Ghosts of Riverview (The Braddock & Gray Case Files Book 13), page 6
Dez cut in before Sully veered too far down the wrong path. “No, Sull. Steve didn’t shoot Marlo. He shot the guy who killed Marlo.”
The ghosts were temporarily forgotten—or at least put on the back burner—as Dez continued. “Steve was working patrol when he took a call reporting shots fired in an alley not far from the police station. Steve was first on scene. When he rolled up, he found Marlo on the ground, unconscious and bleeding out with a chest wound. A guy was standing over him, gun in hand. Steve followed procedure by drawing his sidearm and ordering the guy to drop the weapon. Instead, the guy brought it up and levelled it at Steve. Steve shot him. The gunman was taken to hospital, but he died of his wounds.
“The usual use of force review was done, and it cleared Steve of any wrongdoing. He reported he believed the gunman was about to shoot him. Steve fired first.”
Sully scratched at his beard. “I didn’t see a second ghost connected with Steve. If this gunman is somehow attached to him, the fact I don’t see him would back up the review’s findings.” He shrugged. “Of course, that’s assuming the guy’s ghost stuck around. Not all homicide victims stay in this world or come to me for help.”
Dez pressed his lips together. “What I don’t get is why Marlo would be hanging around him.”
Sully shrugged. “Could be as simple a thing as his needing help and seeing Steve as someone who might be able to provide it. I mean, he’s the one who shot the man who killed him, so maybe he sees Steve as a protector. I don’t know though. Without communicating directly with Marlo, I can only guess.”
“Another ghost for another time,” Dez said. “We’ve got our hands full enough as it is. How do you want to handle the ones you’re seeing here in cells?”
Sully considered Dez. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Ask away.”
“You told Steve this is where I met Dad. I don’t know why, but I always pictured having met him in the current station.”
Dez shook his head. “Nope. It was here. This station was still open when I was in my late teens—and I was only ten when you joined our family.”
“I don’t remember this place at all.”
“You were seven years old, and you’d just been through something really traumatic. Stands to reason your memory of certain details would be gone. And we didn’t come here to see Dad much, if at all, when we were kids. Mom didn’t like us being exposed to the stuff around here—and she definitely didn’t want you more exposed to it than you already were because of your psychic thing and all. Both Mom and Dad hated how ghosts sometimes glommed onto Dad and found you when he came home after shift. They didn’t want to risk you further by putting you right into the thick of it.”
Sully’s soft smile told Dez he understood and appreciated it. “Think the room where I met him is still here?”
Dez cocked his head, thinking. “Not sure which one, but it was probably an interview room, right? They’d probably be somewhere on this floor. Easier to access for anyone escorting prisoners, plus keeps the rest of the building secure in case a suspect managed to make a break for it. You want to try to find it?”
Sully held Dez’s eye a long moment, thoughts playing out across his features. Finally, he shook his head. “Not now. I’ve got a job to do. And if Steve decides to come back and boot us out, I might not have a lot of time to do it.”
CHAPTER 7
Sully wished he had access to photos of the other men found dead from suspected overdose inside the police station. He wanted to verify them against the ghosts he’d seen. Even better if he could learn their names.
With the potential for an irate Steve to return, Sully was anxious to figure out what had led to Kipp’s death. Due to Sully’s gift being limited to sight, he couldn’t ask Kipp or the others to talk to him. Over time, he’d found the only reliable way to get the answers he needed from ghosts was by having them pass along their thoughts to him. Energy contact did it, although it often did a lot more than that. Spirit contact meant visions, and visions in cases involving homicide victims often meant witnessing or even experiencing someone else’s death.
As Sully’s gaze travelled through the cells area in search of Kipp, Dez leaned in close.
“No chance of all seven of these guys rushing you at once, is there?” Dez asked.
Sully hadn’t considered the possibility. While he’d contended with multiple ghosts in the past, they typically tended to come to him one at a time. He wasn’t sure how his mind would cope with more than one vision at a time.
“If they tried it, my brain would probably melt,” Sully replied.
“What, seriously?” Dez’s voice trailed off into a squeak, his horrified stare matching the tone.
Sully chuckled. “Relax. I wasn’t serious. But now you mention it, I’d rather not have to find out what would happen.”
He had the sense of spirit energy nearby, of the ghosts listening to the conversation. Listening, yes, but how well they’d truly hear he had no way of knowing. The other problem with earthbound ghosts was their tendency to hold onto the condition they were in at the time of death. In this case, it meant Sully was probably dealing with a group of ghosts high on drugs. What he’d seen of them so far suggested they were zoned out.
“I’m not sure how well any of these guys will do in terms of providing a narrative,” Sully told Dez. “In most, if not all, cases, they were doped up when they died.”
Dez frowned. “Right.” He scratched at his stubble. “Doesn’t sound hopeful to me when you put it like that. Whenever police deal with a witness who’s drunk or high, they hold off on interviewing them until they more or less come down. Not only would their statements be tossed out of court otherwise, but frankly, much of what they’d say in that state would be useless anyway. No idea how you’ll make out.”
“No idea,” Sully agreed. “Only way to know is to try.”
Dez shifted onto his other foot. “Sure it’s a good idea? I mean, if their brains are scrambled, what’ll it do to yours?”
“Nothing, provided you pull me out if it seems to be going downhill.”
Dez’s lips pressing together told Sully he wasn’t convinced. Fair enough. Sully wasn’t convinced either.
Even so …
Sully took a long moment, centring himself, letting his muscles relax and his breaths deepen. He stepped nearer the cell in which he’d seen Kipp, visually picking through the shadows, searching out movement, faces, bodies.
At first, nothing showed. Then a dull, twitching light on the floor drew Sully’s eye.
The glow grew, took shape until it became a human form. The details of the face gradually sharpened until Sully knew he was staring down at Kipp Leippi. The spirit twitched and spasmed a few times before falling still, eyes wide and unseeing.
Despite the appearance of death, Sully suspected Kipp remained alert on at least some level. Ghosts didn’t always seem to be aware of others—not even each other—but he and Sully had previously made eye contact. Whether a reason existed for this death rewind, Sully didn’t know. Maybe he’d simply wished someone had been with him to comfort and help him when the moment had come.
“Kipp?” Sully said. “I didn’t get a chance to formally introduce myself earlier. My name is Sullivan Gray. I help people like you, people who’ve died but need something before they can cross over. Maybe it’s justice. Maybe you just need to communicate with someone. Either way, it’s what I do.”
He motioned with a hand toward Dez. “This is my brother, Dez. He and I are private investigators. He helps me with these investigations, and he helps keep me safe. I should also let you know your brother and sister-in-law, Alain and Amanda, are the ones who brought us on board. They want to know everything possible is being done to find out what happened to you. I want the same thing.”
He watched for a reaction, hoping the mention of Kipp’s family members would help. So far, nothing. Kipp hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, facing the wall, away from Sully and Dez.
Sully tried again, this time squatting next to the figure on the floor. “If there’s anything you want to share with me, anything you want to show me, you can touch my hand. Whatever you’re thinking of, I should be able to see it.”
Sully didn’t expect it, the speed with which Kipp’s head snapped toward him. Sully jumped, landing on his butt on the floor. He didn’t have time to move farther when Kipp’s icy fingers found his.
A flash of images, random and disconnected.
A trio of men gathered in a circle in this old cell, preparing syringes for use.
The face of a bald man with soulless blue eyes as he exchanged a small plastic bag for a handful of bills.
A hole in the wall, brickwork marking it as one of the old cells.
The bloody middle of the ghost Sully had seen.
Alain and Amanda bearing twin worried expressions as they pleaded with Kipp.
A grave bearing the name Beaumont. Kipp’s adoptive parents.
Kipp’s arm, needle sliding into what remained of a vein. Dulling of senses. A sudden stop to all of them.
Back to the bloody man. To the hole in the wall.
Something emerging, clutched within someone’s hand. Small, dusty plastic bags. An envelope. A sheet of paper.
A man pounding the wall, mouth open wide in a shriek of rage as his search of the opening came up empty. Spinning, wide-eyed, to find Kipp standing there, watching.
The needle. Life ending. Staring down at his corpse. Police crawling around him, searching the trash-strewn floor.
Six other men, all dead. All trapped here. Prisoners.
One word, written at the top of a piece of paper. ODIN.
The needle again. Excitement, need, revulsion, disgust at himself, regret, all wrapped into one.
One moment. One last hit. Near-instant death.
Every feeling gone but one: regret.
Sully opened his eyes to find himself in the same position he’d started in, seated on the floor next to the spot where Kipp died.
The ghost was gone. All Sully was left with was a headache.
He lowered his head into his hands, fingers massaging away the pain.
“You okay?” Dez asked from behind him.
“It was like we were saying—nothing he showed me made sense. It was all jumbled up, nothing in order. It was all kind of hazy besides, like he wasn’t quite present or something.”
“Thus the reason police wait to speak with witnesses until they’re coming down from whatever they’ve taken,” Dez said. “So you got nada then?”
Sully thought back through the images he’d been shown. “Not that I can make anything of. He showed me the stuff you’d expect—himself injecting and dying, faces of various people around him—both living and dead—that sort of thing. But some weird stuff too. I saw a hole in the wall of one of the cells with some baggies and an envelope being pulled out. And a word written on a piece of paper: ODIN. All caps.”
Dez helped Sully to his feet, waiting until he was standing before asking his next question. “ODIN? Like the Norse god of war and death?”
Sully raised a brow. “Didn’t take you for a scholar of Norse mythology.”
Dez shrugged. “Video games, actually.”
Sully chuckled. “Ah. Anyway, I think you’re right. As for how I saw the name, I don’t even know if it was on an actual piece of paper. Could be symbolic. Reference to death maybe?”
Dez crossed his arms. “Kipp seem like a mythology lover to you?”
Sully smirked. “Maybe he liked video games.” He grinned as Dez smacked him but then became serious again. “At this point, I’m entertaining all possibilities. This whole thing was a long shot, I guess.”
“Maybe not entirely.” Dez glanced over his shoulder, toward the guard room. “You mentioned a hole in the wall. Let’s go see if there’s anything to it.”
Satisfied with the idea, Sully patted Dez on the chest as he pressed past him. With Dez right behind, Sully headed for where they assumed the men’s cells had been. Using his cellphone flashlight—he was down to a quarter charge now—he lit up each room as they passed.
“Huh,” Dez said, his tone suggestive of coming through a frown. “Lots of holes here, actually.”
Sully had noticed the same. While the hallway walls were brick, the interior walls separating cells were of poured concrete. It seemed whoever used the building these days enjoyed taking their frustrations out on their surroundings, holes and chips of various sizes left behind in the cement.
“These don’t look right,” Sully said. “Something was pulled from the wall. Poured concrete is solid, no way to be able to retrieve anything the way I saw.”
“Like you said, maybe it was symbolic. Or Kipp could have remembered something wrong. Not like people with drug dependencies have the most reliable memories.”
It was true, yet something told Sully to keep searching.
In total, Sully counted eighteen cells in the men’s area, nine per side. It wasn’t until they reached the last pair of cells that Sully found what he was after. Another hole in the wall—this time through brick.
Dez pushed past him, shining his flashlight into the opening—located about two feet from the floor—and pressing close to try to see inside. “I thought this was an original wall, but I would have thought we’d be able to see through here into the hallway where we first came in. I can’t see anything though. Just more brick.”
“False wall?” Sully asked.
“Wouldn’t go that far. Probably just an added wall with a space between. Basically a sound barrier to cut down on noise from inside the cells. Gets loud in there sometimes. Would’ve driven everyone else working in the basement nuts.”
Sully knelt next to Dez, peering through the opening himself. “Would also be a good place to hide something.”
“Prisoners are searched as soon as they come in. It’s true now, and it’s been true a long time.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “Contraband does get smuggled in sometimes though.”
Sully pinched at his lower lip. “Yeah, but the stuff from the wall wouldn’t have been easy to smuggle. I saw quite a few baggies, and the envelope was letter-sized but pretty thick. We all know how prisoners get stuff in and out of custody settings. Couldn’t fit all of those things into a spot that small and awkward.”
Dez snorted. “What? Doesn’t everyone think about stuffing a big, pointy envelope up their—”
Sully smacked him. “Don’t finish that thought.” He checked his phone again. Nineteen per cent. “Can you do me a favour? My battery’s not going to hold out much longer. Could you turn on your camera, see what you see inside the wall?”
Dez shrugged and did as asked, using the flashlight to illuminate the space as he took a few seconds of video. That done, he aimed the screen toward himself and Sully and hit play.
Sully frowned. “Nothing.”
“Well, you did say something was pulled out of the wall. Stands to reason it’s not in there anymore. One thing’s clear from this though: there’s definitely space between the two walls to stash stuff.” He sighed. “Hate to suggest it, but maybe we’re getting to the point where we’ll need Lachlan’s thoughts on this.”
Sully joined him. “Why now?”
“Like we were talking, he worked here quite a while. He was probably here when these cells were rebuilt. Maybe he’s got some thoughts on how the stuff got in there.”
“Could have got in there anytime though, right? All the holes in the walls, could be someone was looking for a place to stash something.”
“Or trying to find something that was already stashed.” Dez made the call on his better-charged phone. Once Lachlan picked up, Dez put him on speaker. Dez explained the situation, then let Sully inform him about the vision he’d gotten from Kipp. At the end, Lachlan was quiet a long moment.
Finally, he let loose a low whistle. “You boys have a habit of finding the weirdest cases.”
“Tell me about it,” Dez said. “Any ideas?”
“Not so much about the stuff you found, but I might be able to fill in a few other gaps. As it happens, I’m over at my storage container. Meet me here. I think I’ve got some info in here somewhere that could help you out.”
CHAPTER 8
Lachlan had purchased a container at a storage facility near the outskirts of the city’s northeast corner. A creature of comfort, he’d outfitted the place like an office of sorts—one, Dez had noted years ago, that was significantly larger than his real one. Not only had he spread a massive area rug over the floor, but he’d also dragged in an easy chair and a few lamps, each operable via a generator.
Lachlan needed the light for all his reading material. The unit’s walls were lined with filing cabinets, each containing documents he’d squirrelled away since his years on the police force—and many during his time on the force. While Dez and Sully avoided breaching Lachlan’s privacy by coming here uninvited, they’d been here often enough to know he had at least a few files with information taken from open police files. A big deal should he ever be found out, but despite his sometimes-difficult nature, Lachlan maintained a broad range of friends and contacts who kept him covered.
Dez and Sully found Lachlan inside his container, reclining in his chair with a small stack of paper on the table next to him. He paused in his perusal long enough to peer at them over his reading glasses.
“Investigation taking you to my old stomping grounds, I hear. I’m jealous.”
“Nothing to be jealous about,” Dez said. “Another abandoned building, another bunch of ghosts. Not exactly my idea of a good time.”
“Braddock, I’m not sure you’ve figured out what your idea of a good time is,” Lachlan said. “Tell you one thing: I’d love to join you on this. Sadly, I’m stuck with this corruption file involving Barton Winch.”
Dez folded his arms as he leaned up against the wall. They’d chatted briefly about the case—an allegation city councillor Winch was involved in corruption through quid pro quo arrangements with other council members and local developers. “I thought you were interested in that one. Seems right up your alley, taking down money-grubbing bigwigs and all that.”
