Had she sought a private investigator to answer her questions...and then decided on another solution? One that would mean she didn't need to turn over half her remaining assets to Alan in a divorce court?
Certainly, private investigators were not supposed to share client information, but if Heather hadn't hired one, it was a gray area. Gabriel saw two on Heather's list that he knew would happily profit from exploiting that gray area and selling him details. He would discuss this with Olivia over dinner.
He checked his watch. It was past seven. He'd have thought she'd have called by now.
He reached for his phone, only to discover it wasn't beside his elbow. He looked about the kitchen table, where he'd set up a temporary office.
Oh, yes. He'd been so deep in thought earlier that he'd left his phone in his jacket. He retrieved that to find a text from Olivia, sent over an hour ago, asking whether he wanted to meet up and investigate together.
Before he could call back, he saw another message, more recent.
Johnson = cold-blooded SOB who deserves Hunt. Well, if I'm right. Found a few things. Incl what set him on Nansens. Going to talk to HN. Call me!
Olivia was heading out to talk to Heather Nansen...apparently having decided that Johnson was responsible for Alan's death. Which meant she had no idea what Heather might be capable of.
Gabriel hit Olivia's number. When it rang through to voice mail, he grabbed his jacket and hurried out.
Twenty-four
Olivia
I met Heather at her house. She quickly got over her surprise at me showing up on her doorstep and invited me in. I accepted a coffee this time. I hadn't heard back from Gabriel, and it looked like it was going to be a long night, possibly without dinner.
"One angle we'd like to pursue is uncovering the identity of the person attempting the break-ins," I said. "Presumably, the same person sent Alan those texts, and if we can prove it, we have our case."
She nodded. Said nothing, just nodded.
I went through my usual spiel on the search for alternative suspects...or at least one Gabriel could put forward to raise that Hail Mary of reasonable doubt.
Do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against you? Anyone at all?
We'd done this at our first meeting, and she seemed annoyed at me bringing it up again, but I said, "You've had time to think about it. Is there no one?"
She fluttered her hands. "Of course, there's always someone. If you've gotten through life without making enemies, count yourself very lucky."
"Oh, believe me, I haven't."
"I'm not the type who makes them naturally. Sure, there might be an ex who isn't thrilled with me, or a frenemy from my past, but no one who'd want revenge on this scale. I just don't have that sort of personality." She paused. "Alan does. Did, I mean. He could be...abrasive."
"All right, you can also hurt people accidentally. For example, in literal accidents. Like with a car."
She tensed.
"Have you or Alan ever been in an accident? One where you were at fault? Where someone was hurt? Possibly killed?"
I waited for the denials. She said nothing.
"This might jog your memory." I took out my phone and read the anonymous e-mail. "Dear Mr. Johnson, Two years ago, you lost your wife in an accident on North End Road. Another vehicle took the corner too fast. The driver lost control and hit your car, knocking it off the road. The driver then fled the scene without stopping to see whether you were all right. I know what happened because I was a passenger in that car. My husband was that driver. I begged him to call 911, but he refused and threatened me. If I'd had any idea how serious the accident was, I would have done something. I saw the news of your wife's death the next day, and I have never forgiven myself for my cowardice. No apology can ever bring her back, but I need you to know how sorry I am. I've anonymously wired you money. If you don't want it, please donate it appropriately."
I looked up from the screen. "Do you want to tell me again what happened to your second vehicle?"
"How--how did you get--?" she stammered.
"Does it matter? I know this is you. If you want to deny it, well, then we lose our best hope of finding the person whose harassment led to you getting a gun."
A long pause. Then she nodded. "Yes, that was me. But I did it anonymously--the e-mail, the money transfer. I don't see how Mr. Johnson could have known."
"Nothing is anonymous," I said. "Not if you're motivated enough to dig."
"So how do we prove he's the one who harassed me, who sent those texts to Alan?"
"Well, first, I'm going to need to borrow your phone."
Twenty-five
Gabriel
Gabriel could not get hold of Olivia. It wasn't the first time. In the past, though, most communication issues--at least, of the technical variety--had been fae in origin, purposely blocking them or sending messages from their accounts. The current communication problem, however, did not seem to be a fae issue so much as the very ordinary sort Gabriel and Olivia dealt with far too often--a breakdown of communication on a purely personal level.
When Olivia did finally get his message, she texted...which was not quite what he'd asked for.
What's up? she asked.
He sent back two words. Call me.
Can't. In the middle of something.
I need to speak to you, he replied.
Text?
That gave him pause. He couldn't very well text and say that he thought their client was actually guilty. That left a record. But saying nothing endangered Olivia.
Leave Heather, he sent, hoping that wasn't too cryptic.
Done. Now, gotta run. Talk soon.
What exactly did that mean? Done? That she'd spoken to Heather and moved on? Or was she--as Olivia herself would say--blowing him off?
Yep, totally ignoring Heather. Got it.
He flipped to another text, one that had come in a few minutes ago from Rose.
After you've spoken to Liv, come see me, please. No matter how late. I want to talk.
After you've spoken to Liv...
What did that mean?
Gabriel could pretend he didn't know, but there was only one scenario he might imagine, given that message.
Olivia knew about his nighttime visits to Seanna.
Which meant that Olivia was--again to use her vernacular--pissed. And when she was pissed, she didn't want anything to do with him. She was indeed blowing him off. Staying away until she'd finished pursuing a thread on the case, not wanting their personal issues to distract her from work.
Earlier, she'd been at the office, looking for him, wanting to confront him. And then, while waiting, she found some fresh lead, and she was off on that, putting him aside.
He could take comfort in the fact that she wasn't so furious that she'd sought him out immediately, work be damned. Except, if she was angry, he'd almost prefer that. Cold rage was worse. It boded worse.
She's finally had enough. She's done with you.
He stifled Gwynn's voice. Gwynn's fears, more accurately. Whatever consciousness remained of the fae king, he was Gabriel's guide, not his enemy. Gwynn's was the voice that said, "Seriously, you're keeping secrets from her again?" The fear came from Gabriel's own memories of Gwynn's mistakes with Matilda.
That realization hardly helped at this moment. What Gabriel felt was still that old fear.
She's had enough. She can't even be bothered telling you off.
He sent back one last text: May I join you, in whatever you're doing?
Mmm. Bad idea. Sorry. Love to have you along, but right now, that just gets complicated. Will call soon... I hope!
He looked at his phone. Beneath the Gwynn fears, he felt something else. An unease he knew well--a sixth sense that Olivia was in trouble.
Was she?
Or was that an excuse for what he wanted to do?
His finger hovered over an app that tracked her phone.
She said no. That he was not to join her.
/>
But I'm worried.
She said--
Gabriel hit the button.
Ricky had installed tracking devices in all their phones after Gabriel and Olivia came far too close to dying of exposure after falling into a river. They hadn't agreed to use that app only in emergencies...because that went without saying. It was a matter of trust.
Was Gabriel breaking that trust now?
He honestly wasn't sure. That was the problem with living a life where trust had always been the one luxury he could not afford. While other people seemed to hopscotch easily through the landscape of relationships, he navigated it like a swamp, with quicksand and pythons and piranhas at every step.
He knew he should never use the app to keep tabs on her. That was obviously wrong. Nor would he ever use it to meet up with her, rather than texting to see whether she was free. It was only for emergencies, when he could not otherwise contact her and had reason for alarm.
Half of that applied now. Given what he'd learned about Heather, he had reason for alarm. Yet...well, he could contact her, couldn't he? But it wasn't in the way he needed to contact her--she was refusing to speak to him, and so he could not properly warn her. Did that make this an exception?
He believed he genuinely felt that sixth sense of concern, and yet he feared imagining it as an excuse to go to Olivia, to apologize and make things right. And if he was imagining it, then showing up and ignoring her explicit wishes would only upset her more.
He didn't know. When he tracked that signal and saw where she'd gone, though, he forgot the question entirely in a surge of exasperation and alarm.
Olivia was in a park. Not a playground safely within the city limits, but a picnic area five miles outside of it, one that would be closed past dark. It was already dusk.
The urge to text: What the hell are you doing? was nearly overwhelming. He might have, too, if he didn't know exactly what she was doing.
Meeting someone.
For the case, that is. The thought of Olivia meeting a lover for a tryst entered his head only as the fleeting notion that, for ordinary people, that was exactly why they'd go to a park past dark. Not Olivia. For her, this out-of-the-way spot suggested a covert encounter of the professional sort.
She must be meeting Heather Nansen there. The Nansens lived at that end of the city, and Olivia needed to discuss something in absolute privacy--completely ignoring his warnings. Yes, this was an excellent spot for a private meeting...and it was also an excellent spot to be murdered by a killer and have your body dragged into the nearby woods.
Gabriel pulled his car into an overgrown lane near the park. The Jag rolled down the rutted path, each jolt giving him one more thing to grumble about, along with the knowledge that if he did damage the vehicle, at least he could guarantee Olivia would regret one part of this escapade.
He also acknowledged the unfairness of his word choice. An escapade suggested Olivia routinely traipsed into danger unaware, needing rescue. Untrue. Or, at least, two-thirds of it was untrue. She was never unaware of the danger, and she didn't require rescue any more than he did. He would prefer to think he strode into danger, though. Traipsing was really more Olivia's style.
He walked through the forest to the park, hearing every slosh of his loafers on the muddy ground, feeling cold water seep in. With the full moon, he could see the picnic benches and pavilions but no sign of Olivia.
He cursed Ricky for not finding an app that more accurately pinpointed location. Again, unjust. The issue was the inadequacy of GPS in general. He knew Olivia was within a few hundred feet. Perhaps hiding in the shadows of the pavilion, awaiting Heather?
He took out his phone. The screen shone far too brightly, so he shielded it and then reread the text stream.
He should tell Olivia he was here. Admit wrongdoing and let her know he was nearby. Yes, I know you said to stay away, but I was concerned, and so I am here.
His fingers hovered over the keypad. Then a twig cracked in the park. Gabriel stepped forward...and his loafer stayed behind, stuck in the mud.
With a grunt of annoyance, he balanced on one foot, backing up to slide his foot into--
"Don't move."
Gabriel turned. That was the problem with a voice from nowhere, telling you not to move--reacting to the surprise, one naturally moves. A man lunged at him, a blade flashing. Gabriel backed up fast, his hands out.
"I'm unarmed," he said.
The man waved the knife, which would have been far more threatening if he'd looked as if he had the faintest clue how to use it. No, strike that. In Gabriel's experience, those who didn't know how to use a weapon posed an even greater danger--that of harming someone unintentionally. What mattered was that the blade appeared clean, as did the man's clothing, meaning he had not used that knife on Olivia.
"I'm unarmed," Gabriel repeated. "However, I am not alone, Mr. Johnson."
The man tensed, confirming Gabriel was correct in his guess. Johnson inched forward, knife raised.
"I know who you are, too, Gabriel Walsh," he said. "A lawyer. A defense lawyer."
He spit the words the way one might say "serial killer." No, having defended serial killers, Gabriel knew people voiced that term with far less venom.
"You're her lawyer," Johnson continued. "That murderess, Heather Nansen."
"The term is 'murderer,' and has been since the time of Lizzie Borden, but in this case, I believe you are also missing the adjective 'alleged.'"
"Lawyers." Johnson sneered. "So it was you, wasn't it? You sent that text from her phone."
"Ah."
"Ah?"
It was apparently the wrong response. Johnson lunged, and Gabriel attempted to dodge, but he was really too big for dodging, and the knife caught his sleeve, slicing through a very expensive jacket and shirt. Skin, too, given the stab of pain, but his arm would mend. Gabriel swung up, attempting to disarm Johnson, and--to his chagrin--failing.
So Gabriel charged, barreling into Johnson, who evidently did not expect to be attacked by an unarmed man. Johnson let out a yelp. He also swung the knife, the tip of it scraping Gabriel's jaw.
Gabriel punched Johnson. The smaller man flew backward but kept his balance, raising the knife as he ran at Gabriel.
"And that's enough of that," a voice said.
Twenty-six
Gabriel
Gabriel dodged the charge and swung around to see Olivia holding her gun on Johnson.
"It's like rock, paper, scissors," she said. "Except in a game of fist, knife, gun, the gun always wins. Stop right there, Keith."
Johnson peered at her. "You...you're..."
"The dumb chick who wanted to trade in a Shelby Cobra for an Audi? Well, duh. No one's that stupid."
Johnson snarled and lunged at Gabriel.
Olivia fired a warning shot over Johnson's shoulder. "Did I say enough? You've already ruined one of his jackets." She glanced at Gabriel. "Which is the price he pays for ignoring my instructions."
"I know you're upset about what Rose said, and you don't want to have anything to do with me right now, but I sensed you were in danger."
Her brows shot up. "You thought I was refusing backup because I'm pissy?"
"Not...exactly."
She shook her head. "I said no for exactly this reason." She waved at the two of them. "Because I had things under control, and bringing you in seemed more likely to end up exactly the way it did, you barging onto my stage after I so carefully set--"
Johnson spun, slashing the knife at Gabriel, who dodged while Olivia leapt forward, gun pointed at Johnson's head.
"Yeah, sorry," she said. "Just because we're bickering doesn't mean we aren't paying attention."
"I wouldn't call it bick--" Gabriel began, but she stopped him with a look.
"Can you move behind him, please, Gabriel?" she asked. "In case he decides to bolt."
"I have no idea what's--" Johnson said.
"You killed your wife."
Gabriel's head shot up. Fortun
ately, he was on the other side of Johnson now, so the man didn't see his surprise.
"What?" Johnson said. "My wife was murdered by Alan Nansen because he lost control and hit my car and left the scene."
"Mmm, he bears responsibility, sure. His actions could have killed her. But yours did. You took advantage of the scenario he set up. Kathy was seriously injured, and you...well, you just waited to see what would happen. How badly injured was she? What if you were a little slow to call 911? What if you just...observed for a while? I've been called cold-blooded, but I can't imagine doing that to anyone, let alone someone I loved."
"You have no idea what--" Johnson cut himself short. "I didn't do that."
"You did, and you got away with it because they never caught the other driver, so there was no reason to dig deeper, no reason to suspect your story. But then Heather Nansen had an inconvenient attack of conscience and sent you an apology and blood money. You tracked her down and decided to kill two birds with one bullet. Put Heather in such fear for her life that she got a gun. Then you sent Alan a text message--"
"What?"
Olivia paused, her eyes narrowing. After a moment, she went on. "You lured Alan home. Heather shot him. But the police didn't find the texts, so it was ruled an accident, which wasn't what you wanted. You contacted the police with a tip that Alan had been lured home by his wife."
"No, I never..." He trailed off. "I never did any of that."
"Which isn't what you were going to say." Olivia gave him that same piercing look. "You objected to the texts and the call. Those two things specifically."
Gabriel caught her eye and motioned.
She gave a long, slow nod. Then she said, "You broke in and stole Heather's phone to--"
"I never stole--I never did anything. You're crazy." He stepped back. "I'm leaving now, and if you try to stop me..."
He backed into Gabriel and then wheeled, brandishing the knife.
"Put the knife down, Keith," she said. "We're just talking. Warning you. We have proof that you were the person who broke into the Nansens' house, who came back twice more. Clearly, you were trying to spook her into buying--"
"I was only trying to spook them, okay? You know what they did to my wife. Not me. Them. That was my revenge. Scaring them."
"For murdering your beloved wife? Seems a little...underwhelming, don't you think?"
Rough Justice Page 12
