Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

They exited into the church lobby. Outside the glass doors, three squad cars from the sheriff’s department screeched to a stop on the street. The sirens were loud enough to make him cover his ears, and then they cut off into stark silence. The light bars revolved on the tops of the cars. Silver rain blew sideways as officers in yellow slickers climbed out of the vehicles and headed for the church steps.

He saw someone else with them. A man in a black trench coat with a fedora. It was Michael Altman.

Chris and Hannah stayed in the lobby as the county attorney came inside from the rain. His face was dark. The police officers with him filed downstairs. Chris didn’t think they were looking for the church party room. They were heading for Johan’s apartment.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Hawk,’ Altman said, dusting water from his hat. ‘You always seem to be around when I have trouble.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Chris asked.

‘I’m looking for Johan Magnus.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

‘Someone murdered Kirk Watson this evening.’

Hannah stiffened but said nothing. Chris found that his own heart was ice-cold. He didn’t care that Kirk was dead. He only cared about protecting Olivia. ‘How did it happen?’

‘Someone hit him in the head,’ Altman said, ‘and then finished him off with two gunshots. One to the head, one to the genitals. Very personal.’

Hannah covered her mouth. Chris felt queasy, too. Altman watched both of them carefully, studying their reactions.

‘That sounds like someone with a grudge,’ Altman added. ‘Like maybe someone whose daughter had been assaulted recently.’

‘You think I did this?’ Chris asked.

‘I don’t know, Mr. Hawk. Where have you been this evening?’

‘Out.’

‘Alone?’

‘Mostly.’ He didn’t want to get George Valma into more trouble by calling on him for an alibi. He also hoped that the rain had long ago washed away any evidence that he’d been outside Kirk’s window the previous night.

‘Doing what?’

‘Researching Lucia Causey,’ Chris said.

‘Check my phone records. You’ll find that I’ve been making inquiries about her for most of the last two hours. You can probably get a track on my laptop Internet settings, too. I’ve been hooked up to a limited-range wireless network in Barron. Feel free to check it out.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Altman said. ‘We found the murder weapon. It was a revolver. The cylinder had four spent casings, but only two shots appear to have been fired at the scene. Does that suggest anything to you?’

Chris knew what Altman meant.

‘We think it was the same gun that was used to kill Ashlynn Steele,’ the county attorney went on. He frowned and asked pointedly, ‘Where’s your daughter? I’d like to talk to her.’

‘She’s in her room,’ Hannah interjected. ‘She’s been there all evening. Whatever’s going on, this doesn’t concern her. Leave her alone.’

She said it calmly and convincingly, but Chris knew it was a lie. Olivia wasn’t in her room.

‘What about Johan Magnus?’ Altman went on. ‘Have you seen him?’

‘No,’ Chris said.

‘You told me Johan was going after Kirk. Did he try to reach you? Did he ask for your help?’

‘He didn’t.’

‘If he had, would you have tried to stop him?’

‘Of course I would.’

Chris could see the county attorney debating whether they were being honest. The man’s frustration showed. ‘I need to find Johan Magnus quickly,’ Altman said.

‘So you can pin a murder charge on him?’ Hannah demanded. ‘Don’t ask us to help you do that. Whoever killed Kirk did the world a favor.’

‘I’m trying to protect the boy, too.’

‘Protect him? Why? From what?’

‘We got a call from Kirk’s brother,’ Altman told them. ‘Lenny Watson told us Kirk had been murdered and where to find the body. He told us Johan was at the scene, covered in blood.’

‘You believe him?’ Chris asked.

‘It doesn’t matter whether I believe him. That’s not the point. When we got to the house, Lenny was nowhere to be found. He’s missing, too, and we’re trying to find him. In his 911 call, Lenny said he was going to avenge his brother. He’s planning to kill Johan.’

‘Where is she?’ Chris asked.

They were back on the porch of Hannah’s house, out of the rain. Hannah left her red umbrella on one of the Adirondack chairs. She beckoned him inside. The house was warm and quiet. She took off her raincoat and peered through the windows at the church, which was still a hive of police activity. No one had followed them. No one was watching them.

‘Is she here?’ he asked again.

Hannah pointed at the closed door that led down into the basement. ‘She came to me for help. They both did. I wasn’t going to say no, Chris.’

‘Jesus, Hannah. Tell me she wasn’t at Kirk’s house tonight.’

She said nothing, but he knew that was exactly where Olivia had been. He opened the basement door. The light was off.

‘Olivia, it’s me,’ he called into the darkness.

He switched on the light and marched down the wooden steps beside the stone blocks of the foundation. Hannah followed him. It was cool and damp under the ground. In the open space, he saw area rugs spread across the hard floor and metal shelves lining the walls. Ductwork made a maze overhead. Mice had found their way under the house; he saw tunnels in the pink insulation.

A shabby blue sofa was pushed against the north wall. During tornado season, it was a place to wait out the storm.

Olivia sat on the sofa with her arm around the waist of Johan Magnus.

Both teenagers looked freshly showered; they wore clean clothes; their skin was pink. They had a blanket over their laps. Chris heard the bang of the drier; their clothes had been washed and were tumbling dry. Hannah had already helped them. She’d destroyed evidence.

Johan didn’t say a word. He looked overwhelmed. Olivia, in contrast, looked in complete control. She was the strong one. The determined one. Her voice, when she spoke, was perfectly calm.

‘Johan didn’t do it, Dad,’ she told him. ‘He didn’t kill anyone. He’s innocent. Like me.’

43

Florian Steele waited fifteen minutes, but Kirk never showed.

The park by the Indian monument was where they always conducted their business. Their relationship wasn’t for public eyes. It was cash only; it was one on one; it was only at night. They met, they talked, they did their deal, they went their separate ways. He didn’t like it, but he’d long ago made peace with the fact that every business needed a Kirk Watson to survive.

Kirk was Florian’s problem-solver. When Vernon Clay’s insanity became a liability, he’d sent Kirk to deal with him. He’d hoped never to cross that line, but the scientist gave him no choice. Since then, Florian had slept soundly, convinced that Vernon was no longer a threat. Now he didn’t know what to believe. If Vernon was alive, then Florian understood the danger. If Vernon was dead, then Aquarius was a mystery. His plans were unknown.

He remembered what Julia had said. He’s trying to kill us.

Florian checked his watch. He couldn’t wait any longer. It was unlike Kirk to miss a meeting, and the more time that passed, the more he worried about a trap. He drove out of the park onto the rainy roads. He kept his eyes on his mirrors, but no one followed him.

He called Julia to tell her he was on his way home. She didn’t answer. She was probably in the shower, getting ready for bed, ignoring his messages. Since Ashlynn’s death, she’d been asleep when he came to bed. She hadn’t let him touch her for days. Tonight, he would wake her up, undress her, make love to her, sweat passion out of her. He couldn’t stand the emptiness of his life for another night. He was dead, and he needed to feel alive. If he could break the dam between them, they could both grieve like normal people. They could take comfort in each other. They could finally cry.