number.

  This was it. This was the communication from Dick. He’d tell him that he needed to get them to back off the Mukherjee case if he ever wanted to see Harley alive again. What the hell was Iain going to do when he said that?

  He was going to go along with it, of course. Harley’s safety first, then the case. He couldn’t afford to think differently.

  “Hello?” said Iain.

  “Hi there, Iain,” said the voice on the other end. It sounded familiar.

  “Otis?” said Iain.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Harley’s with me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hell, she was with Otis?

  He’d thought this was about the case, but he’d been wrong. This was Otis being an asshole. He took a shuddering breath and turned in a circle in the middle of his living room. “Okay, Otis, what do you want?”

  “I want Harley back as my girl. I want to move back into my house.”

  “You think doing this is the best way to get that?”

  “I think I should get what is mine. And she’s mine.”

  “She doesn’t belong to anyone, Otis. You tell me where you are. Where are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter, does it?” said Otis. “I just want to know who the hell you think you are, you jackass. You think you can threaten me? Because I’ve left notes that if anything happens to me, you’re the one who did it. Just like you killed her husband.”

  Iain gritted his teeth, flashing on moving Dale’s body in Harley’s living room. Move the wall hanging too. It’s got the blood spatter. He shook himself. “You don’t know shit about that, and don’t act like you do. Where is Harley?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  Iain stopped, froze. Why would Otis say that? “She’s not… You said that she was with you.”

  “Yeah, I said that because she’s with me, like she’s my girl. She’s not with you, she’s with me.”

  “What the fuck? You mean you didn’t take her?”

  “Take her? What do you mean?”

  Iain felt like he was losing his mind. “Are you screwing with me?” His voice came out throaty and strained. “You really don’t have her?”

  “Is she missing or something? Is she okay?”

  “Fuck you.” Iain hung up the phone. Okay, hell, where was Harley?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Iain sprinted across the parking lot back to his car. He had been planning on doing something before Otis called him and threw him for a loop. What was it?

  His phone was ringing.

  He slowed to take it out and look at it. It was Otis again. Maybe it had been a bluff, and Otis was going to pony up the information on what he’d done with Harley. He answered. “Yeah?”

  “What’s going on with Harley?’

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Is she hurt? Is she in danger? Is it because of you, because you’re a cop? You asshole.”

  Iain hung up again. His head was starting to throb. He felt a little dizzy. He was the center pole of a merry-go-round, and the world was spinning past him too fast. He didn’t know what to do.

  He gripped his phone, stared around the parking lot.

  Where was his car?

  He couldn’t remember where he’d parked it.

  Gah.

  Okay, this shouldn’t be hard. He always parked in the same spot in the parking lot. Not because the spots were assigned or anything, but because he was a creature of habit, and he liked his spot. He knew where that spot was. It was in front of a big bush—in the spring it got white blossoms on it, but now it was bare branches—and it was right over…

  He turned. But his car wasn’t there.

  No, right, he hadn’t parked there, because he’d been in a rush, and he’d taken the first space that he could, which was…

  Crap, he couldn’t remember.

  His head pounded.

  He looked down at his phone in his hands. He had been going to call someone.

  Elke. So she could call the police, because he needed help to find Harley. Right. He started to dial, but then—out of the corner of his eye—he spotted his car.

  And there was movement in the window.

  What?

  Someone was in his car.

  Usually he locked his car, but maybe he’d forgotten on his way up. He did it with the clicker on his keychain, and maybe he’d forgotten to hit the button when he’d gotten out of the car. He’d been in a rush after all.

  He started toward the car. He put his phone in his pocket and got out his gun instead. He disengaged the safety and made sure it was ready to fire.

  His head pulsed bright, hot pain through his head, down his neck, and into his shoulders. His heart sped up. He moved slowly and deliberately, and his focus narrowed in on the car.

  Five steps away.

  Whatever was in there was thrashing, moving too fast to get an idea of what or who it was.

  Four steps away.

  Flashes of white against the driver’s side window.

  Three steps away.

  His palms slick against the grip of the gun. What if he dropped it?

  Two steps away.

  No, he wasn’t going to drop it. In fact, he raised it, his finger tensing against the trigger.

  One step.

  Now, one hand holding the gun, one hand on the door.

  Now, a face against the window, a muffled yell.

  Now, he recognized her.

  He yanked open the door, and Harley tumbled into his arms. She had a white handkerchief in her mouth. It was tied at the back of her head. Her hands and her feet were tied too. She flailed against him, yelling behind her gag.

  His legs buckled.

  They both went down on the pavement.

  He set down the gun. He got out the pocket knife he always carried and he cut through the handkerchief.

  Harley stopped yelling. She gazed at him with wide, scared eyes. She was crying.

  He got the gag out.

  She let out a loud sob.

  He shut his eyes. “You’re okay.”

  “Iain!” Her voice was distorted by her tears.

  “You’re okay.” He stroked the back of her hair. He wasn’t sure if he was soothing her or him.

  * * *

  Iain was sitting on his couch, and he had his arm around Harley, who was clinging to him.

  Elke, Frankie, and Amos were all in the living room too. Elke and Frankie sat opposite them on a love seat. Amos sat in a recliner.

  Iain squeezed Harley’s shoulder. “Tell them what you told me.”

  “Again?” said Harley, peering up at him. She hiccuped. She’d only recently stopped crying.

  He nodded. “Let them hear it.”

  Harley sniffed and then looked out at the others. “He said that I had to deliver a message, and that message was that you had already—” Her breath hitched, an involuntary remainder from so much crying. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Iain, kissing her forehead.

  “Already found the murderers and to stop sticking your noses where they don’t belong,” she finished.

  “He said that?” said Elke.

  Harley nodded. “Yes. He made me memorize it.”

  “What did he look like?” said Amos. “Did he have dark hair?”

  “He wore a mask,” said Harley. “Like one of those ski masks? I could only see his eyes and his mouth.” She furrowed her brow, thinking. “He was white, though. He was Caucasian, I’m sure of it.”

  Iain shook his head at her. “Don’t worry about that. You can’t be sure what you saw. You could have seen anything.”

  “No, I’m positive,” said Harley, sitting up straight and pushing out of his arms.

  “Okay, good,” said Elke. “But it’s not much to go on. It’s just like when he broke into my
house. He wore a mask.”

  “Which begs the question, why is he letting me see his face?” said Amos, looking disturbed.

  “That’s strange,” said Elke. She looked at Iain. “What do you think?”

  Iain didn’t know. “Maybe they’re not the same person?”

  “You don’t think so?” said Amos.

  “I’m just throwing things out,” said Iain.

  “Because you know what I think?” said Amos. “I think he’s planning on killing me.”

  “Maybe,” said Iain, “Dick is actually an associate of the killers, someone we don’t know, but we’d recognize the guy who took Harley or the one who took Elke—he’s one of our suspects. So he wears a mask, but—”

  “I wouldn’t have recognized him,” said Harley.

  “We could have shown you pictures,” said Iain. “You could have identified him from there.”

  “Well, Seth Long didn’t know he was a suspect when someone broke into my place,” said Elke. “So that tends to point toward Wheeler and Chapman.”

  “But Dick is gay,” said Amos, “and I don’t think Wheeler and Chapman would associate with a gay guy.”

  “Maybe he’s only acting gay,” said Iain.

  “You know who did know he was a suspect when your house got broken into?” said Amos. “Dr. Joshua Oliver, that’s who.”

  “Dr. Oliver has an alibi,” said Frankie.

  “Well, so do Wheeler and Chapman,” said Amos.

  “Not really,” said Elke. “The rally was over by 10:00.”

  “I still think it’s stupid to discount him,” said Amos. “Dr. Oliver had an affair with Tempest. He has the best motive of anyone. He got fed up with Tempest not leaving her husband and offed them both. And now, he’s sending Dick after me, and he’s going after your girlfriend and Elke, and no one’s even taking him seriously as a suspect.”

  “He’s still on the board,” said Elke. “He’s not eliminated. It could be him.”

  “We need evidence,” said Iain. “Alibis mean nothing.”

  “Well, can we get a DNA sample from Dr. Oliver, then?” said Amos.

  “Sure,” said Elke. “I’ll go talk to him myself.” She turned to Iain. “And I think we have to try to get something from Wheeler and Chapman at this point. Hart and I will go together if you really think it’s not safe for me to go alone.”

  Iain shook his head. “I should come.”

  “You need to stay here with… um, Hallie?” said Elke.

  “Harley,” corrected Harley. She turned to him. “You’re leaving me?”

  Iain put his arm around her again. Frankly, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight at the moment.

  “Maybe we could just wait until tomorrow?” said Frankie. “We can all calm down, get a good night’s rest, and then Amos and I can go see Dr. Oliver, and you can go see Wheeler and Chapman.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” said Elke.

  * * *

  Elke felt antsy the rest of the day, and she thought she was going to need something to occupy her once she got home. So, she decided that she’d make a big, complicated dinner for herself that night. She decided to make spinach pie, which took multiple steps. It required brushing individual sheets of filo dough with butter, which took ages. It would be enough to occupy her for most of the evening.

  Sure, she’d never made the dish for just one person, and sure, it used to be one of Felix’s favorites, so it wasn’t going to be emotionally easy, exactly, but she figured she might as well get all that over with. She couldn’t avoid every dish she’d ever cooked for the man, and she wasn’t going to stop eating food just because Felix had liked it. That was ridiculous.

  So, after work, she headed to the grocery store to look for the ingredients she needed. She had made the dish so many times that she didn’t even have to write them down. She decided on fresh spinach because it would take longer to cook. She wanted to waste as much time as possible. In the produce section, she selected several bunches of spinach. She got the kind she’d have to separate and wash. That would take up even more time. Perfect.

  Then she went over to the bin of onions. Did she want a white onion or a red onion? She liked the look of a red onion, but no one would see the onions underneath all the filo dough. In fact, no one was going to see this except her, so she might as well get the cheapest onion, which was a yellow one.

  “Ms. Lawrence?”

  Elke looked up, yellow onion in hand.

  A woman stood in front of her. She had dusky skin and she was wearing a red sari under her winter coat. “It is you.”

  “Um, excuse me? If we’ve met, I’m afraid I don’t remember.”

  “My name is Sai Mukherjee,” said the woman. “I don’t believe we have met. I’m Abeer Mukherjee’s sister.”

  “Oh,” said Elke, swallowing. “I see. How-how are you?”

  Sai laughed bitterly. “That’s what you have to say to me? How do you think I am?”

  Elke decided not to answer that question. She remembered that Saanvi’s father’s side of the family thought she was guilty, and they hadn’t supported her. Sai probably wasn’t pleased that they were investigating the case again.

  “How could you do this?” said Sai. “Do you have any idea what your investigation is doing to my family?”

  “Listen,” said Elke, “have you considered the possibility that Saanvi is innocent? Wouldn’t you be pleased to know that your niece wasn’t responsible for the murders?”

  “That brat,” said Sai. “She was so spoiled, and she never took her heritage seriously. My brother let her run wild. She was immoral and irresponsible. She and that boyfriend of hers are guilty. We’ve always known they were guilty.”

  “Well, if evidence came to light—”

  “She didn’t come to her father’s funeral, did you know that?”

  “Well, I think she was in police custody right after the murders and then was arrested, so I’m not sure she would have had the chance.”

  “This was right after his death, before the arrest.”

  “She was being questioned by the police even before. She was a person of interest—”

  “Don’t defend that bitch.”

  Elke opened her mouth to say something, and then she shut it again. Why was she arguing with this woman? She was clearly in pain. She was too emotional to think rationally or change her mind. Elke was wasting her breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry enough to leave well enough alone and keep your nose out of where it doesn’t belong?”

  Elke stiffened. “What did you say?”

  Sai pointed at her. “If you let a murderer out of jail, that will be on your conscience for your whole life. That will be a stain on you that you will carry into the next life.”

  “Excuse me,” said Elke. “I have to go.”

  “You’re walking away from me?”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss. I can hardly imagine how painful it must be to lose a brother,” said Elke. “And to know that he was violently taken from this world, that is even worse. It must be excruciating, and I feel for you. I really do. But I don’t know that there’s any point in continuing this conversation.” She backed her cart away from the woman.

  “Walk away like a coward, then,” said Sai.

  Elke decided not to respond. She angled her cart down the aisle and fled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “Well,” said Elke, assembling her groceries on the counter as she spoke into her phone. She had put her earphones and mike on so as to be hands free. “I think we’ve possibly got another party who might be interested in derailing us from the case.”

  “Who?” said Iain on the other end.

  “The Mukherjee family. Abeer’s family.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She related what had happened to her at the store.

  Iain was quiet after she was done.

  “Well? What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I
f it’s someone outside of the murder, then that’s essentially a separate crime. We’ve got enough on our plate with the crime we’re trying to solve without dragging something else into the mess.”

  “Do you think I should say something to the police?”

  “We think the police could be involved,” said Iain.

  “Yes, but if it’s the Mukherjees, it’s not the police.”

  He sighed. “I have a headache.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I’ve had one all day, since what happened with Harley.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t have called you. How is she?”

  “Fine now,” he said. “Shaken up. But she went home an hour ago.”

  “She did? She’s not with you anymore?”

  Iain was quiet.

  “I mean, I guess that’s fine. I’m just surprised is all.”

  “I should probably have gone with her,” he said. “I should go now. I should put the new locks on her door.”

  “She’s putting on new locks?”

  A heavy sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “Because of what happened today?”

  “No, because of something else.”

  None of her business, in other words. “Well, if you’re good at that, maybe you can help Amos. He’s trying to change his locks and having trouble. Or maybe he just wanted to add deadbolts, I don’t know.”

  “I, um, I guess I could do that at some point.” He sounded hesitant.

  She sighed. “I’ll let you go. I just thought I’d run that past you. See you in the morning to go talk to Wheeler and Chapman.”

  “Yes, in the morning.”

  They said goodbye, and then hung up.

  Elke took off her earphones and set her phone on the counter. She gazed at the ingredients for the spinach pie. This was going to be a good bit of work. But that was good. She needed something to distract herself with.

  She remembered that the last time she’d made this, Felix had helped. He would always volunteer to help if it meant that he got a spinach pie. She was loathe to make it because it was so much work, and his help was usually the only thing that convinced her.

  But better not to think of Felix, even though moments like that—the two of them in the kitchen together—were the most bittersweet for her. They had been happy together, that was the hell of it. They had been happy, and he had been lying to her.