'You're the bastard who took the photos and gave them to Kevin.'
'Yes. I'm very sorry about the way things turned out.'
'Sorry? You’re sorry! Your pictures killed my husband,' she spat.
He didn't think it was an appropriate moment to point out that if she hadn't been screwing Hugh McIntyre, there wouldn't have been any pictures. Or that, as far as he could see, she hadn't given a shit about her husband in the first place.
She was still talking, if that was the right word to describe the venom coming down the phone line.
'You sick bastard. I can't believe you're calling me.'
Already he was starting to wonder if this was such a good idea. But she hadn't hung up on him, so he might as well plow on.
'I need to talk to you.'
'Is this how you get off, you pervert? You got bored jerking off to the pictures already, and now you want phone sex. Is that it, you filthy pervert? Got your credit card ready?'
She was almost screaming. Evan didn't say anything and let her rant on for a while longer. She needed to get it off her chest. Quite a nice chest too, he seemed to recall. Maybe he'd keep just one copy, after all.
'Did you know Hugh McIntyre attacked me a few nights ago?' he asked when she'd quietened down.
'Yes, he told me. If he'd brought you back here, I'd have bitten off a lot more than your ear, you sick bastard. I hope your balls never come back down.'
Evan smiled to himself at the thought that he'd already had the opportunity to road test the aforementioned equipment. And it had all passed with flying colors. He decided not to share the thought with her right now. Maybe later.
She'd gone quiet for a moment, which was a relief. He wasn't sure, but he thought she might have covered the mouthpiece with her hand.
'I don't want to talk on the phone. Why don't you come over?' she said in a much calmer tone of voice.
Nice try, but no coconut. Do I look like I was born yesterday?
'I don't think that's a good idea in the circumstances.' He decided to pretend that he hadn't seen the newspaper report. 'I want to ask you what this is all about.'
That set her off again. 'What do you mean what's it all about? What do you think it's all about? Are you stupid as well as sick? Is that why you spend your life ruining other people's; because you're too stupid to get a proper job...'
'I understand why he wants to hurt me,' he interrupted. 'I don't understand what else he wants. The police have the photographs. There isn't anything else.'
'You must have copies.'
'I delete them as soon as the case is over.' He felt a little bit guilty thinking about the copies he had mailed to himself at home, but that was just insurance. He'd delete them as soon as this was all sorted out.
'Why would I keep them?'
Incredibly, she decided to pass on the opportunity to accuse him of jerking off again. He figured he would continue playing dumb. 'I don't see why the photographs are so important. Your husband is dead and, as far as I know, McIntyre isn't married. The damage is already done.'
'You don't understand.'
'Then tell me.'
'What, so you can blackmail us. Do you think I'm stupid?'
This wasn't going anywhere. Added to which, yes, he did think she was stupid. If he had been looking to blackmail them, she'd as good as told him there was something to blackmail them about. All he had to do was look in the paper.
'I don't want to blackmail anyone, but that's irrelevant because there aren't any more pictures anyway. The reason I'm calling you is because I would like you to pass the message to McIntyre.'
'What message?'
God, give me strength.
'That there aren't any more copies,' - another pang of guilt; he didn't like lying - 'therefore, there is no point in McIntyre stalking me and trying to abduct me and then torturing the truth out of me, or whatever else he had in mind.'
'I can tell him, but I don't think it will make any difference. He never listens to me.'
At least he's got some sense, Evan thought. At that moment, his car was rocked violently as the pickup truck he'd seen outside Faulkner's trailer flew past, doing eighty at least. He hadn't been paying attention to the road so he didn't get a chance to see the driver. On a whim, he decided to follow it.
'I've got to go now,' he said, pulling back onto the road. 'I'd be grateful if you'd pass on the message. There's not a lot else I can say.'
She started to say something but he ended the call without listening to her. He was quite convinced that it wouldn't have been anything of any importance.
The pickup truck was about a quarter mile up ahead, still burning up the road. Evan put his foot down, got up to eighty himself, then kept his distance. It didn't really matter because he didn't think the man in the trailer had seen his car, but it was better to be safe.
After a couple of miles the pickup slowed and took a left, and then slowed right down on the smaller road. He recognized the road as he turned left, but couldn't immediately place it. It started to come back to him and was confirmed a mile further on when the pickup turned into the driveway of a nice looking property on the right.
He kept on straight and glanced at the sign at the entrance to the driveway as he passed. Beau Terre looked as picture perfect as it had last time he'd been there. Carl Hendricks was climbing down from the pickup's cab and looked up as Evan drove past.
It was a quiet road and didn't get much traffic - probably only the neighbors. Evan looked away quickly. He didn't know whether Hendricks recognized him or not. It was one of the few times that he wished he'd gone for the drug-dealer style tinted windows that everyone seemed to have these days. At least his window was up, so there was a chance the reflection on the glass would have obscured his face.
He drove on for miles until he found another left turn - he didn't want to turn round and drive past Hendricks' place again - which eventually looped round and he joined the main road back into town again. His mind was spinning as he took it easy through the back streets to his apartment block. He parked up and stayed sitting and thinking in his car.
One thing was glaringly obvious - Faulkner and Hendricks knew each other, and Faulkner hadn't mentioned that particular to Evan. It also looked like they'd just had an argument, what with the raised voices coming from inside the trailer and then Hendricks taking off like a bat out of hell.
What wasn't so clear was; what did it all mean, if anything? There were a million questions flying around in his mind. Did they know each other before the disappearances, or had they got to know each other subsequently? Was that why Faulkner hadn't looked very hard at Hendricks? But most importantly; could he trust Faulkner? The man had been good to him after McIntyre attacked him and now they were about to become fishing buddies. Should he even go on the fishing trip tomorrow? Maybe McIntyre wasn't who he should be worrying about when he was stuck half a mile out in the middle of a lonely lake.
CHAPTER 26
He hadn't been back to his apartment since the day before McIntyre attacked him and he'd stayed with Faulkner. On that occasion he'd been surprised that the memory stick he'd mailed to himself hadn't arrived, but it was there when he collected his mail that evening. Perhaps the postal service had siphoned it off thinking it was suspicious, or maybe the postal workers union had held a day of action, but whatever it was, it had arrived now.
He took the elevator up to his floor and walked down the corridor to his apartment. It was obvious before he got there that something was wrong. The door to the apartment was standing slightly open. He carefully pushed it open all the way and peered in. From where he was standing outside he could already see the chaos inside. He stopped and listened carefully but couldn't hear anything. He stepped cautiously into the hallway and started to creep forward making his way towards the living room at the end.
Suddenly there was a fast blur of movement and something black shot between his legs and out into the corridor. Evan jumped, almost losing his balance, and let o
ut an involuntary yelp as his heart slammed in his chest. It was just his neighbor's cat. At least he knew there was nobody in the apartment now - the stupid cat would never have ventured in if there was. The whole place reeked of cat spray which meant the pesky animal had been enjoying its new found territory for at least a couple of days. That probably meant McIntyre had come round the same evening he attacked Evan.
The whole apartment had been turned upside down, more for effect than anything else. Surely McIntyre - it couldn't be anyone else - didn't believe he’d hidden the pictures inside the books on the bookshelves, but he'd thrown them all over the floor just the same. Evan had some nice first editions and they'd be ruined now. He bent down and picked up a Robert B. Parker and put it back on the shelf. What would Spenser do now, he wondered? Go round and kick McIntyre's ass, that's what. Unfortunately he didn't think he was up to it.
He'd had the lyrics to Bob Dylan's Sara framed for his Sarah and now they were lying on the floor, the glass smashed. He'd always teased her saying that Dylan got the words the wrong way round and she would say she was Sarah, not Sara, so it didn't count. He picked the frame up and tapped the broken glass out into the trash can, before hanging it back on the wall.
The only consolation was that McIntyre hadn't ripped open all the upholstery as well. Probably just allergic to feathers.
There wasn't any point in calling the police. McIntyre might be acting like a maniac but he wasn't stupid and he wouldn't have left any evidence. Not that the police would have been interested anyway - not if they sent someone like Ryder round. What he did do, was call Stanton's wife again.
When she heard who it was she started ranting again as if the call had never been interrupted, but he just talked over her.
'Since we last spoke, I've found out McIntyre ransacked my apartment. You probably knew that last time we talked. I don't give a shit either way, but will you please try to get it into his thick skull that I haven't got any copies'. He didn't even feel any guilt this time. 'Also point out to him that if I was a blackmailer I wouldn't just leave all my valuable evidence lying around for some amateur sneak thief to break in and find. If it existed, which it doesn't, it'd be in a safe deposit box.'
He paused to catch his breath. She'd gone quiet, shocked by the force of his outburst. 'One last thing; I haven't been to the police about the attack and I'm going to let this ride as well. But that's all. Any more of this shit and I'll tell them everything I know, and then maybe they'll start poking their noses into things. I hope we're clear on this.'
He ended the call before he said anything he regretted. He'd been a hair's breadth away from saying he'd tell her father about the affair. Then they'd have to deal with that shitstorm, photos or no photos. He really didn't want to have to do that, because it would turn him into the blackmailer they were so certain he was.
He spent the rest of the evening putting his apartment back together which didn't do his mental state any good at all. There were a lot of memories of his life with Sarah spread around the apartment, except now they were spread around the floor. On a day-to-day basis they tended to merge into the background and he didn't really see them. But an evening spent picking up the pictures that McIntyre had thrown across the room, and all the other mementos of their life together plunged him into a trough of despondency. What was even worse was that he started feeling guilty about his afternoon romp with Barbara. He knew it was ridiculous, but there it was.
Once he'd got the place back into some kind of order he had a couple of stiff whiskies and took himself off to bed. He fell asleep immediately and dreamed of a fishing trip with Faulkner and Kevin Stanton, catching one Largemouth Bass after another, all of them with Sarah's sad face and Barbara's perfectly-formed breasts; then laughing wildly as they gutted the furiously flapping fish, while Hugh McIntyre shot at them from the shore with a high-powered rifle.
CHAPTER 27
He was up early the next morning like a small boy excited about his long-awaited fishing trip with a favorite uncle. In reality, he wasn't looking forward to it at all. There were too many awkward questions to be asked. Perhaps he should ask them in the car before they got out onto the lake, where he had a chance to get away. It was a ridiculous thought. If he was thinking along those lines he shouldn't be going at all. Apart from being a bit gruff at times, Faulkner had treated him well.
What niggled was that he knew Faulkner was holding something back. Not only that, the more he looked into the case, the more it seemed Faulkner was hiding. The only way he was going to find out the whole truth was by talking to him.
So here he was, driving the now familiar route to Faulkner's trailer park at this unearthly time of day. He hadn't been fishing since he was about eight years old when his old man used to take him before his health gave way. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day and, if it hadn't been for the doubts he had about Faulkner, he couldn't have imagined a better way to spend it. Well, thinking back to yesterday's unexpected delights, he could – he’d swap Faulkner for Barbara - but this wasn't such a bad alternative.
He couldn't see any signs of life when he got to Faulkner's trailer. He'd expected to see a pile of fishing gear ready and loaded into his car, and hopefully a jumbo icebox full of cold beer too. Perhaps Faulkner had overslept. He smiled to himself. It would be just perfect; he was looking forward to waking him up with a few choice words to get him back for his comments the previous evening. They’d see who couldn’t haul their lazy ass out of bed.
He knocked on the door a lot louder than was necessary, and then did it again without giving Faulkner a chance to get to the door. Despite all the noise, there was no sound or movement coming from inside the trailer. Nobody could have slept through all that. Maybe he was on the can. He gave it another couple of minutes and knocked again. Still nothing. Something wasn't right.
He looked around and saw an old packing crate lying behind Faulkner's car. He carried it over and put it under the window next to the door, then climbed up onto it and looked through the window.
'Hey, you. What the hell do you think you're doing?' a voice shouted from behind him. Evan jerked round at the sound and slipped off the crate, raking his shin on the edge as he went. He hadn't heard the guy coming. The guy was big and fat. He was also aggressive and didn't smell too good. 'What do you think you're doing?' he said again, still advancing on Evan.
Evan held up his hands. 'I'm looking for Matt Faulkner. We're supposed to be going fishing.'
'Fishing?'
Evan decided not to try out Faulkner's wiseass comments on the guy. He didn't look as if he was in a laughing mood. 'Yes, fishing. We agreed I'd meet him here at seven, and we'd go fishing together.'
The guy grunted. 'Maybe he overslept. No need to go waking the whole trailer park,' he said, calming down a bit. 'Why don't you try ringing his phone, instead of trying to break his door down?'
Evan felt a bit stupid that he hadn't thought of that before this meathead. He got out his phone and dialled Faulkner's number. They could hear it ringing inside the trailer.
'It's ringing out,' he said, and closed the connection. 'I was about to see if I could see anything through the window.'
The guy shrugged. 'Give it a go, why not.'
Evan was pleased to get the official go-ahead from the park's unofficial security force. He climbed back up onto the crate and peered through the window shielding his eyes with his hands against the glass. He couldn't see anything.
'Can you see anything?' Meathead asked.
'Nothing.'
'Try knocking again. But not so loud this time.’ He made a keep-it-down gesture with his hands. ‘I don't want you waking up the wife. Only damn time of day I get to myself.'
Evan was amazed that he was married, but, then again, he hadn't seen his wife yet. They say there’s someone for everyone. He had a bad feeling about the whole situation and didn't think there was much point in knocking, but he was anxious to keep the fat guy happy. He climbed down and knocked again.
They stood and waited together in the early morning light.
'What happened to your ear,' Fatso said.
'Somebody bit it.'
The guy gave him a look like he'd never heard of such a thing. Which was odd, because, in Evan's opinion, if there was going to be any ear biting going on, this guy looked exactly like the sort of person who'd be doing it.
'You don't say.' He shook his fat head in amazement.
'I know, unbelievable isn't it.'
'What did you do to him?'
Evan wasn't about to put himself down by admitting he'd done precisely squat. Besides, he wasn't here to pass the day shooting the breeze with Faulkner's neighbors, he was here to catch fish. He cocked his ear theatrically. 'I think I heard something inside.'
'I didn't hear anything and I've got two good ears,' Fatso said with a smirk.
Evan made a point of knocking on the door again even though he knew he wasn't going to get an answer.
'Is there a superintendant or somebody with another key?' he asked.
'I've got a key.'
'Really?'
'Yeah, really.' He couldn't fail to pick up on the surprise in Evan's voice. 'What, don't I look responsible enough to have one?'
Evan certainly didn't want to go down the road of insulting the man's trustworthiness.
'I think it would be a good idea if you went and got it and we checked to see if he's okay.'
'I suppose. He's an old guy and all.'
He lumbered back to his trailer, opened the door gingerly and tip-toed back inside. It was obvious he was scared stiff of waking the slumbering wife inside. That was why Evan hadn't heard him coming. He reappeared a few seconds later carrying a big ring of keys. He caught Evan staring at them.
'Surprise, surprise, eh. Lots of folks trust me to keep a spare key.'
Evan had no idea where his defensive attitude came from. Something must have happened in his childhood to make him overly sensitive.
'Absolutely. I think you’re the most trustworthy person I’ve seen all day. Shall we just open it up and see if he's okay?'
Cruel Comfort (Evan Buckley Thrillers Book 1) Page 14
