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Authors: Nathan Field

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BOOK: Nocturnal
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Until a late-night phone call brought everything back. The guilt. The heartbreak. And a cold realization that no matter how much time passed, I would never leave the past behind.

21. “Is this going to spell trouble for me?”

 

Lucy and Ralph Emerson. Lovers and co-conspirators.

I’d been such a fucking idiot.

Following the bombshell at Wendy’s café, I caught a taxi back to the Park Royal and sat on the edge of my hotel bed, wringing my hands in the dark. The more I thought, the more I understood, and the sicker I felt. Events from the past took on a disturbing new light.

The parents’ animosity towards Lucy at the school chili cook-off, before we’d started anything. Her claims she couldn’t see me more than twice a week, even though she had no job, no children, and no hobbies. The friends and neighbors who told reporters they knew about an extra-marital affair, despite our careful discretion. With the benefit of hindsight, it all made perfect sense.

The plot to kill Sterling was hatched long before I arrived on the scene. Ralph and Lucy had been scheming together for months, possibly years. But since the whole of Granite Bay seemed to know about their affair, they needed iron-clad alibis to escape suspicion. A third party had to pull the trigger.

They must’ve laughed their heads off when I fell into their laps. Peter Carney, the deluded kid who thought a knockout like Lucy could fall hopelessly in love with him. And they’d been smart, resisting the temptation to fast-track me onto murder. They’d taken their time, playing me like a violin.

I’d always presumed I was the aggressor with Lucy: coercing her into dates, demanding second chances, refusing to take no for an answer. Plenty of times I’d thought she genuinely wanted rid of me. But of course, it was all just part of the long con. Lucy had been patiently reeling me in, making sure the line didn’t break. Determined to land the big dumb fish that would set her and Ralph free. 

But then I’d screwed things up for everybody.

They’d underestimated my cowardice, or my scruples, or both. They hadn’t expected me to show Sterling the letter, rubbing his nose in his wife’s infidelity, and pushing an intensely proud man over the edge. But while Lucy paid the ultimate price for her sins, her two lovers escaped unharmed.

Until now.

The killer, almost certainly Sterling’s eldest son, had taken bloody revenge on Ralph Emerson for his part in his father’s death. I was next on his hit list, but not before he’d dragged me on a painful trip down memory lane, forcing me to confront the painful truth about Lucy Piper. Making a mockery of the past eight years of my life.
             

I’d been torturing myself over a love that never existed.

“Oh fuck,” I groaned, flopping back onto the bed, the full extent of Lucy’s lies hitting home.

Sterling had never abused her. Her bruises were real, but they were made to order. I imagined her screaming at Ralph to hit her harder, to make it hurt. She needed to convince me that Sterling was a monster, and that killing him would be a noble act. Then, when she believed the deed was done, she’d dispatched her lover to run me down.

Ralph
fucking
Emerson was the driver in the baseball cap, the man responsible for my scars and photophobia. But I couldn’t see him as the ultimate enemy. Lucy had used him, just like she’d used me. If they’d managed to escape with Sterling’s money, Lucy might have had him killed, too.

I could understand Sterling Junior’s desire for revenge. Lucy’s greed had killed his father, virtually orphaned his family, and driven his younger brother to suicide. For his part in events, Ralph Emerson probably got what was coming to him. And for my own stupidity, perhaps I deserved the same.

But Sterling Junior crossed a line when he involved an innocent party. Killing Bruno was not only inhumane, it was completely unnecessary. It proved his twisted games had moved beyond an attempt to redress the wrongs against his family. Somewhere along the line, Sterling Junior had developed a blood lust. And the sick fuck needed to be stopped.

 

I drifted in and out of sleep through the day, dipping into a persistent nightmare about Ralph and Lucy. They were fucking like wild animals on Sterling’s king-sized bed, Lucy’s long legs in the air while Ralph pounded her hard. She was writhing and groaning in ways I’d never seen before. Every so often they’d turn to laugh at me, knowing I was watching from the corner of the room, my dick limp in my hand. My eyes kept popping open in horror, but the nightmare waited patiently for my return, like my subconscious had an automatic pause button. By the time sunset reddened the curtains in my hotel room, I was drenched in sweat.

Relieved to get out of bed, I showered with urgency and busied my mind with the present day. My first task was to track down Sterling’s kids – in particular, the surviving son. My own resources were limited to Google searches, but I knew someone in Sacramento who could dig a little deeper.

I hadn’t spoken to Izzy in eight years, and I didn’t feel great about asking for a favor, especially after I’d left town without saying goodbye. But he was my best chance of finding the Piper kids, and I owed it to Bruno to make the call.

For the second time in forty-eight hours, I dialed the Tribune’s general enquiry line. I was relieved, but not overly surprised, when the operator put me straight through. Guys like Izzy liked to stay put.

The years came rushing back when Izzy’s voice came on the line. He sounded as frantic as ever, like he was late for a meeting.

“Hi Izzy. It’s Peter Carney.”

A long pause was filled by the familiar hum of a busy newsroom. “Peter?” he eventually said. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah, it really is.”

“Holy shit! Peter Carney! My God, this is like…..
fuck
.!”

“Fuck in a good way?” I laughed.

“A
great
way. Man oh man oh man oh man
oh man!
Pete! What the hell have you been up to?”

“Not much, to be perfectly honest. Laying low.”

“No shit. Below ground, I thought.”

“Not quite. Listen, Izzy. I know this is asking a lot, but would you be able to meet me tonight? I really need a favor.”

His voice lowered. “Why, you in trouble?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Izzy exhaled heavily, his breath rustling in my ear. “Is this going to spell trouble for me?”

“I doubt it.”

“You
doubt
it
,
” he said warily. I imagined him weighing up old loyalties against his natural risk aversion.

“I understand if you’re uneasy,” I said, offering him an easy out.

“Yeah, but fuck it. If you need help, I’ll be there. Besides, if I miss this opportunity, I might never learn what happened to you.”

“It’s not much of a story,” I warned.

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’m expecting big things, Pete. Sex, drugs, witness relocation programs – the works. And don’t even think about leaving out the juicy bits.”

“It’s a promise.”

“And you’re bullshitting me already. Never mind, I’ll get the truth out of you. I’m a
senior
investigative reporter these days. Digging up the past is my specialty.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Oh man, this is going to be a big favor, isn’t it? Okay Pete, you mysterious sonofabitch. When and where?”

We agreed to meet at the dive bar on J Street where we’d last met up. My heart sank as I neared the address. It was a dive bar no more. The building was painted a cheerful yellow, and the front had been opened up by two enormous bay windows. The patrons were now visible from the street – sipping white wine and spread out over blonde wood furniture.

I hung back from the entrance and put on my shades. I’d hoped to meet Izzy eye-to-eye, but the bar was far too bright for me. I couldn’t even look in the window without wincing. I was about to call Izzy and suggest another venue when I saw him crossing the road towards me. He was wearing a papery grey suit and big-buttoned khaki trench coat, the same work clothes he’d worn eight years ago. He looked great – the only clues to the passing years were a slightly higher hairline and a hint of a paunch on his otherwise trim frame. He was grinning like a lunatic, but as he stuck out his hand in greeting, his face dropped.

“Jesus, Pete!” He craned his neck to get a better look at my right side.              “What happened to you?”

“I had an accident.”

“No shit. A car accident?”

“Kind of.”

He kept staring. “Any reason why you’re wearing shades? The sun went down two hours ago.”

“My eyes are messed up. Long story.”

“Lucky I’ve got all night.” Izzy nodded towards the bar. “Shall we go in? I’m dying for a beer.”

“I’ll have to keep my shades on,” I warned.

“That’s okay. I can live without seeing your baby browns.”

We went inside. The crowd appeared to be a young, well behaved mix of post-grad students and junior civil servants. Everyone in groups of four or more, laughing and passing around bowls of nuts and olives like they didn’t have a care in the world. We took our bottled beer to a lamp-lit table near the back, away from the noisier groups and the dazzling overhead lights.

“You want to touch it?” I said, aware that Izzy’s eyes had barely left my right cheek.

He gave a quick shake of the head. “Sorry, sorry. But shit, that is a serious fucking scar.”

“Most of the time I forget it’s there. Unless people draw attention to it.”

“Hey look, I didn’t mean to…” He stopped himself, searching for my eyes behind my shades. “You’re not really pissed, are you?”

I grinned, reaching for my beer.

“Don’t tease me like that,” Izzy said, exhaling. “You could almost pass for a hard-ass, you know that?”

“One of the few perks of my new face.”

“Yeah, well I’m glad your fucked-up sense of humor hasn’t changed.” He laughed off the tension. “So what’s going on, Pete? Obviously I have a thousand-and-one questions, so it’ll be quicker if you just give me the full download.”

“No, you first. What have you been up to the past eight years?”
“Ha! That’ll take all of three minutes.”

He wasn’t joking. Since my departure, Izzy had stayed happily married, doubled his brood to four –
“and no more! I’ve had the snip”
– and steadily worked his way up the ranks of the Tribune. He was now deputy features editor, and a front-runner for the top job when Tom finally retired next year. In short, he was still the happiest man in Sacramento.

“That’s great, Izzy,” I told him. “You’ve always had your shit together.”

“You mean I’ve always been boring.”

“No, not all. There’s nothing boring about having a family and a great career. I wish my life was half as rewarding.”

“Yeah. I know I’m a lucky man.”

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it. You never complained, or fucked around, or chased cheap thrills. You just got on with life. And now you’re reaping the benefits.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Izzy said, averting his eyes.

I suddenly realized how bitter I’d sounded. “You’ll have to excuse me. I can be a miserable prick sometimes.”

“Yeah, I remember. Especially when your heart’s been broken. Anyway, what’s the deal with you? What brings you back to Sacramento after all these years?”

I was eager to get down to it. “You remember the Piper family shooting a few years back?”

Izzy shifted in his seat, the reporter in him awakening. “Yeah, of course. Over in Granite Bay. About the same time you disappeared.”

“That’s right,” I said, ignoring the implication. “Well, the husband had four children from his first marriage. And for a reasons I won’t bore you with, I want to find out what happened to them.”

Izzy suddenly slapped his hand on the table. “
I knew it!
Fuck, I knew she was the mystery blonde!”

I did my best to appear baffled.

“You’re a terrible actor, Pete. You know exactly who I’m talking about. What was her name again? The wife?”

“Lucy.”


Lucy
, that’s right. She’s the blonde who broke your heart just before you skipped town. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together now.”

I held my tongue; waiting to see how much he’d figured out.

“It was Wendy’s story,” he continued. “While you were missing in action, she asked me if I knew of any connection between you and the Pipers. She said you’d tipped her off about the shootings, and there was something fishy about how you’d got the jump on everyone else. When she showed me the family, I vaguely recognized the wife – the knockout blonde. I thought you might’ve shown me a photo of her once, but I couldn’t be sure. Does any of this ring a bell?”

I shrugged, encouraging him to proceed.

“Anyway, a few days later, Wendy said you’d turned out to be red herring. They’d found the wife’s secret lover, but he wasn’t involved in the shootings. It was a simple case of jealousy on the husband’s part. The story died of natural causes.”

He stopped there, waiting for my response. I sucked on my beer, placing the bottle carefully on the polished table. I didn’t want to reveal any more than I had to.

BOOK: Nocturnal
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