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

by Joe Hart

  “Thank you, detective.”

  She nodded, gave Liam a long look, then headed out of the room. They followed her to the yard, past the remaining team member looking stoic at the dining room table, and into the cool fall evening. They climbed into Owen’s Cadillac ATS and reversed out of the driveway and fell in behind the somber line of vehicles that Liam tried not to think of as a funeral procession.

  They didn’t speak as the cars turned at the various stoplights and traveled like water downhill to the street leading to the harbor. They parked behind a large restaurant where a line of caution tape had been hung. A uniformed officer pulled the tape away as they neared and restrung it the moment they were all through. A cruiser as well as two more unmarked sedans and an ambulance sat in the quiet lot. Beyond the lot’s low cement wall was a walkway and past that was Superior’s water, rippling in icy waves beneath the bobbing boats. The lift bridge stood in severe contrast to the darkening sky that held a coating of dirty clouds threatening rain, its austere structure more skeletal now in the failing light. At the closest dock, a flat-decked boat sat by itself. A grizzled man stood beside the craft holding a yellow rain slicker. He cast the vehicles a wary look before stepping inside a boathouse on the dock.

  “Must be the captain,” Liam said.

  Owen shut the car off and sat back in his seat. “I think so. Perring told me they tried to get a double who looked just like him to do the drop, but they couldn’t find anyone who fit the bill. I guess the guy told her he didn’t mind helping out. Apparently his son was a cop down in Florida who got killed doing a routine traffic stop.”

  Liam glanced out the window and watched the boathouse but the captain didn’t reappear. Perring stood among a ring of other officers. She pointed to The Mare before gesturing to the canvas bag she held in one hand. The heavy magnet attached to the top of the bag shone in a circlet of reflected light.

  “Want to get out or wait here?” Liam finally asked.

  “Let’s get some air before it rains.”

  They exited the Cadillac and walked to the group of police. Perring was finishing her instructions as they neared.

  “Only when I have confirmation that Valerie is safe do we go. The helicopter will move in first and we’ll converge on the location to provide support from the water. Everyone has their orders. Any questions?” When no one spoke she glanced around once at the men and women before her. “Everyone be safe and let’s bring Valerie home.” The group murmured their assent and started toward the docks. Perring turned to them and glanced at the sky.

  “You’ll be notified by Officer Evans when she’s safe. Then we’ll retrieve the insurance money.”

  “I don’t care about the money,” Owen said. “Just bring her back to me.”

  Perring nodded and turned to leave. She stepped over the low wall and was moving down the walk toward the water when Liam called out to her.

  “Hey, Perring.” She stopped and faced him. “Be careful.”

  A smile twitched her lips. “Always.” She continued down the walk and he watched her climb into one of two streamlined speedboats. The motors started a short time later and they watched the two teams idle out of the harbor and disappear below the bridge, which didn’t need to rise at all to accommodate their low profiles. Two task force members stood side by side near The Mare, one holding tightly to the bag, the other speaking quietly with the boat’s captain. The remaining officer leaned against his car, watching the boats until they were out of sight before climbing inside to consult his dashboard computer.

  Liam checked his phone. There were two text messages from Dani. He answered them but without much detail since he didn’t want to have to explain the prior night’s ordeal. There was no reason to scare her more than necessary. He noted the time before tucking his phone away. 6:33 p.m.

  Less than an hour and a half to go.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Owen said, and began to move toward the concrete path beside the harbor. Liam gave the officer and his car a look before following.

  The wind that coasted off the lake held a bite to it that nipped at the exposed skin of his hands and face. Gulls soared overhead in a constant turn of feathers and black eyes searching for food. Farther down the shore, two-foot waves buffeted the massive rocks that made up the waterline, the sound like a crowd of voices shouting as one. Owen had turned onto another path that joined the first. It led away from the shops and restaurants that lined the harbor’s side and hung close to the channel leading out beneath the bridge to open water.

  Liam watched Owen as they walked. The cool weather had cleared most of the people from beside the lake and driven them into the warmth and comfort of the buildings whose lights had begun to turn on against the lowering night. Owen looked straight ahead, his gait easy and smooth, indicative of the runner he was. His hands were in his pockets and his lips kept moving soundlessly as if he were forming a sentence then letting it die on his tongue.

  When they were a stone’s throw from the lift bridge, Owen stopped and leaned on the half-wall, his eyes focused across the water to the structures lining the peninsula of Park Point. Liam took a position beside him and mirrored his stance. He gazed at the long strip of land and wondered if Stella Erickson had realized that her son was dead yet, killed in his home by someone harboring a hatred deeper than the depths of the lake before them. Perhaps the disease that plagued her mind and robbed her of her memories was now a blessing. A barrier that kept out the knowledge that she was truly alone and that her son would never again come to visit her in the quiet room that would be her sanctuary and prison until she died. And what of Gage Rowe’s family? Where were they tonight? Wherever they were, they were surely held in the sharp-fingered hands of grief. They too had lost everything in the last twenty-four hours. Such a small span of time to have something so elemental taken that the world would never be the same again. But life was like the waves that lapped the shore: at times bringing something with them but always taking something away.

  “Do you believe in karma?” Owen said, breaking him from his reverie.

  “I believe in the past. And that the past echoes. If that’s what you’re talking about, then yes.”

  Owen didn’t turn to him but continued to stare across the water. “Echoes. Yes. That’s more fitting I guess.”

  “Are you okay, Owen?”

  “No. I don’t think I am. But I will be when Valerie’s back home.”

  The hollowness of his voice made the hair stiffen on the back of Liam’s neck. His friend sounded like a corpse that had been recruited by some morbid ventriloquist. “They’ll bring her back. You’ll see.”

  Owen pushed away from the wall, his eyes clearing somewhat from the faraway look that dominated them. “I rented a boat this afternoon,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I need to be out there, Liam. I can’t just sit here waiting for them to bring her in. I want to be there if something goes wrong.”

  “Owen, no. Perring has this under control. We tried very hard to get Valerie back before we were forced to this point, but now that we’re here we need to let things play out. If you get involved the exchange could go wrong.”

  “I’m not going to interfere, I just want to be ready in case something happens. If the bastard that’s holding her hurts her . . .” His words failed him and he swallowed. “I asked Perring if I could ride along with them and she told me no, but I need to be out there, Liam. And I need you to come with me.”

  Movement caught Liam’s attention and he flicked his gaze to it. The Mare was idling toward the bridge. It was time.

  “I can’t. It’s too risky.”

  Owen stepped back, scrutinizing him. “So you’re a coward.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “Please, Liam. I’m begging you.”

  He was about to reply when the sharp bark of a car horn came from the street leading to the lift bridge. Liam glanced toward the sound and saw the crossing arms
slowly coming down to cut off traffic from either side of the bridge, red lights blinking as they dropped into position. A car honked again, this time longer. Liam traced the length of the bridge. His vision snagged on a lone figure moving across the expanse.

  The person was dressed in a baggy black jumpsuit two sizes too large, hands bound in front and a black hood drawn tightly over their head.

  Long blond hair spilled from the back of the cowl and over her collar.

  Even as Liam tried to calculate what he was seeing, Owen was turning, following his gaze. There was a beat of absolute stillness, a crystalline clarity to the evening air and a silence that became a hum in Liam’s ears. Owen drew a deep breath in and then expelled it, yelling one word.

  “Valerie!”

  “Owen! Wait!” Liam reached out to grasp his friend’s shoulder, but he was already gone. He ran across the walkway and vaulted the concrete wall, stumbling on the opposite side. Liam ran after him, throwing a look at The Mare as it approached the bridge. Now he could make out the profile of the captain within the wheelhouse, the canvas bag sitting directly in the middle of the empty deck.

  Liam sprung up and over the wall, landing with less grace than Owen had managed, and the slight pause in his movements had given his friend all the time he needed. Owen was a runner, and he used his skill now. His lanky form leaned forward, tearing across the ground toward the entrance to the street beside the bridge. Liam sprinted after him, but even as he ran he saw he was losing ground to Owen’s longer legs. The figure on the bridge trundled along, her movements drunken and unsteady.

  Something was wrong.

  He could feel it. The cold knowledge flared in a burst of panic within his stomach. He had to notify Perring or one of the other task force members. But they were all out of earshot. Liam fumbled his phone from his pocket as he ran, barely keeping hold of the plastic casing. Owen had made the street, his wife’s name coming from him in frantic cries that rebounded off the building’s sides. Liam lost sight of the stumbling figure on the bridge as he neared the sidewalk and raced up its path. Owen’s feet slapped the pavement ahead of him as the other man ducked below the crossing arm and continued toward the bridge. Something about his hurried movements triggered a memory in Liam’s mind. The way Owen ran, how he held his shoulders, his head tipped forward nearly below them; it was like trying to recall a half-forgotten dream.

  “Owen! Stop!” Liam yelled again, reaching the street. The mane of blond hair fluttered behind the hooded woman as she left the bridge’s structure and wobbled onto solid pavement. The Mare’s horn blasted from the channel, making Liam’s eardrums flutter.

  Tucking the phone away, Liam drew his gun as another car honked farther back in the waiting line of vehicles. He tried to hold a bead on the woman as Owen reached her.

  She swayed once and began to fall.

  Owen leapt forward and caught her weight before she could hit the street.

  Liam ran, gun out, breath burning in his lungs.

  “Owen, no!”

  Owen cradled the figure, sobbing his wife’s name as he drew the hood up and off.

  The hood fell away along with the blond wig, revealing the stricken face of Marshall Davis. His mouth was open in an O of pain and a large number two was carved raggedly into the skin of his forehead.

  “Owen!” Liam yelled, a dozen steps separating them.

  A snarling crack filled the air and Davis’s head snapped to the side, his skull exploding in a spray of bone and brain matter. The bullet whined off the road beside Liam.

  Owen looked up in a daze, still clutching the twitching corpse.

  “What?” Liam heard him say.

  Owen’s head rocked back as the second shot ripped through his left eye and out the back of his skull.

  “No!” Liam yelled, managing to snag the collar of Owen’s shirt as he tipped backward. Liam knew he was dead before he began to drag him to the side of the street, but he did so anyway, the whole while keeping his eyes on the bridge, watching for movement. A shot ricocheted off the blacktop beside him, buzzing furiously away. He’d seen the muzzle flash. It was coming from the pilothouse built into the upper middle portion of the lift bridge. A door swung closed on the small building’s side as The Mare’s horn bleated again.

  The entire middle section of the bridge began to rise.

  Liam looked down at the ruined face of his friend. Gently, he laid Owen on his back, making sure he was completely on the sidewalk and out of the street. He rose, rivers of adrenaline flowing through his veins, sweat pouring from his skin in waves. He raced along the sidewalk while trying to stay out of the pilothouse’s line of sight in case the shooter was still inside. The bridge trundled up. A ten-foot gap between it and the road.

  Twelve.

  Fourteen.

  Liam reached the restricted area where the bridge’s structure footing began. He crouched but continued moving until he reached a set of stairs. The stairs ran in switchback fashion within the outer frame of the bridge all the way to its top. Above him enormous chains rattled and a gargantuan counterweight composed of concrete descended. The Mare chugged ahead, nearly drawing even with the bridge.

  Liam lunged forward and up the first set of stairs, his knee clipping a guardrail painfully. His feet clanged on the steel as he ascended, turning at each platform before rushing up the next stairway. The bridge and its walkway glided upward above him. He would have to get above it and then leap to it before it passed. It would be his only chance to get onto the bridge. Vertigo made grabs for him at each turn, the elevation increasing until the ground became a shrinking pinwheel below him.

  Still he climbed.

  The walkway was barely above his head.

  Up another flight.

  Directly beside him.

  Another flight. He was above it.

  Without thinking he swung himself over the side of the next platform, the steel railing so cold in his hand.

  Then he was in a free fall. Iron girders flew past as the rising walkway barreled toward him, the wind howling in his ears. He landed with a force that jarred his teeth and sent lightning strikes of pain shooting through his feet and up his shins, detonating in his ribs. He rolled forward, the concrete biting into his shoulder as he flipped onto his feet and skidded to a stop.

  Ahead, halfway across the rising bridge, a figure stood on the walkway. He was garbed in the same dark, bulky body armor as before. In his hands was a contraption composed of a spool and two handles. From its bottom a bulbous object protruded. Beneath the bridge, The Mare chugged through the channel slowly. When it was almost directly below them, the figure twisted the handles of the apparatus and the oblong object dropped free of its casing. Liam watched as it fell, connected to the device by a thin strand of cable. It banged loudly onto the deck of The Mare, skidding backward as the boat continued through the water.

  As the opposite end neared the canvas bag, it leapt up, snapping together hard with the neodymium magnet. The man on the bridge twisted his hands again and a loud whirring came from the mechanism.

  The bag of money rose off the boat’s deck and glided upward, the spool humming as it was reeled in.

  “Stop!” Liam yelled, rushing forward, gun outstretched.

  The man didn’t turn. Instead he produced a pistol from thin air and fired a shot down the walkway without taking his eyes off of the approaching bag.

  The bullet buzzed past Liam’s shoulder and he dropped into a crouch, firing twice. Sparks flew from the handrail beside the figure as the canvas bag came into view. The man drew the bag over the side and in one deft movement, uncoupling the two magnets from one another. He dropped the reeling apparatus on the walkway, firing shots as he backpedaled. Liam rolled to the side, returning fire as the gunman turned and fled.

  The center of the bridge lurched to a stop, well over a hundred feet above the canal. Somewhere in the distance sirens began to wail.

  Liam regained his feet and ran after the figure who had reached the far e
nd of the bridge. He fired another running shot that clipped the gunman’s right shoulder, making him stagger forward.

  Without faltering, the figure leapt into open air toward the nearest bridge support platform.

  He landed on its edge, colliding with a guardrail before flipping over it. Liam reached the end of the bridge just as the gunman swung over and hooked his hands and feet onto the sides of a steel ladder that ran the length of the structure. The man gazed up at him for a split second, eyes peering through two slits in the mask. Liam fired, cutting the air where the man’s head had been a moment before.

  He stepped to the end of the walkway and looked down. The gunman had slid most of the hundred feet down in seconds using his gloves and boots as buffers against the friction of the ladder’s sides.

  “Dammit,” he swore before taking a step back and launching himself across the gap. He landed solidly but the hand that grasped the rail slipped free as if it had been doused in oil.

  Liam teetered above the hundred feet between him and the canal, stomach slopping with the surety of death.

  As he began to tip backward into nothing, he snagged the rail again, this time his fingers holding fast. He dragged himself to safety, not giving in to the weakness that buffeted his legs. There would be time later to consider how close he had come to dying.

  He threw a look over the side of the platform and caught movement below. The gunman had jumped the last ten feet to the street on the Park Point side, the bag still clutched in one hand. Liam spun away and sped down the steps. How many flights until he reached the bottom? How much time would he lose? A thought dawned on him then, Perring’s words coming back to him from their first visit to the peninsula. There was nowhere to go. The bridge was no longer a viable route onto or off the island the killer had created.

  He had played them, right from the beginning until now. The concerto of violence as well as the false exchange for Valerie’s life had been brilliantly composed. But now he had trapped himself in the process, and Liam would make him pay for the mistake.