by Joe Hart
“Maybe he’s afraid of Jenner. Maybe he threatened him.”
Liam began to tap his forehead, the metronomic sensation making his scalp tingle. “How about Gage Rowe or Marshall Davis? Did you or Valerie know either of them?”
Owen shook his head. “I think I had a study hall with Marshall in high school. We talked a couple of times but that was it. It was a pretty big graduating class, there was no way to know everyone.”
“How about Alexandra? Did she know them?”
“No. She was a year younger than them. Valerie would’ve mentioned that to me at some point over the years. I mean, Caulston would’ve been thrilled if Alexandra had been dating any of them, especially Erickson since he was loaded and came from a good family. No, Val would have said something.” He looked down at the carpet and seemed to nod to himself.
“I did a little digging on Davis and it looks like he went off the deep end after he graduated,” Liam said.
“Yeah,” Owen said, absently. “Yeah, I think I heard he got into trouble.”
“You wouldn’t know where either of them live, would you?”
“Who, Rowe or Davis?” Liam nodded. “No. Not really. Rowe is a friend of an associate of mine though and I heard that he bought a place on the shore about an hour or so north of Duluth. He got the land dirt cheap because an earthquake knocked the house into Superior a few years ago. You might’ve heard about it. Some horror author owned it, Lance something or other.”
“An earthquake? Up here? Weird.”
“Yeah, it was in all the papers. Anyway Rowe bought the land and built a big house up there from what my associate said, spared no expense.”
Liam was about to ask another question when he heard the front door open. A moment later Perring appeared in the dining room. She looked his way before motioning to Sanders. The two detectives came into the living room as Liam and Owen stood.
“What did you find out?” Owen asked.
“I spoke with Jim Houston, the bartender. It was only him and Jenner in the bar that night and he’d had quite a few drinks himself. He said that Jenner left before nine p.m. and then returned around one thirty in the morning right before closing. He had one drink and then left before Houston closed up. When the officer came to question him the next morning he told him what he remembered. It was only after sobering up completely that he recalled Jenner leaving for the span of time between nine and one thirty.”
“Did he mention how Jenner was acting that night?” Sanders asked.
“He said he was twitchy when he first came in, like he was waiting for something to happen.”
“Shit,” Sanders said, rubbing his jaw. “You get a warrant?”
“Should have one within the hour.”
“What about the basement of the abandoned printing building?” Liam asked. “You’re saying Jenner left the bar near his home, drove across town, broke in here, took Valerie to the basement of the building, left her there, and then went back for a nightcap?” Liam glanced around the circle. “Does that sound logical to you?”
“If he’s the one that took Mrs. Farrow do you think logic was a strong factor in his mind?” Sanders said. Before Liam could answer, Perring’s cell rang and she stepped away to answer it.
“If Jenner had been drinking I guess that would explain the rough way the door was broken into,” Owen said.
“Exactly,” Sanders said triumphantly, looking directly at Liam.
“There’s a chance someone’s framing Jenner you know,” Liam said. “The bartender’s change of story is odd.”
“He was drunk as a lord. You ever forget something when you’ve been drinking, Liam?” Sanders sneered.
“I’m starting to regret giving you those cigarettes, Rex.” Sanders’s lips curled and he was about to reply when Perring moved back toward them.
“Could I speak with you both in the kitchen?” she said. They followed her into the next room and she shut the open doors leading to the living room before turning to them. “The toxicology report came back on Erickson. There was a fairly high amount of diphenhydramine in his system. It’s normally found in over-the-counter sleep aids. Looks like it was concentrated in something he either ate or drank right before he was attacked. The cause of death was a derivative of sodium hydroxide that burned through his esophagus as well as his stomach lining causing massive internal bleeding.”
“My God,” Sanders breathed. “Do they know where it came from?”
“It’s a type of lye that’s found in paint stripper used on airplanes and vehicles.” She glanced at Liam. “Something a mechanic or a junkyard might have on hand.”
“Sonofabitch,” Sanders said.
“That doesn’t prove that Jenner did it,” Liam said.
“Oh what the hell do you want, Liam? A fucking neon sign from God in the sky above the guy’s house that says ‘he’s guilty’?”
“Rex, calm down,” Perring said. “Liam, why are you so convinced Jenner isn’t responsible?”
“Regardless of being illogical enough to kidnap or murder someone, I don’t think a person would take the risk of leaving the victim in a basement overnight and then moving them again in the morning. Why not bring her back to his own house right away? And this bartender doesn’t sound credible. He could be lying or doesn’t truly remember what really happened at all. And . . .” Liam hesitated, knowing what his next statement would bring him. He didn’t care. “Jenner didn’t seem capable of any of this when I spoke with him yesterday.”
Perring’s face fell and she closed her eyes. “You did what?”
“I went to speak with him yesterday morning about Alexandra and Valerie.”
“You dumb shit,” Sanders growled. “Did you compromise this investigation?”
“No. I just talked with him. He’s a drunk and he seems unstable, but I don’t think he had anything to do with either incident.”
“That’s it, Liam. I’m sorry, but that’s unacceptable. You stepped over the line. I want you to pack up and leave the premises.” Perring’s eyes were hard now, two glittering stones in her face. “I’ve been lenient on account of Mr. Farrow’s wishes, but this is too far.” Her cell phone rang again and Liam was sure she was going to ignore it and keep berating him, but she stopped, turning away again to answer it.
“What? You’re fucking kidding.” She put a hand against the counter before sighing. “Which channel? Thanks.” She barely gave them a glance as she opened the doors into the living room and approached the large flat-screen TV. Liam and Sanders walked behind her, Sanders shooting a heavy look of disdain at Liam. Perring flipped the television on, clicking through channels until a female reporter with tightly cropped blond hair appeared. She was speaking beneath an umbrella on the corner of a city street.
“—sources tell us that two nights ago Mrs. Valerie Farrow, the reclusive wife of Duluth Mayoral candidate Owen Farrow, was abducted from their residence on London Road.”
The screen cut to a large picture of Valerie smiling. She looked younger and Liam realized the news station must have used a photo from her college years or before.
“As of this broadcast the authorities have received a ransom demand of an unknown amount and are in negotiations with the kidnappers. Sources say that former homicide detective Liam Dempsey, who was embroiled in the slayings in Tallston, Minnesota, last year, has been brought onto the case as a police consultant. If any of our viewers have information regarding Mrs. Farrow’s disappearance, please alert the police. We’ll be on scene relating the unfolding events as they become available in this breaking story. I’m Debra Destin reporting for Channel Four News.”
The screen cut to an anchor desk and Perring turned the TV off before tossing the remote onto a couch cushion. Without turning around, she said, “Who else did you speak to, Liam?”
He was at a loss for a split second and then absorbed her question for what it was. “I didn’t talk to the press.”
“So you’re saying there’s a leak in our task force?
” Sanders said.
“I’m saying,” Liam said, pinning Sanders with a stare, “that I’m not the leak.”
“Let’s book this fucker for obstruction of justice,” Sanders said, glancing at Perring.
“What does this mean for Valerie?” Owen asked.
“It means we need to hurry,” Perring said, finally looking at Liam. There was no emotion on her face now, only dismissal. Her cell phone chirped and she checked it. “We got the warrant. SWAT’s already primed. Let’s go.” She turned to Liam. “What I said in the kitchen holds, Mr. Dempsey. I want you gone when I come back.”
“Wait a minute,” Owen said. “I want Liam here.”
“He’s interfering with the case now, Mr. Farrow, and if he continues to do so he’ll put your wife’s life at risk. It’s final. You can call the chief if you want but the position won’t change. Right now we’re going to go and search Dickson Jenner’s residence. Hopefully he’s holding Valerie there and this will all be over in a matter of hours and you’ll have your wife back.”
“I’m coming with,” Owen said, beginning to move toward the door.
“No. You need to stay here,” Perring said. “I allowed you to come along on the prior raid against my better judgment. I’ve done several things in the last few days against my better judgment,” she said, glancing coldly at Liam. Without another word, Perring and Sanders left the room, saying something to the task force before heading toward the door. Three members around the dining room table remained seated while two others rose and followed the detectives outside.
Liam unclenched his fists. “I’m sorry, Owen. I didn’t mean for things to come to this.”
“I know you were trying to help. But maybe they’re right. You’re very good at what you do, but maybe they can take it from here. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can’t risk Val’s safety either.” His voice was hollow. Defeated. “If you want you can stay in town. Maybe Perring will have a change of heart. I know the manager of the Radisson. I could call—”
“It’s okay.” Liam studied his friend. Owen looked beaten, strained, but there was something else underlying his words. Possibly a sense of relief that Liam was leaving despite what he said? Liam noticed the same strangeness as Owen met his gaze and looked away again.
“You came when I called you like the true friend you are. I know you didn’t talk to the press; I know you wouldn’t do that to us.”
“Thanks.” Liam held out his hand and Owen moved past it, embracing him with a rough hug before letting him go.
“Thank you.”
A black cloud of disappointment and grief overcame him as he headed for the door, grabbing his overnight bag on the way. He fumed against the sensation of failure as he left the large house, the rain picking at him like a flock of enraged birds. He hadn’t done anything that he wouldn’t have if he were in charge of the case himself.
Perring and Sanders were on the wrong trail, he could feel it.
And he had a feeling Owen wasn’t telling him something. Possibly something crucial.
Walking away from the case wasn’t only a stinging nettle of frustration, but it also came with disillusionment. Why was he really here? To help his friend or keep his toes in the water of police work as Perring had said? Dani’s words came back to him. You need to stay for Owen or for you? He resented what both women were insinuating, but the evident truth that echoed within him as he started his truck was undeniable. He’d never put his own aspirations above what the actual goal in every case was: to find the wrong and right it. Until now, the niggling voice said in the back of his mind.
“Shut it,” he murmured as he turned the truck around and drove down the driveway. Rain battered the cab as he pulled onto the street and gave Owen’s house a last look in his rearview mirror.
CHAPTER 12
Gage Rowe watched the ghost standing at the end of his dock in the cascading rain.
Of course it wasn’t a ghost. He didn’t believe in such things. Even with the rumors surrounding the property he’d bought earlier that year, rumors of the prior house that had been swallowed by the lake in an unprecedented seismic event, the stories were just that, stories. His feet had been grounded solidly his entire life. He’d gone to church with his parents but never experienced a divine visitation or vision. He’d witnessed a woman die in a traffic accident but could claim no sensation of her spirit passing him on its way to the beyond. He’d even attended a séance once in college, a stupid gathering of mystics his own age that thought they could summon the dead to speak with them and reveal secrets from the afterlife, but there had been no communication with anything otherworldly. Only a bunch of drunk college students sitting around in a circle surrounded by candles humming some nonsense words under their collective breath. No, to Gage the supernatural wasn’t super at all. To him it didn’t exist.
But he couldn’t deny the lance of ice that slid through his stomach at the sight of the figure standing motionless down on the dock. He’d been cleaning in his office, trying to finally organize business-expense receipts for all three of his restaurants for the year. Candice had threatened to do it herself if it wasn’t taken care of by the time she and the kids returned from the long weekend at her mother’s, and he didn’t want her rummaging around through his office. He loved the woman but she was prone to throw out anything that didn’t scream importance. So when he decided to take a break and make a sandwich in the midafternoon, his stomach grumbling the entire way down the stairs, he hadn’t noticed the ghost standing on the dock. It was only after pacing to the picture window overlooking the lake and chewing his food that he stopped and stared, the sourdough turning to a soggy mixture on his tongue.
Now he shifted position, trying to see more of the person through the rain, because it was a person. He or she was substantial and didn’t fade in or out of reality as he moved from window to window to gain a better view.
“What the fuck?” he said to himself, watching the unmoving figure. He—though he couldn’t be sure it was a man—stood with his back to him, completely dressed in black from the boots all the way up to some sort of knitted cap pulled down tight over his head. Simply staring out over the turmoil that Superior had become during the morning hours.
Gage went to the south end of the house and looked out the second floor window that gave a more expansive view of the shoreline. No boat was pulled onto the shining rocks. When he walked to the front door to check the driveway for a car, nothing but layers of dancing rain met him. Cursing under his breath, he moved back to the picture window and froze.
The figure was gone.
His eyes widened and he blinked, sure that the person had simply knelt down or was perhaps sitting in Gage’s boat that bobbed beside the dock. He hurried across the kitchen and looked out into the south yard, knowing the intruder would’ve had to have run up the beach and onto the lawn to have disappeared that fast. Intruder. Now the person was no longer a ghost but a threat to him. He chided himself. It was probably a neighbor’s friend. Most likely having wandered through the woods onto his property, probably drunk as a skunk.
Gage stopped at the rear patio door and opened it. Water ran in a steady stream out of the gutter at the end of the covered porch and a gust of chilly wind took a swipe at him as he stepped onto the stoop, scanning the lawn for movement.
Nothing.
“Hello?” His voice died against the onslaught of rain, and all at once he had the overwhelming urge to return to the warmth and safety of the house, to lock the door behind him. Maybe he’d even load his shotgun and stand it in the living room while he had a cup of coffee.
The rope tying the boat to the dock let out a pained creak as a large wave washed into shore. Regardless of the intruder (stop calling him that), he needed to check the knots on the boat. He’d let his son Paul secure the craft last time they’d come in from fishing and he hadn’t been down to the lake since. If Paul hadn’t tied the knots tight enough the waves might loosen them and his twenty-foot Lund woul
d be a useless piece of battered aluminum by tomorrow morning.
Gage gave the yard a last glance, then stepped inside the house to don his shoes and a jacket. He considered locking the house behind him but brushed the thought off. You’re being silly. Go down to the dock and secure the boat. Maybe you’ll run into whoever it was down there and you can either run them off or direct them back to wherever they came from. If all else failed, he could call the local law enforcement in Stony Bay.
The wind shoved him first away from the lake and then toward it like a panicked child tugging at his clothes, unsure of which way to run. The gray waters below the steep hill were nearly black. For a moment he wondered how it would feel to sink beneath them, to have the cold depths close over his head. What would be waiting down in the dark? Surely there would be secrets there both benign and malignant. Every dark place kept its secrets.
He shook himself from his musings, another cold battering of fear rising within him like the waves at the foot of the hill. As he made his way down the wide stairway built into the drop to the lake, the large rocks in the bay beyond the land seemed to rise and fall as well. It felt like they were watching him with a sentience both calculating and unkind.
Gage jogged across the stretch of beach sand he’d had hauled in, his shoes sinking with each step, and hopped onto the dock’s decking. The boat surged upward again and he could see now that the closest rope was partially untied. Another few hoists from the lake and the front end of the craft would be free. He’d have to teach Paul the running bowline knot again. As he approached the craft he noticed several shining objects lying close to the end of the dock. His pace slowed and he walked carefully forward, noticing how slick the decking had become. When he neared the end of the dock he stopped short and blinked.
Numerous large fishhooks had been attached to some type of thin cable that had been wrapped around a few planks of the decking. Their wicked-looking shapes were like violent question marks tipped with curved barbs.
“What the hell?” he said to the lake. He was about to kneel down and try to retrieve one of the hooks when he heard something behind him.
