Nocturnal (16 page)

“Evan was the youngest?”

“Yes.” Her eyes suddenly hardened. “Don’t you already have this information?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m just hopeless with names.”

“Lucky you write things down,” Abby said, nodding at my blank notepad. She looked at me with fresh suspicion. “I think your five minutes is up.”

“Please, Abby. Just a few more questions.”

She bristled at the use of her first name. “No, I’ve said quite enough.”

“
One
more question. Then I won’t have to come back tomorrow.”

The not-so-subtle threat worked. Abby rolled her eyes and sighed. “Go on then.”

“Do you know Ralph Emerson?”

Abby frowned at me. “You’re either a very poor reporter, or you’re not a reporter at all.”

“So you
do
know him.”

“Not personally. I heard about his recent passing, though. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.”

She went inside the house, leaving me alone on the porch. I stood there for a moment, debating whether I should ring the doorbell to demand an explanation for her scathing remark. But when the flickering light resumed in the front room, I decided against disturbing her again. She’d already given me enough to go on.

The phantom killer was beginning to take human form.

18.
“Don’t move. I’m calling an ambulance”

My heart was racing as I walked back through Granite Bay’s empty streets. Unlike thirty minutes earlier, I wasn’t feeling nervous, or scared. I was buzzing on adrenaline. The showdown with Sterling had gone much smoother than I’d anticipated. When I thought back on how I’d shoved his face into the ground, and the look of fear in his eyes, my chest swelled with pride. It took guts to take on a man hand-to-hand. By comparison, firing a gun seemed too easy; too cowardly.

I called Lucy as soon as I got back to my car. I knew she’d be proud of me, even though I hadn’t done exactly as she’d asked. The outcome I’d engineered was better for everyone involved. Sterling got to live. I wouldn’t have to worry about a murder rap. And Lucy would have her millions without any legal challenges from the kids.

She answered on the first ring, as if she were waiting by the phone.

“It’s me,” I said.

There was a long pause. “Who is this?”

“Listen, you don’t have to worry, I took care of…”

Her loud sigh cut me off. “I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“No, it’s not what you think, I just–”

The line clicked in my ear. I hit redial right away, but the call went straight to voice mail.

“Fuck,”
I cursed, realizing I should’ve been quicker to explain. Lucy thought I was calling to say I’d killed her husband. I was the last person she wanted to talk to on the phone.

I stared into the rain-blurred night, contemplating my next move. Lucy was going to get the shock of her life when Sterling walked in the door.  I could drive to her house and warn her, but in all likelihood I’d run into Sterling, and things could get ugly. He might think I’d come back to kill him.

Just then, a couple emerged from the darkness. They were strolling along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. Any second now, and they’d be close enough to see a man sitting alone in a beat-up Corolla.
It was time to leave.
I turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb. The couple didn’t even turn their heads as I drove by.

My nerves were still on edge when I hit the interstate. The clock on the dash read 9:03. Sterling had to have made it home by now. I guessed he and Lucy had a lot to discuss. No doubt she wouldn’t believe him at first, and she’d probably want him to sign something on the spot, before he could change his mind. Drawing up papers took time, perhaps all night. I told myself to relax and savor my victory. Lucy would call as soon as she was through.

By the time I reached the outskirts of Sacramento, my nerves were stretched to breaking point. Lucy’s home line was still connecting to voicemail. I started to worry that Sterling had no intention of following through on the divorce. What if I had him all wrong? What if he didn’t give a shit about his reputation, and he’d called the cops on me, telling them to arrest a guy named Johnny? It wouldn’t take them long to figure out my real name. Or maybe Sterling was already beating the information out of Lucy.

I needed a fucking drink.
My mind was playing a million tricks on me, and I didn’t know which scenario to believe, or what course of action I should take. Part of me was tempted to turn the car around and check that Lucy was okay. That would be the heroic thing to do. But I also knew that if Sterling had called the cops, returning to the scene of the crime would almost certainly land me in jail. And it wasn’t time to panic; not yet. The most likely scenario was that Lucy was fine, and she was still discussing settlement terms with Sterling. If she hadn’t called by 11pm, maybe then I could think about driving back to Granite Bay.

Instead of heading home, where I knew the wait would seem longer, I drove to a sports bar that I sometimes frequented when I wanted to drink alone. I took a seat at the bar and tried to divert my mind with a hockey game. It didn’t work. By 10pm, I’d knocked off two beers and a tequila shot, and the alcohol was stoking my paranoia. My patience had run out.
I had to know.

I moved to an empty booth and dialed Lucy’s home line. The phone rang out to voice-mail, twice, but I kept redialing. My persistence paid off. On my third attempt, a woman answered with a curt, “Yes?”

For a moment, I was thrown. It wasn’t Lucy’s voice, nor the housekeeper’s. But who else would be at the house? One of the kids?

“Oh, hi,” I said, making up a cover on the fly. “My name’s Steve, I’m Lucy’s cousin from Austin. Sorry to call so late, but I have some bad news about her aunty. Can she come to the phone?”

“No, she can’t,” the woman said. “Who did you say you were again?”

I paused, putting a finger in my left ear. Down the line, I could hear voices and footsteps in the background, like the Pipers were having an open house.
At ten o’clock at night.
My thoughts darkened.

“Hello?” the woman said.

The woman’s authoritative manner suddenly made sense. I took a risk, figuring they had my cell phone number anyway. “Actually, it’s Peter Carney from the Tribune. Sorry for the false name, but I thought you were the housekeeper. What’s going on there?”

The woman sighed. “This is supposed to be a closed scene. No media until the family are notified.”

“Notified of what?”

The line clicked dead. I closed my eyes, feeling my stomach turn inside out.
There were cops at Lucy’s house, and the family needed to be notified.
I didn’t let my mind go there, not yet. I had to think like a journalist. Fill in the missing pieces.

Without delay, I dialed the Tribune. I was relieved when the call diverted, and Wendy Carmichael picked up, sounding like she’d been woken from a deep sleep. She was one of two reporters who manned the Tribune’s 24-hour news desk, a role that management often touted as high tech and cutting edge, even though everyone knew it was journalistic purgatory. Wendy had drawn the short straw, and you could hear it in every biting remark. 

“Hi Wendy, it’s Peter.”

“Hey there, hot shot. You still alive?”

“Last time I checked.”

“So what’s the deal with you?” she pressed. “Everyone’s been talking about your chronic absenteeism. Do you have a new job? Mono?”

“No, nothing like that. Listen, I called to ask a favor.”

“Of course, to hell with the pleasantries.”

“Sorry Wendy, I’m in a rush. I just got a heads up on a shooting in Granite Bay – involving a local businessman named Sterling Piper. You heard of him?”

I could hear her scribbling in the background. Wendy might’ve been bitter, but she was a consummate professional. “No. Should I have?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty well known. Could you check it out? It’ll be breaking news, it’s not even on the wires yet.”

“So why aren’t you following up?”

“Haven’t you heard? My heart’s no longer in the game. And Wendy, can you keep my name out of this? I don’t want to risk my source getting traced.”

“Ooh, secret squirrel stuff. Don’t worry, I’m happy to take the credit. I need something juicy to get me off this fucking night desk. Now, is Sterling Piper the shooter or the shootee?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to go round there. And you should hurry, Wendy. Before the stringers get there.”

“Okay, okay. Where am I going?”

I gave Wendy the address, and made her promise to call me as soon as she learned anything. Then I pocketed my phone and left the bar. The alcohol had gone straight to my head, and the last thing I needed was a DUI to add to my laundry list of worries. Sports and beer couldn’t distract me anyway. If I was going to tear my hair out with worry, I might as well do it at home.

The moon was showing through the shifting clouds when I pulled into my regular parking space. I got out of my car and did a customary check of my surroundings. My apartment building didn’t have parking, so I leased a cheap space at a muffler shop down the road. A nervous person might have found the routine unsettling – parking in an empty lot, and then walking two blocks along a dimly lit street– but I’d never had any problems. Maybe the bad guys sensed I didn’t own anything worth stealing.

I couldn’t see anyone sinister lurking in the shadows, so I headed quickly to my apartment, thinking I’d have time for a shower and a change of clothes before Wendy called. Panicky sweat had been pouring off me for hours, and the smell was doing nothing for my nerves.

The neighborhood seemed even quieter than usual. A lone dog barked in the distance. The freeway traffic was a dull roar. It had only just gone ten o’clock, but it felt as dark and desolate as the midnight hours. A chill spread through my body. I was relieved to see a homeless man sleeping in a doorway across the road. He opened an eye, took me in, and then went back to sleep.

I crossed the road to my block, my shoes crunching on the decaying road. Just then, I heard an engine growl to life, and the street filled with light. I paused, looking back over my shoulder. A car with its brights on peeled away from the curb. I turned away from the glare, waving an angry hand behind me. I kept walking, hearing the car rumble closer. Kids, I told myself. Just kids playing games.

My heart jumped when I heard the engine rev higher. I glanced behind me, my eyes blinded by the rapidly closing headlights. Adrenaline kicked in late, and I ran for the nearest doorway, but the car had already climbed onto the sidewalk, engine roaring, and before I could dive for cover, my feet were taken out from under me. I briefly saw the sky as my world flipped upside down. Then there was an explosion of glass, and my face went hot with pain. My vision blackened at the edges. Someone was cursing me above the squealing tires. My senses caught up with the chaos. My body was stuck halfway through the windshield, my head dangling over the passenger seat. The car was still moving, and I was moving with it. Through my blood-swamped eyes, I could see the driver furiously turning the wheel. He was swearing through clenched teeth, a baseball cap pulled low over his brow.

My survival instincts kicked in. I tried to wrench myself into the car, but we were zig-zagging across the road, and I couldn’t lift my knees up
.

“Fuck you!” the driver cried.

The tires screeched, and my body was catapulted off the hood. For a few seconds I felt exhilarated, like I’d escaped a certain death. But then I hit the road hard, hip and knee together, my leg snapping behind me as I rolled over and over. Pain flooded my brain, but I managed to turn my head, staring back at the headlights. The driver was straightening the car, getting ready to charge again. I tried to get up, groaning against the pain, but my busted leg gave way and I fell back to the road.

Just then, I heard footsteps coming towards me. Strong hands pulled me up by the armpits and dragged me towards the sidewalk.

“I got you, man,” a man’s voice said. “I got you.”

I kept staring at the car. The headlights were trained down the center of the road, but the engine had dropped to an idle. My ass bumped onto the sidewalk, and the man pulled me inside a deep doorway, the entrance to a print shop. The man stuck his head out, looking up the road. Headlights moved across his face. He was Asian, my age. I’d seen him around the neighborhood, always wearing gym clothes.

“He’s backing away,” the man said. “Fucking crazy.”

The engine’s purr faded into the night. I tried to say thank you to my rescuer, but my mouth was full of blood, and I could only make a burbling sound. The man looked down at me, and his face froze.

“Holy fuck,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Holy fuck, man. Don’t move, I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No, no cops,” I gurgled, feeling my mind shut down.

“Not the cops, man. An ambulance.”

I woke up in a strange bed with my head covered in bandages. It was dark, but I could make out curtains around me. When I realized where I was, I tried getting out of bed, only to discover my right leg was in a plaster cast. I started yelling for a nurse. An angry-looking nurse came and informed me that it was four in the morning, and the other patients were trying to sleep. I told her I wouldn’t stop yelling until someone brought me my phone.

They wheeled me into a private room. The angry-looking nurse brought in my phone and said I had ten minutes. I quickly checked my screen – I had four missed calls from Wendy’s cell, and three text messages. The first was left at 12:08 AM:
you awake hotshot?
The second at 1:43 AM:
pick up!!
And the third at 3:02 AM:
article just posted, thx for tip!

My heart started beating fast. I took a deep breath, and then opened the Tribune website in my browser. Wendy’s story was on the front page. I clicked on the headline, my eyes boring into the screen as the article slowly uploaded.

MILLIONAIRE BUSINESSMAN IN BLOODY DOUBLE SHOOTING

By Wendy Carmichael

A 61 year-old Granite Bay man and his 34 year-old wife were found dead in their home in the early hours of this morning.

Police are refusing to release details of the case but our sources indicate that the man may have shot his wife before turning the gun on himself. While a murder-suicide is the most likely scenario, third party involvement has not been ruled out.

Residents in one of Granite Bay’s most exclusive streets were woken by gunshots shortly after 3am.