The Twelfth Of Never: A suspense mystery romantic thriller

by Lillian Francken

  "To talk, that's all."

  "Have a seat." Jenny said, motioning to the couch.

  "Not here. Down at the station if you don't mind."

  "What if I do?"

  "It's up to you where we talk, but I think it would be better down at the station." The way he said it, she could not refuse.

  Jenny went to the closet and pulled out a light jacket. It bothered her that the police wanted to talk to her. She was not even sure it was about Delaney. Maybe it was that jaywalking ticket she'd never paid, but that was highly unlikely given the last twenty-four hours.

  Jenny followed the inspector out of the apartment building simply because she did not know what else to do. She quickly glanced down the street, there was no red-headed stranger standing on the corner anymore. The neighborhood kids were out playing street games while two young boys sat on the stoop across the alley smoking and laughing. No one took notice of Jenny or the inspector as they got into the unmarked police car.

  Jenny glanced at the big man next to her. He did not say a word while maneuvering through traffic, and she wondered how much of the last forty-eight hours she would have to fess up to. The lights from the city flickered through the windows blurred by a light mist.

  Finally, after twenty minutes, they pulled up to the old station house. Bronk parked in the rear, and then quickly walked over to the passenger door while Jenny just sat there, not wanting to move. Bronk opened the door and reached in.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  "Am I in trouble?"

  Bronk shrugged his shoulders. "That depends."

  Jenny had a terrible aching pain in the pit of her stomach and it was getting worse by the minute. She stared up at the inspector. It finally sank in, the trouble she could be in. Jenny did not know what else to do but follow his lead and keep her mouth shut.

  Bronk guided Jenny through the precinct doors, up the stairs, and through the low life of the city. She cringed and wondered if that was what Inspector Bronk thought of her, a low life. If she'd screamed out in the hospital room, maybe none of this would be happening.

  When they reached the landing on the third floor, Jenny was suddenly flanked by a couple of men. Bronk was too far back to help.

  "Hey, mama," the greasy looking black man in purple pants and a paisley coat said while cupping the bottom of Jenny's chin.

  His hand was warm, and the smell of cheap cologne turned her stomach. Jenny froze, too scared to move as the man's hand worked its way slowly down her neck.

  Bronk was on top of him before he could make another move. He pinned the man to the wall, yelling orders.

  "Somebody get this creep in holding!" Bronk turned to Jenny, while men came running and hauled the scum away. Bronk looked down. "You okay?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Jenny said, fighting back tears.

  Bronk took Jenny by the arm, and then pulled her along because she no longer had the capacity to move on her own. He opened a door. They went into a large room somewhere on the third floor.

  When she saw the words "Homicide" her heart sank deeper into the crevice of her chest. They maneuvered through desks that were scattered about and walked quickly to the glass enclosure in the corner. The blinds were pulled, but Jenny could see a light on inside. She stared at the door, it read: Sylvester Bronk, Chief of Detectives. It had taken the Chief of Detectives to bring her here. She wondered why not the two men who followed her during the day, but then she was in no position to ask questions.

  "Sit here." Bronk turned to Jenny while pointing to the row of chairs outside his office.

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "No," he replied with raised eyebrows. "I'll only be a minute. Holler if you need help."

  "Gee, thanks," Jenny said.

  Fear encompassed her being; she did not want to be left alone, but under the circumstances had no choice. She could come clean and tell him what she knew. Maybe they'd give her protection, from what she was not sure. So far the man from the hospital had not made his presence known. Jenny was not even sure it was him at Cindy's apartment, and convinced herself it was her overactive imagination. Maybe he was long gone. Delaney was dead. And then she remembered the envelope and the lists that meant nothing to her. If he knew she had them, maybe he would come after her and kill her like he had Delaney.

  Jenny sat outside Bronk's office for what seemed an eternity. She looked down the hall at the people scurrying about, and found it difficult to determine who was who. The undercover detectives looked as devious and dirty as the criminals they brought in for booking.

  Jenny sat with her back to the door. She heard mumbling from inside the office. Bronk was not alone, but the noise in the outer room made it impossible to hear what was being said behind the closed door.

  Twenty minutes went by. It angered Jenny at being left to wait. She was almost ready to get up and leave when the doorknob turned. She looked and waited for a few more minutes. Finally, the door opened. It was not Bronk who walked out, but the stranger from the library. Jenny stared up at him.

  Gideon took a chair across from Jenny. He never took his eyes off her. It was as if he was searching for some hint of recognition, but none came. His whole being shook as he stared at the young woman. He did not know what it was about her that made him feel that way. Certainly there was no reason to fear her, yet she scared him. It was not a fear for his personal safety, but for what she represented that caused him the most concern.

  After a few minutes, the door opened again and Bronk looked out. He glanced at Gideon, and then turned to Jenny.

  "Mrs. Hamilton, would you step in here."

  Jenny got up. Before she entered the room she turned to Gideon, who was already standing. She watched as he stepped closer to her, and then she turned and followed the inspector into his office while Gideon walked in after her and shut the door behind him. Jenny sat in the chair near the desk. Bronk walked around the desk, set his massive frame in the wooden chair, then leaned back while Jenny nervously fidgeted with her purse string.

  Jenny just sat for the longest time and when no one spoke she finally turned to Bronk. "Why did you bring me down here and then make me wait? Am I under arrest?" she asked, but before he could reply she quickly added, "Maybe I should have an attorney."

  "That won't be necessary, unless you have something to hide," Gideon added. He stared at Jenny for a while. His eyebrows were raised in an intimidating way.

  "Who are you?" Jenny asked. "You were following me today, why?" Jenny looked him straight in the eye, waiting for his reply.

  Bronk rocked back in his chair and watched the exchange between the two. He waited for Gideon to answer, and wondered what reason he would give for the surveillance.

  "Gideon LaMont, I'm working the case."

  "What case, and why am I here?" she asked.

  "How well did you know Delaney Conovers?" Gideon asked finally after a long silence. He looked out the window, finding it hard to focus on the woman in the chair.

  Jenny shrugged her shoulders. "What do you mean?"

  Gideon took the defensive. "You were at the hospital yesterday. Why did you go to see him?"

  "What business is it of yours?"

  "He was using your husband's identity. Did you know that?" Gideon watched Jenny intently. He wanted to see how she reacted to the questions. It would tell him if she was lying.

  Jenny's eyes darted around the room while her fingers played with her purse strings. She did not want to commit to anything yet. How much of what he knew, she was not sure. She glanced around the room nervously and took a few quick breaths. She knew he was only fishing for information, if she stayed calm they would have to let her go.

  "Would you like a glass of water?" Bronk asked.

  "Please," Jenny replied, hoping to buy time to regain composure.

  Bronk got up, was out the door and back within minutes. Jenny took the glass from him and gulped the water. It was not enough, but would have to do. She set the glass down, and then leaned back in
the chair as she waited for the next onslaught of questions to begin.

  "How much do you know?" Gideon asked. He was no longer standing at the window, but now leaned on the desk in front of her. All he wanted to do was touch Jenny and see if she was real. But his job forced him to continue.

  "I didn't know anything about him until a few days ago."

  "How did you find out?"

  "A nurse came to the University, she gave me a note," Jenny said nervously. "It was," she took a deep breath and then continued, "it was supposed to be from my husband."

  Gideon turned suddenly to Jenny. "Your husband's dead..." Gideon did not say more, his face turned white and something flashed before him and then it was gone. And he tried desperately to remember what it was, but Jenny cut in.

  "You are the second person to tell me that this week," Jenny replied sharply. Her face flamed with anger while a tear escaped. "How come the government still has him missing in action?" Jenny wanted answers. Delaney could not give them to her, maybe this man could.

  "I can't answer you that," Gideon finally said.

  "You expect me to believe you?" Jenny snapped sarcastically and then turned away. But before Gideon or Bronk could say anything she turned on them again. "For more years than I care to remember, I've been told John was missing in action and there was nothing more to be done. Now, within the last thirty hours two men enter my life and tell me he's dead."

  "When you were at the hospital, did Delaney say anything more to you?"

  "Like what? It was bad enough that he told me John was dead. There was no time," but then she stopped.

  "No time for what?" Gideon asked.

  Jenny did not want to tell him she watched him die, that was why the man could not tell her more.

  "Nothing," she said finally. "I have no more to say to you." She turned to Bronk, who was as startled with her outburst as Gideon. "If you're not going to arrest me, I'm leaving."

  Jenny got up, but before she could walk out the door Gideon had her by the arm. She turned on him with all the anger she could muster as tears streamed down her cheek. "Why didn't they tell me?"

  Jenny collapsed in Gideon's arms, weeping uncontrollably for the man who no longer existed in her life. And as she felt the strong arms around her, she was somehow reminded of the love that had long since been denied her.

  CHAPTER 16

  The mist turned to pelting rain and flashes of lightning shot across the night sky, followed by the clamor of distant thunder. There had been no letup in the questions they'd asked. Jenny relived the last moments of Delaney's life over and over until she could not stand it any longer, and feared she'd tell them more than she dared. Resting her elbow on the desk, she leaned her head into her hands and rubbed her forehead while avoiding either man's gaze.

  Bronk got up from his desk. "Let me get this straight. The man tells you your husband is dead, and you don't even stick around for more answers?"

  "Like I said he kept dozing off," Jenny replied nervously twisting the strap of her purse.

  "How did you talk?" Gideon asked.

  "He wrote on a pad." Jenny replied, not looking up.

  "There was no pad in the room," Gideon snapped. He walked over to the desk glancing down at Jenny.

  "I don't know what happened to it," Jenny said nervously.

  "Are you telling us everything?"

  Jenny looked up with pleading eyes. "I'm tired, and it's late. Unless you're going to arrest me, I'm going home."

  Neither man argued because it was useless. They were at an impasse with Jenny and, at the moment, neither side was giving in. Finally, exasperated and tired, Bronk glanced over at Gideon, who had tried to keep his distance throughout the whole interrogation.

  "Why don't you take Mrs. Hamilton home?" Bronk asked, but actually he was telling.

  Gideon turned. He almost pleaded with Bronk not to make him do this. But Bronk had work to do and it did not include chauffeuring Jenny back home. Besides, there was the glass sitting on his desk that he wanted dusted for prints. Unless they could get the goods on Mrs. Hamilton, she was not going to talk. All it would take was an hour, and the next time they called her in, Bronk was sure she would tell them everything they wanted to know.

  "The car was impounded," Gideon said hoping it was enough to get out of what was asked.

  "Parked illegally again." Bronk reached in his pocket and tossed Gideon the keys to his car.

  "I was in a hurry." Gideon put the keys in his pocket, and mouthed the word "thanks," while faking a smile.

  "How much longer are you staying in town?"

  Gideon glanced at Jenny and then turned to Bronk. "A few days. Tell Beth I'll call her later, when I have time."

  Jenny let herself be lead out of the station house. She did not say a word as Gideon helped her into the police car. Jenny watched as he walked around to the other side. There had been something about the tall stranger that troubled her, and it bothered her more now. When he looked at her it was as if he expected her to know him, but she did not.

  Gideon quickly put the car in gear and spun onto the busy street. Horns blared, tempers flared, but he did not care. Lights blurred through the evening rain. Gideon thought about John Hamilton and felt a terrible pain grow. He turned to the woman next to him, but the pain only worsened. It was when Jenny turned to him and looked into his eyes that he felt his insides want to explode.

  "I don't even know where he's buried," Jenny said, hardly above a whisper.

  Gideon swerved in and out of traffic. Lights blinded him for a second. He recovered, and then turned to her. "His body was never brought back."

  Jenny just stared at Gideon. "How can you be so sure he's dead?" she asked wanting to know everything, yet not sure she should believe or trust anyone.

  "Because," Gideon hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I was with him when he died."

  Gideon startled himself when he said those words. He knew in fact they were true. In that instant he saw John Hamilton and felt his last breath leave his body. Gideon stopped the car and hung onto the steering wheel tightly. Blood was everywhere. It was John's blood on his hands that he could not get off. Gideon found it hard to breathe. He wanted to forget, but could not. The vision would not go away. Horns blared, and Gideon shook his head as he stepped on the gas.

  "How did you get out?" Jenny asked.

  "I escaped with the help of some villagers." Gideon took a deep breath, and then thought for a moment. He could not remember all of it, just bits and pieces. Once he regained control he continued. "I guess they thought if they helped me, the Americans would stop the bombing of their village." He turned to Jenny and quickly added, "I was the only survivor out of the unit."

  Gideon thought for a moment. It was what he remembered, but then he could not have been the only survivor, how else could Delaney be explained, or Jimmy, for that matter. Gideon rubbed his temple, but nothing made sense. He struggled now that the floodgates were opening. He saw visions of the faces of all those young boys, the body of Hamilton, and the man who took his life. Gideon stared straight ahead as if in a trance. Finally, he turned to Jenny.

  "He was fortunate to have you."

  "There's so much I want to know," Jenny fought back the tears. "Did you know him well?” she asked, staring at Gideon closely.

  "Only at the end. Over there you tried not to get too close, there was so much death, so much pain," Gideon said as he stared off in the distance. The blood was everywhere. In the darkness he tried to rid his hands of the sticky red liquid but nothing helped.

  "John never wrote about the casualties." Jenny glanced out the window at the pedestrians scurrying about. She took a deep breath before turning back to Gideon. "Mr. LaMont, how did he die?"

  Gideon stared straight ahead at the traffic coming toward them while avoiding her gaze. The muscles in his cheeks tensed. He found it difficult to speak, but then swallowed hard and turned to Jenny. He caught his breath. God, she was beautiful.

  "Did Delan
ey talk much about John?"

  "I told you, he kept dozing off." Jenny looked at Gideon, was uncomfortable with the question about Delaney.

  "You said you still have the letters?"

  "Yes, I kept all of them."

  Gideon pulled into MacDougal Alley; he double-parked next to a black sedan. The street was deserted. The only light came from the lamppost on the corner. He turned to Jenny.

  "Is this the place?" Gideon asked.

  "You should know."

  "How did you know we were following you?"

  "It was obvious," Jenny said, laughing at the idea. "By the way," Jenny glanced quickly at Gideon. "How did you know where to find me?"

  "Your name was in Cindy Malone's pocket."

  "It was her then?" Jenny stopped and suddenly became weak.

  "You know she's dead?"

  Jenny caught her breath and then whispered, "Yes. I was bringing her uniform and shoes back when I saw the cops outside her apartment."

  "We found them in the dumpster in the alley where you tossed them."

  "I was scared and didn't know what to do." Jenny hesitated a moment. "Do they know who killed her?"

  "Not yet."

  They sat there in the silence for the longest time, and then Gideon finally turned to Jenny. "Bronk said he would stop by to see you in the morning."

  "Why?" Jenny asked quickly. "Haven't I been through enough?"

  "He has contacts in the Army. I think he wants to help you get this cleared up about John's death and them still having him listed as missing in action."

  "I was wondering how that would be taken care of."

  "He said he'd do what he could," Gideon leaned over, reached for the door handle and pushed open the door.

  Jenny quickly got out and walked up to the entrance. She reached in her purse, but before she could walk away, Gideon took the keys out of her hand and took her arm. They slowly walked up the flights of stairs to her apartment.

  Gideon stopped outside her door, Jenny wondered how he knew it was her door, but before she could ask, he put the key in the lock and opened it. Jenny reached in, turned on the light, and as if the last few days were not enough, what waited for her inside reinforced the fact it would only get worse.