I screw my eyes shut.
“Get this,” Barlow continues, “Mabel’s bullet also went through a silencer, the same silencer that’s sitting on the end of that Walther PPK. Anna had it on the barrel when she broke in.”
I open my eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Not just me,” he says. “Lab found striations on the test fire that are identical to those on the bullet that extracted from poor Mabel’s head. There’s no denying. It’s a match.”
I inflate my chest with a slow, thoughtful breath. “What does The Club have against Mabel Mathews?” I ask. Liam filled me in on this too, but hopefully Barlow can offer a little more.
It’s as if I can hear him cock his head. Another audible breath.
“I’m told it has more to do with the husband. Or, ex-husband, that is,” he corrects. “Apparently Mabel Mathews did some shopping around in that department. Regardless, her last stop in the husband-aisle was a gentleman named Earl Clarkman. And ol’ Earl was heedless with the funds. In fact, looks like just about every cent he spent came from out of someone else’s pocket. Including…”
“The Club,” I finish for him.
“That’s right. Spent a considerable sum that we traced back to a loan shark in Miami, a shoddy little joint that’s since been busted for connections to The Club. We’re joining the cases of Anna Maxwell and Mabel Mathews. There’s a link between them.”
“Anyone witness Mabel’s murder?” I ask. And he returns the only name I’m expecting.
“One guy, name’s Liam Carter,” he says. “He’s a bartender for the Drunk Pinkie.”
19
Claire
I try Liam’s cell for the fourth time without getting through. He doesn’t have a landline. Landline’s are going extinct and besides, it’s something you’d set up only if you intended to hang around, make home of your house. Liam is running.
He’s running for good reason—running from the same fate that just stole the life of Mabel Mathews. I wonder if she even saw it coming.
And why did I leave him alone?
He’s already been alone for far too long. He finally confided in someone, in me, and I did nothing.
I pull onto his block and throw my foot down on the gas pedal.
The sense of impending dread is swelling like a bruise in my chest. His house is fixed in my distant gaze. The lawn is beginning to materialize in front of it. I’m almost there.
And then, at once, I can’t believe what I’m looking at. It’s him. Liam. He’s safe.
I’m still nearing, but I know it’s him. I can make out his frame and his dark hair in the sunlight. He’s walking down the path in his front yard, toward the street. No—toward his mailbox. He’s retrieving the mail in pajama pants and a blank white shirt.
I exhale a breath twice the size of my lungs. At the same time, I ease my foot into the brake. I’m roaring so wildly down the street that I’m surprised it didn’t spur him into looking up. Though I’m still a few houses away.
He digs a hand into the box, removes it holding the newspaper and several lose envelops. One of the envelops falls to the grass at his feet. Without a glance up, Liam bends to get it.
Gun shots reverberate through the air.
Liam drops to his knees, throwing his hands over his head. I feel my lungs puncture and my heart throttling between my ribs. He jumps forward in a combined effort of rolling and crawling as another volley of shots pop in the air. It’s obscured by the car around me, and by a silencer, but the sound is unmistakable. And I identify the source.
I throw open my door, pull the handgun from my waist, and fire at the SUV parked down the block. Its brake lights flick on as I empty my clip, shattering the back window.
Immediately, its wheels begin skirting on the pavement.
As I run toward Liam, I drop my magazine and load another. He’s on his feet, running towards the door. There’s another pop, and Liam falls to the ground.
I feel a scream in my throat, but I raise my gun and pinch my finger on the trigger. One of my shots catches a wheel of the SUV. It emits a loud rupture, skidding as the driver regains control. In that split second, I narrow my eyes and focus in on the plate number.
Then it’s gone. The black SUV drifts around the nearest corner and speeds down an adjacent block.
My heart is hammering. I’m gasping to catch my breath, but I holster my gun and sprint to where Liam has managed to crawl inside.
“Liam!” I yell, my feet pounding down the cement walkway to his door. I dart through the open doorframe.
He has a palm on the small coffee table, pushing himself up and hobbling on his left foot. He turns to me, his face flushed red with streaks of terror descending from his eyes.
“I think I got shot,” he blurts. Pain pulls his eyes shut. He leans his head back, wincing before yelling in agony.
“You did,” I say. “Sit down—sit down, breathe!” I nearly push him into the couch, dart to the washing machine in the hallway closet. I grab a dry shirt, then Liam’s wallet off the kitchen counter on my way back. His pajama pants are torn down the side, blood seeping through the cotton. I pull a debit card out from his wallet and press it over the wound, then wrap the shirt tight around his thigh.
He howls, then bites down hard to contain the noise, grinding his teeth.
“You’re going to be okay,” I shout over him. “Hang on!” I’m applying pressure to his wound with both hands. There’s bright, crimson blood spilling through my fingers.
I shift one hand so that it’s over the center of the wound, pressing down, and reach for my cell with the other. I dial, put it to my ear. “I need an ambulance at—” I don’t know his address. How do I not know his address? I lean to look as far out the door as I can without moving my hand.
“327 Marine Avenue,” Liam cries. It seems to take all the breath he has.
“At 327 Marine Avenue,” I repeat. “I have one wounded, gunshot to the leg.” The operator starts to speak but I talk over her. “And I need an APB out on a vehicle—black Escalade, Florida tags, plate number, echo-delta-seven-zulu-five-five.”
My forehead is hot with sweat. I’m crushing the phone with my grip.
“Paramedics are on their way,” the operator says, and at that, I hang up and immediately dial Barlow.
Please, please, please answer.
He does.
“Barlow! I’m with Liam Carter, he’s been shot,” I say. “Put an APB on a black Escalade, Florida plate number, echo-delta-seven-zulu-five-five. Put out road blocks. I’d bet they’re heading south, but we can catch them here.”
“Are you wounded, Brooks?”
“I’m fine. Escalade should have impeded mobility, I shot out a tire.”
“Only one vehicle?” he asks.
“I only saw one, but they may dump it and make their getaway in something else. That tire won’t last long.”
I can see Liam trying to control his breathing, his face still creased in pain.
“Come on, Liam,” I whisper. “Come on. Hang in there.”
He drops his hand to mine. Then grabs my wrist, holding tight. His hand is stained with more blood than mine.
I want to drop the phone, use my hand to apply pressure or hold Liam’s, or both.
“Hurry!” I shout to Barlow.
“Medics are a minute out.”
Now I do drop it. I place my hand over my other, press down. Liam opens his eyes.
“I’m going to be fine,” he murmurs, not to himself, but to me.
“I know,” I whisper.
“I’m okay.”
“Just hang in there,” I say. His eyes are like two blue lightbulbs in a room full of shadows.
He inflates his chest, fighting back another howl.
“Thirty seconds,” I tell him. “Breathe.”
He grimaces in response. In my head, I’m counting. Not each second, but in five-second phases. Although if it really was thirty seconds away, we’d be able to hear the sirens.
; Then they come. Faint in the distance, like a crying infant. Then louder.
“Almost, Liam,” I say. He bites down. “Come on, breathe.”
There’s the sound of brakes outside the front door, footsteps on the pavement. I turn just as a thin man with a long face bounds through the door. In half a second, he’s kneeling beside me.
“I need a stretcher,” he yells, but another two men are already trailing through the door, red stretcher in hands.
I stand up and step away to give them space. Liam watches me as I do.
With my stare, I hold onto his eyes. I nod at him and muster a reassuring expression.
He smiles at me. Through all the pain, the terror, the spinning chaos around him, Liam smiles. I reach out to squeeze his hand after he’s laid down on the stretcher. He squeezes back.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“We’re going to St. Lidwina,” one of the medics says to me.
“I’ll follow,” I tell him. I trail them out the door and down the path, holding Liam’s hand until they lift him into the ambulance.
I sprint back to my car parked haphazardly in the middle of the street. It’s still running.
I climb behind the wheel and follow the ambulance out the same way the SUV had gone. After turning off Marine Avenue, I reach for my phone and dial Barlow. It rings once before he answers.
20
Liam
When I first open my eyes it’s like there’s a thin film of blurry light streaks laying over them. I blink it away, feeling crust on my lashes. When I open again, I’m in a square hospital room, on a bed, a window to the right and Claire sitting on a chair in front of me. She smiles, thin and gentle.
I try to return a smile, but my expression feels sloppy. That’s when I remember. I look down and reach for my thigh.
“Maybe don’t touch it,” Claire says, softly. I look up.
“Am I able to—”
“The bullet only grazed you,” she says. “Thank God. It was still a deep wound, but they got it stitched up. Had it grazed your femoral artery on the inside of your leg, it would’ve been different.”
I nod. “I’m lucky that you were there.”
Her lips flatten, not quite in a smile.
“Really,” I add.
“I know. We’re both lucky.” She draws in a long breath, her chest rising then falling as she breathes out. She angles her head at the door. “Officer Colter?”
A thick man in uniform steps one foot into the room, leaning his head in. “Everything all right?”
Claire gestures to him. “Come here for a second.”
He does as he’s told. He’s got a thick, Teddy-Roosevelt-like mustache with small eyes. The man looks like he should be riding a horse into battle. Though his frame looks even sturdier as he nears Claire. Not fat, but solid. He would need a big horse.
“Liam, this is Officer Gavin Colter,” Claire says by way of introduction. The man tips his head. “Officer Colter has been assigned to your protective duty.”
“Protective duty?” I’m sure my surprise shows on my face, I can’t keep it off.
Claire only nods. I look at Officer Colter, then back at Claire.
“That’s all right,” I say eventually, returning my eyes to the Officer. “I’m sure they could use you better elsewhere.”
Claire’s lips purse, but she looks at Officer Colter instead of speaking. “Can you give us a minute?” she asks him.
Officer Colter nods once. “Shall I shut the door?” he asks.
“No, that’s okay. Leave it open for the nurse.” She watches him exit. Then looks at me. I have my explanation ready, but I wait for her to speak first.
“They almost killed you, Liam,” she says.
“But they can’t kill me in here,” I retort.
“Good. Then you’ll be safe for another, maybe, six hours.”
“So they didn’t catch them, then?”
She shakes her head. “You know what they’re capable of. If you go back out there, alone, you’re as good as dead.”
“And if your officers focus on me, then they’ll never even get close.”
Her eyebrows raise, her lips pulling into an expression I’ve never seen from her. “I’m not so sure about that,” she murmurs.
“What?”
She takes another long breath, letting it inflate her lungs and gradually expire. “They’re coming for you, Liam. They are very, very close.”
“They always are,” I say. “I’ve been in danger for every second of the last two years of my life. What am I supposed to do?”
“You can’t continue this on your own. I’ll tell you that much,” she says. “The only reason I was there was because a detective filled me in on a new piece in the Mabel Mathews case. Not to mention I feared for your life. And until I got there I was terrified of what I might find. I should’ve never left you, not with the risks. I will not let you live in danger like that.”
For a moment I debate the exact words to use, but my head is a clouded fucking mess.
“I will never not live in danger,” I say slowly. “They. Are. Everywhere. If these shooters get caught, the job will just get passed to the next man in line. I can’t pay back my dad’s debts, and to be honest with you, I’ve never planned on trying. They don’t really want the money. They just want me and my dad to know that we fucked up. They want us gone.”
“You didn’t do anything,” she says. “It’s exactly like you told me, whatever happened with your dad was out of your control. You didn’t do anything, and also you haven’t given in. So why start now? If anything, you’ve done a miraculous job of surviving. I can’t even imagine, Liam.”
Her gaze is so heavy that it’s holding me entirely still.
“You do not deserve this,” she says. “Don’t think that for a second.”
I barely nod.
“But we need your help. I need your help,” she says. She stands up, walks to the door and sticks her head out. “Tell the nurse to knock, please,” she says to Officer Colter before quietly shutting the door.
When she returns to the hospital bed, she pulls her chair up next to it. She takes in a breath.
“I was seeing someone. I broke it off about a week ago when I found out that he’d been unfaithful.”
The abrupt change of subject takes me by surprise. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Don’t be. I only bring it up because—” She falters, selecting her words. “—because I think the woman he cheated with is involved in this.”
I’m too stunned to speak. And she seems to notice.
“Have you ever met an Anna Maxwell?” she asks.
I almost answer, but I hold it in. I don’t think I have. But did my dad know an Anna?
“How?” I ask.
“Anywhere.”
I stop to think again. It’s impossible to know if Dad met an Anna in one of the many casinos where he spent the last fifteen years of his life. “No,” I say, finally, “but my dad might’ve.”
Claire flattens her lips. “But you’re sure that you’ve never met her?”
“I’m sure.”
She nods. “Anna Maxwell is the one who broke into my house.”
I feel my nerves turn to sparks. “What?”
“The woman my ex cheated with came after me. She broke in with a loaded gun.”
“Claire!”
“My ex-boyfriend shot and killed her,” she says.
My chest goes tight. “He was there?”
She shuts her eyes and nods. “He was there because I couldn’t keep him away.” She opens. “I made him sleep on the couch. We were going to talk once more the next morning, and that was going to be the end of it. Anna didn’t know he was there.”
I run a hand over my face, pulling at the firm spots of tension. It doesn’t matter what role the ex played in this. It’s not him that’s important. I’m fixating on the wrong thing.
She sets a hand on my left leg, the healthy one. “List
en to me, Liam,” she says. “Anna broke in carrying the same gun that was used to kill Mabel.”
“What do you mean?” But I know exactly what she means.
“Anna is involved.” Her dark eyes hold me still again. “That night,” she says, pausing to allow me to focus, “is it possible that Anna could’ve pulled the trigger?” she asks.
“No. No, she didn’t pull the trigger,” I say.
“How do you know?”
The scene plays over in front of me, the hospital room shifting into the dark street, Mabel sitting on the bench. The SUVs pulling up. The blast.
But I push it away and clear my head. “It wasn’t her, it was three men. They were big guys. I mean, she’s not…”
“No,” Claire answers for me. “She was pretty thin.”
“Then it wasn’t her. I’ve seen those three frames in my dreams every single night since then. They were big, square, strong. Not feminine in anyway.”
Claire nods her understanding. “Okay, then think back to the bar. I understand you described someone to Detective Mantra, a man that seemed a little suspicious to you?”
It takes a second to think back, replace myself at that long conference table with Mantra across from me. But only a second.
“Yeah, I did.”
“Do you remember much about him now?” she asks.
“Just what I told Detective Mantra. It really wasn’t anything in particular. I’ve seen him in Pinkie’s a few times, usually dressed in a collared shirt. But that night he had two people with him.”
“Does he usually come in alone?”
“No, I think he’s usually with a buddy or two, but I mentioned it because there was three people who shot Mabel a few hours later.”
“Have you seen them again since?”
I shake my head. “And I’ve been looking, believe me. I can’t work the bar without studying every goddam face around me.”
“I know,” she says softly. She runs her hand up and down my leg. “Whoever shot at you escaped in the black Escalade that the shots came from, which is one of the potential vehicles you reported that night. It’s The Club.”
A Family Secret Page 12
