Death of an Immortal (22 page)

He craned his neck to look into the living room and saw her huddled under a blanket, watching
The Colbert Report
and ignoring him.

Mrs. Hardaway went over to her and said something over the din of the TV. Sylvie cast off her blanket and swung her feet around to the floor heavily. She got up and walked toward him as if she didn’t care about anything or anyone.

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “Because I want to ask him why.”

She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, looking almost dumpy. But there was no disguising the lithe shape of her body, the sharp contours of her face. Even rumpled, with no makeup, she was more beautiful than most women at their most put-together. Carlan waited for her as she threw on a shapeless parka.

For a moment Carlan thought she was going to get in the backseat, but then she seemed to realize how silly that would look––or how guilty the neighbors might think it looked––and she sat in the passenger seat instead. She had yet to really look at him. She didn’t say anything as they drove onto the Galveston Bridge over the Deschutes River and through downtown, which was still bustling even this late at night.

“I’ve really worked hard to catch him, you know.” It sounded peevish, even to him. “I mean, he would’ve gotten away…”

Sylvie didn’t say anything.

“It’s possible the murderer is already dead,” Carlan said, curious what her reaction would be. “We’re getting some conflicting reports.”

She certainly didn’t seem as happy as she should be to hear this news. In fact, she barely reacted. Personally, he hoped this Terrill fellow, or Evers, or whatever his name was, was still alive so he could march him through the squad room in triumph.
In your face, Detective Brosterhouse!

“If he killed my sister,” Sylvie said, finally, “and I’m not sure I believe that, he was simply the instrument. You were the cause. If you hadn’t scared her away to Portland, she never would have been in danger in the first place.”

“I didn’t force her to leave,” he said. Why did this girl hate him? He’d never done anything to her. In fact, he’d been nothing but friendly. She’d just have to come around. He’d just have to figure out a way to make her go on that first date or two. Then she’d see what a great guy he was.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly, you know,” he said. “I could really help you out. You don’t have Jamie’s money coming in anymore, and your parents can barely support themselves. I happen to know they got a notice of foreclosure last month. You’ll be working two jobs in fast-food joints if you don’t watch out.”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Look, I’ve been on your side all along. You know, Jamie made a big mistake over there in Portland. I just found it. Turns out she made a porn video. I’m going to try to keep it out of the trial.”

Sylvie turned and looked at him for the first time. The hate in her eyes was dismaying. “Jamie found out before she left,” she said. “She told me about it.
You
made that video and
you
put it online.”

He didn’t say anything. It had probably been a mistake to bring the whole thing up. Nobody could prove it was him that was with her, but it was pretty hard to deny that it was Jamie being screwed on-screen.

“Well, it’s Jamie’s reputation that will suffer,” he said stubbornly. “If you’d just be nice to me, go on a date or something, then I could keep the video out of the evidence, out of the trial.”

“And if I don’t?’

He shrugged.

“You’re the
real
killer,” she said, and there was anger in her voice. “Go ahead. Post the video. I don’t care. Mom and Dad need to wake up to what happened to their daughter. They need to wake up to why it happened, and I’ll make sure they know that
you
made that video, that the flabby man who was having such a hard time keeping a hard-on was you. Go ahead, Richard. Jamie’s dead––you can’t hurt her anymore.”

“Yeah, but I can hurt you.” He reached over and grabbed her arm and squeezed. She gritted her teeth but didn’t cry out, unlike Jamie, who almost always became very accommodating when he disciplined her. He let go of her with a snort of disgust. “Quit being such a bitch.”

“Bastard,” she groaned.

Just like that, he was falling out of love with her. He still desired her, but not for a lifetime. He’d screw her and leave her. After that, he didn’t care what she thought or what she did. He just had to find the right leverage to get her in bed. But no more romancing…

“I’m a cop, for God’s sake,” he snarled. “You’re a low-life high school dropout. You should be looking to your future.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, simply stared out the window. He could see tears glittering in her eyes. “What if I ask for a restraining order?” she said, finally. “How will that look for your career? To have two women from the same family swearing you’re dangerous?”

Carlan hadn’t thought of that. He wanted to grab her again, just to wake her up. But no, she’d only be stoic, which would be irritating. But he knew one thing: he wouldn’t––
couldn’t
––allow her to file a restraining order. She needed to know that.

“I’ll kill you first,” he said.

“And find a patsy to blame?” Sylvie said, turning toward him in triumph. “You killed her, didn’t you? Not Mr. Terrill.”

“Is that the name he gave you? For an innocent man, he sure goes by a lot of names. How did that insurance settlement go?”

She didn’t answer.

“I knew it! The check bounced, didn’t it? No, Sylvie. He did it, all right. I have no earthly idea why he’s here, but he killed Jamie. Maybe he wants to kill you too.”

“He cared for her,” she said, but she sounded defeated. “I could tell. And he really wanted to help me. Somehow you’ve twisted all the evidence, haven’t you?”

“Like you said, Sylvie,” Carlan said with satisfaction. “You can ask him yourself, just as soon as I put handcuffs on him and read him his rights.”

He pulled into the alley behind the church.

Chapter 36

Sunrise was only a couple of hours away, and Carlan expected to have to bang on the door of the shelter to wake up the priest. But Father Harry was dumping some trash in the cans in the alley as they drove up.

The priest turned and waited expectantly.

Carlan knew Father Harry didn’t like him. Once, as he was dropping Jamie off for volunteer work, he’d made the mistake of saying out loud what he really thought: that trying to help these bums was a stupid waste of time. Since then, the holier-than-thou bastard had all but ignored him.

Carlan rolled down the window but didn’t get out. He was having momentary doubts. Perhaps he should call for backup. Patterson was the lead in this case, after all. He didn’t want any questions later. But then the image returned of him leading the culprit through the squad room to the cheers of his fellow police officers.

“What can I do for you, officer?” the priest asked.

Carlan opened the door and got out of the cruiser. He adjusted his gun belt, trying to think how best to approach the priest. Father Harry was protective of his vagrants.

“We’re looking for someone,” he said. “A murder suspect.”

Father Harry didn’t look as surprised as he should have been. “You’d better come inside,” he said.

Sylvie got out of the car and stood about as far from Carlan as she could and still stay within the confines of the alley. The priest smiled at her sadly, and as she started to walk inside, he touched her arm. She flinched, and he retracted his hand as quickly as if had been burned. “You OK?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry about Jamie. She didn’t deserve that. She was a good woman.”

“You know she was a prostitute, right?” Carlan said, watching this exchange.

“She was a good woman,” the priest repeated, glaring at him.

They passed the big room, which served as both the sleeping quarters and the dining room for the homeless, depending on the time of day. Carlan stood in the doorway, but all he could see were shrouded shapes on cots.

Father Harry kept going, turning into the kitchen. There was a smaller table for smaller meals in the corner.

There was a filthy man sitting at the table who looked up when they walked in the room. He was eating a bowl of Top Ramen. Carlan immediately remembered Mark, the guy at the encampment, mentioning how dirty one of the expelled bums was. Grime, he’d called him.

“You Grime?” he asked.

The man muttered something, then bent down to slurp up some more noodles.

Carlan shuddered as the man’s smell assaulted him.

Sylvie sat at the table opposite the Stinker, and they exchanged a look. No doubt they were sharing some miserable commiserating message, Carlan thought. He was so sick of these dirty, pathetic, depressing people!

Carlan and Father Harry sat in the other two chairs.

“I’m looking for a bum called Perry, and unless I’m mistaken, Grime here. They were accompanying a third man, a new guy in town, called Evers or Terrill, or who knows what. A tall, slender man, is the way he’s described.” Carlan pulled out the police sketch and handed it to the priest, who barely glanced at it before handing it back. Carlan dropped the picture on the table in front of Grime, who ignored it.

“Is he dead?” Carlan asked bluntly, hoping for a reaction. Grime barely budged, but the priest was obviously surprised.

“So he’s
not
dead,” Carlan said, snagging the picture and proffering it to priest again. “Take a look, Father Harry. This man is a killer. He shouldn’t be on the streets. You need to tell me where he is.”

“Is this true?” the priest asked Sylvie. “Is this the man who killed Jamie?”

“He’s been accused,” she said. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Father Harry was obviously troubled and struggling with whether to answer. Finally, he said, “Look around you, Officer Carlan. What do you see?”

I see a kitchen with a stinking bum,
Carlan thought
. I see a beautiful but pathetic girl. I see a priest who has wasted his life trying to help those who can’t be helped, who most often don’t want to be helped.

He didn’t know what to say.

“See what’s on the far wall there?” the priest said. “It’s a crucifix, signifying the sacrifice that our Savior made for all of us––even the less fortunate, the downtrodden. It is not up to me to punish, or to give up for punishment, those who have asked for forgiveness.”

“Did he confess?” Carlan demanded.

“Not exactly,” the priest said reluctantly.

“He’s a murderer, Father Harry. You really shouldn’t be protecting him.”

But it was obvious the priest wasn’t going to give him up.

“It doesn’t matter,” Carlan said, getting up. “I’m here, and I’m going to find him.” Before the priest could get in his way, he was out of the kitchen and heading for the main room. He switched on the lights and shouted, “Everybody up! Out of bed! Line up against that wall!”

There were at least twenty homeless people there, about three-quarters of them men. There was a crude barricade in one corner where the women were sleeping. He ignored them.

Most of the men were fully dressed, a few had on pajamas, and a couple of them were naked, wrapped in blankets.

He examined them, and it quickly became clear that Jonathan Evers was not among them. “Which of you is Perry?’

No one said anything.

“Answer me, dammit!” he shouted, and the man nearest to him jerked. “You, where’s Perry?”

“I haven’t seen him,” the vagrant muttered. “He wasn’t here last night when I went to bed.”

Carlan was enraged. He’d been so close! They’d been here, he was certain of it!

If Sylvie and the priest hadn’t followed him into the big room, he’d have beaten the man senseless right then and there. It was a room full of losers whose word was worthless, every one of them. But he could also tell that the man was telling the truth. All of these men and women had been asleep by the time Evers and Perry and Grime had arrived.

Carlan stalked back to the kitchen, but as soon as he saw and smelled Grime again, he abandoned any thought of arresting the bum. He could tell that Grime wouldn’t say anything, and if he did, it wouldn’t make any sense. No point in dirtying up his squad car. He knew from experience that the stink would linger for days.

It was time to call in backup and search the neighborhood. They couldn’t have gone far. He started toward the patrol car, almost forgetting Sylvie. Almost reluctantly, he turned back and found her. “I’m leaving,” he said. “Come on.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not going with you. I’ll find another way home.”

“Suit yourself,” Carlan said. He strode to the car without a backward glance, got in, and slammed the door. He accelerated down the alley, keeping his eyes out for movement as he picked up the radio to call it in.

Let Patterson take the blame for the fugitive’s escape.

Chapter 37

Sylvie and Grime sat companionably at the table in the shelter’s kitchen. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to walk home or give her dad a call. He would ask what had happened with Richard, and she didn’t feel like explaining. Her parents couldn’t seem to understand what a creep he was, and the more she tried to point it out, the more they defended him.

She could show them the video to prove her point, but it would break their hearts.

No matter how much she disliked Richard, however, it occurred to her that she should be rooting for him to find Jamie’s murderer. She blamed Richard for Jamie’s death, but in her gut, she knew he hadn’t committed the final act.

She’d heard the tone of pain and regret in Terrill’s voice. He’d done it, all right.

So why didn’t she hate him? Why did she believe that he was truly sorry? And why did that matter?

None of her friends were religious, and none of her family were, either. Jamie had started volunteering at the shelter because she had empathy and good heart, not because she bought into the sermons that Father Harry gave at every meal.

Sylvie had a classmate who had tricked her into going on a retreat with what turned out to be a cult. But it also turned out that Sylvie was immune to their tricks and blandishments.