The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2) (8 page)

“Look, I know you’re upset but—” Liam began.

“Upset? Do you really think that word describes what I’m feeling right now?” His voice rose until it rebounded off the high ceilings. “I saw a video today of my wife gagged and tied to a chair. She was bleeding and calling out for help, and there’s not a fucking thing I could do about it!” He shook with rage. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. “That any of you can do about it.”

“Mr. Farrow—” Perring said.

Liam held up a hand. “Could you give us a few minutes?” Perring opened her mouth to say something but then closed it and merely nodded. Sanders ambled into the kitchen while Perring retreated to the dining room. Owen drank half of the glass before staring after the detectives.

“They’re going to get her killed,” Owen said, his voice a cracked husk, all of the anger drained from it.

“Valerie’s not going to die,” Liam said. “We’re all doing our best here. Everyone’s working hard and I can’t imagine how tough this must be for you, but it was the right decision going into that building tonight.”

“What if she had been there and the guy heard the door break down? What if—”

“You can’t worry about that. She wasn’t there. No one was.”

“But he’s got her right now,” Owen whispered, eyes gleaming. “He’s got her tied up somewhere and . . .” His words trailed off. Liam guided him to the couch before returning to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. He took a long swallow of the whisky. It was oaky with tinges of honey and smoke. He sat down opposite Owen and watched the other man eye his glass.

“Thought you said we needed to stay sharp.”

“You deserve your drink and so do I,” Liam said. This brought a tired smile to Owen’s lips.

“Wish we could get wrecked like back in school and wake up to this all being a nightmare.”

“It would be nice if things worked that way.”

“But they don’t.”

“No, they don’t.”

They sat for a time, sipping their drinks. The wind was an animal that pried at the windows, seeking a way inside. On the black cape of the lake, a set of lights bobbed as a boat cruised past. Somewhere a foghorn blatted in the distance, mournful and dying out as fast as it came.

“I always thought I could make a difference,” Owen said quietly. “That’s really why I joined the academy. I know everyone thought it was to piss off my parents, that’s even what they thought, but it wasn’t. I wanted to help stop terrible things from happening. But the truth is, I couldn’t hack the idea that someday I’d have to face situations that I couldn’t handle. Not like you.”

“You’re still making a difference. You’re part of the system. Justice doesn’t end with cops.”

“I know. That’s what I thought. It’s what I told myself when I decided to run for mayor.” Owen laughed without humor. “But I was wrong. I was wrong to leave her here by herself so much. I should’ve done more. But sometimes I got angry with her. Angry for her being the way she was. I wanted her to just snap out of it. Isn’t that terrible?”

“Raging at something you can’t control is pretty normal. When I was younger I’d have bouts of anger at my mom for dying, and leaving me and my dad alone, even though she died giving birth to me. It’s natural.”

Owen nodded to himself. “You’re wrong though about the system. Being a lawyer or the mayor isn’t going to get Val back. Hell, I could be the president and it wouldn’t matter. It’s people like you that make the difference.”

Liam tried to respond but couldn’t find anything to say. Instead he finished the last of his drink, relishing the sting of its passage down his throat.

“Why?” Owen finally said, breaking the quiet.

“Why was she taken?”

“Yeah. I know he asked for money, but really, why? Why my Valerie? Why her, why now?”

“Because he thinks he can get away with it. But he won’t.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?”

“Someone who stepped over the edge.” Liam sipped his drink. “Most people stand right on the line, barely hold themselves back. And the crazy thing is they don’t even know it. They’re one paycheck, one bill, one little nudge from dropping off the map. You can see it in their faces when you pass them in the streets. There’s a delicate balancing act going on every day behind their eyes, and sometimes with even the slightest push, everything falls down.”

Liam fell silent, staring into the darkness past the window. When he glanced at Owen the other man held the expression he had noticed before, a candle flame within him flickering in a high wind.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked.

Owen seemed to surface from a depth, eyes swimming until they focused on him. “No. But I’m drunk and that helps.”

“Did you get any rest today?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s get you to bed,” Liam said, standing.

“I don’t know if I can sleep.”

“You should try. There’s still a lot that needs to be done tomorrow.” He hoisted Owen up and put an arm around his shoulders to steady him. Owen swayed and put a hand on the wall to keep his balance as they went up the stairs. By the time Liam got him in a sitting position on the bed, Owen was crying again, silent tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Liam helped him with his shoes and covered him with a thin blanket, tucking him in like the world’s oldest child.

“I just want her back,” Owen whispered. “We’re going to get her back, right?”

“Yes we are.”

“I keep seeing her face all bloody and . . .” His voice hitched in his chest and he wasn’t able to continue.

“Close your eyes and take some deep breaths. You have good people working on this and they’ll be here all night.”

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” Owen resembled a child more than ever with the blanket below his chin.

“No. I’m going to stay. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Owen nodded and shut his eyes, a long sigh trailing from him. Liam waited several minutes and when he thought that Owen was finally asleep he moved to the door but the other man’s voice stopped him.

“Thank you for coming, Liam. Not many people would have.”

“You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

Owen swallowed loudly, then rolled toward the opposite wall. Liam left the door partially open and made his way downstairs to the living room where Perring and Sanders waited.

“He sleeping?” Perring asked.

“I think he will be soon.” Sanders drew out a pack of cigarettes and opened it, cursing at its empty interior. “Here,” Liam said, holding out the nearly untouched pack he’d used before entering the abandoned building. “You can have these.”

“Thanks,” Sanders said, drawing a cigarette out and placing it between his lips.

“You really should quit those things,” Perring said.

“And start chewing gum like a psychopath? No thanks.” Sanders jerked a thumb at Perring. “She smokes like a chimney from the time I meet her and then climbs up on a high horse a year ago and now she’s shouting at me from it.”

“Go chip at your lungs, old man,” Perring said, half smiling. Sanders rolled his eyes and headed for the French doors.

“You two complement one another,” Liam said.

“We get by. Been partners for a long time.” Perring rubbed her forehead and drew out the worn pack of gum.

“Long day for you.”

“Long day for everyone,” she said. “I was so sure we were going to get this guy tonight. I could feel it.”

“Me too.”

“I can’t get over the fact that it looked like he wanted us to know where he’d taken her. It . . .” Perring gestured with one hand “. . . pisses me off.”

“Maybe forensics will find something. Or a witness might come forward. Maybe the guy got sloppy moving her and someone saw something strange but didn’t think to report it.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Liam licked his lips, then shook his head. “No.”

Sanders stepped in from outside and motioned toward the command post and Perring nodded.

“Get some sleep, Liam. If you’re going to keep helping us, we’ll need you sharp.” She moved toward the dining room but paused before stepping inside. “Good work tonight. Glad you were here.” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before disappearing into the room. After a moment he made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, looking down into the dark hole of the sink drain. In the living room he found a blanket beside the couch and draped it over himself before drawing out his phone. A text message waited on the screen from Dani. She’d sent it almost an hour before.

Going to bed soon. Hope you’re okay. I love you.

He began to reply, then deleted the text. He didn’t want to wake her. Instead he imagined her sleeping in their bed in the old farmhouse, warm and safe and so opposite from the situation Valerie was in tonight, he nearly shivered. If he and Owen’s roles were reversed, he didn’t know what he would do.
You’re kidding yourself,
he thought.
You know exactly what you’d do. You’d be hunting whoever took her, with or without the law behind you. And what would you do when you found the person that had her? What if she wasn’t all right? What if she were already gone? You don’t even need to ponder it. Not for one second. You know.

He silenced the internal voice and sent up a thanks to the universe that his family was where they should be before setting the phone on the table beside him. He didn’t need to worry about what-ifs. Too many times people wasted their lives stressing about things that would never happen.

Through the window the clouds were corroded piles of ash that gradually parted to reveal a half-moon suspended in the ocean of darkness. As sleep slowly stole over him, he tried to draw comfort from the moon’s light, but no matter how long he looked at it the only thing he felt was a cold apathy within its gaze.

CHAPTER 8

Dade Erickson pulled into his two-stall garage and shut the car off, the clacking rumble of the garage door closing behind him the loudest sound he’d heard all day.

The offices where he practiced law were like different partitions of the same cemetery since several of his staff had taken the day off for various functions. His secretary, Gwen, was on an administration retreat in Florida, and Nancy—one of his two partners in the firm he started—was on vacation with her family in Hawaii. Her imbecilic husband had scrimped and saved up enough to surprise her and their two snot-nosed kids with the getaway, working double shifts at the shipyard to pay for it. If he only knew what Dade and Nancy did in Dade’s private bathroom when the rest of the employees of Erickson, Bender, & Scott went out to lunch, he wouldn’t have been so keen to have his wife come along on the trip.
Not so keen at all,
Dade thought, remembering their last rendezvous and how Nancy had moaned what a superior lover he was compared to her husband while he sweated above her.

Chuckling a little, Dade got out of the low shape of his Mercedes E250 and admired the car beneath the lights.

“You’re fucking sexy,” he said, running a hand along the fender before going to its front to admire the grille. He’d only had the vehicle a week and he still got a semi-erection when climbing into the leather interior in the mornings before work. Maybe next week when Nancy was back they would leave early from work and he’d screw her in its rear seat. She’d like that, he was almost sure of it.

Making a mental note to suggest it to her after her return, Dade climbed the single step into his house and shut the door. The cleaning lady had been there that day. He could smell the flowery potpourri she always set out in little netted bags throughout the house. She made the shit herself and insisted on leaving it, even though he’d told her more than once he wasn’t paying for it. In the kitchen he opened the fridge and drew out the acai-carrot juice blend he made every morning. Half for breakfast, the rest for after work. He would’ve rather taken a pull from the Glenlivet that rested on the top shelf of the pantry, but the juice concoction kept him lean and alert.

“Feral! Where are you?” he called into the darkness of the living room and poured a glass full of the purplish beverage. He waited, listening for the jingle of the cat’s collar and soon he heard it. The big tom came sauntering into the light, his movements displaying every ounce of the predator he was. He was a muddy brown with short fur and deep orange eyes that held the impression of laziness until there was prey in sight. He had earned his name as a kitten after chasing and killing a large mouse in the attached garage. People said that kittens wouldn’t kill anything they catch, that they were merely learning or playing when they hooked their growing claws into a bird or mouse. But in Feral’s case they were wrong. Dade had been shocked at the sight of the kitten eviscerating the tiny mammal on the bare concrete, its blood smudging the clean floor as the cat ate. Ever since, he’d had a solemn respect for the animal. You never could tell what violence resided within another creature.

“Kill and eat anything today, you evil fucker?” Dade asked before pouring a small handful of dry cat food into a plastic bowl beside the refrigerator. He’d been limiting the cat’s food over the past week. Bastard was getting fat. Feral gave him a withering look, then hunched over his bowl, teeth cracking the nuggets loudly. “You’re getting soft,” he said, downing the rest of his drink. He almost poured another glass but didn’t, although he was feeling lethargic from the lack of sex that day. He and Nancy normally partook of one another almost every day of the week. Without the release he was feeling slow and stupid, like his movements were tethered to a weight he couldn’t see. His thoughts gradually slipped to the plastic baggie wedged in the back of the nightstand drawer between a copy of King James’s bible and his Glock 21. Marshall had dropped the stuff off last week when his recent supply had run out. He didn’t use too much cocaine but it was something he enjoyed on occasion, like some men appreciated an afternoon of fishing or sailing. Maybe he would do a line later and call Nancy. She could chock the call up to business. Maybe he’d talk dirty to her with her husband standing right next to her. She’d get excited about that.

Smiling, Dade set his glass down on the counter and went upstairs. He moved through his master bedroom, discarding his suit like flaking skin, dropping the expensive shirt and slacks on the floor for his cleaning lady to pick up tomorrow. He turned the water on in the shower and doused his hair with shampoo, singing the lyrics to a song he’d heard that afternoon, loudly and off-key.

Midway through washing his hair, shampoo running frothy rivers over his eyes, Dade heard a sound.

He stopped singing, the last echoes of his voice dying out against the wet tile. He turned his head toward his bedroom, eyes scrunched shut, blind to everything beyond his closed eyelids.

There it was again. It sounded like the bathroom door bumping against the wall.

Dade pawed at his eyes, letting the scalding water run fully on his face.

There was someone else in the bathroom. He could feel their gaze on him. They were standing inches from the mottled glass door beside him, watching, waiting for the right moment to rip it open and grab him.

He managed to clear the shampoo from his face and blinked through the watery haze, panic a living thing in his chest.

The bathroom was empty.

His breath cascaded from him and suddenly the shower was too hot. His legs trembled and the thumping of his heart overrode any sounds beyond the shower’s patter.

“Hello?” he said. “Feral?” When the tom’s usual low meow didn’t come, he shut off the water, not caring that shampoo still coated his back and legs. He stepped from the shower and pulled an oversized towel from the rack near the sink. The bathroom door looked like it was in the same position as when he’d gone in, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. He stepped around the corner, surveying the well-lit bedroom. His clothes still lay where he’d dropped them. His bed was made. The door to the hallway was open.

Dade shook his head. Water dripped down from his soaking scalp, icy fingernails running the length of his spine.

“Stupid cat,” he muttered, beginning to dry off his head.

A squeal and a click came from downstairs followed by a soft thump.

Goose bumps spread across Dade’s skin in a rolling wave. His eyes widened, his vision taking on a watery quality as he stared at the doorway, waiting for another noise or a figure to darken the opening. He realized he was holding his breath again and let it flood out. There was someone in the house. Someone was downstairs right now probably listening just like he was. Who the hell could it be? A burglar? One of his friends? Even as the word “friend” crossed his mind, he knew whoever it was down there had something to do with Marshall. The bastard couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d told someone about the coke and now they were here, wanting the little baggie in the drawer. His eyes went to the bedside table automatically.

The gun.

What the hell was he doing? He had a gun and this was his house. He had every right in the world to defend it.

Dade crossed the plush carpet and eased the drawer open revealing the flat black of the Glock beside the bible. He pulled the weapon out, its heft alone giving him another level of confidence. Whichever of Marshall’s cracked-out friends was downstairs right now, they were going to have a few extra holes in them that they hadn’t been born with. If it was Marshall down there, he’d be extremely tempted to aerate the bastard too.

Dade wrapped the towel around his waist and eased out of his bedroom, the Glock extended before him. The stairs were dark but the single kitchen light was on, throwing some illumination at their base. It would be easy for him to shoot anyone that stepped into his line of sight now so he moved quickly down the treads pausing at the bottom so he could glance in both directions before stepping into the open.

Somewhere in the house, Feral meowed.

Dade swung out of the hallway and into the dining room, circumventing the kitchen completely. Shadows lay in heavy blankets across the table and chairs as well as the tall china cabinet in the corner of the room. Pale moonlight streamed in through a gap in the thick curtains that covered the picture window. He saw no strange forms against any of the walls or crouching beneath the furniture. Moving quickly, he crossed the space and entered the front entryway. The massive oak door was shut solid, the dead bolt turned to the locked position. Only the outline of his leather jacket hanging from its hook near the closet gave him pause before he continued on. Glancing into the kitchen he saw that its space was empty. He placed his hand on the cold knob of the garage door before yanking the door open. His fingers flapped in the darkness for a beat, searching for the light switch. In the depths of his heart he knew that before he was able to flip the light on, a hand would reach out of the darkness and grasp his wrist in an unbreakable grip.

His fingers brushed the switch and light flared above the Mercedes.

The garage was empty save for the car and some cardboard boxes he’d been meaning to throw away. With a lunge he stepped down onto the freezing concrete floor, lowering himself so he could look under the car’s chassis. Nothing there.

Dade stood up and sighed hearing Feral meow again inside. It had been the cat all along. The animal had made some sort of noise that was out of the norm and he’d freaked out. He leaned against the doorway, letting the cool October air leech some of the fear away. His muscles were weak with the spike of adrenaline and when he returned inside the house his stomach slopped sickeningly. A wave of dizziness crested in his skull and he nearly stumbled before steadying himself against the wall. What the hell was wrong with him? Was he coming down with something or was it the aftereffects of panicking? Nausea continued to slither in his stomach while he locked the garage door behind him and stepped into the kitchen.

White-hot pain lanced through his foot making him stagger to one side.

His eyes registered the shards of glass on the hardwood before the dizziness returned full-force and dropped him to the floor. He sprawled awkwardly, the Glock bouncing and cartwheeling away. Pain shot up his elbow as he tried to brace himself for the impact but his movements were sluggish and his arm folded, the side of his head banging off the floor. A sound like a struck gong filled his ears and all his air left him in a whoosh. He folded in on himself in the fetal position but through all the pain in his arm and head, the agony of his foot held his full attention. He managed to bring his eyes down and let out a feeble cry.

A long sliver of glass protruded from the soft skin of his sole. Blood drizzled from the end of it creating a strangely beautiful contrast to the otherwise flawless crystal.

Dade made a strangled sound and slowly sat up, holding his foot off of the ground. He blinked, taking in the shattered remnants of his juice glass on the floor, spread out in front of the doorway in a semi-circle.

The fucking cat.

The thought pulsed in his dazed mind. He was going to kill it. As soon as he was able to walk, he would corner the bastard and shoot it with the pistol, he didn’t care if one of his neighbors called the cops. Somehow Feral had gotten onto the breakfast bar and knocked the glass over. That was the noise he’d heard in the shower, he was sure of it.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” he shouted, bringing his foot closer for inspection. Another bout of vertigo swooped over him and he nearly fell backward beneath its weight. What the hell was going on? He was in pain but not so much he should be passing out. He gritted his teeth and grasped the edge of glass before drawing it free in a sickening motion. The shard slid out of his flesh and he saw that nearly an inch of it had been in his foot. He dropped the piece and was about to yell another threat when he spotted something across the room.

The door to the little travel cage he kept beside the fridge, for when he took Feral somewhere, was closed. Feral’s blunted face looked out from behind the crosshatched wire. He meowed again.

Confusion buffeted Dade in a way he had never encountered before. He felt his head tilt to one side even as heavy hiking boots came into view from the next room, smashing the remaining pieces of glass into dust. Dade’s vision took on a kaleidoscopic quality as he raised his head, looking up the length of the figure that stood before him.

“What?” he managed thickly, before the room’s corners seemed to open to the night sky as darkness rushed in and wrapped him in its embrace.