Blood Tracks, page 23
The gate opened and arriving passengers trickled through. Their plane had landed. She began watching for Po, but he was a no show. ‘C’mon, Po. Don’t you dare make me miss this flight.’
She’d already resolved herself to the idea: it was imperative that she returned to Maine, but if Po was late to the gate, she wasn’t boarding the plane. They could wait for the next, or she’d join him in the long drive home, whatever, but she wasn’t completing the next leg alone. Although this had originated as her task, Po an employee drafted in to help, their dynamic was now definitely a partnership: she couldn’t imagine arriving home in Maine without Po alongside her. His presence at her side when finally she delivered her report to Emma Clancy would definitely help. Clancy would go ballistic on hearing of their decision to complete their own investigation, and to keep pertinent information back from the Louisiana law-enforcement agencies in order to do that. Perhaps the two of them could convince her it was the right thing to do. Clancy had engaged her services because she wasn’t confident that a private investigator local to Louisiana was giving value for money, well Tess could argue that Clancy was getting two for the price of one, and she couldn’t deny they had gone beyond what was expected of them.
She took out her cell, recalling she’d turned it off for the duration of the flight. Hopefully Clancy had made contact.
Nope. Her messages were nil. It wasn’t right.
She rang Clancy’s personal number, but it went directly to voicemail. ‘Hi, Emma, Tess Grey checking in. Just to let you know I’m at Newark, on the way back to Maine. Should be on the ground in a couple hours and I’ll try you again.’ She considered adding that Clancy’s silence was worrying, and please, if she could, at least let her know everything was OK, but was reluctant.
She ended the call, and rang the office number instead. When that call went to voicemail too she frowned at her phone. She rejected the instruction to leave a message, and redialled, waited, but got the same automated voice again. She checked the time. It was within office hours, so why wasn’t anybody answering the phone? She hit Alex’s number, but her brother’s phone rang out as well. What was going on up there? First Clancy and now Alex had gone silent on her, and considering they were her direct contacts in Maine, she didn’t like what that suggested.
Frustrated, and now worried, she hung up, deciding to Google an alternative number for Clancy’s office, but around her there was a stir of motion and she saw her fellow travellers readying for action. Boarding was about to begin. She put away her cell, staring intently towards the walkway down which she hoped Po would hurry, now more eager than anything to get home.
She was surprised when he stepped out of a nearby gents’ washroom, nodding at her. She’d missed his arrival at the gate while concentrating on her cell. He moved towards her, his bag slung from his shoulder, while he dry-washed his hands. Despite washing, she still caught a waft of smoke from him, though the sweeter aroma of soap leavened it. It didn’t bother her; in fact, his scent had grown familiar these past few days, and was welcome. ‘Thought I’d best freshen up after having a cigarette,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘This us; ready to go?’
She’d held on to their boarding passes. She handed over his, waved hers towards the doors by way of instruction. ‘We’ll be up and away in no time.’
‘I guess the sooner we’re up the sooner we touch down again. Let’s do this, then.’ He led the way, joining the queue filtering past the flight crew. Standing behind him, Tess spotted the cold sweat on the back of his neck. Flying wasn’t easy for Po, and the idea that he was doing this for her wasn’t lost on Tess. She wanted to hug him, but now wasn’t the time or place. They filed aboard, this time on to a twin-prop, and found their seats. They sat side by side, the smaller craft coming with fewer seats, rows of two on one side, a single corresponding seat across the gangway. Taxiing out to the runway, the plane joined the queue of aircraft wending their way up and down the tarmac, awaiting their take-off window, and in no time they sailed up into the blue. As Po gripped the arms of his chair, fingers digging into the plastic, Tess placed her hand on his, offering a gentle squeeze of support. Before they levelled out, her hand was in his and their fingers were entwined. Later when Tess became conscious of their intimacy, she stole a glance over at him, expecting the amused twinkling of his eyes. But Po was sitting with his head back, eyes closed, and this time he wasn’t enduring: a smile smoothed the lines in his face.
TWENTY-NINE
Tess lived on Cumberland Avenue, within a stone’s throw of the Portland Public Library, assuming of course her throwing hand wasn’t damaged and the stone small enough to skip along the pavement the last hundred yards or so. Her apartment was on the upper floor of two storeys, over a curio shop that closed by six every evening. Private access to her rooms was gained by a flight of wooden steps alongside the building. She’d lived there since her acrimonious split with Jim Neely, requiring less space. If she desired more room, Deering Oaks Park was only a short stroll away, and she often jogged along the shore of the pond when feeling energetic. There’d be no jogging today, she was worn out, and the desire to collapse on her own bed was almost overpowering. She’d moved to Cumberland Avenue for a couple of reasons – the first being the small apartment was affordable on her reduced income, but primarily because the library was where she conducted much of her research, her office away from home. There were plenty of local amenities, and nearby a plethora of high-end boutiques, restaurants, and coffee shops could be had on Congress Street, and adjoining roads. Close by was the neurological-rehab centre in which she’d spent many hours while recovering from her debilitating injury: recently she’d halved the frequency of visits, but had an appointment early next week.
She’d only been away a few days, but the atmosphere in her apartment felt flat, abandoned, deserted. It smelled different. The air was still and chilly to a point that she shivered. Standing in her living room, her bags and suitcase at her sides, she made a slow perusal of her home, her gaze skirting over all her familiar belongings, and felt an odd sense of dislocation, as if she didn’t belong. Wasn’t she relieved to be home? Yes. In a way she was. But there was also a discomfort about being back she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It took a moment before she realized the tangible weight pressing against her heart was loneliness. When she first split with Jim, the new freedom had been welcome, and surrounding herself with all her favourite items had been a pleasure. But now it was as if she was missing out on something, by not having a companion at her side to enjoy them with her.
Hell! It was less than half an hour since she’d parted ways with Po, and already she was missing the irascible lout.
‘Get a grip, Tess,’ she said aloud. ‘You’re meeting him again in a few hours.’
Her words sounded invasive in the small space, and she would swear that they reverberated back at her from the walls, set the light bulb swaying in the ceiling rose. Nonsense, but she felt the room had been sealed as tight as a mausoleum these past few days and her breathy exclamation had stirred the atmosphere to a frustrated buzz. She ran her fingers through her hair. It felt gritty and in dire need of a wash. It coalesced her thoughts. It’s why she’d returned home, because she was desperate to bathe, and to get into some fresh clothes. She was positive she still stank like a swamp.
Memories of slogging through the ochre-tinged mud flooded her, and unbidden Crawford Wynne’s mutilated corpse. That is what Sower does to witnesses, she reminded herself.
She swore under her breath, banishing any insecurities from mind. For too long she’d allowed doubt to control her. That snow-filled night when the innocent store clerk died had been a personal shortcoming that she’d carried since, and it was more debilitating than her physical injury. When the robber’s blade cut at her wrist, and her gun had gone off, plunging a bullet through the counter and into the clerk, part of her had perished along with him. As much as her wound hurt, it was nothing to the pain searing her heart when she discovered she was the slayer of an innocent man. She’d told herself it was an unfortunate accident, not her fault but that of the thug trying to cut an escape route through her, but she couldn’t expunge the guilt. She’d fought to keep her job, but inside she knew that it was a battle she couldn’t win, one perhaps she didn’t really want to. How could she ever perform her duty again, knowing that the fear of consequences would ever stay her hand? Despite railing against the notion, she’d been secretly relieved when forced out of her job. Yet now, in hindsight, those feelings were displaced. When she’d walked out of the hotel last night and found Po terrorized by armed men she hadn’t paused in going to his assistance. She’d selflessly put her safety before his, and though she hadn’t known it at the time, something inside her had changed – for the better.
Albert Sower was to be feared; being no less dangerous while directing murder from his prison cell than if he was out on the streets. His faceless killer was to be feared also. Yet her internal warning fell on deaf ears. In fact, after everything she’d learned of Sower and seen done on his behalf, it made her more determined to see the bastard imprisoned for a very long time, preferably until he expelled his final breath. For his malicious henchman, she hoped his punishment was instant and more agonizing than languishing for decades in a cell. A cold shiver assailed her again, but this one more of anticipation of the inevitable.
But despite the certainty of the future, she locked the door. Clearly she’d been spied on from Maine to Louisiana, and possibly back again. If Sower’s people didn’t know beforehand, they would’ve learned her home address by now, and sooner or later they’d come looking for her.
Tess moved through her apartment, switching on lights, adjusting the dial on her heating, turning the temperature up a few notches. She’d only been in the balmy south a few days, and despite bemoaning the sticky heat some acclimatization must have occurred. Next she hit the bathroom, and turned on the shower, but had second thoughts. She began to fill the tub instead: a luxury she was owed.
Bathed, pampered, and perfumed, she left her bags where they rested, planning on leaving her apartment, and getting back inside her Prius for the short drive across town to Charley’s auto shop. As she approached the door, knuckles rapping on the frame halted her. Her first thought: Sower’s people had come for her sooner than expected. She crouched instinctively, and began looking for a weapon.
‘Tess? Tess? You home?’ The rapid knocking came again.
She recognized Alex’s voice, and relief flooded her. But why the urgency? After landing, she’d sent a text to let him know she was on her way home, and demanding that he let her know he was OK, but hadn’t expected an immediate visit.
Opening the door she found Alex leaning with one shoulder against the frame, as if he lacked the strength to stand. His Portland Police Department uniform was rumpled, and his features hollowed out with concern. Like hers his hair was fair, but sweat darkened it. His forehead was dotted with perspiration. Beneath the glow of the porch lights pale streamers of steam rose off him. He smiled when he saw her, but it was one of desperate thanks. He said, ‘Oh, thank God.’
Tess pulled him inside, and he hugged her.
‘I’ve tried calling you,’ she said tersely as they broke their embrace. ‘You had me worried when you didn’t reply. I thought …’ Should she admit to fearing that Sower’s people had got to him?
‘I’ve been, uh, busy,’ he said, also reticent about admitting something. He put a hand over his face and shuddered out a moan.
‘What’s wrong? What has happened?’ Panic gripped her, and her first concern was for family. ‘It isn’t Mom?’
‘No. No. Mom’s fine.’ He sagged noticeably. ‘It’s someone else.’
‘Who? What are you talking about, Alex?’
‘Emma,’ he said, and the familiarity in which he mentioned the name surprised her.
‘Emma Clancy? You know Emma?’ She experienced a shifting sensation inside her chest. ‘Oh, don’t tell me …’
It all made sense now. She remembered that first opening statement of Emma’s, how Tess had ‘come highly recommended’, but how she wouldn’t divulge who had made the recommendation. At the time Tess thought Clancy was being coy about her source, and now she understood why.
‘You’ve been seeing Emma Clancy?’ she asked, to make certain that she hadn’t misread anything. ‘The DA’s investigator who I just happen to work for? Jesus Christ, Alex! Emma has a husband! Are you trying to wreck her marriage?’
‘She’s already getting divorced,’ he said lamely. ‘It’s why we had to keep our relationship secret: their divorce is based on her husband’s adultery; it wouldn’t look good if it came out she was also having an affair. Anyway, divorce proceedings were underway before we met …’
‘Yeah? So how long has this been going on? Oh, I see now … it was you that recommended me to—’ The words caught in her throat, as she didn’t know how to react. She had mixed feelings – insulted that she’d only got the job because Mrs Clancy’s illicit beau had whispered Tess’s name into her ear, but also thankful to Alex that he’d given her the desperately needed jumpstart to her career. She was angered by the first, but a wash of endearment went through her for the second. She shook her head at him.
‘Tess, you don’t know what you’ve got yourself tangled up in,’ he said, and she watched his face tremble with regret, ‘what I’ve got you tangled up in. Shit.’ Alex stepped away, shoving back his mussed hair. When he wiped his palms on his thighs his trousers held moist streaks. He glanced at her TV, but it was inert. ‘You haven’t caught the news since you got back?’
Pointlessly, Tess also glanced at the dead TV screen. ‘No. I haven’t had the chance. What’s going on, Alex?’
‘Emma’s missing. It’s why I’ve been unable to answer your calls; I’ve been too busy looking for her. I was hoping you might know—’
Tess stopped him in his tracks. ‘I haven’t once been in contact with her. Damn it, I knew something was wrong!’ She thought about the brief telephone conversation when Monica Perry had expressed her own concern over Emma’s silence. ‘Surely Emma’s boss suspected she was in danger; why didn’t he do something sooner?’
‘That’s a question being asked by Portland PD, but we might not get a straight answer soon.’
‘Why not?’
He stared at the floor. ‘You should come with me now.’
‘Where to?’
‘Just come on, we’ve wasted enough time. Grab your jacket. It’s best you see for yourself.’ Alex was already rushing to the door.
‘I was about to go and meet Po,’ she said.
‘Call him. Tell him to meet us.’
‘Where?’
‘Baxter Boulevard,’ he said. ‘Tell him to come to the attorney’s office near Belmeade Park.’
THIRTY
The breeze gusting inland from Black Cove pushed the smoke over Portland, but where she stood alongside Alex’s PPD cruiser it didn’t do much to shift the acrid bonfire stench impregnating the air. The fire crews had dampened down the fire, but had been too late to save the building itself. The entire structure containing the District Attorney’s Office and the adjoining law firm premises where Emma Clancy worked was a blackened, crumbling husk, the windows blown out, the roof caved in. Singed timbers jutted skyward, and fallen masonry littered the ground. Blackened furniture lay in piles where the firefighters had dragged it outside so it didn’t feed the conflagration. Runnels of filthy water ran into the kerb, carrying the detritus of ash and cinder. The stink of molten plastic, and something worse, was almost poisonous. The evening was filled with strobing lights, competing flashes from the emergency vehicles and the cameras of journalists who’d descended on the scene en masse. Emergency workers moved back and forward, and a line of police officers and some of Tess’s old work colleagues from the Sheriff’s Department assisted in keeping back the crowd of onlookers. Having driven her to the fire, Alex had gone to assist, though Tess fully expected he’d rather continue searching for Emma.
From what her brother told her, the fire had started hours ago, following a small explosion on the first floor. It was suspected that accelerants must have been present, because the fire spread at an exponential rate, engulfing the building in no time. Two people had perished in the initial explosion, another three receiving severe burns, but most of the other staff and civilian visitors made it outside before the building began collapsing in on them. Nobody was certain how many others might still be inside, and now that the fire had been put out, the firefighters were concentrating their search for victims. Tess watched the crew work their way inside, in full breathing apparatus, and armed with tools and even a thermal camera. From their body language, none among them expected to find any survivors, and Tess wasn’t hopeful either. Only one EMT vehicle sat on standby, but if anyone was carried from that hellish place, she thought it’d be beyond the paramedics’ abilities to bring them back to life.
