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

by Joe Hart

  “And if you get caught, I know nothing about this.”

  “Of course.” He was about to step into the night when Perring spoke again.

  “Liam? Be careful.”

  “Always,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 20

  Liam swung out of the fast food drive-through and back onto the highway, accelerating to keep up with the late traffic.

  The salad had only been an infuriation to his stomach, so when he spotted the arrow promising burgers and fries, he let his hunger guide the car into the parking lot.

  He devoured the burger, barely tasting the greasy meat and melted cheese mingling with the flavor of fried onions. The fries followed suit, disappearing in a few handfuls that left his mouth filled with salt and parched beyond belief. By the time he reached the city limits his medium drink was empty and his stomach felt as if a basketball had been transplanted there.

  “Shit’ll kill you,” he murmured as he watched the GPS for the turn that was coming up in less than a mile.

  Straiford Heights Road materialized out of the darkness on his right and he swung the truck onto its cleanly paved path. Even with the city only a mile behind, the houses on the street were hemmed in deeply by trees and layers of brush that flared fall colors in the headlights. For every mailbox there was a quarter mile of unblemished land growing untamed. The sight of windows glowing through the shivering tree branches gave him some sense of reality and assurance that there was simple and organized life going on nearby.

  The GPS notified him that he had arrived and he nearly missed the driveway in the dark. Caulston’s house sat on a rise behind a row of short jack pine. As Liam turned into the approach, the headlights washed the two-story home, giving him a sense of barely contained grandeur. The siding was white, trimmed with dark shutters and long overhanging eaves. An attached garage was positioned on the right while the entryway was built outward into the turnaround, its sides lined with wide windows. Several dormers jutted from the roof, onyx glass within each face.

  Liam pulled to a stop and shut the truck off. He sat for a moment in the darkness, watching the house and its corners, the surrounding tree line, the windows. All was still. He stepped from the vehicle and put a hand to his back, reseating the holster and gun before moving up the walk. The key Owen had given him fit the dead bolt, and with a twist the door opened before him.

  The entryway was empty save for a wooden bench and a bare coatrack. The grit on his shoes whispered against the clean tile and he wiped them on a rug emblazoned with a word he couldn’t make out in the gloom. He shut the door and moved forward, pausing at the junction of the entry and kitchen. The air inside the house was cool and smelled faintly of cedar. Possibly from the sauna where Alexandra had traded her virginity with Dickson’s. Liam found a light switch on the kitchen wall and flipped it on.

  A grand dining room spread out to his left complete with an enormous hutch lining almost an entire wall as well as a table that would’ve easily accommodated a dozen people comfortably. A newspaper hung over the back of one chair and a tobacco pipe sat in a small stand on the kitchen counter.

  The eerie feeling of being in another person’s home uninvited stole over him. He tried brushing it away but it clung to him like a massive spider web. Walking soundlessly around the dining room, he found himself in a great room. A huge suede sectional dominated the floor plan flanked by two overstuffed easy chairs. An enclosed entertainment center stood against the opposite wall. A rectangle of darkness waited beyond the couch and Liam went to it, seeing that it was the basement door after cracking it open an inch. He crept downstairs on the carpeted treads and found a cinema room with rows of stepped seating before a blank digital screen taller than he was. Three doors opened off of the main area and after checking each of them to find only guestrooms, he made his way back upstairs. In the living room again he stopped in the basement doorway.

  A sound had met his ears, indistinct and muted.

  He stepped to the closest window looking out to the front yard and saw the sweep of headlights fading past the driveway. He stood for a moment, gazing around the dimly lit dining room before continuing through the kitchen to an ascending stairway. Alexandra’s possessions must be here, and since there was no storage in the basement, that left the rooms above.

  The stairway turned once and emptied out on a landing that held four closed doors. The first revealed the master bedroom and Liam spent only a few seconds glancing at the wide bed and low clothes dresser before moving onto the next door. The second was a bathroom while the third was another guest room, though by the looks of it one of the sisters had definitely occupied it at some point. It was spacious with a generous bay window overlooking the yard and a walk-in closet that would have housed his pickup without trouble. Besides the made bed and two nightstands, the space was empty and held an air of desertion.

  The last door opened onto the past.

  Liam stepped inside.

  The room was laid out nearly the same as the prior space, but where the first had lacked any sense of life, this one was drenched with it.

  A few items of clothing were stacked neatly beside a tall white dresser topped with a mirror, a faded picture of Alexandra sitting arm in arm with several friends, on its top. A four-poster bed without a canopy rested in the center of the room and a thick cushion lined the bay window making it a perfect spot for reading or napping on a rainy day.

  Liam stood there, gazing around at a life interrupted. The feeling that Alexandra could walk in from the hallway at any moment was so pervasive his eyes kept flicking back to the open door. He moved to the dresser, seeing its top littered with numerous knickknacks and folded notes. A dried corsage attached to an ivory band dangled from a hook on the side of the mirror. It looked as if it would turn to dust if touched. A corded phone sat on the bedside table along with a water glass holding only a dried stain at the bottom, but it was this that gave him the longest pause.

  Not only had Caulston been unable to face the memories associated with his daughter’s belongings, he hadn’t so much as touched an item. Liam was sure that within the dresser drawers he would find clothes folded and waiting, perhaps a pair of shoes beneath the bed.

  The room was a ghost’s tribute.

  He crossed the space and opened the walk-in closet. Rows of clothing hung on hangers and several shoe boxes were stacked below, the fashion undeniably that of a young woman transitioning out of her teens. He moved deeper into the closet, opening an odd box or shifting garments to peer behind them. At the very back was a file box that clashed with every other item around him. It was a police evidence box, the side marked with black ink and the top fastened down with tape. Liam knelt before it, drawing it closer. Two strips of tape at the front had been peeled back and then refastened but they’d given way over time, their initial hold broken. With a fingertip he lifted the lid and looked inside.

  A set of clothes was wrapped inside a sealed plastic bag and he recognized them, after a beat, as the garments Alexandra had been wearing at the time of her death. On top of the bag was a sterling silver wristwatch, a black purse, and a set of car keys.

  Tucked against the rear of the box was a pink diary.

  Elation surged within him as he reached out and grasped it. It felt the same as Alexandra’s in his hand and he studied the design on the front, its pattern curving the opposite way of its copy at Owen’s house. He tentatively opened the cover, half expecting the pages to be blank, but dark ink met his eyes instead.

  He shut the diary, clutching it tightly as he closed the evidence box and slid it back into place. As he shut the closet door, movement flickered out of the corner of his eye and his heart bungee jumped in his chest. He spun to the window, eyes scanning the darkened yard below for what had drawn his attention. Something had moved out there, though he couldn’t say what. It had almost been like a blink of light close to the house, perhaps the swing of a flashlight or a reflection off the glass of his truck, there a
nd gone in an instant. He watched for a full minute before stepping away from the window. If there were someone outside, he would be an easy target illuminated behind the glass.

  He turned lights off as he moved downstairs, returning to the glass-fronted entryway. He drew out his handgun, making sure a round was chambered before shutting off the last light. His pulse accelerated as he gripped the doorknob and turned it as quietly as he could.

  The rattle of dying leaves met him as he stepped outside. Liam kept close to the side of the house, watching for stray shadows to move when they shouldn’t. When no attack came and no sound rose above the wind’s insistence, he stepped down off the cement stoop and began walking toward the dark form of his truck.

  There was a click and the Chevy’s headlights sprung on, blinding him in whiteness.

  His arm came up instinctually to cover his eyes as the engine keyed on and roared, the truck leaping forward. The instant in which he might have moved was lost in the twitch of his muscles as the truck’s grille loomed, shining like hungry teeth.

  The impact was explosive.

  Everything was pain.

  It was as if his atoms were suddenly detonating, beginning with those in his chest and stomach and flowing outward. He was moving backward, the motor growling into and through him, vibrating his fillings. There was a split second of stillness, then he was airborne.

  He exploded through the entry windows, their crystalline shattering like ice picks in his ears. He landed on his back and skidded on broken glass, with an exhalation of air that tasted of copper. Caulston’s kitchen ceiling was above him, the dead light fixtures spinning, cabinets and stools twisting. He sucked in a breath of air and breathed out again, pain seizing the center of his chest like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He put a hand to his heart, sure that he would feel its raw touch in his palm, as the Chevy’s engine flared again outside, the smell of coolant and exhaust noxiously sweet. His chest was whole beneath his coat and as he braced himself with one arm, the kitchen’s sickening spin began to slow. He blinked, swallowing a mouthful of blood.

  The front entryway window beside the door was gone. Beyond was the looming curve of his truck’s hood, one headlight peering inside the house like an enraged eye. As he watched, the engine revved and the truck shuddered but moved only inches before settling once again.

  It was lodged on the front steps.

  Liam looked down at his legs, ready for the sight of splintered bone winking at him through torn flesh, but besides several tears in his jeans that drooled blood, they seemed intact. He pushed himself up, the agony in his chest and stomach coming down a notch from before.

  He had to get up.

  If whoever was in his truck decided to come in after him he’d be easy prey. If he were hemorrhaging internally he’d die on his own. Either way if he stayed where he was, he was dead.

  With a final shove, he got his feet beneath him, feeling like he was on the last hour of a daylong vodka binge. The floor swayed and he caught himself on the edge of a counter. The truck’s RPMs screamed their indignation, then fell lower and lower until silence replaced them completely.

  The car door opened.

  Liam searched the glittering floor for his gun but it was gone, dropped in the impact along with the diary. He skidded to the corner of the kitchen cabinet, muscles spasming as wetness ran down his back. Something clunked in the entry followed by breaking glass.

  They were inside the house.

  Liam reached out, grabbing the first thing his hand encountered and pulled the six-inch knife from the cutting block, its blade the brightest thing in the room. He hobbled away from the entry as the crunch of glass came from behind him. Ahead the darkness deepened and he shuffled into a hallway, spitting blood as he felt ahead for hindrances. His fingers brushed the cold steel of a door and he turned the knob.

  Liam stumbled down two steps into the attached garage, his feet scratching on the concrete floor. He bumped against a long, low shape in the dark, felt the smooth, cold steel of the car beneath his shaking palm. Gaining his bearings, he sidled around the end of the vehicle, hoping his assumptions were right because if they weren’t, there would be no escape.

  He crossed the open space of the second empty stall and met the wall lined with garbage cans, several garden tools, a folded tarp.

  Where was it?

  Where was it?

  His fingers scraped against the Sheetrock as careful footsteps treaded down the hall behind him, their stealth barely audible. Liam moved farther to the right, his hand finally finding the side door he hadn’t been sure was there. He yanked it open as a shot rang out, a loud bark of sound in the enclosed space. Particles from the wall peppered his face and he lunged forward into the night.

  The ground was soft from the rain and he nearly fell, the pain in his legs and chest a constant throb in time with his heart like a lighthouse signal. He ran to the wall of trees lining the yard and plunged into their welcoming darkness, hearing his pursuer exit the garage behind him. His feet were engulfed in fallen leaves, their dried forms pinpointing his location in the dark. He ducked beneath the reaching arms of a pine and began to slide downward as the land dropped away. Small rocks kicked up beneath his shoes, quickening his descent down the hill. He grabbed a small poplar, slowing himself and turning to the left, a semblance of a trail appearing as a lighter shadow in the night. He hobbled down the narrow blade of open ground, fewer leaves crunching with his progress. Chancing a look back, Liam saw a thin line of light sweep the area above him, its glow weak but there.

  Coming toward him.

  Liam hurried onward until the path twisted in on itself, eating its own tail and ending in a low stand of bramble and towering pines. He turned, gazing up at the hillside but there was no easy route to circumvent the person behind him—he would be heard immediately. The only option was to his right, through the stand of brush and farther down the slope. He pushed into the reaching hands of the thicket, fingernails of thorns clawing at his clothing, holding him back, feet crushing leaves to announce his presence. The woods seemed to want his death as much as his pursuer. He slashed at the brush with the kitchen knife before stooping over, a detonation of pain flowing from his midsection.

  Footfalls hammered the path behind him and he dove through a small gap in the forest’s defenses gaining an amount of freedom on the other side. The hill began to level and became rockier with blunted heads of boulders protruding from the ground, throwing pools of shadow beneath their bulk. He took several more steps and leaned against one of them, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. His legs burned and the adrenaline was seeping away. He was painfully aware of his energy dipping low into the last of his reserves.

  He couldn’t go much farther.

  The bramble above him cracked and hissed against clothing.

  A pale beam of light crept down the hill, falling short of the rock beside him.

  Liam swallowed more blood and began to move again, this time laterally across the hill’s face. He crawled over a section of pulped rock, willing none of the smallest pieces to move beneath his weight. Ahead a stand of young pine grew in a thick patch flanked by two slabs of granite. Past that the land dropped again, violently this time so that he couldn’t see beyond the night’s veil. It may have been a descent of five feet or fifty within the void.

  He made his way to the copse of pines and crawled beneath the first tree’s branches. He had to lower himself to his chest and nearly cried out with the renewed fire that burned there. After crawling as quietly as he could for several yards, he stopped in a natural depression lined with fallen needles and rock. He steadied himself and moved his head, trying to see through the dense layers of pine boughs.

  The flashlight beam appeared a dozen paces away.

  It wasn’t there and then it was, parting the darkness like a knife gash. Whoever held it moved cautiously, pausing every step, waiting and listening. Liam brought the neck of his T-shirt up over his mouth and nose, brea
thing shallowly all the while hoping the fabric would keep his exhalations from being seen in the cold air.

  The figure behind the light began to take shape. He wore dark clothes like those of the man in the boat, the outline of a small pistol in one hand visible as it swung back and forth, covering the area Liam had occupied moments ago.

  Liam shifted, wincing at the movement, and rotated the kitchen knife so that he held it point down. The seconds were measured in heartbeats, time speeding up with the throb of blood in his ears. The figure came closer and closer, stepping from stone to stone just as he had done. The light swept his hiding place and he hugged the nearest rock, willing himself to become part of it. The footsteps stopped and Liam risked a look.

  His attacker stood ten feet away, head tilted to the side, flashlight off now. The gun panned the surroundings with careful surety, unwavering in its movement.

  Liam inhaled and held his breath, ribs screaming in outrage. The muzzle of the gun came even with him and he imagined the searing pain of the shot ripping through him. He wouldn’t see the flash until the bullet had already passed through flesh, rending apart anything in its path. He could see his own funeral, Dani and Eric dressed in black beside the open grave. Tears on their faces, flowers in hand, dropping them into the hole where he lay quietly inside the oak box.

  The gunman pivoted, taking two steps past the clump of trees where Liam hid. The flashlight came back on and shone down the drop he had noticed earlier. It was a rock ledge overlooking thirty feet of open air. More trees grew farther down, their tops barely visible in the light’s glow. The figure stood there, pondering the plunge, breathing softly.

  Liam tightened his grip on the knife.

  There was no easy way through the trees. The gunman would hear him coming and he’d be lucky if he didn’t get hit. But this was the man, right before him with his back turned. This was Valerie’s kidnapper. He would wound him, take the gun, then make him reveal where he was holding Valerie. He could do it.