by Zoe Sharp
They gave me pills for every occasion, announced they couldn’t be held responsible if I keeled over and provided an orderly and a wheelchair to take me down to the Ford Explorer Sean had waiting. I would have loved to have scorned their transport and gone on my own two feet, but the truth was I just didn’t feel up to it. I thanked everyone who’d helped get me this far, trying to gloss over their hurt responses, like leaving before I was ready was a personal insult.
Some of the staff came down to see me off—or maybe they were just waiting to see me collapse before I made it that far. To my surprise, the surgeon with the perfect smile who’d operated on me was one of those who stood in the pale sunshine by the Discharges exit and watched me struggle the short distance between wheelchair and passenger seat. He shook my hand, frowning at the limp grip that was all I could manage to offer.
“Well, good luck, Charlie,” he said in that grave tone they must teach them in surgical college. “If all my patients had your determination, their recovery rates would be even higher than they already are. Just remember that your body needs rest. You need to be gentle on yourself sometimes, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said with a touch of bitterness that surprised me as I settled back gingerly into my seat while Sean strapped me in. “Tell that to Si-mone.”
I sensed Sean’s sharp glance, but I was watching the doctor’s face. He nodded, a little sadly, and stepped back.
My father hadn’t joined the little farewell party. He’d said his piece earlier that morning and announced he would be spending the next few days visiting one of his old colleagues who was now based in New England. “Just in case you have need of me,” he’d added cryptically.
Now, Sean slammed the door and moved round to the driver’s seat. I gave the staff a final wave and a smile and then the engine was fired up and we were rolling the short distance towards the exit.
I let my breath out slowly and leaned back against the headrest, shutting my eyes.
“You can drop the act now, Charlie,” Sean said quietly.
I opened my eyes again, reluctantly, and turned my head towards him. He was in his shirtsleeves, despite the freezing temperatures and the snow outside, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. I wished they weren’t. It made him even harder than usual to read.
“What act?” I tried.
He’d been leaning forwards slightly, looking for a gap to pull out into the traffic rolling down the hill past the hospital, and he didn’t answer for a moment. Then he turned and stared right at me. I fought the urge to squirm. Even without being able to see his eyes, his gaze was cold enough to make me shiver.
“The act that pretends you’re not injured, that you’re not hurting. I’ve been there—remember?” he said at last, and there was something compressed into his voice. It took me a moment to recognize it as anger. “The act that says you’ve just had a bit of a scratch and you’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” He jerked his head at the hospital, which was to the right of us as we moved off. The collection of buildings that made up the CMMC was huge and sprawling. “Your father gave me a right bol-locking this morning for allowing you to leave that place today and I had to stand there and take it because, just for once, I completely agreed with him. You shouldn’t be out.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I can cope.” Besides, if I hadn’t got out today, you and Neagley and Matt would have gone back to North Conway and started planning against Lucas without me....
We stopped again at the light just before we reached the bridge over the impressive Androscoggin River, and Sean regarded me for a moment longer, suddenly a stranger, someone I was trying to keep secrets from. Then the lights changed and he turned his attention back to his driving.
“Where are we going?” I asked as we crossed a railway line, heading for the 202. I had no recollection of the journey from Conway to Lewis-ton. The city outside the hospital, which seemed to be made up mainly of huge abandoned warehouse buildings, was all new to me.
“Back to Conway,” Sean said shortly. “We’re just swinging by the hotel to pick up Neagley and Matt. They’re going to follow us over in Neagley’s car. That way we’ll have two different vehicles.”
For surveillance. Surveillance was good, I told myself. Sitting in a car and watching I could do, if nothing else.
“We should be able to manage OK with the four of us,” I said.
“And what exactly do you think you’re going to be able to do?”
“Come on, Sean, I want to help,” I said, hearing the stubbornness in my voice as a direct result of the coolness in his. “I need to help.” Damn, when did that note of pleading creep in? I looked down at my hands and found them tightly clasped, left over right, in my lap. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”
He sighed. “In a war situation,” he said, conversational, “it’s better, tactically, to wound the enemy than to kill them. You know why?”
Of course I did. He just wanted to hear me say it. “Because it ties up able-bodied men, getting them away from the battlefield and treating them. And it’s bad for morale for those going to fight to see the wounded.”
“You’re here because we couldn’t leave you behind,” he said bluntly. “I know you, and you’d have walked to bloody North Conway if we’d tried it. But looking after you once we get there is going to mean more work for everyone else.”
“I won’t be-”
“Face it, Charlie, you can’t even go to the loo by yourself.”
My face heated. “Give me a couple more days and I’m sure I’ll have got the hang of that one,” I bit out. “And if we’re using your battlefield analogy, aren’t you forgetting something?”
He didn’t respond other than to raise an eyebrow in query.
“If it comes down to it,” I said with a certainty I didn’t altogether feel, “one way or another, I can still fight.”
Sean had arranged to rent one of the time-share apartments that bordered the eastern slopes of Mount Cranmore, which was farther up the mountain from the Lucases’ house and had a couple of alternative approach roads. Harrington was bankrolling us on this one— at least until he’d satisfied himself that Ella was in no immediate danger.
And then?
I didn’t want to think about what happened then.
As it was, the dreams of Ella had lessened in their frequency, if not their intensity. I missed her with an ferocious anger that still took me by surprise, reaching out to claw at me unexpectedly when I was least prepared.
Every car we passed on the journey across into New Hampshire seemed to have a small curly-headed child in the rear seat.
It was dark by the time we arrived back in North Conway and pulled up in one of the designated parking spaces outside the apartment block. Neagley slotted her Saturn SUV in next to us and Matt climbed out of the passenger seat. He only seemed to have brought lightweight clothing, and the cold was biting. His teeth instantly began to chatter while he waited for Sean to help me out of the Explorer. I tried to hurry and that only seemed to make me more clumsy.
Neagley took the keys and unlocked, flicking on the lights and looking around the place. By the time I’d hobbled along the icy path to the front door, she’d done a full inspection.
“Only two bedrooms,” she said. “One double, one twin. Do we draw lots?”
“I can take the sofa,” I said quickly.
“You’re in the double,” Sean said, no arguments. “And so am 1.1 won’t have you sleeping alone.”
I felt Neagley’s eyes on me, curious, but wouldn’t answer her gaze.
Matt gave the private detective a strangely appealing, boyish grin. “I don’t suppose that argument would work with you, would it?” he asked.
Neagley gave him a straight stare in return. “Not unless you want to need crutches, too,” she said, but there was the suspicion of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
Matt, I’d discovered, had an easygoing charm that included constant mild flirting, but I didn’t get t
he impression it was a serious attempt. Simone, though, hadn’t taken it so lightly.
Matt’s trouble was that he’s a man, Simone had said, back in the restaurant. He didn’t always think with his head—if you know what I mean.
Now, watching the way he joked with Neagley, I didn’t think Simone had quite understood him. Insanely jealous, Matt had called her and, unwillingly, I could almost believe that about her. And that made the whole business of their breakup, of Simone’s focus on the search for her father and her death, even more of a tragedy than it already was.
The apartment was reasonably spacious and certainly well-appointed, with a large-screen TV and a huge leather sofa, and a whirlpool bath in the master en suite. Any other time, I might have enjoyed staying there.
I turned in early and lay listening to the murmur of voices in the living area for a long time, too tired to sleep. I’d grown accustomed to the incessant noise of a big hospital and the apartment seemed too quiet, too dark, by comparison.
I didn’t hear Sean come to bed. He must have undressed in the dark because I woke to find him alongside me under the blankets. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but I could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t yet asleep.
“Everything OK?” I murmured, drowsy.
“Fine,” he said softly. His fingers stroked my hair back from my face, their touch a whisper. “I’m sorry I was tough on you today, Charlie,” he said. “But Christ Jesus you gave me a scare.” And, for the first time since I’d woken in the hospital and found him there, his voice shook.
Automatically I rolled in towards him in the darkness, moving carefully, seeking the warmth and the strength of his body against mine. And it occurred to me, vaguely, that perhaps I was giving as much comfort as I was taking by the gesture.
When I woke the next morning, the bed was empty. A glass of water and the first of the day’s selection of medication was waiting for me on the bedside table. Sean, it seemed, was taking his nursing duties seriously, however much he’d claimed reluctance.
I struggled into a half-sitting position and swallowed the tablets and then sat for a moment relishing my freedom from captivity. I may have been feeling like shit and wouldn’t have lasted one round in the ring with a medium-size paper bag, but at least I was out.
There was a tentative knock on the door and Neagley stuck her head round.
“Hi, Charlie,” she said. “We wondered when you were going to surface.”
I looked round, but there was no clock in the room. “Why? What time is it?”
“Nearly ten,” she said.
I gave a guilty start and threw back the covers, only for various parts of my body to bring me up short. By the time I’d finished gasping and my vision had cleared, I found Neagley was crouched alongside the bed, a guarded expression on her face.
“Well, I’m guessing that wasn’t a good move,” she murmured.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, forcing myself up slowly. “Just pass me my crutch, would you?”
“Do you want me to give you a hand to the bathroom?”
“I’m fine,” I said again, through gritted teeth.
“O-K,” she said, drawing it out, dubious. She got to her feet, an easy swift movement I envied instantly. “I’ll leave you to it, then. We got Detective Young coming over in about a half hour. Sean wants Matt to tell her his story and see if we can’t get her fighting in our corner.”
“I’ll be ready,” I said, and hoped it was true.
In the end, I made it out with about five minutes to spare. I’d managed to dress myself only because Sean had been out and bought me a couple of pairs of sweatpants with elastic in the waistband that I could pull on with one hand, unlike my jeans.
The entry and exit wounds in the skin of my thigh had closed up without any apparent problems, leaving deep indentations where part of the muscle had been destroyed by the path of the bullet. With time, the physio had told me, I could build the bulk up again, but I was always going to have an interesting set of scars. At the moment, where it wasn’t wasted it was swollen. It looked and felt like a deformity.
When I hobbled out into the living room, the conversation paused while they watched my halting progress from the bedroom door to the sofa.
“Feel free to break into spontaneous applause at any time,” I said, narked.
“Hell, Charlie, you probably deserve that just for standing up,” Nea-gley said, her voice neutral. “You want coffee?”
“Oh yes,” I said, grateful, easing myself down onto the sofa. Matt had clearly been the one who’d slept there last night, and now he piled his blankets and pillows to one side for me to sit, shifting over himself into one of the other chairs.
I saw Sean watching Matt carefully moving out of my way and realized that he was not entirely comfortable around me. And who could blame him? The first time we’d met Fd humiliated him, in public. But, worse than that, I’d humiliated him in front of Simone and Ella. And then I’d been responsible, one way or another, for their safety. Strikeout on both counts.
Neagley handed me my coffee and turned to Sean, obviously picking up the conversation exactly where it had broken off at my arrival.
“The answer’s no, Sean,” she said. “If you were caught with it—never mind firing it—I’d lose my license. Besides, since Barry died, I’ve had it on me at all times.”
“Really?” Matt said. “You’re actually carrying a gun right now?”
For an answer, Neagley picked up her shoulder bag and pulled out a .357 Smith & Wesson Model 340 PD Centennial revolver.
“Only five shots,” Sean murmured.
“Yeah, but with Magnum loads —if it doesn’t go down with five, it ain’t going down at all,” she said, tucking it away again. “Damn thing kicks like the proverbial mule, but it’s light and easy to conceal.”
“You must have a backup piece,” Sean persisted. He had that dogged, head-down, nothing’s-getting-in-my-way air about him.
“Yeah, I have a Glock nine,” Neagley said, starting to bristle, “but there is no way in hell you’re getting your hands on it, so back off.”
They’d just dug in for a full-scale glaring match when there was a knock on the front door. Sean put his coffee cup down and went to answer it. When he came back, the stringy, dark-haired detective who’d interviewed me in the hospital was with him, and she didn’t exactly look happy to be here.
Today she was wearing black trousers and a polo-necked jumper, with a rust-colored tweed jacket over the top. Her gaze went round the mismatched group, resting briefly on Neagley as if recognizing the cop in her.
Sean introduced her and let Matt repeat the story he’d told us about Lucas. Young sat and listened without any emotion showing on her thin face. She didn’t fidget in her chair and she didn’t make notes. When Matt was done she was silent for a moment before she looked at the assembled faces.
“So,” she said, “let me get this straight. You’re talking about the possible disappearance of an adult, more than twenty years ago, in another country, that Mr. Lucas might just have had something to do with, but no charges were ever filed? Heck, you don’t even know for sure there was a crime committed. Am I understanding this right?”
“That about sums it up, Detective,” Sean said evenly
“And just what is it that you want me to do about it now, Mr. Meyer?”
Matt glanced at Sean, as if for courage, before butting in. “I’m worried about my daughter,” he said. “I just want her to be safe and how can I be sure of that when she’s with a man who could be a murderer?”
Young made a gesture of impatience with her left hand. “Sir, you can’t possibly know that Mr. Lucas is guilty of any crime. If anything, he was an intended victim in all this. Now, he and Mrs. Lucas have a perfect legal right to care for his granddaughter and unless you can provide a good reason—and I mean a.good reason—we’re happy to leave her in their care until the courts have come to their decision about her future.”
Matt st
arted to object but she cut him off with nothing more than a stare. “Mrs. Lucas has already made us aware that you have tried to gain entry to their property and that you made certain threats against them. She is in the process of filing an official complaint, and I should warn you, sir, that any further attempts to see your daughter would be inadvisable at this time.”
Matt’s face went from angry disbelief to anguish in one turn. Young rose, straightening her jacket so that I caught a flash of the gun on her hip, and regarded him with a flicker of something that might even have been sympathy
“If I can offer some advice, sir, if you want to see your daughter again soon, you need to get yourself a fancy lawyer,” she said, looking down at him. “We’re still investigating the events leading up to the death of Si-mone Kerse, but at the present time all the evidence shows that she entered the property and attacked Mr. Lucas, during which time Mr. Jakes fell and died from his injuries. Mr. Lucas, fearing for his life, went to his gun store in the basement to arm himself. But during the argument that followed, it was Miss Kerse who got hold of a gun—we’re still not entirely clear how—and attempted to use it to shoot Miss Fox when she arrived.”
“But why?” Matt burst out. “Why would she do any of that? It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“When people get killed it rarely has a whole lot to do with sense,” Young said shortly. “I’ll be in touch.” She nodded sharply to us in dismissal. “In the meantime, stay away from the Lucases. If there’s anything going on here, we’ll take care of it. We do not need some goddamn vigilantes stepping in, you hear me?”
Sean rose, effortlessly, his face carefully expressionless. “Loud and clear, Detective.”
He showed her out and the rest of us sat and listened as the front door slammed behind her.
