John Verdon - Let the Devil Sleep

“What on earth prompted you to-”

“Check the ceilings? Kim told me sometimes she hears noises at night, creaking, other creepy little sounds. And she told me about all that other odd shit-things being moved, things missing and reappearing, the bloodstains-even though she’d had her locks changed. Plus the fact that the apartment upstairs is supposed to be vacant. So when you put all that together…”

“Very good,” said Gurney, impressed. “You figured the most likely access to her apartment would be through the ceiling?”

“And the most likely ceiling would be the one with the panel moldings.”

“Then what?”

“Then I got a ladder from the basement and started pressing on each square until I found one that felt a little different, had a different kind of give. I got a knife and loosened the molding around it, enough to see that there were cut lines underneath. I didn’t go any further. If you didn’t want me to move the bugs, I didn’t think you’d want me to move the panel. Besides, it was secured from the other side, and I’d have to break it to get through it, which I didn’t want to do, not knowing what might be up there.”

Gurney noted the eagerness of the chase in his son’s voice, tempered with barely enough caution. “You’ve had a busy afternoon.”

“Got to catch the bad guys. What’s the next step?”

“ Your next step should be to get the hell out of there and come back here-both of you. My next step is to let these new facts sink in for a while. Sometimes when I go to bed with questions, I wake up with answers.”

“Is that true?”

“No, but it sounds good.”

Kyle laughed. “What questions are you going to bed with tonight?”

“Let me ask you the same thing. After all, you’re the one who made the discoveries. Being on-site creates a better perspective. What do you think the big questions are?”

Even in Kyle’s hesitation, Gurney could sense a palpable excitement. “As far as I can see, there’s one really big one.”

“Namely?”

“Are we dealing with an obsessed stalker or with something a whole lot nastier?” He paused. “What do you think?”

“I’m thinking that we might be dealing with both.”

Gurney stayed up that night until Kim and Kyle arrived from Syracuse-Kyle on his BSA and Kim in her Miata.

After they’d reviewed everything they’d discussed on the phone, Gurney had two more questions. The first was for Kyle, and he got only half of it out before it was answered. “When you took off the covers of the smoke alarms-”

“I took them off very quietly, very slowly. All the while Kim and I kept talking about something completely different-about one of her courses at school-so no one listening would realize what I was doing.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I saw it in a spy movie.”

Gurney’s second question was for Kim. “Did you see anything in the apartment that wasn’t familiar-any kind of small appliance, clock radio, iPod, stuffed animal, anything at all you hadn’t seen before?”

“No, why?”

“Just wondering if Schiff ever got around to bringing in the promised video-surveillance equipment. In situations where the apartment renter is aware of the plan, it’s easier to bring in a video transmitter that’s prewired inside its cover object rather than concealing it in a ceiling fixture or something else on site.”

“There wasn’t anything like that.”

The next morning at the breakfast table, Gurney noticed that Madeleine had skipped her usual bowl of oatmeal and had hardly touched her coffee. Her gaze out through the glass doors seemed focused on dark thoughts rather than on the sunny landscape.

“You thinking about the fire?”

It took her so long to answer that he began to think she hadn’t heard him. “Yes, I suppose you could say I’m thinking about the fire. When I woke up this morning, you know what came into my mind, for maybe three seconds? I had the idea of enjoying this lovely morning by taking a ride on my bicycle along the back road by the river. But then, of course, I realized I don’t have a bicycle. That charred, twisted thing on the barn floor isn’t really a bicycle anymore, is it?”

Gurney didn’t know what to say.

She sat silently for a while, her eyes narrowed in anger. Then she said, more to her coffee cup than to him, “This person who’s been bugging Kim’s apartment-how much do you think he’s learned about us?”

“Us?”

“You, then. How much do you think he’s found out about you?”

Gurney took a deep breath. “Good question.” It was, in fact, a question that had been gnawing at him since his phone conversation with Kyle the previous evening. “Presumably the bugs are transmitting to a voice-activated recording device-giving him access to the conversations I had with Kim on my visits there, plus her side of all her cell-phone conversations.”

“Conversations she had with you, with her mother, with Rudy Getz…”

“Yes.”

Madeleine’s eyes narrowed. “So he knows a lot.”

“He knows a lot.”

“Should we be afraid?”

“We need to be vigilant. And I need to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Ah. I see. I keep my eyes open for a potential maniac while you play with the puzzle pieces? Is that the plan?”

“Am I interrupting something?” Kim was standing at the kitchen door.

Madeleine looked like she was about to say, Yes, you are definitely interrupting something.

Instead Gurney asked, “You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I… I just wanted to remind you… we need to leave in about an hour for our first appointment. It’s with Eric Stone in Barkham Dell. He still lives in his mother’s house. You’ll love meeting this one. Eric is… unique.”

Before they left, Gurney made his planned call to Detective James Schiff at Syracuse PD to ask about the surveillance equipment for Kim’s apartment. Schiff was out on a call, and Gurney was transferred to Schiff’s partner, Elwood Gates, who seemed familiar with the situation. Gates was, however, neither very interested in the problem nor apologetic for the delay in installing the promised cameras.

“If Schiff said we’ll get to it, then we’ll get to it.”

“Any idea when?”

“Maybe when we’re done with a few higher-priority things, okay?”

“Higher priority than a dangerous nutcase making repeated intrusions into a young woman’s apartment, with the intention of inflicting serious bodily harm?”

“You talking about the broken step?”

“I’m talking about a booby-trapped staircase over a concrete floor, designed to create a potentially fatal injury.”

“Well, Mr. Gurney, let me tell you something. Right now there’s nothing ‘potential’ about the fatal injuries we’re dealing with. I guess you didn’t hear about the little crack-dealer turf war that erupted here yesterday? No, I didn’t think so. But your giant trespassing problem is right up there at the top of our list-just as soon as we shut down about a dozen crazy scumbags with AK-47s. Okay? We’ll be sure to keep you informed. You have a nice day.”

Kim was watching Gurney’s face as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “What did he say?”

“He said maybe the day after tomorrow.”

At Gurney’s insistence they took separate cars on their trip to Barkham Dell. In the event something unexpected arose, he wanted the flexibility to separate himself from Kim’s series of interviews.

She drove faster than he did, and they were out of sight of each other before they reached the interstate. It was a beautiful day-the only one so far that captured the concept of the season. The sky was a piercing blue. The widely scattered little clouds were radiant puffy things. Patches of tiny snowdrop flowers were blossoming in shaded areas along the highway. When the time-to-destination on his GPS told him he was halfway there, Gurney stopped for gas. After he filled his tank, he went into the station’s convenience store for a container of coffee. Minutes later, sitting in the car with the windows open, sipping his French roast, he decided to call Jack Hardwick and ask for two more favors. He was concerned that the quid pro quo, whenever it might come, would be substantial. But he wanted information, and this was the most efficient way to get it. He placed the call, half hoping for voice mail. Instead he got the sarcastic sandpaper voice of the man himself.