The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2)

by Joe Hart

  Liam paced to the window and back, picking at the last of the sap still stuck to his neck. “He knows who I am,” he finally said in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah, you’re right. How could that be?” Owen said, straightening in his chair.

  Perring sighed and dug in her pockets. Liam saw the disappointment on her face and knew she was reaching for a cigarette that wasn’t there. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do,” Liam said. Perring looked at him, freezing as she drew out a pack of gum. “We need to tell him, Perring.”

  “Tell me what?” Owen asked.

  Perring’s face was a mask of stone, eyes unblinking. She held the expression, flicking her gaze between Liam and Owen until it finally crumbled and she looked down to the floor.

  “We have reason to believe that the individual holding your wife captive is responsible for two murders and another possible disappearance in the last three days.”

  “What? You mean there was another besides Dade?” Owen asked.

  Perring shot a venomous look at Liam but nodded. “Yes. Gage Rowe was killed this afternoon and Marshall Davis’s location is unknown.”

  Owen swayed in his seat and Liam wondered if he might topple out of it. “They’re dead?” he asked in a faint voice.

  “Yes. Now it’s obvious you know about Erickson’s murder, but can you tell us anything about a connection between the other two men and Valerie? We know that you all attended high school together.”

  Owen shook his head. “I told you. Dade, Gage, and Marshall all ran together, but they weren’t friends with me or Valerie.”

  “They ever threaten her or you in any way?” Liam asked.

  “No.”

  “Did they have any enemies they made besides Dickson Jenner or because of the assault they committed against him?” Perring said.

  “No.”

  “Which brings up another question,” Liam said. “You told me none of them knew Alexandra but it sounds like the number they did on Jenner after her death was a retaliation of sorts.”

  Owen ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, yeah, I suppose they thought they were the knights of the community, taking the law into their own hands. A lot of people believed Jenner was responsible even after Alexandra’s death was ruled a suicide.”

  “So you never heard any rumblings of any other connection between them and Jenner?”

  “No, not that I can think of. Why? Are you two trying to tell me something?”

  “No. We still think that the person who took Valerie has every intention of trading her for the money. Honestly she wouldn’t still be alive if that wasn’t the case.”

  Owen was silent for a moment but when he spoke his voice was low and steady. “I’ve trusted you both. I’ve trusted everyone who’s working on getting Valerie back. You don’t know what’s gone through my mind in the last two days, what a future without her looks like. She is my life.” He looked at them. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

  Liam struggled for something to say but in the end he held his tongue, excusing himself to go clean up. He left them in the solitude of the living room, Owen gazing at the blackened window, Perring hovering between him and her personnel.

  The shower was heavenly. Liam turned the water to a near scalding temperature and let it beat against his back. The horizontal scar there always flared bright whenever he was too warm or too cold and this was no exception. He scrubbed at the pinesap on his neck and stared at the tile lining the walk-in shower, letting his thoughts drift. Everything was happening too fast. Events were unfolding like a scroll that had been written years ago, actions and reactions already accounted for and scribed in blood. There was a link between Erickson, Rowe, and Davis, something beyond their ties of friendship. And friendships always have secrets. In this case the secret was something they were being killed for. But what it was might take weeks to become clear. They didn’t have weeks. They had hours that were counting down.

  The countdown has begun.

  Erickson was four. Rowe was three. Davis could be number two. And Valerie . . .

  He closed his eyes, letting the water run over his scalp, reminding him with a dull throb of where Richard had struck him. He went back to the moment, pinning the drug dealer to the ground, the razor in his hand, the righteousness flowing through him as if he were a conductor channeling rage from somewhere outside himself. He examined the foreign emotion for a time, approaching it from all sides. He’d never felt that way before, during an investigation. Sure, there had been moments of adrenaline and anxiety as well as jubilation at a discovery, but the feverish burn he felt to inflict pain?

  Never.

  He didn’t want to admit it but it had felt good to break Houston’s hand, to see the look of terror flood Richard’s face as he put the razor in his mouth. It had been exhilarating to know that he’d torn down a barrier full of lies and left the guilty lying in their own misery and fright. But it was more than that, more than exhilaration. What was behind the dark energy was as simple and plain as the waves that beat the shore outside or the wind that pushed them.

  It was fear.

  Fear was driving him. Fear of the darkness, because he knew what waited there. And when it came for you, there was no fighting it. Fear was pushing him beyond his moral constraints, turning the panic he felt, every time he imagined finding Valerie’s lifeless body, into anger that blazed white-hot. It was the fear of who he transposed when he saw her, because it wasn’t her face anymore that reflected the pale light of death, it was Dani.

  “No,” he whispered, and placed his fist against the tiles, pushing hard enough to feel his skin sink into the channels between them.

  When the image blurred and faded enough for him to concentrate again, he washed himself and stepped from the shower. He dried off and dressed in fresh clothes that felt soft enough to sleep in. Sleep. The word nearly sent a shiver of pleasure through him but his stomach twisted again with hunger and when he left the bathroom he made his way to the kitchen to find Owen picking at a limp chicken salad.

  “Any more of that around here by chance?” Liam asked.

  “There’s a whole bowl in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  Liam dished a heaping amount of chicken, lettuce, and cheese onto a plate and sat at the opposite end of the counter. As he began to eat he noticed his handgun resting on top of two file folders partway down the breakfast bar.

  “Perring left that for you. She stepped outside to speak with the chief. He dropped by to see how things were going.”

  Liam nodded. “He’s a friend of yours?”

  “Everyone’s your friend in politics.”

  “Thought it was the other way around.”

  “Not when you’re trying to get elected.”

  Liam began to eat and opened the first folder.

  A mug shot of Marshall Davis stared out at him, the man’s hooded eyes still fogged with whatever substance he was abusing prior to arrest. The edge of a silver crucifix peeked from the top of his collar, only Christ’s anguished face and pierced hands visible. Liam scanned the man’s legal history. Nearly every charge had to do with some type of illegal drug. Whether it was selling or buying, Davis was an addict through and through. He set aside the folder and opened the second. An array of information on Alexandra’s death met him. He chewed slowly as he read, turning page after page of evidence, statements, and finally pictures.

  The pictures were always the hardest. At home in his office he kept crime scene photos in a locked drawer for fear of Eric stumbling upon them by accident. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to unintentionally flip through a full-color leaflet depicting crushed skulls, clotted stab wounds, or broken and misshapen bodies of children his age.

  Alexandra’s pictures were not as gruesome as some he’d seen, but the disturbing air they gave off was, nonetheless, unsettling. There was a collage of shots of her face, close up, her eyes half-lidded and hazed with a film of death. Her lips, no longer red and full of life,
were parted, white teeth behind their shrunken slit. She lay on her back, one arm twisted beneath her as if she were caught midway in an attempt to rise. Her neck was broken, distended in a way that nearly made his gorge rise, and a halo of blood spread around her on the cement. He sometimes grew angry at death’s portrayal in television shows and movies. A dead body was typically arranged in dramatic fashion with little damage to the victim’s face.

  In truth there was no beauty or grace in death. It was a cruel, messy, and sometimes violent departure from the world of the living.

  Liam sifted through the pictures, setting one aside from time to time as he finished his meal, oblivious to his surroundings until Owen spoke.

  “How can you fucking eat while you look at those?”

  Liam lifted his head and saw the utter disgust etched on his friend’s face. Owen stared at him, upper lip curled, hands smoothing the fabric of his shirt over and over.

  “I’m sorry. You get used to it after a time. Callous. I’ll bring them in the living room.”

  “Don’t bother,” Owen said, brushing past him. A moment later Liam heard the distinctive sound of the liquor cabinet being opened. He sighed and arranged the information back into a pile and shut the folder, the facts and forensic readings all in line with a conclusion of suicide, no apparent discrepancies leaping at him from the pages.

  He stood and brought his dishes to the sink, washing them quickly before setting them to dry on a towel beneath one of the windows. He heard someone enter the room behind him and readied another apology, but instead of Owen it was Perring.

  “Good, you found those,” she said, motioning to the gun and folder.

  “Yeah. I guess I’m clear as far as the city of Duluth goes?”

  “For now.” She gave him a tired smile and leaned against the counter. “They dropped your truck off outside too. The keys are in it.” She glanced in Owen’s direction. “It really upset him that you asked for Alexandra’s file.”

  “I gathered that, and I understand.”

  “Find anything of interest?”

  “No. Everything seems in order, nothing amiss.”

  “You still think this has something to do with Alexandra’s suicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t say. Maybe it’s the photo of Valerie and Owen upstairs in the hall. It’s the most recent I’ve seen of her. She’s staring at the camera and looking right through it like it’s a window and she’s seeing something on the other side. On one hand there’s no getting over something like the death of a family member, but on the other, there’s never moving on from the moment it happens. I think Valerie never moved on, and when you don’t move on, the past catches up with you.”

  “Regardless, I don’t see an avenue for weaving Alexandra’s death into the investigation.”

  “It’s at the very center of this. I can feel it.”

  Liam ambled away from Perring into the living room, leaving Alexandra’s folder on the kitchen counter. He hesitated beside a chair across from where Owen sat nursing a full glass of whisky.

  “I’m sorry about reading the file in front of you. That was insensitive of me,” Liam said quietly.

  Owen surveyed him over the rim of his glass then waved the air with it as if shooing an insect. “It’s okay. No harm. I just don’t see why you keep going back to Alexandra when Valerie’s the one missing.”

  “I told you—”

  “And I told you, my concern is for my wife, not her sister.” Owen’s voice was sharp and laced with alcohol. His eyes shone and Liam held his gaze blinking slowly.

  “I’m sorry, Owen. This is how I work. Don’t think for an instant that I’m more concerned with Alexandra’s suicide than I am with finding Valerie.”

  “You have a funny way of working.”

  Liam was about to reply but knew the drunken barrier Owen had built around himself was woven with nothing but anger and resentment. There would be no getting through to him tonight. Instead he sat down and reached forward, drawing Alexandra’s diary from the tabletop to his lap. Owen made an agitated sound and got up to cross the room to the windows even though there was nothing to see but darkness beyond them. Liam ran his fingers over the cover of the diary. How many times had Alexandra opened and closed the journal? How many times had she run to it in the grip of utter happiness or despair? It had been a confidant that would not betray her or judge her for her actions or thoughts. The secrets within were her own, precious and unknown in their truest sense even to those who read them.

  Liam turned the diary over again, tracing the curving design that flowed across its cover with a fingertip, the embroidered flare upraised but smooth from time. It ended at the spine abruptly and he stared at its edge, a thought flaring into light in the recesses of his mind.

  They probably could have passed as twins Alexandra’s senior year.

  “Twins,” Liam said, bringing the diary closer to his face.

  He ran his hand over the design.

  Half of the design.

  “What?” Owen said, not looking at him.

  “It’s a heart,” Liam said, holding up the diary. “On the cover. Half a heart. By itself it just looks like a swooping line but it’s not. It’s one of two books.”

  “What are you talking about?” Owen asked finally turning toward him. Liam heard someone approach from behind and a moment later Perring appeared on his right.

  “This diary is one of two. If you put them side by side the design on the front would create a heart. They’re a pair, one for each sister.”

  Perring squinted at him and took Alexandra’s diary from his hand as Owen came closer.

  “Did Valerie have a diary like this?”

  “Not that I ever saw.”

  Liam thought for a minute. “You said Caulston kept next to nothing of Alexandra’s, right?” he asked Owen.

  Owen shrugged. “I guess. That’s what he told us anyway.”

  “I’m sure anything he did keep, he stored away, maybe in the basement or attic, but he would have known if something as important as her diary was missing if he ever looked, right?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And from judging the man’s temper, I’m almost sure he would’ve been furious at Valerie for taking it. So maybe she was forced to leave her own diary in its place.”

  “But why would she do that?” Perring asked.

  “Maybe at first it was just to keep a connection to her sister, but after a time I think she may have been searching for something.”

  “For what?” Owen said.

  “For the reason Alexandra killed herself.”

  The room was quiet as Liam glanced from Perring to his friend, gauging their reactions. Owen swayed in place, a thoughtful sourness coating his features while Perring continued to study the pink book.

  “I think you’re reaching,” Owen said, his words slurring into one another.

  “Maybe Valerie going to the jewelry store was part of it,” Liam said.

  “Don’t give me that,” Owen said. “I know my wife and she wasn’t leaving this house. Whoever you talked to was wrong.”

  “Owen—” Liam began.

  “He was wrong!” Owen’s jaw set to an edge that cut at the flesh of his face. “This is a wild goose chase you’re starting, Liam. You need to focus on Valerie.”

  “I am,” Liam said, his own voice rising. He met Owen’s intoxicated stare. “If I’m right, Valerie’s diary might have some information that could point us in the right direction. If she had a theory about why Alexandra killed herself, it could tie all the loose ends together. I think Alexandra and the men that were killed in the last couple days have a connection, and Valerie might have known what it was. It might even be the reason she was taken.” Liam glanced at Perring. “Who has the keys to Caulston’s house?”

  “They’re at the station, locked up with the other inmates’ belongings.”

  “Can you get me them?”

  “No. Liam, I d
on’t think your theory warrants entering Caulston’s home.”

  “You have impunity now that he’s in custody. You can okay entry without a search warrant.”

  “That may be, but I can’t leave with no one to pass responsibility to here. There’s too much to do before the exchange tomorrow evening.”

  “Then let me go. Call the station and okay the release of the keys to his house.”

  “No. No matter what you come up with in that house, it still doesn’t change the fact that you’re not a cop. I’d lose my job by giving you permission.”

  Liam stood and looked up at the ceiling. “Then I’ll go without your okay.”

  “Liam, you can’t do that.”

  “You know I’m right,” he said, coming closer to her. “Look at me and tell me I’m not.” He waited, watching her waver. There was a tipping in the depths of her eyes. She sighed.

  “I don’t know anything about this,” she said.

  “This is not why I asked you here,” Owen said, setting his drink down.

  Liam placed a hand on his arm. “It is though. If I can find Valerie’s diary it might give us enough of a lead to locate her. We still have time to get her back before the exchange. We have time to beat this bastard at his own game.”

  Owen’s mouth worked without forming words, the critical lines on his forehead relaxing. “Okay. Do what you can.”

  “Thank you,” Liam said, reaching to gather his coat.

  “And you don’t have to break in,” Owen said, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket and peeling one off. “This opens the front door.”

  Liam smiled, drawing his friend into a rough embrace before taking the key. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’m going to lay down before I fall down. I think I overdid it,” Owen said, giving them both a half smile. “Wake me if anything else happens.”

  They watched Owen move through the hallway, disappearing from sight on the stairs.

  “He’s strained to the breaking point,” Perring said as she walked him to the entry. “Make sure you don’t push this further than he can handle.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Never.”