by James Carol
Eyes closed, I did my best to switch off my brain and play from the heart. For a short while I was back in that tiny music room with my mother sitting beside me. It would be another five years before our world was irrevocably torn apart. I was back in the days when we still had good times, and this was one of the best times of all.
So I played for my mother, and I played for that six-year-old kid who didn’t have a clue what was just around the corner. Most of all I played for Taylor. Sometimes the only way to fight the guilt and the grief is to pretend it doesn’t exist. Sometimes the only way to save yourself from the darkness is by sprinting headlong towards that thin glimmer of light without worrying about the repercussions, or the future, or the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens.
Sometimes you need to make yourself play from the heart, even if that’s the last thing you feel like doing.
I reached the end of the piece and for a moment I just sat there, my hands resting lightly on the keys. Then I turned and looked Barbara Galloway straight in the eye.
‘Sam had a secret. Something worth murdering him for. What was it?’
58
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
There was no hesitation. I’d asked my question and Barbara Galloway had answered immediately. It was like she’d been expecting the question and had her answer ready and waiting, just in case. Her response was respectful and polite. It was a conditioned response that was informed by her upbringing and generations of breeding. Her grandmother would have been a Southern belle back in the days when the term still meant something, her mother would have been influenced by that, and that influence would have been passed all the way down to Barbara.
‘You’re lying,’ I said.
‘And I’d like you to leave now.’ That politeness was still there, but the words were cut from ice.
‘Do you remember Officer Taylor?’
‘Of course I remember him.’
‘Right now he’s in the OR over in Shreveport and it’s touch and go whether he’s going to pull through.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘The person who attacked him was the same person who murdered your husband.’ I gestured for Hannah to step forward. ‘This is Hannah Hayden. She’s Officer Taylor’s fiancée. They’ve got a whole future planned together. Except that might not happen now.’
‘You can’t blame that on me.’
‘It’s not me you need to worry about. No, what you need to worry about is that little voice inside your head that you call your conscience. That voice has plenty to say when you sneak into the fridge to snack on something you shouldn’t, so what do you think it’s going to make of this? It’s going to have a field day. It’s going to haunt you with this until your final breath. It’s going to wake you up in the middle of the night to torture and accuse you, and when that happens do you think your denials are going to count for anything?’
‘Mrs Galloway,’ Hannah broke in. ‘If there’s something you know that could help, I’m begging you, please tell us.’
Barbara broke eye contact and looked at Hannah. ‘How long have the two of you been together?’
‘Four years.’
‘And you’re going to get married?’
‘One day.’
‘What about children? Are you going to have children?’
Hannah nodded. ‘Not right now, but, yeah, in a couple of years, we’d like to start a family.’
‘How badly injured is your fiancée?’
‘It’s bad.’ Hannah sniffed back a sob. She wiped her mouth, scratched a hand through her spiky hair. ‘He might die.’
Barbara took a moment to process this, then said, ‘I’m sorry. Really I am. But there’s no dark secret.’
‘That’s a lie,’ I said again. ‘If that was true you’d be acting very differently. For one thing, you’d be on the phone to the police right now demanding they arrest us for trespassing. Hell, you’d probably have grabbed a gun and be exercising your Second Amendment rights. But you’re not doing either of those things. Instead you’re just standing there making empty threats, while I’m standing here calling you a liar.’
Barbara was staring at me again, her eyes ever so slightly narrowed. This was as close to a glare as her conditioning would allow.
‘By the way,’ I added. ‘The way you hinted that Sam was having an affair when we first met was a nice touch. Very clever. It gave us something to look into while the big secret remained hidden.’
‘There’s no secret, Mr Winter. How many times do I need to tell you that?’
‘Sam was killed for revenge or money. Which one was it?’ I took out a quarter, flipped it in the air, slapped it down on the back of my hand. ‘Heads we take a look at revenge. Tails we look at money.’
Barbara stared for a second then glanced down at my hand. Her eyes met mine again. I lifted my hand, peeked underneath, then took my hand away with a flourish and let her see the coin.
‘Tails it is. So, did Sam owe anybody money? Did he have a gambling problem?’
I watched Barbara carefully. Neither question elicited a response. This had nothing to do with that conditioned cool detachment and everything to do with being way off the mark.
But there had been a reaction when the coin came up tails. It had been so slight anyone else would have missed it. A tiny flash of something in her eyes, a microscopic tightening of her lips. Money was involved, but it wasn’t the main reason Sam had been murdered.
‘Okay. Let’s move on to revenge, then.’
Barbara displayed both the tells she’d displayed earlier. They were there and gone in the space of a heartbeat. That flash in her eyes, the fractional tightening and relaxing of her lips.
‘Maybe Sam cheated someone out of some money. It would have to be a ton of cash to merit burning him alive, though. How does that sound? Am I in the right ballpark?’
I was watching carefully again. Barbara didn’t react to this suggestion. Nothing, not so much as a twitch.
‘How about this, then? Maybe he was involved with the Russian mafia. Drug smuggling, people trafficking, arms dealing.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Not as ridiculous as you might think. When it comes to dreaming up ways to get even, the Russians can be pretty imaginative. Dousing someone in gasoline and setting them alight would fit with their MO.’
‘Sam was not involved with the Russian mafia, or the Italian mafia, or any form of organised crime.’
‘Maybe so. But you live in this big house and you have a garage full of luxury cars. The money had to come from somewhere. Now, I’m sure Sam was a great lawyer, but I just don’t see him earning that sort of money in a town this small.’
‘Family money, Mr Winter. His father played the stock market and made some good investments.’
‘And how much of that money is left?’
‘Enough.’
‘Okay, if he wasn’t involved with the mafia, then that leaves his love life. I’m happy to accept that you’re not responsible for Sam’s death, but what about all those women he slept with over the years? Maybe one of Sam’s mistresses didn’t handle being dumped as well as he thought.’
‘And what? She hired a contract killer to kidnap and murder him? I went through all this with Captain Shepherd, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. I just don’t see that happening.’
‘I’m not convinced. The wronged wife sticking up for her husband’s lovers. Not buying.’
She sighed. ‘Sam had a type. His mistresses were all young and naive, and shallow enough to be impressed by his money.’
‘And you know this because you got someone to check into their backgrounds.’
‘Yes I did. I needed to be sure that Sam wasn’t going to leave me. Can you understand that?’
I nodded. ‘You needed to protect your investment.’
‘That’s not how I would have put it.’
‘So what did you find out?’
‘N
othing that gave me any sleepless nights. Some of the girls had money problems, but nothing particularly serious, and certainly nothing that was going to lead them to blackmail Sam. Or arrange to have him killed. A couple of them had been through therapy.’
‘That could be significant.’
Barbara shook her head. ‘They thought they were sad and unhappy, so they paid someone to tell them that they weren’t. These girls were a long way from being sectioned.’
‘How can you be so sure of that?’
‘Because the private investigator I hired was the best money could buy. He came highly recommended.’
‘Hacking into someone’s medical and financial records is a crime. You do realise that, don’t you?’
Barbara almost laughed. ‘Mr Winter, you’ve met my lawyer. If that was some sort of threat, it was pretty lame.’
I turned back to the Steinway and let my fingers run over the keys. They danced from one random melody to the next, little snippets of sound, like someone was dialling through the stations on a radio. I stopped as suddenly as I’d started, thanked Barbara for her time, then made for the door, leaving a stark, sudden silence in my wake. A couple of seconds passed before I heard Hannah’s hurried footsteps coming up behind me.
59
We talked about Barbara Galloway on the journey back to town, but there was no substance to our conversation. If the unsub was tracking us he’d know we’d been at the Galloway place, and that we were there long enough to have talked to her. It would have been suspicious if we hadn’t talked about her. So we put on a show, both of us playing our parts.
But I could tell Hannah’s heart wasn’t really in it. The guilt was eating away at her. Even though none of this was her fault, she’d managed to rationalise it so that it was. She was going back and forth over the last few hours looking for something she could have done differently, anything. It was a common reaction in these situations, one that bordered on the superstitious. We all believe that we’re at the centre of our own little universe, that we can somehow predict and control everything that happens in our lives. We can’t. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control and there’s not a damn thing we can do.
The conversation reached a natural conclusion and the silence that filled the car was thick and awkward. Hannah took out her cell and called Taylor’s mother. Taylor was still in surgery and there was nothing to report.
‘No news is good news,’ I offered.
‘No, Winter, being told that he’s survived the surgery and is going to pull through is good news.’
We drove the rest of the way in silence. From time to time I’d glance over at Hannah. Her brow was creased and the shine had gone from those big brown eyes. The stress was taking its toll. Hannah was tough, but it was a learned toughness rather than a part of her nature. You didn’t need to dig deep to discover that she had a heart as big as the sun.
What happened to her mother could only have shaped and changed her, and not necessarily for the better. For her sake, I hoped Taylor pulled through, I hoped they made it to San Francisco, and I hoped they ended up with a cosy little house that they could fill with kids and laughter and good times.
I drove into Morrow Street and parked in front of the guesthouse. We got out and crossed the street to Apollo’s. The blue and red neon rocket flickered dimly in the bright sunlight. The bell jangled above out heads when we walked in. Lori saw us and broke away from the customer she was serving. She came over, wiping her hands on her apron. Concern filled her face and her eyes were heavy with worry.
‘I heard what happened to Taylor. How are you holding up, honey?’
‘I’m doing fine, Aunt Lori.’
She studied Hannah carefully, unconvinced.
‘I’m fine,’ Hannah repeated. ‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘And if I don’t worry, who’s going to?’ Lori tried for a reassuring smile and missed by a mile. ‘How’s Taylor?’
‘He’s still in surgery. His mom and dad are over there with him. I’m just waiting to hear something.’
‘He’s going to be fine, honey. He’ll pull through, I just know it. Do you think he’s going to leave you all alone?’ Lori shook her head. ‘No way. That boy would go to hell and back for you. He loves you so much.’
Hannah excused herself to use the restroom, leaving Lori and me standing there. Lori waited until Hannah was out of earshot then said, ‘How’s she really doing?’
I rocked my hand from side to side. So-so. ‘I’m trying to keep her busy. I figure that’s better than her sitting around at the hospital worrying.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Lori was staring in the direction of the restrooms. ‘That girl’s already been through so much. She doesn’t deserve this. Why does God punish the good ones? What’s that about? If this is part of His grand scheme, then it makes you wonder if He knows what He’s doing. Some days it’s difficult to keep believing.’
Lori looked like she was going to say more, so I gave her a second. She was staring towards the back of the diner, lost in thought, looking without seeing. Suddenly she snapped out of her trance and asked if she could get me anything. It wasn’t what I was expecting. At the same time it was exactly what I would have expected. When things get tough we often slip into the roles we’re most comfortable with. Sometimes it’s easier to lose yourself in the familiar rather than face up to reality. You can call it denial, or avoidance. I prefer to call it self-preservation.
‘I’ll have a burger and fries, thanks. Hannah’s going to tell you she’s not hungry, so just bring her whatever you think she’d like. Maybe she’ll eat, maybe she won’t.’
‘Will do, honey.’
Lori went back to the counter and shouted the order through to Frank. He responded that it would be his pleasure. His voice sounded flatter than normal, even more world-weary. There was no acting involved this time. He was trying to put on a pretence of normality for Lori, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.
I took my usual table by the window and got settled in. There were a couple of dozen people in the diner and the place was filled with noise. People talking, chairs moving, cutlery scraping against the china. Pans banged in the kitchen, something sizzled, and the gentle refrain of a country ballad drifted through the hatch, quiet as a whisper. It was the busiest I’d seen the place. Proof that life did go on.
Lori came over with the coffee pot and two mugs. She poured, then left me alone. Any talking we needed to do had already been done. Hannah reappeared and sat down in the seat opposite.
‘We’re good to talk,’ I told her. ‘Unless our guy’s out there with a listening device pointed at the window.’
Hannah almost smiled. Her expression turned serious, harder, older. ‘Barbara Galloway knows something, Winter.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘O-kay.’ Hannah stressed both syllables and managed to inject the word with a hefty dose of sarcasm. ‘If that’s the case, then what the hell are we doing here? Why aren’t we back there getting her to tell us what she knows?’
‘Because she’d die before she gave up Sam’s secret. She’s got her future to consider. Her kids’ futures, too.’
Hannah breathed out another of those sarcastic o-kays. This one was part sigh, part word. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t this something else you’re supposed to be good at? Getting information from people.’
‘And what do you suggest? Do you want me to get out the thumbscrews? Pull out her teeth? Her fingernails? Threaten her kids?’
‘Of course not.’
‘It’s not all doom and gloom, Hannah. Barbara told us plenty without realising.’
‘Like what? From where I was standing it looked like she was calling the shots.’
‘And looks can be deceptive. The only way we were going to get anything from her was if she thought she was in charge.’
‘So what you were doing back there was all an act.’ A shake of the head. ‘Sorry, not buying.’
I grinned.
&n
bsp; ‘Okay, so what did you get?’
‘Well, we now know that Sam was definitely hiding something, and that that something was big enough and bad enough for Barbara Galloway to choose to have her fingernails pulled out rather than tell us, and we also know that that something was big enough and bad enough for someone to burn Sam alive.’
Hannah shrugged and shook her head and made a little disdainful snorting noise, the three gestures all happening simultaneously. ‘You’re the ace detective and that’s the best you can come up with? If we don’t know what she’s hiding, how the hell does any of that help us?’
‘You’ve been watching too many cop shows. Most crimes are solved with baby steps rather than huge leaps. Light-bulb moments rarely happen in real life. That’s the reality of the situation. Baby steps. Before we went to see Barbara Galloway we suspected Sam was hiding something, now we know that for certain. We’re finally on the right track, and that’s progress.’
‘Okay, let’s go back there and beat it out of her.’
I smiled. For a second there I caught a glimpse of the old Hannah. ‘It wouldn’t help. She’s not going to give up what she knows.’
‘Arrest her and question her until she confesses.’
‘That could work. Except this unsub is a cop, so I don’t want her anywhere near a station house. It’s catch 22. We know Barbara’s got the information we need, but we can’t get it without alerting the unsub, and, since we don’t know who he is, that’s the last thing we want. He’s already acting unpredictably.’
I didn’t expand on that last statement. I didn’t need to.
‘Look, Hannah,’ I added. ‘If there was any way of getting the information from Barbara, we’d have it.’
‘There has to be a way.’
I shook my head. ‘There isn’t.’
Lori arrived with our food just in time. My blood sugar had taken another dip and I was starving. Aside from the banana that Hannah had force-fed me back at Dan Choat’s place, I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. There was a toasted sandwich on Hannah’s plate, a burger and a double helping of fries on mine. Lori tucked the tray under her arm and took a step back.
