Linwood Barclay: The Twenty-Three

“She used to talk about a mortgage.”

“Okay,” Cal said. “Then she owned it. She paid money each month for you to live there. That was the mortgage.”

“How much did she pay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would it be like a million dollars?”

“No, it wouldn’t be that much. It would be something she could afford, based on what she made at her job at the school.”

They pulled into the driveway. Crystal got out quickly, leaving her artwork on the floor in front of her seat. She got to the door first and waited until Cal got there with the key.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” she asked.

“I think so,” Cal said.

He inserted the key and pushed open the door. Crystal tentatively stepped inside. She stopped, raised her head, reminding Cal of an animal stopping to pick up any dangerous scents.

Slowly, she walked deeper into the house, and stopped again at the base of the stairs. Her eyes went up to the second floor, but she didn’t move. Cal stood patiently behind her and, after a few seconds, rested his fingers on her shoulders.

He felt Crystal’s muscles twitch in the millisecond before she made the decision to go up. She got to the bathroom door, which Cal had deliberately left wide open when he and Dwayne had finished cleaning. She stood outside looking in for about ten seconds, then went to check the other rooms upstairs. She popped her head into her own room, then entered her mother’s.

“You okay?” Cal asked.

She said, “This could be your room.”

“Crystal.”

“Does everything my mom owned go to me?”

Cal had no idea what arrangements Lucy had made with her ex-husband, but he said, “More or less.”

“So if this is my house, can I give it to you? Because you don’t have one. So you could have this room, and I’ll sleep where I always have. Because I don’t want to stay with your sister and Dwayne.”

Cal said, “Why don’t you start grabbing the things you need?”

“Why can’t I just stay here now? Why do I have to go back? I don’t like Dwayne. He did bad things to you.”

Cal started considering options. He didn’t think it was appropriate for him to stay in this house, just the two of them. Not even for a night.

Even though he couldn’t think of anything he’d like more.

“I don’t know about that, Crystal. You see-”

“Hello?”

A voice from downstairs. A man’s voice.

“Anyone home?”

Crystal looked at Cal for half a second and, without saying a word, scooted down the stairs to the front door.

Cal heard the man say, “Crystal!”

And he heard Crystal say, “Daddy!”

“Oh, sweetheart, I got here as fast as I could.”

Cal reached the bottom of the stairs and found the man on his knees, arms around his daughter. As soon as he saw Cal, he got to his feet.

“Gerald Brighton?” Cal asked.

“That’s right.”

Cal extended a hand. “Cal Weaver. We spoke on the phone.”

Gerald Brighton nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s good that you’re here.”

“Hit up everybody I knew for money for the flight. Didn’t know I had that many friends.” He smiled as he looked at his daughter. “Got a ticket for you to come back with me.”

“Well,” Cal said. “Mr. Brighton, I’m sorry for your loss.”

The man gave Crystal another hug, kissed the top of her head. “Everything’s going to be okay. Daddy’s here. I’m going to get everything sorted out. You’re going to live with me now. You’ll really like San Francisco.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice muffled, her face pressed into his chest.

“She has some things at my sister’s place,” Cal said.

“We’ll come by later, pick them up,” Gerald Brighton said. “I’ll give you a call to let you know we’re coming.”

“Of course,” Cal said.

“Thank you for all your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” He smiled. “She’s a great kid. A real lifesaver. Good-bye, Crystal.”

“Good-bye,” she said, still clinging to her father.

Cal walked out, got into his car, and saw that Crystal had forgotten her clipboard and drawing paper. He reached down into the passenger footwell and grabbed it.

Crystal had drawn a house, complete with driveway, windows, smoke coming out of the chimney.

She’d drawn faces in two of the windows, and attached labels to them. One read “Crystal” and the other said “Cal.”

He drove back to his sister’s place. Gerald and Crystal could pick up the drawing and the clipboard when they came for the rest of her things.

Duckworth

Ididn’t give Rhonda Finderman an opportunity to object to my bailing on the press conference. I put down the receiver and started heading for the door. Once I was in my car, I got out my phone and made a call to Angus Carlson’s cell phone.

The phone rang several times before it went to voice mail.

“You’ve reached Angus Carlson. I can’t take your call right now, so why not leave a message at the tone?”

After the beep, I said, “Hey, Angus, it’s Barry again. I know I shouldn’t be bothering you with shit right now, but there’s something I’d really like to bounce off you. It’s urgent.”

I ended the call, kept the phone in my hand, and sat there for several seconds, pondering my next move. Placed another call to the building I was parked behind.

“Dispatch.”

“It’s Detective Duckworth. I need an address and home phone number for Angus Carlson.”

I heard several keystrokes before I was given the information. I scribbled it down on a small notepad, then phoned Carlson’s home. After three rings, a woman answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Detective Duckworth calling. Who’s this?”

“Hi, Detective. This is Gale. Angus’s wife. How are you?”

“Good, thank you, Gale.”

“Angus has lots of nice things to say about you.”

“Gale, is Angus there?”

“No, I’m afraid he isn’t. Have you tried his cell?”

“I have. He didn’t answer.”

“Oh,” Gale said. “Well, if I hear from him, I can tell him you called.”

“I really need to speak with him. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

Gale didn’t say anything right away. “Well, he just went out a little while ago.”

“Where did he go?”

“I really… I don’t want to get him in any trouble.”

The hairs went up on the back of my neck. “What kind of trouble?”

“It’s just-okay, you know about what happened yesterday?”

“At the hospital,” I said. “Yes.”

“And he’s on leave while the shooting is investigated?”

“That’s right,” I said. “I’m sure that will go in his favor.”

“Yeah, that’s what we’re both hoping. The thing is, he’s sort of working today.”

“What do you mean, working?”

“He kind of had an idea-actually, it was my idea, and I wasn’t even sure there was anything to it-but he had this thing he wanted to check out.”

“About what?”

“About the water being poisoned.”

“What was he checking out?”

“Okay, he’s going to be mad if I tell you this, but I think I should do it anyway.”

“Gale, please.”

“You know that used bookstore? Naman’s?”

“Yes. Someone torched it the other night.”

“That’s the one,” she said. “So, I dropped by there yesterday, and I didn’t even know that had happened, and the owner, Naman-he’s Muslim or something like that, you know-he was cleaning the place up, and I saw a book there that got me thinking.”

“A book.”

“A book all about poisons. How to make them.”