Omens (22 page)

I cleared my throat. “Maybe there’s another reason he”—I stopped myself before referring to Niles in the past tense —“
is
unstable. The family closed ranks after Christian killed himself. Presumably because they thought he’d been innocent. What if Niles knew he wasn’t?”

“And was driven mad by guilt?”

“Maybe. I know what it’s like to have a serial killer in your gene pool. But at least I can say I’m not responsible for what the Larsens did. If it’s your child who is the killer? Not only could it be in your genes, but you might have done something to make him commit murder.”

Gabriel murmured something that could be agreement.

I reclined my seat and closed my eyes, and he turned up the stereo—Haydn this time—and accelerated onto the highway.

Anna Gunderson lived in an older suburb of North Chicago, a once-separate town, swallowed by urban sprawl. According to Gabriel, she’d moved there with her daughter after a recent divorce. She had a small bungalow with frilly curtains in every window. On the door hung a handcrafted welcome sign adorned with red flowers. There were more flowers in every garden. Lawn cutting service truck out front, young guy unloading a mower. He stared at the Jag as Gabriel pulled in.

“Sweet ride,” he said as we got out. “What’s she got under the hood?”

“I have no idea,” Gabriel replied, his tone freezing out further comment.

“Bullshit,” I whispered as I rounded the car. “You drive like that, you know what’s under the hood.”

“No, I do not. When I hit the accelerator, it speeds up. When I turn the wheel, it corners. When I hit the brakes, it stops. If it does all that to my satisfaction, then the particulars are unimportant.”

“It’ll be a five-liter V8. At least four hundred horses. Maybe five. Which, as the boy said, is very sweet. Yes, I know cars. It was my dad’s hobby.”

“And you left yours behind when you made your vow of poverty?” he said.

“I didn’t have my own. With my dad’s garage to choose from, that would be like Hugh Hefner sticking to one girlfriend. I also like being chauffeured. Which, may I say, you do very nicely.”

He shook his head and ushered me to the door.

I
’d seen photos of Jan Gunderson. She had looked as if she’d time-warped from the seventies, with long blond hair, a fresh complexion, and a penchant for peasant blouses and long skirts. Had she lived, I suspected she’d now look a lot like her sister, Anna. Blond hair cut to her shoulders, pin-straight. Dark eyes behind retro glasses. Loose khaki pants and an even looser blouse.

I think Anna’s house was meant to be welcoming and cozy, but for me, it was anything but. The busy geometric wallpaper seemed at odds with the landscape art. The intermingled scents of candles and air fresheners made my temples throb as my brain tried to sort out the scents. Too many noises as well—the
tick-tock
of an antique grandfather clock, the tinkle of wind chimes through an open window, an NPR host chattering in the kitchen.

I actually appreciated the mental distraction, though. It kept me from feeling guilty. Anna was clearly not in mourning, which meant her father’s body hadn’t been discovered. When she found out, I bet she’d spend the rest of her life thinking of him there dead, alone and forgotten.

Anna took Gabriel’s jacket, asked how the drive had been, offered him tea or coffee or a cold drink—and completely ignored me.

“Coffee please,” he said.

As she ushered him into the living room, she was so busy staring at him that she practically tripped over an ottoman.

“It’s black, isn’t it?” she said, as if she hadn’t stumbled, but merely stopped to ask. “No cream, no sugar.”

Which would, I think, be the definition of black coffee, but Gabriel only smiled—yes, smiled, and somehow managed
not
to look like he was about to devour anyone—and said, “Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. I have cookies, too. Lemon.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you very much.”

His voice had changed. Less growl. More purr. Anna went bright red and almost tripped over the ottoman again as she scampered off to fetch his coffee.

Once she was gone, he turned to me and murmured, “No coffee for you.”

“Apparently. No cookies, either.”

I didn’t get a smile, but his lips did twitch. As he checked his phone, I tried to see what had Anna Gunderson tripping over herself. He was good looking enough. Not to my tastes. He had a hard face. Harsh even, asymmetrical and rough. Some women go for big, overtly masculine guys. I don’t. And those eyes … I’d get used to them, but it would take a while, and from what Gabriel said, he’d only met Anna once. Why didn’t they bother her?

When she came in with his coffee and cookies, he asked about her daughter as if he was genuinely interested. As he talked, I thought, “Maybe I’m wrong about the guy.” Put him with someone like Anna Gunderson, a nice woman who has suffered a great tragedy, and his empathetic side came out.

And then I realized he was faking it.

He knew Anna had the hots for him, and he knew how to act so she’d relax and open up. Warm and friendly and attentive, even a little flirtatious.

There was only one thing missing from the performance. He couldn’t make physical contact.

It was a natural extension of the act. Give her your full attention, and when the chance arises, make contact. Brush her hand when she gives you the cookie plate. Touch her arm when she admits that her father has not been well.

He knew all the right moves. Except he couldn’t quite pull them off. There was a hesitation. An awkwardness. A faint setting of the jaw, as if forcing himself to breach that barrier of personal space. Anna didn’t notice. She just seemed grateful for the attention.

I noticed, and I was fascinated. I took notes. Actual notes, since I now understood why I had to be invisible. Scribbling on a legal pad cemented my position as the dull, studious intern. I watched Gabriel take this woman—the victim of a tragedy she’d rather forget—and within fifteen minutes have her ready, eager even, to revisit it with him. I was impressed. This was an extension of my acting skills that was well worth learning.

Once the small talk was done and the ice broken, he eased into the interview. “As I said over the phone, I’ve heard rumors that Pamela Larsen is mounting a new appeal based on some recently discovered evidence. Now, I have contacted the prison and they know nothing about her hiring a new lawyer, so this may be mere gossip, but as the rumored evidence and direction of the appeal involves your brother, I thought you should know.”

“I appreciate that.” She met his gaze. “I really do, Mr. Walsh.”

“Gabriel, please.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression so sincere it mesmerized me.

He went on. “As I’m sure you deduced from my visit at the time, I had also considered using Christian in my strategy. I apologize for that. As a defense lawyer, I must look to my client’s interests first. Even when the client has done something as reprehensible as murder, she is entitled to a complete defense. The fact that Pamela Larsen is still in prison only confirms that the system works. I do my part in ensuring it
continues
to work by taking on such cases.”

“I understand.”

“When I realized your brother seemed a very unlikely suspect, I focused my attention elsewhere. Now, I don’t know what this alleged new evidence may be, but I stand by my original conviction that Christian could not have been responsible for the murder of your sister and even to suggest that—” His lips tightened. “Your family has been through enough.”

Anna’s eyes welled, and she couldn’t respond.

Gabriel continued, “If there are any problems, I will offer you my services to deal with the defense team. Your father doesn’t need the aggravation, given his health problems. Of course we’re hoping it
doesn’t
come to that, but if it does, I want to be prepared. The best defense is a quick defense. Today I’m gathering information, at no cost to you. If Pamela does hire a lawyer who contacts you or your father, give them my name. With any luck, they’ll see we are prepared to defend Christian’s reputation and will rethink their strategy.”

He straightened, just a little, still leaning toward her. It was more of a flex really, his shoulders bunching, his jaw set, resolute. A physical reminder of his size. The big, strong man prepared to leap into battle to defend her family’s honor. I glanced around for the nearest bowl of potpourri, in case she swooned.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Hot damn, he was good. I had wondered how he was going to pull this off. He might make Anna Gunderson’s heart—and other body parts—flutter, but he was still the guy who’d tried to get her sister’s killer acquitted. Pretending he needed the truth to
defend
Christian’s memory, though? While framing the new appeal as a rumor that could never be proven either way? Genius really.

“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” Anna said. “I’ll try. I know it’s important and I’m the only one who
can
help. Dad isn’t in any shape for this.”

“I’m not going to bring him in. In fact, it would be best if we kept this from him until there’s a reason to broach the subject.”

She nodded. “I’m not going to tell anyone right now.”

Gabriel agreed that was wise.

Anna continued, “The problem is that Jan and Christian were so much older than me. Jan was—” She paused, eyes filling with tears.

He leaned forward, voice lowered. “Take a moment.”

A wan smile. “Thanks. I was just thinking that Jan was only five years older and how little that would mean now. But when we were young, it was a huge gap. We got along, Jan and I, but I was always the little sister. I didn’t know her as well as I would have liked.”

She got along well with
Jan
. No mention of her brother.

“They were close,” she continued. “Jan and Christian. Only fifteen months apart. Inseparable.”

Gabriel flicked through his notes. I doubted he was actually reading them, just looking as if he had to refer back. He pulled one page to the front.

“According to this, they weren’t that close when she died. Friends said they spent very little time together.”

“Oh, that’s just Jan’s friends. Mom said they liked talking to the police officers, because some of them were young and cute. They exaggerated things to get attention. Jan and Chris were close.”

Gabriel shuffled the papers, his gaze down. He looked troubled. After a moment, he gripped the file and looked up, jaw set, as if determined to speak, however much he’d rather not.

“Anna…”

A nervous flutter of her hands as she quailed under that intense stare. “Yes?”

“Do you want me to defend your brother’s memory?”

“Y-yes. I really appreciate—”

“Then you need to be honest with me. It says here that multiple acquaintances reported that Jan and Christian were
not
close at the time of her death. Even your mother said they’d…” He consulted the file for effect. “Grown apart.”

“Yes. Right. I’d … forgotten that. They were so close when they were young. I remember how much I envied that. As they got older, they drifted apart a bit. That’s natural.”

“Did it seem mutual?”

Anna shifted. Sipped her coffee. Even nibbled on a cookie before blurting, “You’re right. I should be honest, and this is just the kind of thing a lawyer could use against Christian, so we need to be prepared. It was Jan who drifted. She was the popular one. Christian was … not popular. Her friends decided he wasn’t cool enough for them. Jan was young. She made mistakes.”

Jan had been a year younger than me when she died. From Anna’s perspective, that now seemed very young, but from mine, it was past the age where you could blame peer pressure for making you avoid your geeky brother.

“And how did Christian feel about the estrangement?” Gabriel asked.

“It hurt him. A lot. For years he tried to get their old relationship back. I always thought that’s why he killed himself. Because he’d lost her for good.”

Gabriel nodded and gave her time to relax before he said, “You know I need to ask about the fight.”

Anna didn’t flinch. Instead, she let out an audible sigh of relief and relaxed back into her seat. “I never understood why Mom and Dad made such a fuss about that. By refusing to tell the police what happened, they made it sound important, and it wasn’t.”

Gabriel waited, his gaze on her until she continued.

“It was about Pete.”

“Peter Evans? Jan’s fiancé?”

“I don’t know if this was in the file,” she said. “The police probably didn’t consider it important. Jan had been engaged to another man before Pete.”

Tim Marlotte. He did have a page in the file, because an estranged fiancé made a good suspect when the victims were his ex and her new boyfriend. Marlotte hadn’t been a serious suspect. Too much time had passed between the breakup and the murders. The cops investigated, though, and found Marlotte had a rock-solid alibi—he’d been at a family dinner, where a dozen people could vouch for him, including his new girlfriend.

“Tim was Christian’s best friend,” Anna said. “The three of them had hung out together since they were kids, and Tim and Jan dated all through college. Then she met Pete. That was tough enough for the family—everyone liked Tim—but combined with the other issue, it made for some serious family drama.”

“Other issue?”

“The age difference.”

“He was younger than Jan,” Gabriel said.

Anna nodded. “Three years. Pete was barely nineteen when they started going out. My parents were embarrassed. His parents weren’t happy. Tim was confused. Christian was upset. No one was pleased.”

“Except Jan and Pete, I presume.”

She wrapped her hands around her mug. “Yes. They were very happy. I look back now and I feel bad for everything we put them through when they were obviously in love. Even I wasn’t nice about it. I think I was jealous. Pete was only two years older than me and he was such a great guy. Tim was nice and sweet, and I’d known him forever, but he and Jan … there weren’t sparks, you know? Maybe it was because they knew each other so long. It was like a comfortable marriage before they even got engaged. They genuinely liked each other but
like
isn’t enough for a relationship. Jan realized that when she met Pete. She loved him and he loved her back, and I wish we’d all seen that and left them alone.”