Cloaked in Blood

by LS Sygnet

  Rebuke was the last thing I needed. “He’s got enough on his plate right now without my irrational fears.”

  “Maybe they’re irrational, maybe they’re not. I seem to recall the last nightmare you secreted away from all of us. It’s what led us to dig deeper into Sanderfield’s associations. Don’t hid what your subconscious is trying to tell you from Johnny. It might be more important than you realize.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I lied. And then another. “My call waiting… it could be him.”

  “We’ll talk soon.”

  I hung up the phone. Danny and Dad were pacing in tandem.

  “It wasn’t Lowe after all,” Dad said.

  “Apparently not.”

  “If you trust David, Danny,” I said. “And I’m not sure I do.”

  “So who hired the thugs intent on taking you out of the picture before you really entered it?” Dad posed the most important question of all.

  Datello snapped his fingers. “How do you know it wasn’t their intent to simply abduct you and sell you then, Helen?”

  “I don’t know it,” I said. It opened up an entirely different avenue of consideration. What if someone wanted to prevent me from ever uncovering anything? And if that was the case, I wondered exactly who else Rodney Martin told about my potential arrival in Darkwater Bay.

  Johnny slammed the door to his office. Crevan startled and dropped the file he held in his hand.

  “Well?”

  “You tell me,” Crevan said. “Or is your mood sufficient explanation?”

  “Bowland saw nothing awry at Dunhaven this morning. The night staff was already gone when I arrived. Nothing unusual was revealed in shift report regarding Jerry Lowe.”

  “Did they let you talk to him?”

  Johnny gritted his teeth. “No, but I saw the smug bastard. He waved at me and then pretended to lock his lips and toss the key over his shoulder.”

  “A message itself,” Crevan said.

  “What did you learn from Briscoe?”

  “Helen has a source,” Crevan replied. “Tony has no idea who it could be, and swears he hasn’t heard from her in a couple of weeks.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Some orderly from Lyle Henderson’s assisted living was the victim of a hit and run accident last night. Dead at the scene. Briscoe said CSD found a shitload of money on his person, that it made Forsythe paranoid enough to call Maya out to pick up the body for the county.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Only clue was the emblem imprinted on the guy’s belly. Briscoe said rumor has it that it came from a Cadillac.”

  “Maya could be her source then,” Johnny mused, “but I doubt it. Given Helen’s backpedaling, I’d lay odds on Maya being surprised that Helen knew anything about it. I’ve seen the woman read a news paper exactly twice in all the time we’ve known her, and I doubt a hit and run made the front page of the morning edition.”

  “You, my friend, need to have a conversation with your wife.”

  “I told her I was done with the games, Crevan. I thought, for about thirty seconds, that she was finally starting to really trust me. Then along comes Wendell again and poof. We’re back to square one. Hell, worse than square one. Square zero.”

  “Do you think this hit and run is related to Henderson?”

  “Safe bet if Helen knows the name of the victim before anybody mentioned it to her in casual conversation. Shit,” he brushed one hand through his hair in abject defeat. “It’s pretty bad when I think I should be surveilling my wife instead of the people trying to harm her. I’m not sure who’s more dangerous, Helen or these slave traders.”

  Crevan scowled. “Let’s not forget you’re talking about my sister.”

  “Nor should we forget that she would lie to you as easily as she draws breath, Crevan. I hate to say it, but your sister is the most dishonest creature I’ve ever met in my life.”

  “Not with you, she isn’t.”

  “Yeah,” he chuffed out a bitter sound. “But only if she’s backed hard enough and deep enough into a very uncomfortable corner. Only then is honesty an option, and that’s out of necessity and nothing more. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, Crevan.”

  “You think you made a mistake, don’t you?”

  “More than one,” Orion said. “I love her. I can’t help that. But I’m really starting to resent her at the same time. Why can’t she trust me? What did I ever do that made her look at me and think, this is the guy I should always lie to. He’s the one I shouldn’t trust. Murderers? We’re good. Organized crime bosses? You bet. But not my husband. Can’t trust him.”

  Crevan fidgeted with his hands for a moment before folding them placidly on the conference table in Johnny’s office. “As someone who’s spent the better portion of his life living a lie, maybe I have some unique insight into why Helen can’t seem to tell anyone the truth.”

  “Please share it then,” Johnny said.

  “Maybe she doesn’t want you to be disappointed in her, Johnny.”

  “The truth I can handle. It’s her lies that are killing me.”

  Chapter 27

  When Johnny showed up for lunch, my red flags should’ve unfurled into the wind. But his mood was so pleasant and solicitous, I simply wanted to bask in the adoration and pretend that normalcy would eventually be in our grasp.

  It was the look I caught glimpses of while we ate, the fact that Danny took his plate and retreated to parts unknown that jerked me out of such a wonderful delusion. David. It had to be David. He must’ve called Johnny and –

  The sigh interrupted my theorizing.

  “Well, I suppose I should get back to work.”

  “So soon? You haven’t even finished lunch yet. Want to split a piece of cake with me?”

  The gaze grew wistful.

  “He told you, didn’t he?”

  “Who?”

  “David. He called and told you I had a nightmare about Jerry Lowe. Damn that man! I knew I couldn’t trust him.”

  Johnny carefully folded his napkin and laid it on the table. His chair slid back. Instead of walking toward the garage, he went the opposite direction, toward our bedroom. I followed, expecting a discussion in a room that guaranteed privacy. Instead, he detoured into his closet and pulled out a suitcase.

  “What are you doing? Johnny, why are you packing a bag?”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “What? Why?”

  He pinned me with all the anger I chose not to see during our aborted meal. “Because you’re doing it again, and goddammit, Helen, I won’t live like this. You don’t trust me. Fine. I get it. I accept it. God knows I’ve done everything I know how to try to change that, but it’s just impossible. I beg for honesty, you tell the truth when it suits you, and bam! I turn around and you’re confiding in someone other than me.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Johnny held up one hand.

  “Too little, too late, Helen. I don’t want your confession because I cornered you. It’s not fair to me. I shouldn’t have to live the rest of my life waiting, hoping that you’ll come to your senses and realize that I should be the first person you turn to, not the one of last resort.”

  “Johnny –”

  “No, Helen. I’m done.”

  “Dad has been watching Lyle Henderson. He saw him pay off an orderly last night. A few hours later, that same orderly was killed in a hit and run accident.”

  Johnny clenched the half opened suitcase in both hands. He didn’t respond.

  “When I called Maya for an update on the DNA this morning, she told me about it. I screwed up. I mentioned the guy’s first name. Dad read it off his identification badge. She assumed that I learned about if from OSI, that since the crime happened so close to where Sanderfield was murdered that you were interested, at least to see if there was a connection between the two crimes.”

  “And again, you’re telling me this because as you’ve probably surmised, I already know this.”


  “I called David too,” I said. “I realized that who he thought he saw meeting with Kelly and Varden last spring might not have been Jerry Lowe.” Deep breath, Helen. “It wasn’t Jerry. He doesn’t know who it was, but it wasn’t Jerry Lowe.”

  Johnny’s fists clenched the suitcase tightly. “This all might’ve meant something if I didn’t have to threaten to leave you to get you to confide in me, Helen.”

  “I sneaked out to meet Jerry Lowe this morning.”

  He slammed the suitcase down on the floor. “After I expressly forbid it?”

  “Why do you think I lied, huh? You dictate, hand down your edicts, and you won’t even listen to my reasons! I learned something very important from that conversation, something that proved other people wanted to stop me from ever coming here, Johnny, people that had nothing to do with Jerry Lowe!”

  Johnny spat in disgust, “You really will trust anybody but me, won’t you, Helen? He weaves some elaborate tale that feeds your paranoia, and because it’s what you want to hear, you just eat it up like it’s fucking candy.”

  He picked up the suitcase and started filling it.

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  “Why? I came home today, hoping that you’d simply tell me what you’re doing. But this is all that’s ever got your attention. Well, like I said, it’s just too late.”

  “Call David if you don’t believe me. He’ll tell you that Lowe wasn’t the man he saw meeting with Varden and Kelly.”

  He didn’t respond, just kept tossing socks and underwear into his damned suitcase. I stomped toward the dresser and swept the suitcase onto the floor. “Dammit, listen to me! I don’t trust Jerry Lowe, but I don’t believe that he’s the man who sent those private investigators after me. They sent that mail to Gwen Foster unwittingly, because Lowe used them to mess with your head, Johnny. Think about who Jerry Lowe is. He loved to play games. No way would he have relied on anyone else to knowingly do his dirty work. He stalked your friend for years. Do you think he didn’t know you were looking out for her? He was, still is, a master of manipulation, of playing games.”

  Johnny regarded me warily. “But now he’s telling the truth.”

  “He knows who has been pulling strings in this city all along. He’s had his finger in every bit of everybody’s pie, Johnny. That was what he did, how he controlled his little kingdom. He knew that Crevan… that I’m that long lost child, Johnny. Jerry Lowe recognized me.”

  “How? How is that possible?”

  “He’s shrewd. I have no idea how his mind works, but I won’t lie and say it doesn’t fascinate me. Every time I’ve ever talked to the man, he was angling for some kind of advantage. He did it again this morning.”

  Johnny reached for me, but hesitated. I leapt for the opening and flung my arms around him. “I love you. You promised that you would never leave me. You swore that you’d always be here for our family, Johnny.”

  “That’s not fair,” he protested.

  “Fairness be damned. I need you. I shouldn’t have lied, and I know that my apologies and promises mean nothing to you, Johnny. I’m not trying to make excuses. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that sometimes you smother me when you always say no. Do you think I don’t understand that some of my ideas are dangerous? I do, but they still are valid. I’d be safer if you didn’t fight me every step of the way, if I could count on you being there as my backup instead of sneaking off to see Jerry Lowe alone. You can’t forbid me to do things, Johnny. Every time you do, you’re upset with me for what you think is defiance. I’m telling you now. It’s not about defying your wishes. This is just who I am.”

  I started to pull away.

  “If you can’t handle the truth, then maybe our marriage really was a mistake.”

  His arms tightened. “Don’t say that.”

  “Are you willing to listen to me now?”

  “I’ve always listened, baby. I just don’t always agree with what you think needs to happen. Sue me. I’d rather not see you shot or locked in an oubliette or hauled out to sea and sold into slavery.”

  “I’m not asking for agreement. I need to know if you’ve got my back, even if you don’t like where my… front is going.”

  “You’ve got to stop lying to me when I say something you don’t want to hear.”

  “Then stop saying no every time you don’t like where my instincts say we need to go.”

  He peered down at me. “And what are they telling you now?”

  “Lyle Henderson, probably even Melissa Sherman, is in danger, Johnny. Jerry Lowe agreed not to see Lyle anymore this morning.”

  “Oh really?”

  I nodded. “He knows who’s behind this whole rotten deal, but he won’t tell me. He said he’d love to discuss if his theory is right after I figure it all out.”

  “And from that you surmised that whoever the puppet master is, Lyle and Melissa are in danger?”

  “No, I realized that after Maya told me that this tech Dad saw in Lyle’s apartment last night was hit by a Cadillac and died.”

  “Don’t suppose you considered that Wendell might’ve been the driver, did you?”

  “Of course I considered it. We had a rather spectacular argument as well. But he wants the answers as much as I do, Johnny. We all need to know the truth. And as long as dead bodies are raining from Darkwater Bay’s cloudy skies, the window on finding the truth is closing very quickly.”

  “Did he know you planned to sneak into Dunhaven and visit Lowe?”

  “Are you kidding? He nearly had a stroke when I told him what I did. Sometimes I swear it feels like the only person in all of this who remotely understands my desperation is Danny Datello.”

  “That terrifies me as much as anything else, Helen.”

  “Why? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of him too.”

  “No, of course I’m not jealous per se. It’s that kindred desperation that worries me. Sometimes I think the two of you have a little more in common than I’d like to admit. Before you get angry over that remark, I should probably –”

  “No, you don’t have to explain. I do understand it, and you’re right. Celeste was right. She said that she thought Danny and I would’ve made an unstoppable team if we could just stop hating each other long enough to see how similar we really are.”

  “He killed Salvatore Masconi, Helen.”

  “And I killed Rick Hamilton. Yet here he is, helping us. How can you doubt that he wants the truth, needs it every bit as much as I do, Johnny?”

  “I don’t doubt it. But it still worries me.” He hugged me close, brushed kisses into my hair. “So where does the infamous Eriksson gut say we go from here?”

  I cringed. He wasn’t going to like it one little bit.

  “I think it’s high time we had a formal conversation with Lyle Henderson.”

  “Over my dead –” the snarl died in his throat. “Official?”

  “After Maya gets the DNA results on Melissa Sherman. I think he’s protecting her because of my mother, well, Marie Eriksson.”

  “So the old goat has a soft spot for one of his step-children?”

  “If the DNA results show that Melissa Sherman is really my father’s daughter, then I’m pretty sure we’re on the right track with all of this.”

  Chapter 28

  Wendell waited until nightfall before he donned the current disguise and made his way up the staircase to the top floor of the building across the street from Lyle Henderson’s apartment. Coveralls were splotched with old white paint. He wore the baseball cap embroidered with Steele Heating and Air Conditioning’s logo on it pulled low enough for the bill to shield his eyes from anyone who might meet him unawares.

  Inside the tool box were in fact, tools of his trade. A disassembled rifle. A long range, high-power scope. Night vision goggles. A .50 caliber Desert Eagle handgun. A silencer. Handcuffs. A switchblade. A small Sig Sauer P250 subcompact .9 millimeter was tucked into his ankle holster.

  Never let it be said
that Wendell Eriksson showed up to any kind of fight unprepared.

  He cracked the door open to the roof and cautiously peered through into the misty darkness. Damn, but Helen wasn’t joking about the fog in Darkwater Bay. It rolled into town just after sunset and blanketed everything in a damp, muffled shroud.

  Wendell cursed himself a million times over for leaving the rooftop last night. If only he’d stayed, this could all be over by now. He could’ve made the vehicle that killed Nate Parker, could’ve tracked it down to the elusive bastard that seemed to use Darkwater Bay as the shadow that kept him obscured.

  One thing was certain. Nobody threatened his daughter and lived to tell the tale. Damned sentimentality had prevented him from slipping into the city, taking care of business, and vanishing once again. Helen didn’t need to know he’d been there. For that matter, she didn’t need these ridiculous answers she thought a proper investigation would supply.

  He supposed, on one hand, that his love for her created this ludicrous indulgence. If Helen wanted answers, how could he deny her that? But the idea that his DNA was being spun in a laboratory on the other side of town, that the delicate filaments would be compared to this Melissa Sherman’s, it bothered him. And not because he expected confirmation of Helen’s suspicions. He didn’t care one way or the other.

  Wendell Eriksson feared something else. In his gut, he knew it nearly forty years ago. And in a matter of hours, he’d know the truth, that his suspicions about his wife were more than a dirty cop’s paranoia.

  “Forgive me, Helen,” he whispered. The body count was about to grow. It would be simple really. Wait for this partner of Lyle’s to tip his hand, and then with the flick of a finger, Wendell would take out every living link to a very old deception.

  Did it bother him that he’d have to kill more people? Maybe they deserved it for thinking to profit off the misery of others. Maybe they’d earned a very special place in hell right alongside Wendell’s other victims.