Kelley Armstrong - Omens

“So tell me.”

“Seanna was last seen in late September that year. In mid-October, the body of a woman was discovered in an abandoned building several blocks away. The coroner believed she’d died of a drug overdose. The police found evidence to suggest she hadn’t died there—she’d been moved to that location. The woman had no identification on her, but her description matches that of Seanna Walsh.”

“So the police believed the body was Gabriel’s mother and told him—”

“The police never connected the events. The woman was buried as a Jane Doe because Gabriel hadn’t reported his mother missing. When his aunt reported Gabriel missing, police did not connect the dots back to the Jane Doe. My investigator did.”

“You think Gabriel knew his mother was dead?”

“Think about his behavior, Olivia.” His voice snapped with impatience now. “Those aren’t the actions of an abandoned child. They’re the actions of a guilty conscience. Gabriel Walsh gave his mother that overdose, then he hid her body in that building and pretended she was still alive.”

“That … No, he—”

“—wouldn’t do that? She was an addict, Olivia. I’m sure she made his life hell. Gabriel Walsh is an amoral man with clear sociopathic tendencies. Perhaps his mother is to blame, but whatever the reason, he saw her as an obstacle. He rid himself of that obstacle. I have evidence to prove it, and that’s why he’s trying to frame me for my son’s death.”

“W-what?”

When Evans started to explain, I was sure either he was crazy or I was still sleeping. Neither possibility completely disappeared as he went on.

When Gabriel first tried to interview him, Evans said he’d looked him up. What he found made him even more curious.

“I’m an old man, Olivia,” he said. “Life gets dull after a certain age, and it doesn’t take much to pique my curiosity, and a potentially interesting psychological profile always does the trick.”

That led him to the missing-person reports, which turned mild curiosity into a full-blown project. Here, presumably, was a boy abandoned by his mother and left on the streets … who became a defense attorney. An intriguing case study. So Evans hired an investigator.

“Yes, it sounds borderline obsessive and certainly an invasion of privacy, but I was completely fascinated.”

Then he discovered the fate of Seanna Walsh. The investigator gathered enough evidence to make a convincing case that Gabriel was responsible.

“That’s when I realized I’d gone too far,” Evans said. “That—along with other deeds that the investigator uncovered—convinced me I was dealing with a sociopathic personality. I stopped digging. I refused to see Gabriel Walsh. I hoped he would simply go away. And he seemed to.”

“Until now.”

“Yes.”

Evans believed that when he insisted on seeing me instead of Gabriel this time, Gabriel did some investigating of his own and discovered that Evans knew his darkest secret.

“I’m sure Gabriel had learned that I worked for the CIA long before now. But suddenly it’s a matter of great interest to him. Edgar Chandler called me last night and as soon as he described his visitors, I knew it was you two. And I knew what Gabriel was doing. Framing me for my son’s death.”

“I don’t—”

“How did the investigation change course, Olivia? The last I heard, you were pursuing Christian Gunderson as a suspect. Did you discover this new lead? Or did he?”

“It was a joint effort,” I lied.

“Was it? And it led to Edgar Chandler?”

No, first to Josh Gray, who wound up dead. Then to Desiree Barbosa, his girlfriend.

Or the woman who claimed to be his girlfriend.

Could Desiree have been playing a part? Leading me to Evans with her “secret” about him and the CIA? No. Especially not after all that runaround with the bikers and the drugs. The idea was almost as crazy as Evans’s whole “Gabriel Walsh is framing me” theory.

“I did work for the CIA, Olivia. As part of MKULTRA on a classified subproject in Chicago. I’m not proud of what I did. I was young and I naively thought I was helping my country. As soon as I began to doubt that, I left.”

“So why would Gabriel frame you? You could do the same to him.”

“I don’t know what his endgame is. Perhaps simply blackmail. I’ve heard he’s fond of that. Whatever his plan, he’s using you. Right now, that’s what worries me the most.” He paused. “Come to the house, Olivia. I know you don’t believe me, but I have the evidence here. I can prove that Gabriel Walsh killed his mother.”

I stood in the living room watching Gabriel sleep. The cat was perched on the back of the sofa again, staring down, as if wondering what this person was doing in his apartment. I could ask myself the same thing.

What was Gabriel Walsh capable of?

A lot. I had no doubt of that.

Was he a sociopath, though?

From what I knew from my experience with Gabriel, he was not incapable of forming relationships. He was just a man who’d learned life was a whole lot safer if you didn’t form relationships. A survivor, not a sociopath.

Gabriel clearly cared for his aunt, and there was nothing obsessive or unnatural about that. Yes, Rose could be useful, but she seemed to be the one pushing her gifts on him. He was a reluctant recipient, as if she was the one person he didn’t want to take anything from. Didn’t want to use.

Last night he’d been annoyed because he was worried about putting me in danger. That sounded almost comical when you thought about it. “I’d feel bad if you got hurt and, damn it, I don’t want to feel bad.” But given what Evans just said, it made sense. Gabriel could form attachments. He just really, really didn’t want to.

So had Gabriel killed his mother? No. I remembered his speech when I confronted him about giving drugs to Desiree. That wasn’t the reaction of a man who’d dispatched his drug addict mother half a lifetime ago. Seanna’s abandonment hurt. Really hurt, even fifteen years later.

So what did I think happened? Yes, his mother was dead. Yes, he knew it. She’d OD’d, probably at home, and he foresaw children’s services in his future. So he’d done the same thing we did with Josh Gray when we realized how inconvenient the discovery of his murder would be. Moved the body.

I put the phone on my nightstand and slipped into the living room.

“Gabriel?”

He didn’t even twitch. If his back wasn’t rising and falling, I might have been worried. I walked over and crouched beside him.

“Gabriel?”

Still nothing.

I touched his shoulder. “Gab—”

His arm shot out, hitting me so hard I toppled onto my ass.

“Oww…” I said.

He’d rolled back onto his side, hands clenched, ready to leap up swinging. For a second, he stared up, as if wondering where the groan came from. Then he looked down and saw me on the floor.

“Olivia?”

As I rose, he took in my nightshirt, then glanced down at himself, bare chested, legs wrapped in a sheet. His eyes widened.

“Yes, you’re sleeping in my apartment,” I said. “On my sofa . It was an exciting night, but not that exciting. I’d really hope you’d remember if it had been.”

“Wha—?” He blinked, still confused.

He looked … young. Very young and very vulnerable. His face relaxed. His expression relaxed. His blue eyes … not cold, not empty. Wide and bewildered and, yes, damn it, vulnerable. I looked at him and I felt things I really didn’t want to feel about Gabriel Walsh. Not now. Probably not ever.

“You said your friend at the SA’s office told you about Joshua Gray?” I said.