Autumn's Eyes (Storm Season Book 1)

by J. L. Sutton

  A few minutes later Oliver Parker came jogging down the stairs. “Good morning Mr. Hadley, thanks for coming in.”

  “Officer Parker,” I replied formally. All the information we shared in the past was off the books, and this close to prying eyes it would be beneficial to keep that to ourselves. Contacts were hard to come by on both sides, and it was worth keeping up simple charades to keep them.

  “Follow me,” He said, moving towards the stairs that led to the second floor.

  I was surprised by how well I remembered my way around. It seemed like a lifetime ago I wore the badge. As we walked in silence I remembered the argument I had with my father about leaving the force—not a particularly fun night. As soon as we were up the stairs Parker relaxed, slowing his pace to a lazy walk.

  “You look better,” he noted as we passed through a swivel door.

  I chuckled. “I’ll get there. So, what’s this about?”

  “Managed to bring in the other two who assaulted you on Saturday. We have enough to charge them, but if you pick them out of a line up it will make things a lot smoother.”

  “Have they spilled anything about Hyde yet?” I asked. Those men were just the hired muscle—he was the one I wanted decked out in orange.

  “Not yet. Which reminds me, you have any idea if they were intoxicated that night?”

  “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

  “We kept them in separate rooms while we questioned them and, well you know all the tricks and protocol, but both of them were muttering on about seeing something.” He paused, scratching his chin. “So I figure either they were on something, or it’s a very desperate prefabricated story to shift the blame.”

  “What did they claim to see?” I asked curiously. I was too focused on keeping myself in one piece to see anything out of the ordinary, but I distinctly remembered hearing something . . . odd.

  “Just some nonsense about living shadows. Not much imagination if you ask me. I didn’t call you down here to waste your time with some half-baked children’s story. If you can identify them it may give us leverage to persuade them to take a deal against Hyde.”

  He sounded confident at least, so I left it at that. Parker stopped near a group of people loosely clustered around the door to interrogations. I recognized Officer Kelly, but the three other faces in suits were strangers—the lawyers then. After a brief introduction we all stepped into a tiny room that felt crowded shared between the six of us. It was badly lit and stuffy, the unpainted grey walls bare save for the large one-way mirror we were all facing. Looking into the mirror I could make out five figures, their features obscured in the darkness.

  “Ready?” Officer Kelly asked.

  I nodded stiffly. The lights flickered for a moment, illuminating the five faces that looked similar, but not alike. I looked at each of the faces for a few seconds as the memories of Saturday night jumped back into focus. It wasn’t hard to spot the familiar shape of the large man, his face still bruised from the soda can I threw at him.

  “The second one,” I said flatly.

  “Number two, please step forward.” Parker leaned onto the intercom as he spoke. The large man stepped forward, keeping his expression blank.

  “That’s one of them, no doubt.” I nodded. There was a murmur among the two men and one woman in suits huddled together in the corner.

  “Number two, please step back,” Parker spoke again, then let go of the button and pulled out a small portable radio from his jacket. “Mike, bring in the next lot.”

  The lights were switched off and the men were escorted out. I repeated the process with the next lot, and then spent the next forty five minutes at Parker’s desk going over my statement. It felt good to get something right after all the hiccups of the weekend. After a few appearances in court official documents were nothing new to me, it seemed almost funny now that back in the academy they seemed so intimidating.

  “Looks like everything’s here.” Parked nodded, breezing over the document. “I’d say it played out pretty well.”

  “I’ll agree with you when you’ve got Hyde in handcuffs.”

  “It’s just a matter of time. It was a really stupid move for this guy to come after you.”

  “I don’t think he was planning on his henchmen running.”

  “Quite the stroke of luck then.”

  “Quite,” I agreed, though somehow I doubted luck had much to do with it.

  “I don’t think these three were paid enough to keep quiet. They’ll be flipping on him in no time.”

  “I look forward to seeing how that works into his divorce plans.” I grinned darkly. It’s nothing more than he deserves. How did such a sweet woman like Susan end up with the likes of him anyway?

  “I’ll keep you informed,” Parker said as he stood.

  “Thanks. I owe you one Oliver.” I couldn’t help smiling. It seemed like I owed quite a few favors lately.

  I barely managed to get back to the office when a new client came waltzing through the door. A well-dressed woman in her early fifties was about to invest a large sum of money into her son’s new business, and she wanted me to make sure her son’s other business partners were on the level. Whenever big money was involved it really did pay off to see who you were getting into bed with. It seemed like it was going to be a dull job, but honestly after everything that’s happened lately I needed the distraction.

  The rest of the week flew by as I threw myself into work. I spent hours doing background checks on the business partners, along with anybody I could find that they had worked with in the past. This type of work was painfully slow and tedious, and before long my desk was covered in stacks of papers.

  Digging into someone’s life used to be a form of art, now with the digital age it’d become little more than a research project. It’s truly amazing how much of our lives became so easily accessible. Being a licensed investigator gave me access to databases for criminal records, credit checks, and a host of other official information. Between various articles and social media sites I could find information on people’s jobs, their personal lives, and track other persons of interest they knew. Some sites even allowed you to keep track of people’s movements through their phones as they updated their locations. Before setting foot out of my office to shadow someone or conduct any surveillance I had already gone through every aspect of their lives I could find, making sure I ran into no surprises out in the open. I think that’s what bugged me most about getting jumped on Saturday night. I wasn’t as prepared as I usually was.

  I woke on Friday morning feeling like a new man. Discolored but healing skin was all that remained of the bruises that covered my body a week ago. The cut on my eye had scabbed over, already beginning to shrink. The only injury that seemed to linger was the still unexplained scar on my shoulder. The constant throbbing pain was gone, but the unsightly scratch’s appearance remained unchanged. The odd mark felt like an ethereal itch nothing seemed to soothe, and when the night air grew colder it began to ache terribly. All things considered I was happy with my recovery, and for the first time since the week before I felt well enough to work out. Careful not to overdo it I cycled through a shortened workout routine, though I couldn’t resist dragging out the punching bag.

  With the bulk of my research for my client done I decided to work from home. All I needed to do was sort all information I collected into a presentable form. I set my laptop on the counter and selected a mellow playlist of Delta Blues, Smooth Jazz and light Alternative Rock I liked to listen to while I worked, and began methodically sorting the loose sheets of paper into piles for each of the five people I looked into. When that was done I split each of those into smaller headings for easy reference, and before long I was surrounded by neat stacks of paper.

  It was after one thirty when I had organized everything into five ordered piles. Only thing left to do now was remove the superfluous pages and replace the lengthy ones with the notes I made earlier in the week. Satisfied with my progress I de
cided to call it a day. I still had some time left to run a few errands, time I sorely needed as I would be too busy tomorrow between meeting with the client and Eric’s party later in the evening.

  The first stop on my list was the electronics store to replenish my dwindling stock of batteries for my various pieces of equipment. I browsed through the camera display cabinet for anything new, always keeping an eye out for an affordable model to replace my old one I bought second hand. All the fancy equipment that came with the job had its uses, but I would trade it all for a good camera. Next on the list was a short drive past the public park near Jennifer’s home to a tiny hobby store on Bay Street to pick up Eric’s birthday gift. The young store clerk disappeared into the back room for a moment before he returned with an intricately detailed model of the Golden Gate Bridge. Following in the footsteps of his father Eric had become an architect, and he always loved to say his dream was to design bridges. Turning the model over in my hands I marveled at the complexity of the piece. He was definitely going to love this.

  My only errand left was to wash the two bags of laundry in my trunk. My building didn’t have its own machines, so I took all of my washing to an all-night DIY laundromat down the street. Most of the stores on the block were still open, and I could smell Chinese food from a packed building nearby whose windows were covered by green and yellow paper lanterns.

  The bright neon sign hanging over the laundromat dimmed as I walked through the door. The long room was filled with two lines of washers and dryers against the walls. Backless chairs were grouped loosely in the corner around a table with a change dispenser, cheap coffee machine and a small green potted plant.

  I paid little attention to the half-dozen or so people spread about the room as I emptied the contents of my bags into two empty washers, toying with the dials on the machines for a while before they added their low chugging and thrumming to the chorus of spinning clothing around them. Three machines over an old couple were sorting batches of thick wool clothing into neat piles. The looks they gave each other were so endearing I couldn’t help smiling.

  My hand was reaching for my phone when a figure across the room caught my attention. The woman looked away the second she saw me notice her, trying to hide her face but for as long as I lived I would never forget those eyes. I began walking forward, pulled in her direction before my mind realized what my limbs were doing. She sat with her legs crossed on top of one of the washers, far lovelier than my memory in the dark remembered. Her kind face was hidden behind the straight, shiny dark hair flowing onto her shoulders, a thin woven braid tied by a piece of leather swaying loosely on the right side. She wore a white short-sleeve top, just lighter than her unblemished skin, and a pair of faded skinny jeans. A large, uncut green gem was set in a pendant around her neck hanging from a plain silver chain, but without a doubt her most noticeable feature was her liquid obsidian eyes that despite their flat color still managed to catch the light.

  “Hey there,” I said awkwardly, realizing I was staring rudely.

  “We meet again.” Her head cocked an inch to the side as she spoke, her dark eyes never fully meeting my gaze.

  “What are the odds, I wonder,” I remarked casually, trying my best to conceal how uncharacteristically nervous I felt. The last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was to be here, striking up a conversation with this beautiful woman that until now I wasn’t completely sure existed.

  “Unlikely.”

  “At least this time it’s under better circumstances.” I was about to extend my hand to her in greeting, but something made me pull back at the last second. My head felt heavy, a crushing pressure building up around my temples. I had to close my eyes and blink before I could speak again. “I’m Benjamin.”

  “Call me Dawn,” she said after a moment, noticing the hesitation in my awkward hand movement.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” The washing machine next to the one she sat on was halfway through a load of washing, so there was little risk of her disappearing on me again.

  She seemed wound with tension, as if at this moment she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “No, thank you.”

  “I’m sorry. Am I bothering you?” I asked as I lifted a paper cup from the dispenser.

  “Not exactly.” Her expression was level, giving less away than her cryptic comment. “You seem to have recovered.”

  “Not much to recover from.” I shrugged, slowly getting the feeling she was trying to shift the focus off her.

  “Then you and I have very different opinions of the shape you were in.”

  “I’ve had worse.” I said dismissively.

  “Why were you accosted?” she asked, looking up at me for the first time. Her eyes were mesmerizing. All I could do was stare blankly for a long moment before I remembered she expected an answer.

  “They were paid to do it.” Part of me questioned why I was telling this to the woman that for all I knew was working with the men, but any resistance I mustered melted under her gaze. “The husband of a client didn’t want me working for her anymore.”

  “Client? What do you do?”

  “Professional investigation.” I pulled up a seat across from Dawn, taking full advantage of my chance to find out more about her. “Did you come from the bar?”

  “No. I was walking nearby when I saw two men running away from you,” Dawn said curtly, her curiosity disappearing as quickly as it came on.

  If she wasn’t going to the bar, then what was she doing in the parking lot? She was definitely editing. Still, I couldn’t shake the gut feeling she helped me. “Thank you.”

  “And again, there is nothing to thank me for,” she said firmly.

  “So you didn’t chase them off?” I asked, determined to get a straight answer.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she replied icily, and a thin trace of an accent crept into her voice. At first I thought it was an old Southie accent, but listening now it sounded closer to real Irish.

  “If you say so.” I wasn’t going to find what she was trying to hide this way, so I decided to steer the conversation to a lighter path. “So what do you do?”

  “Did you go to the hospital?” Dawn asked, flat out ignoring my question. The funny thing was, under her guarded expression she seemed to be just as hungry for information as I was. Worked for me—if I kept her talking I may just get some insight into her.

  “No, I didn’t. After I spoke with the police they drove me home.”

  “What happened to the man on the ground?”

  A question I was wary of answering. Was she simply curious, or concerned for the man’s welfare?

  “Right now he’s probably in a holding cell, along with his two buddies,” I answered honestly, carefully gauging her response. She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling a deep breath before she opened them again, but said nothing. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You may,” she answered warily, tilting her head to the side as she waited.

  “Why did you disappear when I said I was calling the police?”

  “I had somewhere else to be,” Dawn said innocently. Great, another half-answer that didn’t explain why she left, or how she did it so quickly without making as much as a sound. The washing machine next to her had stopped spinning, but Dawn didn’t seem to notice.

  “So you were in the parking lot, but not as a patron. You happened to be there just in time to miss the men running away, but didn’t see anything before. And you disappeared like a ghost at the mention of the police. Did I miss anything?” My voice came out harsher than I intended, my patience relentlessly quashed by my burning curiosity.

  “You would not . . .” she began, but looked away. “Talking to you was a mistake.”

  Hopping off the machine in a swift motion so that her back was turned to me, Dawn slipped a delicate hand into the washer and started stuffing wet clothes into a black refuse bag she was sitting on. I stood up slowly as she filled the bag, and concerned I offe
nded her I readied myself to apologize. Her expression was calmer when she turned to face me again, though her jaw was still set in a hard line.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I tried my best to sound sincere, non-threatening. Barely as tall as my shoulder she looked so fragile with her sleek, dainty frame.

  “You did not upset me.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she spoke. If I didn’t upset her, why did she look so upset? “I need to go.”

  “It was nice to see you again.” My words were stiff and resigned as I made room for her to pass me. Her expression seemed to soften at my words.

  “Likewise.” Dawn looked up at me, her midnight eyes meeting mine for a short moment before she weaved past me.

  My eyes followed her as she walked out the door. What the hell just happened? I stood unmoving for a long time as I tried to sort through the conversation in my head. Between her cryptic answers, and what I could only describe as peculiar behavior, I had to admit the woman was puzzling. Remembering I left my cup of coffee next to the machine I turned to the table to retrieve it, no doubt already cold by now. The plant on the table drew my attention away from my beverage, and looking at it I thought back to a few minutes ago. The long, thin leaves of the plant I had no name for were green and healthy when I entered —I was sure. So when I ran my fingers gently along the brittle, withered leaves an unsettling ripple trickled across my skin.

  5. Pins and needles

  I spent the last hour going through every detail of the work I had done for Mrs. Anderson, the woman who hired me to check into her son’s business partners. Aside from one or two bad investments the men checked out—something I was sure she was hoping wasn’t the case. I got the distinct impression she was rather hoping to collapse the deal before it got off the ground. When our business was concluded I walked her to her car, and as I watched her drive off I let out a relieved sigh. If nothing else, this week was off to a good start financially. I expected our meeting to happen much later in the day, so now I had a lot more time than I planned for until Eric’s party. The closer the time came the more I was dreading it. Claire always enjoyed the lavish, frankly over the top parties Eric’s family loved to throw, but it definitely wasn’t my scene. I’d take an evening out with my friends over it any day.