Bloodlines (64 page)

"I'm not sure, but I think he's at his place."

"Do you know Ethan's home phone number?"

"Not by heart, but it's listed. I've got his cell number."

"Okay, I'll call information, you call the cell phone. If you reach him, hand the phone over. If you don't, leave my cell number on his voice mail and tell him it's urgent--that he must talk to me before he sees Yeager. Tell him it's seriously a matter of life and death."

She called. As I was reaching information, she got voice mail. She left a message. I could hear in her voice that she thought the life-and-death bit was overly dramatic.

I got Ethan's number and asked if there was an address listed as well. "Oh yes," the operator said, and gave it to me.

Oh hell, I thought, as I wrote it down.

I called. He answered. That in and of itself nearly made me speechless with relief. Nearly. "Ethan? Irene. Do you want to keep working at the Express?"

"Hailey is such a little--"

"Never mind that, and it really doesn't matter who told me. You and I must talk face-to-face this evening. Immediately. No choice--you understand?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a deadbolt lock?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Bolt the door. Turn on your cell phone, because you may need it. Do not let anyone but me in the door. If your own mother comes to the door--"

"She's dead, so I'll assume it's just a zombie pretending to be my mother. But I won't let anyone else in. I won't go out in the corridor, even if someone sets the building on fire." His tone was flat--he sounded resigned, a little too resigned.

"Thank you. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Don't you need directions?"

"Still living on Chestnut?"

"Yes--oh, you got it from the phone book. Apartment eight." He paused. "You think someone else could get my address the same way."

"Exactly. If someone tries to get in, call the police. Don't hesitate."

I hung up, then asked Hailey, "Did Yeager know you were there when he talked to Ethan?"

She shook her head. She was looking a little pale. I think she was starting to get the bigger picture.

"I want you to promise me that you will never, ever attempt something so stupid as going one-on-one with Mitch Yeager."

She promised. She promised to be careful driving back to the paper.

"Ask security to walk you out to your car when you leave," I said.

I tried to call Frank. His cell phone wasn't on, and he wasn't back at his office yet. I left a message on both voice mails, telling him I needed to talk something over with Ethan and would be home late, but he could reach me on my cell phone if needed. I also gave him Ethan's home number. "It's a long story, but--it might be a good idea for him to stay with us for a few days," I said. "Would that be okay? Let me know."

Ethan lived in an old apartment building in a tough part of town. I found a street lamp and parked beneath it. As I locked the Jeep up and set the alarm, I prayed I wouldn't have to call LoJack to find out where it was later that night.

The building was long and two stories tall, a flat-roofed Spanish-style structure, probably built in the 1930s. The mailboxes at the entrance indicated there were sixteen units in the building.

Although it was moving toward nine o'clock on a weeknight, I could hear voices and music and laughter coming from the building. A party palace. The noises coming from it were the kinds of noises you might hear in the hallway of a college dorm on a Friday night--a confined space occupied by individuals watching a dozen different television shows at high volume, listening to just as many different kinds of music, each trying to hear their own above others--apparently, not one of the tenants believed in headphones. The glass front door was framed by dark wood and could have easily been smashed open by anyone who really wanted to get in, but I took the easy route and pushed the buzzer above Ethan's mailbox. I pulled his name tag off it, which made it one of five blank ones. There was no sound from the intercom, but the door started humming and rattling, so I pushed it open.

My senses were assailed by both a louder edition of the noise I had heard outside, and a strong odor of urine and dried vomit in the foyer. I rushed back outside, remembering just in time not to let the door latch behind me. I took a deep breath, went back in, and held the breath all the way up the stairs, not exhaling until I reached the second level. The stairs ended at a short hallway at the front of the building. I glanced out a window there and saw that the Jeep was still where I had left it.

Apartment eight was to the right and at the rear of the building. The air quality was better in this dimly lit hall, but not by much. As I passed doors, the particular music of that apartment dweller intensified and became a little clearer. Two steps later, it was jumbled into the mix.

No wonder Ethan wasn't getting much sleep.

I knocked on his door, saw the peephole in it darken, and heard the lock click back. The door opened.

"Hi," he said, and gestured me inside.

He was still wearing his work clothes, a suit that hung loosely on him. His dark blond hair was slightly shaggy, but it actually looked better that way than it had in the shorter style he had worn before he went away to rehab.

The room we were in was neat and furnished in a spare way, with a table and chairs and sofa that looked as if they were not with their first owner. Or second or third, for that matter. I glanced around. It might as well have been a hotel room--nothing personal.

He had watched this perusal as he leaned against the back of the door, arms crossed. "No, it's not much," he said.

"Not home, either, is it?"

"I've only noticed that recently," he said, and moved toward the kitchen. "Can I offer you something to drink?" He smiled at my raised brow and added, "Coffee, water, tea?"

"Coffee would be great--but before you do that, call Mitch Yeager and tell him that you are sorry to have bothered him and won't be coming over, that you were trying to impress a girl who dared you to get an interview with him. That you never actually interviewed Harmon and will not be troubling him in any way. That will be the first call. I may have you make a second one to the homicide division of the Las Piernas Police Department, to tell my husband what you've done, so that he can tell you whether or not you have just completely fucked up a major investigation."

"I was trying to help it. I'm not so sure that I shouldn't still try to help it."

"Ethan, this is all very noble, but you cannot walk into the police department with Mitch Yeager's blood on your pen--yes, Hailey told me about that--and tell them that they now have what they need to arrest him for murder. For one thing, that's not your job. For another, I sincerely doubt it will stand up in court as a legal way for them to obtain evidence. And it is hardly ethical for you to have tried to blackmail Yeager into an interview by lying your ass off, is it?"

"No, but...no, it's not." He put his hands up to his face, ran them up through his hair. "I let Hailey get to me. She was--no, never mind, I'm not going to blame her." He opened his cell phone, used it to look up Yeager's number, then called from his land line. He hung up. "The line's busy."

"We'll try again in a few minutes. In the meantime--Ethan, I'm so worried about you."

"Afraid I'll start drinking again?"

"No--I mean, maybe you will, maybe you won't. Right now I'm seriously hoping you will live long enough to struggle with your alcoholism. You've undoubtedly pissed off a man who arranged for the deaths of more than half a dozen people because he wanted to seek revenge in the cruelest way possible. He was willing to scheme and wait for years to carry out vengeance the first time, but at his current age, I doubt he'll bother with long-range planning again. I'm hoping he didn't realize other people heard you talking to him."

He sat in silence. Then he said, "Maybe if he comes after me, he'd be doing the world a favor."

"Ethan, if you will just pull your head out of your ass, you'll see that you've got a bright future."

He laughed. "Okay. I'll call a halt to the pity party. Thanks."

"Good. Try Yeager again."

He called. This time, someone answered. I heard Ethan ask for Yeager, then say, "Oh... Well, listen--will you please tell him that Ethan Shire will not be coming by this evening after all? ...That's right, I called earlier.... No, I'm notcoming by... and please tell him that--that I'm very sorry to have bothered him, that I was just making stuff up, and it was all a stupid dare to impress a girl, and I'm sorry. And he can call me later and I'll explain and apologize for disturbing him. Did you get all that?... Yes, that's it.... Thank you. And sorry about earlier, when I made you bother him.... Thanks ...Bye."

He hung up and said, "He couldn't come to the phone. Do you think that will be enough?"

"To be honest, I'm still worried."

My cell phone rang. It was Frank. "Collecting strays again?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I suppose you want to tell me that this one is a real doozy, but he's right there."

"Yes."

"That's okay, they're all doozies. Bring him over. Especially if that gets you home faster."

"Thanks. You know, I think your grandmother was the last person to use that word."

"Doozy? No, I picked that one up from you."

"Touche," I said, laughing. "See you soon."

"Where are you, by the way?"

"Over on Chestnut near Polson."

"Jesus--"

"We're leaving just as soon as he can pack an overnight bag. I'll be home soon. And, Frank--"

"You love me and you want me to hide the booze. I remember what you told me about him. No problem. We won't make it harder on him than it already is."

"Thanks."

He said he'd wait up for us, and we said good-bye.

"Are you allergic to cats or dogs?" I asked Ethan as I put the phone away.

"No, why?"

"I've got two big dogs and a cat." I explained to him that I thought it might be best if we put him up for a while.

"I couldn't..."

"Sure you could. You'll be safer, our animals will appreciate the added attention, and I won't be up all night wondering if Yeager has figured out that you're listed in the phone book. Stay at least until they have enough on Yeager to arrest him," I said. "Or until you can find another place to live."

"I've imposed enough on you."

"The imposition will be if I have to spend another hour or two demonstrating that I am really much more stubborn than you. Go and pack what you'll need for tonight and tomorrow, and then Frank can come back with you over the weekend."

He hesitated.

"Are you so attached to this place you can't bear to leave?"

He looked around the empty room and sighed. "No."

He stepped into the hallway, which led to a bathroom and bedroom, and opened the hall closet. He pulled a garment bag from it. "You know, I don't think what I said about Eden Supply bothered Mitch Yeager much."

"Let's not bet on it. He had no idea that anyone knew the name of the company or connected it to him until you blurted that out to him. That information wasn't public yet."

This had obviously not occurred to him, because his eyes widened in dismay. "Shit!"

"Too late to worry about it now, Ethan. What were you trying to say about Yeager being bothered?"

"Just that it seemed to me that he was more upset by something I lied about completely, you know, trying to get him to think I knew more than I did."

"Like what?"

"Well, I told him that I had helped you go through some things of O'Connor's before I got in trouble, and that while you were going through O'Connor's stuff, I was going through the things that belonged to his murdered sister. I said maybe O'Connor had been too heartbroken to ever look at them, or just didn't know what he was seeing, but that I had found a few items that belonged to Maureen that might be worth something to somebody. I said I was sure he knew why I thought he'd be interested in them. That was when he agreed to see me."

"What items?"

"I was bluffing, so I didn't get specific."

"The sooner we get out of here, the better. And I hope to God they don't break into the storage unit."

While he packed up a few items from the bedroom and bathroom, I told him about our meeting with Betty Bradford.

He glanced around the apartment again, then said, "I think that's everything." He patted the front of his suit coat and said, "Oh, I forgot--"

But before I could learn what it was he forgot, the door to the apartment came flying open.

Eric Yeager stood pointing a gun at us, and Ian came in not much behind him, also armed. Eric moved forward, and Ian closed the door.

"Must be my lucky day," Eric said.

**CHAPTER 65

THEY DIDN'T LOOK ALL THAT DIFFERENT FROM WHEN I'D LAST SEEN THEM, during their trial. Their clothing was dark and more casual this time, and they were wearing gloves. They had gained some weight, gone a little soft around the middle, but they were tall and big-shouldered. Nothing about them said they lacked strength. Their faces were a little more wrinkled. They had better tans. Their hair might have been dyed. I noted these things in nothing more than a glimpse, because I couldn't seem to make myself take my eyes off the business ends of their guns.