Already Gone (12 page)

I pull out of the parking lot and head west toward the highway. There’s no traffic tonight, and as I turn onto the on-ramp and pick up speed, I don’t want to stop.

I feel like I could drive forever.

I think of Diane and wonder if she felt the same way before she died. Was she really on her way to Phoenix, or was she just driving to clear her mind?

It doesn’t take long before my thoughts turn bad, and I do my best to push them away.

It’s not time to think about her.

Not yet.

Instead, I go over everything that I learned tonight and try to make sense of it all. Why would Nolan hire those two men to attack me? And was Gabby right? Was someone else pulling the strings?

If there was, then why didn’t they just get it over with? Why toy with me without telling me who they are or what they want?

And what about Diane?

Why kill her?

Something Nolan said while we were driving into the mountains comes back to me, and it doesn’t go away. He said it wasn’t my fault, not this time.

Did he know something?

If he’d been behind the attack in the parking lot, could he also have been involved in Diane’s murder? Was that why he was the one who took me to ID her body in the middle of the night?

My memories of that night are broken, clouded by the alcohol. Still, drunk or not, nothing about that night makes sense. It didn’t then, and it doesn’t now.

Gabby was right.

That’s not the way things are done.

The more I think about it, the more it burns at me. I’m convinced something is there. All I have to do is put it together.

I look at the clock on the dashboard. It’s not as late as it feels, and I start to think about Nolan.

I can find him tonight.

I can make him tell me the truth.

It’s a bad idea, but it’s all I can think about.

I park in my driveway and walk up to the front door. The porch light is off, and it takes a minute for me to get my key in the lock. Once I do, I open the door and go inside.

The house is dark except for a pale yellow glow coming from the stove in the kitchen. Keeping a light on had been Diane’s idea. She hated coming home to a dark house. It was her habit. Now it’s mine.

I walk down the hall to my office and dig through the papers on my desk. I’m looking for the card Nolan gave me the night he took me to ID Diane’s body, but I don’t see it. I check the drawers and the bookshelves, then turn and walk back out to the living room.

The card is sitting on the coffee table.

I pick it up and flip it over. His cell number is written on the back. I stare at it for a moment and try to decide on my next move. Nolan is my only chance to find the answers I need, and I don’t want to play my hand over the phone. In person, I can make him cooperate.

I take Nolan’s card back to my office. I drop it on the desk, then turn and run my hand along the top of the bookshelf until my fingers touch a set of keys on a small silver ring. I flip through them until I find the right one, then I unlock the bottom drawer of my desk.

My .38 is inside.

I feel an old twinge of guilt knowing I kept the gun even though Diane didn’t want it in the house. I used to get around feeling bad by telling myself I only had it for emergencies. I’m not sure if this is an emergency, but I know I’ll have a better chance getting Nolan to answer my questions with the gun than without it.

I take the gun and a loaded clip and carry them back to the kitchen. I slide the clip into the gun, check the safety, then set it on the counter and pick up the phone.

I dial Nolan’s cell number off the card, pausing a second before hitting the last digit. I think about Gabby’s advice to wait and let him see what he can find out, but I don’t want to wait. All I’ve done is wait.

I want answers, and I want them now.

I dial the last number then put the receiver to my ear and wait for it to ring.

There’s movement behind me, then a voice.

“Jake.”

I turn and something slams against my face.

I feel my nose go, and the world explodes in light. I drop to my hands and knees. Blood pools on the tile floor under me. The phone hits the ground. For a second, I think I hear it ringing, and then I realize the sound is coming from the man standing over me.

From his cell phone.

The man picks up my phone and presses the disconnect button. His cell phone stops ringing.

“Nolan?”

My voice is broken. When I look up, blood runs down the back of my throat and I start to cough.

The floor shifts under me.

Nolan puts the phone back in the cradle, then grabs my hands and pulls them behind my back. There is the familiar click of handcuffs, and then I’m up. He leads me through the kitchen and out the back door. We cross the yard to the wooden gate leading into the alley.

Nolan’s cruiser is parked behind my house.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pops the latch on the trunk and pushes me inside.

I’m lying on my back, looking up at him.

“What the hell are—”

Nolan leans forward and punches me hard in the stomach, and all the air rushes out of my lungs.

“Don’t fucking talk,” he says. “Just keep your mouth shut, do you understand?”

I can’t breathe, so I don’t speak.

The blood from my nose is running across my cheeks and down my throat. I feel like I’m drowning, and it takes all I’ve got not to panic.

Nolan slams the trunk shut, and I’m in darkness.

I listen for his footsteps, but all I hear is my own rapid, wet breathing. A few seconds later, the car dips and the driver’s side door slams shut. The engine starts and I feel the exhaust settle in my lungs.

I can’t smell it, but I know it’s there.

Once we’re moving, I roll to my side and cough some of the blood out of my throat. My sinuses feel like they’ve been packed tight with gasoline-soaked cotton and set on fire. Breathing through my nose is out of the question.

All I can do is close my eyes and listen to the low buzz of the road passing beneath the tires, and wait.

At least I found Nolan.

And one way or another, it’ll all be over soon.

We drive for a long time.

At first I try to follow the turns so I know where we’re going, but it doesn’t take long before I lose track and I’m lost. When we finally stop, everything is quiet except for the wind and the occasional car passing somewhere far away.

I hear the driver’s side door open, then Nolan’s footsteps on loose gravel. They’re close at first, then they move away and I can’t hear them anymore.

The handcuffs are cutting into my wrists, and my fingers are numb. I shift my weight to take some pressure off my hands, but all I do is make it worse.

I don’t know how much time has passed before Nolan’s footsteps come back. They stop next to the car, and I hear a delicate chime of keys. He unlocks the latch and opens the trunk.

I look up at Nolan standing over me.

It’s dark, and behind him a canopy of oak trees sway in the wind. He’s frowning.

“How you feeling?”

There’s a hint of an apology in his voice.

Just a hint.

“Let me out,” I say.

Nolan looks around then reaches in and grabs my arm and pulls me up. I ease my legs over the side, but when I try to stand, everything spins around me. I sit on the edge of the trunk until it stops.

Once I feel steady, I try again.

At first I don’t know where I am, and then I see the marble columns of the park pavilion to my left and the high-rise apartments towering over the trees to the north.

Memorial Park.

“What the hell are we doing here?”

Nolan doesn’t answer.

He takes my arm and walks me around the car to the passenger side and leans me against the door, then goes back to the trunk and pulls out a small black tackle box. He opens it on the ground and says, “I’ve got a saline wash and some gauze we can use to get that blood off.”

“It won’t help. My nose is broken.”

“Maybe not.”

There is no maybe. I’ve had my nose broken before, and I know how it feels. It’s not something you forget. I start to explain this to him, then I decide it really doesn’t matter and stop talking.

I turn and look around the parking lot. There are no other cars, just a scatter of trees and shadows stretching across the empty lawn.

In the moonlight, everything is blue.

The idea of running crosses my mind, but I don’t know why. I don’t want to get away, I want answers, and Nolan is the only person who can give them to me.

It’s not how I planned it, but it’s what I wanted.

“Are you going to explain any of this?” I try to sound tough, but with my nose smashed flat against my face, my voice comes out thin and weak. “Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I was asked to.”

“By who?”

“I think it’s best if you don’t talk.”

“Why?”

Nolan shakes his head, doesn’t look up.

“Why are we out here?” I ask.

Nolan closes the tackle box. He stands in front of me and stares at my nose for a moment, then uncaps the bottle of saline. “Just be thankful I was the one who came for you. Things could’ve been a lot worse.”

“You mean I could’ve lost another finger?”

Nolan ignores me and pours the saline onto a folded strip of gauze. “Keep still.”

I do the best I can, but he makes it tough.

“All I know is you fucked up,” he says. “You must’ve really pissed someone off.”

“Who?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You’re working for them.”

Nolan presses the gauze hard against my cheek and I wince. “No,” he says. “I’m not. I don’t know any more than you do.”

I keep quiet until he finishes wiping the blood off my face, then say, “Did you kill Diane?”

“What?”

“My wife. Did you kill her, or did you hire someone to do that for you, too?”

Nolan punches me in the stomach, hard.

I bend forward and try not to throw up.

For a long time, I can’t breathe.

Nolan stands over me, watching. “I’ve never killed anyone, do you understand?” He pauses. “I’m not like you fucking people.”

When I can, I say, “I know you hired the men who cut off my finger. I talked to them, they told me everything.”

Nolan steps closer. I get ready for him to hit me again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “What are you talking about?”

I tell him what happened at Gabby’s place, leaving out the names and a lot of the detail. Whatever Nolan’s plans are, I don’t think they include arresting me. Still, I’ve learned not to take chances with cops.

When I finish talking, Nolan walks back to the tackle box on the ground behind the car. He opens the lid and drops the bloody gauze inside.

“They told me you threatened to have them deported if they didn’t do what you asked,” I say. “Is that true?”

“Deported?”

“Is it true?”

Nolan puts the tackle box back in the trunk and slams it shut. He stands for a while, not moving, then leans against the car with his head down.

“All this happened tonight?” he asks.

“Just a couple hours ago.”

“What else did they say? I want to know all of it.”

“Why?”

“Because it might be important.”

There’s something in his voice that stops me from arguing. I start at the beginning, and I go over every detail of the conversation I had with the man in Gabby’s basement.

This time I leave nothing out.

Nolan listens, and when I finish he says, “He told you they were bakers?”

“Was he lying?”

“I don’t know. How many bakers have you met who’ve had their tongues cut out of their mouths?”

I don’t answer him, and for a while neither of us says a word.

“Did he tell you this story before or after your friend did that to his hand?”

“After.”

“And how bad was it?”

I think about the blood covering the table and pooling around the chair, the way it snaked across the floor toward the sunken drain in the middle of the room.

“Bad.”

“And this friend of yours just let them go?”

“He had them dropped off outside the hospital.”

Nolan looks away. “Christ.”

I keep quiet and let the pieces fall into place.

“You didn’t hire them, did you.”

“I didn’t even know they existed until I questioned you about the attack.”

I watch him and try to see if he’s lying.

He sees what I’m doing, and he frowns. “I said I didn’t hire them.”

“Then who are they?”

Nolan shakes his head. “I really don’t know.”

“Someone contacted me the day your case landed on my desk,” Nolan says. “It was just after I came to your house that first time. Do you remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“When I got back to my office, I found a manila envelope with my name on it. There were things inside—” Nolan pauses, then comes around the car to where I’m standing. “That night they called and told me to bury your case.”

“Who’s they?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Someone calls and tells you to cover up an investigation and you do it, just like that?”

“You’re not the only one with a past, Jake.” He takes a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and puts one in his mouth. “They were persuasive.”

“They blackmailed you?”

Nolan lights his cigarette. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, things I’ve put behind me.”

“Things they know about?”

“That’s right,” he says. “All I want to do is keep my badge. Do you understand?”

I tell him I do, and it’s the truth.

I just don’t care.

“You have no idea who they are?”

“No, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Nolan smiles. “What kind of people do you think we’re dealing with here?”

I don’t answer.

“You had a man look you in the eye tonight and convince you that he was someone else. And he did it after your friend had worked him over. Can you imagine that kind of control?”

“How do you know he was lying?”

“He had to be,” Nolan says. “It was an act, the pain, the fear, all of it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is.” Nolan looks down at his cigarette and rolls it back and forth between his fingers. “Those are the kind of people we’re dealing with.”

“I don’t believe it,” I say. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw in that basement.”

“What did you see? Tell me.”

I start to go over it again. I tell him about the air in the room, hot and thick and heavy with the smell of blood and piss. I tell him about seeing the two of them lumped on either side of the basement. The big one strapped to the table, and the little one…

I stop talking.

The little one.

I picture him in my mind, sitting in the corner, his hands tied with wire and stretched over his head, blood running down his arms. I can still see his face, broken and bruised, one eye swollen shut, the other wide open and fearless, watching me.

Why wasn’t he scared?

My chest aches, and I can’t find the words.

I look at Nolan, and he sees it in my face. He smiles and drops his cigarette on the ground at his feet. “It is what it is.”

“But it doesn’t make sense,” I say. “If it’s true, then why are you here? Why are you involved?”

“I told you.” He motions toward my finger. “They wanted to make sure no one investigated the attack. It’s the reason I kept looking at you instead of finding—”

“No, why are you out here tonight? Someone told you to bring me here. Why would they do that?”

Nolan doesn’t speak.

I keep talking.

“If you’re right about all this, then why would they need you to come to my house and get me? If they wanted me, they could’ve grabbed me that night in the parking lot, or any other night. Why did they have you bring me here tonight?”

Nolan shakes his head, silent.

“It sounds like they wanted us both here.”

Right away, something changes in Nolan’s eyes. He steps back from the car and looks at his watch, then out toward the entrance to the park. I start to say something else, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.

“No more talking.”

I tell him that’s fine with me.

My broken nose is throbbing and sending waves of pain through the center of my skull. It hurts to breathe, and talking is worse.

I lean back against the car and adjust my wrists so the handcuffs don’t cut off the circulation. I hear the wind passing through the trees, and I try to focus on the sound, reminding myself why I’m here.

I close my eyes and think about Diane.

It makes everything all right.

When I open my eyes again, Nolan is gone.

The wind picks up and turns cold.

I pace back and fourth to keep the blood flowing. I can’t feel anything below my elbows, and every step I take sends jagged flashes of pain through my head.

I inch myself down to the ground and use the car as a shield. It helps, but not much.

A few minutes pass, and then I hear footsteps on the gravel.

I try to stand, but with my hands cuffed I can’t get my legs under me, so I stay where I am and I wait.

The footsteps get closer. Nolan comes around the side of the car. He sees me on the ground, and he reaches down to help me up. Then he takes a ring of keys from his pocket and says, “Turn around.”

When I do, he unlocks the cuffs and slides them into his jacket pocket. “Get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Just don’t be here.”

I feel the blood creep back into my hands. I shake them out and say, “I think I’ll stick around.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I have to know, and I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

Nolan shakes his head. “Okay, Jake, it’s up to you. I did what they asked of me and that’s enough.”

He walks around to the driver’s side, and I follow.

“You’re leaving me out here?” I ask. “What if they don’t show up?”

Nolan laughs. “Then you should consider yourself lucky.” He opens the door, stops, then turns back to me. “I don’t know what they want with you, but you’d be smart to get as far away from them as you can.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Nolan frowns, then leans down and reaches into the car. He picks something up off the passenger seat and says, “You had this back at your house. I brought it along.” He holds out my .38. “You might as well have it, for all the good it’ll do you.”

I stare at my gun for a moment, but I don’t take it.

“I was going use it to get you to talk.”

“Not everything works out the way we’d like, does it?” He pushes the gun toward me. “Take it.”

I shake my head, don’t move.

I know better.

Nolan smiles and holds up his other hand. “No tricks, Jake, just doing you a favor. I can keep it if you want.”

I reach for the gun.

When my hand touches the metal, I hear a soft hiss then a loud snapping sound, like a branch breaking. Nolan jerks forward and something wet slaps against my face.

I close my eyes and step back.

The gun drops.

When I look again, Nolan is lying facedown on the ground. One arm is pinned under him, the other stretched out, twitching in the dirt. The left side of his head is open, and blood is spilling out in every direction.

I take another step back, unable to look away.

My mouth is open, but there’s no sound.

All I hear is the wind.