Virtue Falls (25 page)

A million e-mails, give or take a hundred thousand, popped up.

Crap. Never mind what he’d thought about being claustrophobic. He didn’t need his penis enlarged, or to be thinner. He didn’t need more hair on his head or anywhere else, and he sure as hell didn’t need to hear from Tom Perez, his supervisor at the FBI, demanding to know where he was. Garik scanned the increasingly urgent subject lines, picked one at random, and opened it.

“Ah.” It was actually kind of sweet.

In between the stern demands that Garik report in, the sharp questions about why he’d missed his last psychiatrist’s appointment, the temper tantrum about him taking advantage of Perez’s sweet disposition, ran a real concern.

Come on, man, I need to hear from you. I went to your house to see where you were. Neighbors wanted to know if you were one of the Ten Most Wanted and I was hunting you, which doesn’t say much for your social skills. They said you were a loner and went tearing out of here four days ago and they haven’t seen you since. You left a pistol on the coffee table, for shit’s sake. You’re not supposed to own a pistol. Check in, damn you. Check in.

Garik wiggled his two index fingers, his typing fingers, and went to work.
You were in my house. Breaking and entering is a crime, too.

Thirty seconds later.
You son-of-a-bitch. Am I glad to hear from you. Where the fuck are you?

Virtue Falls, Washington, home of the biggest, baddest earthquake ever.

I hoped that was it. Your old granny okay?

She’s not my granny, and she’s fine. So’s my ex, thank you for asking.

Hunky wonderful.

Nobody could do sarcasm as well as Tom.

His e-mail continued:
Your phone is going right to voice mail. Scared the shit out of me. Virtue Falls is preferable to you offing yourself, and the way that psychiatrist was talking, I thought you really had turned into your father and done the deed.

Garik winced. Perez never minced words … and he was way too close to the truth.

Now get your ass back here.

Can’t. Roads are impassable.

You got there. You can get back.

Sure. Right after I clear up a few things. Any chance we could move to the secure network for this?

I dunno—can you tell me my wife’s name?

Your ex? Lorena Bobbit. Good thing I saved you that night before she—

Let me see what I can do.

Garik didn’t know how, but a minute later, the software appeared on his monitor.

He clicked on it. It asked for his password. He asked for a hint. His question was,
What’s the name of Tom’s best friend?
He didn’t even have to think.
Dick Mole.

The password said no. Then it disappeared, and a message popped up.

My dick may be my best friend, but do we have to talk about my mole? You wouldn’t even have seen it if you hadn’t come to untie me that time when Lorena tried to cut it off.

Trust me. I have tried to forget. Now … ever hear of the Banner murder case?

You’re in fucking Washington State investigating a thirty-year-old murder case?

Twenty-three years old. My ex and I found Misty Banner’s body today.

Okay.

It’s my ex’s mother.

The answer was a lot slower coming this time.
That is interesting. But Garik, you’re confined to Nevada unless you receive FBI permission to leave.

So give me permission. Because there was something about the body that didn’t get reported. Misty Banner’s hair was cut off.

Wasn’t reported? Are you sure?

The local sheriff who handled the case admitted he didn’t think reporting the hairs he found on site was important.

You’re trying to distract me.

No, I’m trying to see if the guy who got convicted of the murder really was the killer. The sheriff is a loser … C’mon, Tom. It’s Elizabeth’s father.

She’s your ex. I’d be thrilled if I could make my ex miserable.

Ever seen my ex?

The blond in the photo on your desk? Yeah. Never mind.

Charles Banner has Alzheimer’s. Memory is going fast. Give me access to the FBI files.

Give you
access
? I can’t fucking give you
access. Pause.
But I’ll send you everything the FBI has.

You old softie.

Shut up, asshole, and keep the fuck in touch. It’s the only way I’ll keep the boys in DC from using your guts for garters.

Garik grinned and waited.

In five minutes, the file arrived in his e-mail in-box with a pithy
You’re welcome.

Aloud, Garik said, “Thank you, Tom.”

The pages were pretty much as he had told Elizabeth. Typed on a typewriter, filed for years in a manila folder, scanned when the techs got around to it, haphazardly, most times not even square on the page. Even more than Garik remembered, the case was Foster’s one-man show. Garik would bet that Foster made sure no surprises occurred, that Charles Banner was convicted and Foster was a hero.

To figure out anything different would require access to the evidence … or a chance to examine Misty Banner’s body. And the latter, perhaps, could be arranged. After all, Garik had pretty much grown up in this town.

He looked up the name of the coroner.

Heh, heh.
He’d gone to high school with Mike Sun. He’d done favors for Mike, like at prom, after Mike got dumped, Garik had taken him drinking. When Mike went on a crying jag, Garik had held him over a bridge and shaken him until he barfed. Then he had delivered him to Mrs. Sun, who thanked him, led her son into the house, shut the door—and yelled so loud the windows rattled.

Yeah. Garik had connections with Mike Sun.

He started to type up an e-mail request to Mike, realized he had Internet access and probably no one else did, and there was a good chance phone service at the county morgue was still out, too. He’d have to go down there and—

From Elizabeth’s bedroom, he heard a muffled sound, like someone straining to run away.

In a flash, he was on his feet. He pushed open the door and in the light, saw her thrashing at the covers in grip of an agonizing nightmare. He ran to her bedside. Kneeling, he pulled her close.

She was sweating.

He petted her head and murmured, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Elizabeth, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

She woke up with a start and looked into his face in stark terror.

He thought she was going to scream.

Then recognition lit her face, and she burrowed into his chest as if he was her only refuge in a terrifying world.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Elizabeth always woke early, and this time when she did, she was on her back, staring at the ceiling, wrapped in a man’s arms. Garik’s arms.

He was snoring in her ear.

He had a nice, even rhythm, not too loud, very relaxing for a woman who had spent too many silent nights assuring herself the divorce had been the right thing to do.

Cautiously she turned her head and looked.

He always said he was a light sleeper, but she’d never seen evidence of that. Usually she saw him as he was right now, deeply unconscious, uncaring about anything but getting his Zs. His dark lashes pressed against the hollows beneath his eyes … he really was too thin and tired looking. Still attractive, of course … Actually, he was gorgeous with his longer blond hair. But she knew she was prejudiced, especially when she was looking at his lips. He had those vampiric I’m-going-to-suck-on-you lips, and the sucking she imagined had nothing to do with her neck and everything to do with prowling, primitive sex. Also prize and primal and a few other
p
words she couldn’t remember right now.

None of which had happened last night, because he was still fully clothed, and she still wore her panties.

Too bad. Last night, if she’d been asked to vote, she would have been in favor of him taking advantage of her.

She had always liked watching him sleep. When he was awake, he protected himself with smiles, with frowns, with jokes, with dinner invitations and kisses and good sex. But when he was asleep, all barriers went down, and she could pretend he was hers, and that she knew him inside and out. That had been the fantasy, and far too fragile for the light of day.

Sometimes when she had a nightmare, he held her close, as he was doing now. Which was good, because she definitely remembered last night’s nightmares. She also remembered the other door in the suite, the one that led to another bedroom.

Had Margaret put him in there? Had he moved himself in?

It didn’t matter. He was here, and last night, she had needed him.

She looked back up at the ceiling, and sighed. Nightmares were to be expected, she supposed. Finding a decomposing body would always be an unsettling experience. Finding her mother’s body … In a sudden, childish reflex, she whimpered and rubbed her fists at her eyes.

Garik woke immediately, proving he actually
was
a light sleeper. “Hey.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You okay?”

It took her a moment to organize a sensible answer. “I am. In this case, distress is to be expected, and will fade with time.”

“It’ll never fade all the way,” he said with assurance, as if he knew what he was talking about.

“I wish it would.”

“No, you don’t. It’s your mother. You don’t want to forget her as if she had never existed.”

“But I have forgotten her. To me, she’s nothing but a picture in my scrapbook.” No matter how painful, that was irrefutable logic.

“Somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind, she’s there. She made you who you are.” His warm green eyes closed as he kissed her forehead. “So I thank her for that.”

A lovely sentiment. Elizabeth remembered why she had liked him.

“What did you dream?” he asked.

Her pleasant feelings faded. “Stupid dream.”

“They usually are, like the one where my elephant crosses the street, steps on my foot, buys a Coke at the vending fireplace, takes a drink, snorts it through her nose, and turns into Tim Conway.” He looked totally serious.

“You’ve had that dream?”

“Sure.”

“Me, too.”

He grinned at her. “So last night, what did you dream?”

One of the things she hated about Garik was the way he latched onto something and never let go. He would bug her about this dream until she told him, and the trouble was, she didn’t want to tell him. It was dumb, full of symbolism … and it betrayed far too much of her inner turmoil.

She thumped her head onto his chest hard enough to make him wheeze, and when he had caught his breath, she said, “I’m on the street in Virtue Falls, and I see Andrew Marrero and the boys, and they patronize me because I can never be as good as my father. I want to yell at them, but I’m afraid I’ll cry. Besides that, I can’t breathe. Then I realize I’m dressed in a shirt and a heavy, tight sweater and I’m hot. I have to get the sweater off. I wrestle my way out of the arms. I look up. The street is empty. Weirdly empty. The sweater is thick. I’m hotter and hotter. I pull it over my head, but the neck is too tight and I can’t take it off.” Her heartbeat picked up. Even in the light of day, she couldn’t breathe. “I’m stuck inside the sweater, fighting to get out. It’s dark in there. I can’t see the street. I’m vulnerable. I’m hot. I’m hot. I panic … And you woke me up.” She took a long breath. “Dumb, huh?”

He did not laugh. In fact, he looked sober and thoughtful. “Had that dream for long?”

“It’s a new variation of the same old dream. Dark. Hot. No air. And I know someone’s coming for me, but I can’t see him.” She huddled closer.

He wrapped her tighter. “Had it since you were a kid?”

“Yes … but more since I moved to Virtue Falls.” She took a shaky breath. “Yesterday may have triggered it again.”

“Yesterday was a good day to make nightmares.”

“Yes.” She didn’t move away. She didn’t relax. Finally, she sighed, short and sharp. “I need to get up.” She pushed her way out of his arms and onto her feet. “Thank you for sleeping with me.”

“My pleasure.” He watched her, eyes alight with interest, as she tugged at the hem of her shirt.

She started for the bathroom, then stopped and turned back to him. “What’s going to happen to her … body? My mother’s body?”

He sobered. “It’s a murder case. The coroner will perform an autopsy, and Foster had better damned well hope nothing contradicts the evidence presented at the trial. I’ve got files from the FBI and I— Oh, shit!” Garik leaped off the bed and ran into the other room.

She sat up and listened to him shuffling around and muttering. She went to the door.

He stood holding her phone and looking disgusted. “Honey, I’m sorry, I used your phone last night to establish an Internet connection, set it to never allow sleep, and then forgot about it. It’s drained.”

“It’s okay. Plug it in.”

“Will do, but it’s going to be pretty dry.” He looked so dismayed he was comical.

“I can do without a cell phone if I have to, especially since”—she rubbed her sweaty palms on her shirt—“today I’ll spend some time with my father.”

Garik looked quizzical. “Yeah?”

“Before I went to sleep, I was thinking—you and Margaret are right. I have no natural affection for my father. I don’t remember my very early life, or the time before or after the killing, and I in no way connected with Charles Banner. But it is a good idea for me to go see him and discover what he remembers of me and my mother.”

“Agreed.” Garik took off his shirt and tossed it on the floor, and headed into the bathroom ahead of her. “Let me get done in here, and I’ll go with you.”

CHAPTER FORTY

Elizabeth was pleased to note that this morning sunlight had vanquished the isolated, spooky atmosphere of the Honor Mountain Memory Care Facility. The building buzzed with motion, with sound. At one door stood a flatbed truck where two burly men wrestled an ancient steamer trunk up a ramp.