by Joe Hart
A few sheets of loose paper lay flat beneath the suspended folders within the drawer.
He could barely see their corners, the two vampiric holes in their white skin causing his heart to speed up as he reached inside and drew the papers out into the beam of his flashlight. His eyes opened wider upon seeing the clinic’s symbol on the letterhead, his vision snagging on two words near the top: Test Results. Flipping to the next page revealed an array of numbers and columns, each corresponding to another by a dotted line. At the top, the patient’s name, slanted in italics, read Karen Shevlin. Circled at the very bottom was a section set apart from the rest of the data.
“Alkaline phosphatase,” he said, tasting the words to see if they meant anything to him. Alkaline levels were a mystery to him, although he once dated a woman recovering from cancer who swore by an alkaline diet. Liam tapped his finger against his temple and searched the rest of the page for anything else of significance, but nothing stood out.
He rose and set the papers on the desk, clicking off the flashlight as he did so, and pulled out his phone. But before he could dial the number he intended, the display lit up with an incoming call. The number wasn’t familiar other than the area code of Tallston, and after a hesitation, he answered it.
“Hello?”
Quiet breathing from the other end, along with a muffled beep.
“Hello?” he asked again, stepping into the doorway of the office.
“Mr. Dempsey?” The voice was young, and all at once the background noises made sense.
“Eric?”
A pause. “Yes.”
“Eric, is everything all right?”
“Yeah, I was sleeping and I had a dream.”
Liam leaned against the doorjamb, glancing out the darkening windows. “I’m sorry, was it a bad one?”
“Yes, it was—” A hitching breath. “It was about that night.”
“Dreams can be really scary, but they’re just dreams, they can’t hurt you. You’re safe now, Eric, but I’m really glad you called me. Are you feeling a little bit better now that you’re awake?”
“Kinda. Was that the truth about Jim Abbott? Did he really have only one hand?”
Liam smiled. “Yes, and he was a very good pitcher.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be able to play again?”
“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll play again, Eric. You’re going to be just fine.”
Liam listened to the humming equipment in the boy’s room and wondered if anyone else had visited him. He hadn’t thought to ask at the hospital, and Grace didn’t mention any other close family. If there wasn’t anyone else, that explained why the boy had called him.
“I remember now.”
The words snapped him out of his reverie. “Remember what?”
“I remember what it was yelling that night—it was in the dream.”
“What was it, Eric?” Liam asked, his skin beginning to tingle with anticipation.
“It was screaming, ‘Momma, look at me.’ ”
Liam found the shovel in the steel building on the other side of the driveway. It only took two blows from the heel of his shoe against the door for the lock to give way. The shovel stood beside various other garden tools, which looked brand-new against the inside wall, and he spared no glances for anything else within the building once he had the spade in his hand. Heat lightning did a soundless, stabbing jig in the clouds to the west, and a bank of fog hung in patches of floating gossamer across the river. Evening tipped toward night as the sun slid behind the horizon, the last warm glow fading from the land.
Liam moved across the yard, his thoughts shrouded in a buffeting haze of confusion, much like the opposite shore of the river, an almost-impossible answer trying to be heard above the din. He stopped before the stone, not bothering to check his surroundings, and plunged the steel tip of the shovel into the dirt. The soil was soft and pliable; each time he raised the tool up, it bit full mouthfuls from the ground, leaving an ever-growing hole in its wake. The angel on the headstone remained with its face averted, and as he dug, he imagined it was more from the desecration taking place before it than from mourning. Sweat pooled at his armpits and ran in a stream down his bent spine, stinging the wound on his back. The weight of his exertions pleaded with him to rest, his muscles crying out for a break, but he took none. A crow cawed once, hidden somewhere in the trees as he labored on, the pile of dirt increasing beside him, growing even as he stooped lower and lower into the ground.
The shovel’s tip struck something at almost five feet down. His hands slid a few painful inches on the handle, and he froze, the hollow sound echoing in his ears. With careful motions, he cleared the remaining dirt away, widening the small hole as he did. After several minutes, the stained oak of a casket lid began to emerge through the grit. He’d never seen such a small coffin, and the sight of it shocked him. Infantile was the word that came to mind, and he nearly brayed insane laughter at the appropriateness of it. He scraped more soil away and saw that the wooden box was only two feet long, almost square.
Setting the shovel beside the hole, Liam reached down with both hands and grasped the lip of the lid, not knowing how it was designed. After a moment of tugging, the entire casket began to shift, and he tried to heave it out of the grave. The top came completely free, the hinges having rusted away in the span of twenty years. The bulk of the box dropped back into place with soft whump, the earth accepting its gift once again, and he was left holding the lid in his hands, so light he thought he could sail it away like a Frisbee.
Browned silk, once the color of ivory, draped the inside of the coffin. A pillow no larger than a pincushion sat at one end, slanted from his encroachment. A musky smell of turned earth was the only thing that met his nostrils as he squinted into the choking gloom of the hole.
The casket was empty.
CHAPTER 21
The Chevy’s engine screamed as the truck rocketed down the back road.
Liam punched in Grace’s number for the second time and let it ring until the voice mail picked up. Cursing, he ended the call and focused on driving, his knuckles flares of white beneath the layer of dirt. The pressure he felt earlier when coming into town with Dani was tenfold now. It constricted his lungs like a python killing its dinner.
Gritting his teeth, he took a corner too fast and barely missed a car traveling in the opposite direction. The honk of the other driver’s horn blared and faded as he pressed his foot back to the gas pedal. Turning north, he sped up the street until he saw Grace’s house, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of lights on inside. Liam skidded the truck to a stop in front of her garage and swung out of his seat, barely pausing to snatch the keys from the ignition. As soon as he reached it, he started hammering on the front door, not stopping when Ashes began a tirade of deep barks loud enough to feel through the door frame. Soon Grace’s pinched face peered out at him through the window beside the door, and he saw her frown before dropping a curtain back in place.
The door opened a few inches, and the old woman’s face appeared in the crack. “What do you want?”
“I need to come in, please, Grace. This is important.”
The urgency in his voice didn’t move her, and she glanced at the soiled knees of his jeans and the sweat stains in his T-shirt. “What happened to you?”
“Please let me in and I’ll tell you everything. I need your help.”
She wavered a beat and then licked her lips. “I’ve done all I can. I’m sorry, but I can’t associate with you anymore.”
Before he could open his mouth to reply, she shut the door, and he heard the dead bolt turn. His eyes flashed back and forth across the door’s surface, then he leaned forward and called to her, his voice rebounding back to him. “The Shevlins’ first son isn’t dead.”
Liam waited, sweat running down every inch of his body, the rest of the
street silent and still. The door opened again, wider this time.
“What did you say?” Grace asked, her mouth not closing after she spoke.
“I said, the Shevlins’ first son isn’t dead. He’s alive, and he’s the one killing people.”
Grace’s mouth finally closed, and she swallowed, her eyes wide and shining. “Come in,” she said, and stepped to the side.
Ashes met him amidst a fury of licks and shoves with his large head. Liam petted his neck, partially to calm the dog and partially to calm himself, as he watched Grace shut and lock the door behind them. When she turned to face him, her features looked harder than he’d ever seen them. Worry lines he hadn’t noticed before stood out beneath the glow of the overhead light.
“You listen to me, young man. I went out on a very thin limb for you getting that paperwork. My friend almost didn’t give me her keys when I said I couldn’t tell her what it was about, and now you show up here covered in filth and spouting off about a ghost?” She straightened and placed her hands on her hips. “Explain yourself.”
He nodded. “I went to the Shevlins’ tonight to see if I could find anything linking them and Allen together, any other business dealings or a paper trail leading to an exchange of money, but there was nothing except this.” He unfolded the two sheets of paper with Karen’s test results and handed them to Grace. She took them and shot him a strange look before examining the pages.
“These are just standard tests—bone density, x-rays, blood work,” she said.
“What is alkaline phosphatase?”
Grace studied the circled words at the bottom of the page. “It’s an enzyme found in all tissues of the body.” She squinted and held the paper closer. “Her levels were very high.”
“What does that mean?”
She stared at the papers a moment longer and then handed them back to him. “It could mean a lot of things—bone disease, a problem with the bile ducts, liver issues, pregnancy. It’s possible she was pregnant with her first son at the time.”
Liam shook his head. “The date on the test is January fifth, 1992. Their son was born June eighth, 1993.”
“Possibly a miscarriage?” Grace asked.
“Maybe, but there’s no record in the files of another pregnancy. Besides, this was stapled to their son’s death certificate, the one you included in the envelope, but it was removed and I found it in the bottom of Jerry’s file cabinet.”
Grace pursed her lips and looked at the pieces of paper in his hand. “Why wouldn’t Allen include them in her file?”
“Exactly,” Liam said. “I think the bigger question is, why did Jerry hide them?”
“What does this have to do with the murders?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I got a call from Eric tonight and he told me he remembered hearing the murderer yelling something as he ran away to hide. He heard him yelling, ‘Momma, look at me.’ ”
Grace shook her head and shrugged. “But what does that mean?” Her eyes suddenly ran up and down his clothes, as if seeing the dirt and sweat for the first time, before her mouth gaped open and a look of horror crossed her face. “You didn’t.” It was a whispered plea, a prayer.
Liam stepped forward, holding his palms out to her, and was glad when she didn’t retreat. “The casket was empty. There was nothing there.”
He watched her try to swallow the information that he gave her, ingesting its implications. After what seemed like an eternity, she looked at the floor, breath heaving in and out.
“You’re sure he’s still alive?”
Liam nodded. “Yes.”
“And what do you need from me?”
“I think the next victim is going to be a city council member. I think the decision to go ahead and vote tomorrow is going to push him to kill again. I need you to call everyone on the council and warn them. Tell them to be extra vigilant—make them understand. I’ll call the sheriff and tell him to send someone to patrol around their houses.”
She nodded and turned away from him, wobbling a little as she went. Ashes nudged at his thigh again, and Liam stroked his head while he dialed Barnes’s number and listened to the ringing, his insides trying to move while he stood still.
“Hello?”
“Barnes, it’s Liam.”
Silence on the line. “What do you want?”
“I’ve come across some information, and I think I know who they’re going after next.”
“Listen, son, I might’ve made a mistake letting you in on this. I don’t think you’ve fully accepted your brother’s death yet.”
Liam’s hand convulsed and he nearly dropped the phone. “I’m fine, Sheriff, but you have to listen to me. The killers are going to target one of the city council members to stop the vote tomorrow, and I think they’re going to do it tonight.”
Barnes made a sucking sound. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because it was fucking advertised in this morning’s paper. The ones responsible will have seen it by now, and they’re waiting for dark to do it, which is . . .” He paused to draw aside the curtains from a nearby window. “. . . in about fifteen minutes.”
“Liam, you know my hands are tied as long as the BCA has this. Phelps thinks he’s got his man. They’re going to transfer Nut up north tomorrow morning.”
Liam ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Just put another couple guys out on patrol tonight. Have them drive past the city council members’ homes. It’s the least you can do.”
The line became very quiet, and he began to wonder if the sheriff wasn’t there anymore when the older man spoke. “I’ll see what I can do.” There was a click, and he was gone.
Liam stared at the phone for a moment. Better than nothing. He almost put the phone away, and then pressed Dani’s number, seesawing on the edge of the decision. The call went to voice mail, and he wasn’t surprised. After her voice told him to leave a message and she’d get back to him, he froze, letting the first few seconds of the recording go by in silence.
“Dani, it’s me. I’m sorry about earlier, but you have to see things from my point of view. I did find something out, and I’ll tell you about it whenever you can call me back.” He hesitated, knowing if he let anything about his whereabouts slip, she might try to come find him. “Stay in your room tonight, please. I’ll talk to you soon.”
He ended the call and tucked the phone away. In the kitchen, he could hear Grace’s voice but the words were indistinct. Ashes laid a wet runner of drool onto the back of his hand with one lick and sat on the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, ears cocked at different angles.
Despite the situation, Liam laughed. “You goofball,” he said, ruffling the dog’s fur. “Let’s take a walk.”
Liam set off across the living room and passed through an archway that opened to a back porch. The door leading into the backyard was solidly built and locked tight with a large dead bolt; although, if it were hit with the weapon that he’d seen in Allen and Suzie’s garage, it would give. There were no windows in the entry, and when he moved into a small dining room, he saw that the sills of the windows there were a good six feet off the ground. In the next room, he heard the beep of Grace’s cordless phone, and a moment later, she came into the room still holding the device in one hand.
“So?” he asked.
“I was able to get ahold of five out of the six other members. I told them that I had reason to believe we were all in danger because of our vote yesterday. They weren’t too receptive, but they all said that they’d be careful and keep their phones handy.”
“Who weren’t you able to reach?”
“The mayor. I called his home and his wife said he was working late at the office, so I tried his direct line and there was no answer.”
“Did you call his cell?”
She nodded. “No answer there either.”
A wr
iggling sense of dread began to seep through him, and he looked at the floor for a moment before speaking again. “You said he was having an affair with an intern? The dark-haired woman he was all eyes for yesterday at the meeting?”
“Yes, that’s her. Tracey Wilhelm.”
“Do you have her number?”
“I could find her home number, I’m sure.”
“Do it, call her right now.”
Grace walked into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later. “No answer.”
“Shit,” Liam said, his eyes flitting around the room as if another option would present itself out of the woodwork. He hesitated for only another beat, and then moved past Grace toward the front door, talking as he strode by. “You said he takes her up to his cabin sometimes? Where is it?”
Grace followed him, the phone clutched to her chest. “It’s on Shallow Drive, up near the Corner Bluffs. If you go north a few blocks, you’ll see the road on the right. Follow it for about three miles, and then you’ll see a turnoff marked Bramble Lane. His cabin is the first driveway on the left.”
“Good. Call his cell again—keep calling it.” Liam stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back at her. “Do you have a gun?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes, a shotgun for sporting clays.”
“Perfect. Load it and go upstairs with Ashes. Keep the phone close and stay awake as long as you can. If you hear anything downstairs, call 911 and blow a hole through anyone who comes to your room.” He fixed her with a steady gaze. “I don’t think you need to worry, though, because they’re going to try to kill the mayor tonight.”
Without looking back, he swung out the door and raced toward his truck through the deepening dark of the night.
CHAPTER 22
“What the fuck does she want?” Harley scowled at his phone and flicked the off button, ending the trilling jangle of the ringtone.
