The Unlucky (25 page)

“Start driving.” Sarah shivered from the cold involuntarily. “I will direct you.”

“To what?”

“To your brother.”

Diner didn’t talk for a full minute and Sarah wasn’t about to interrupt her thoughts.

“Where is he?” she asked.

Sarah shook her head. “No. You drive there. Then we go to the warehouse.”

“No way.”

“Once inside the warehouse, you will see everything you need to see to make all the busts necessary. You can close these assholes down for good.”

“And how do we get inside?”

“Leave that to me.”

“Ohhh, you love all the control, don’t you. Like this is your show and I’m just an invited guest.”

Sarah glanced out the window and watched as another body was removed from the funeral home. It wasn’t often that bodies were taken
out
of funeral homes in this manner.

“Then what?” Diner asked. “I arrest you for all your crimes and that’s it. You explain to the judge how much help you gave me in hopes it’ll reduce your sentence? Or are you still going for the insanity plea?”

“One thing at a time. We can deal with that later. There’s something you need to get at the warehouse.”

“What’s that?”

Sarah turned from the window. “There’s a black book. Inside this book, the names of all the people who tortured the victims and every victim ever to set foot in the warehouse are listed. Get the black book and you have the case of the century. The problem is, this black book has city councilors in it, as well as powerful judges, Mafia types, all the way down to rich men visiting Toronto and wanting a little fun.”

“That sort of thing doesn’t bother me. I don’t care how powerful you are. If you broke the law, I will arrest you.”

“Great. Then start driving. The black book is in the warehouse today. Tomorrow it won’t be.”

Diner turned back in her seat and faced forward. After a moment, she put the unmarked cruiser in gear and drove them off the funeral home’s property.

“Where to?” she asked.

“The warehouse is—”

“No,” Diner cut her off. “Where is my brother?”

“Take the 401 until you hit Brock Road near Pickering. Head north on Brock.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. You know a lot about this area for an American.”

“I’m only repeating what my sister has told me.”

Diner’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror, then looked away only enough to watch the road.

Sarah stared at the passing scenery and hoped they weren’t too late getting to the warehouse.

If they were, a man would be leaving with the black book. If he took it, the book would leave the country by tomorrow. It would never be located again.

Maybe that’s why Vivian told me to ask Aaron for a ride to the airport.

Chapter 29

As Diner turned north on Brock Road, Sarah watched the mall pass by on her right.

“Turn in here,” Sarah instructed.

Diner hit her indicator and turned into the mall.

“Park by the Wal-Mart.”

Sarah directed Diner until they were backed into a spot. Once they were parked, Diner left the car running and turned in her seat.

“So, what is this?” Diner asked.

“The reason you’re in law enforcement.”

“Oh really. And why is that?”

Sarah looked down at her legs. It was odd knowing so much personal information about the detective. It made Sarah feel invasive. But it was necessary.

“Your sixteenth birthday. Brad, your fraternal twin brother, had an argument with your father.”

Sarah heard Diner adjust herself in the front seat.

“Your father had been in a car accident,” Sarah said.

“No,” Diner broke in. “Correction. My brother killed that woman.”

Sarah looked up and met Diner’s eyes. Behind them, she saw a struggle. Diner was fighting back the tears, but the tears were winning.

“Your father was driving,” Sarah whispered.

“That’s impossible. My brother admitted it. He confessed. He went to jail for it.”

“He did the time,” Sarah nodded. “But he was a youth under the Young Offenders Act. The charges were dangerous driving, failing to remain, vehicular manslaughter and something else. Basically a hit and run, but a woman was killed. He got probation and a year in a youth center. Shortly after the trial, your father died. Alcoholism caught up with his liver, his body.”

Tears bubbled up under Diner’s eyes, then dropped off her face as the painful memories surfaced. “How in the hell could you know all this?” She used the tips of her fingers to mash the tears off her eyes. “I checked years later. The criminal record was purged when Brad turned eighteen.”

“Your father was drunk that day,” Sarah said. “He had taken Brad out to teach him how to be a man but Brad didn’t want to drink. When your father hit that woman with his car, he panicked and left the scene but a neighbor wrote his plate number down. By the time the police arrived, he still hadn’t sobered up. He said Brad was learning how to drive. It was an accident. At first your brother denied it, but your father convinced him that one year wasn’t a lot. If good old dad had to take the fall, charged as an adult, well you know better than me how that would go.”

Diner turned away and lowered her head, fumbling with something in her lap.

“When my brother got out, he never came to the house.” Diner’s shoulders hitched. She swallowed. “He never came to my father’s funeral.”

“You always wondered what happened that day. Why they argued. Your search for the truth started there. Your mother never spoke a word of it because she didn’t know any better. As far as she was concerned, Brad was a murderer.”

Diner nodded. “My alcoholic father ruined our family, then died.”

“Have you forgiven your father?” Sarah asked.

Diner watched a car drive by in search of a parking spot as if she didn’t hear Sarah’s question. “How sure are you that my dad was driving?”

“Sure enough that I brought you to see your brother. Ask him yourself.”

She swung around in her seat like someone had jerked on her head with a rope. “He’s here? Right now?”

Sarah nodded slowly.

“I looked him up,” Diner exclaimed. “I hunted for him. After he got out of jail, he disappeared. How could you find him?”

Sarah gave her a
come on, really,
look and said, “Brad isn’t Brad Diner anymore.”

“What’s his name?” she nearly shouted.

“Marcus Appleby.”

“Marcus? What?” Now she was screaming. Then she started to laugh through her tears. “Who the hell calls himself Marcus Appleby?”

Sarah nodded at the dash. “What time is it?”

Diner wiped her eyes and bent closer to the clock, still uttering a few choking laughs, or sobs, Sarah wasn’t quite sure.

“It’s seven minutes after two.”

“Roll the window down on my side.”

Diner did, but it only went half way.

“In three minutes, at 2:10, Brad, or Marcus, will enter that black Camaro two cars over. I’d suggest you get out and say something to him.”

“What? But I haven’t seen him since we were sixteen. What would I say? What am I supposed to—” she stopped, then narrowed her eyes. “You researched me. You looked me up and now you’re making fun of my pain.” Her face turned serious. “There’s no way in hell that you could know all that. This is a prank, isn’t it?”

“I agree. There’s no way in hell. When Marcus walks by, you will have no choice but to embrace your twin brother and to embrace the fact that there is something to this dead sister talk of mine.”

Diner checked her watch. She opened her car door and got out, leaving the car running and the air going full. Ten seconds later, she stuck her head back in.

“In one minute I will see my brother. Or I will make it my life’s mission to cause you as much pain and sorrow as I can for the rest of my life.”

She slammed the door so hard the cruiser rocked back and forth. Diner moved to the front of the cruiser and leaned on the hood.

They waited.

A woman walked by pushing a stroller, a balloon attached to the handle. Beside her, a boy about the age of four, cried as she schooled him on his behavior. Two teenagers who were supposed to be in school ran by, one clutching a skateboard.

They waited.

Then Diner pushed off the cruiser and walked around to her door, yanked it open and dropped back in the car.

“I can’t believe I let this go on as far as I did.” She put the car in gear. “And to think, a fucking psychic murderer had me wound up, all ready to—”

“Marina Sue Diner!” Sarah yelled. “Shut the fuck up!”

The car stopped with a jerk.

“Do not move this car,” Sarah shouted. “Look to your right.”

Diner fixed her gaze out the passenger window and stared at the man walking toward the black Camaro. Slowly, she put the car back into park.

“I can’t believe it,” came out of her mouth barely above a whisper.

“If you don’t get out of the car now,” Sarah said. “You’ll miss him.”

Diner froze. Her eyes darted to his face, his pants and the little boy hugging his father’s leg.

“I can’t believe—” she started.

“Excuse me, sir?” Sarah shouted out her window. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sarah!” Diner whispered in a breathy yelp.

Marcus frowned as he opened the backseat of the Camaro and placed his son inside. He set the Wal-Mart bags in the front passenger seat and turned to face the unmarked cruiser.

“Do I know you?” he asked. He narrowed his eyes and turned his head sideways with a conspiratorial grin on his face. “Did John put you up to this?”

“I’m afraid it’s not a joke,” Sarah said. “I need one minute of your time.”

Marcus didn’t come closer. He leaned down to get a look at the driver, but stayed by his vehicle two spots over.

“Looks like the cops to me,” he said, his tone brusque now. “What do you want?”

“The driver wants to have a word.”

Diner opened the door. She got out and walked around the trunk. Sarah watched her progress. When Diner stopped in front of Marcus, realization swept across his face. Maybe it had something to do with being twins. Both of them recognized each other within seconds after almost two decades.

“Little Marina?” he managed to say. “Is it really you?”

Detective Diner shot out her arms and hugged him, not able to speak as sobs overwhelmed her. Marcus held her. They leaned against the Camaro for a few minutes as they tried to get themselves under control.

Questions poured out of both of them. Sarah watched the reunion with growing dread. Someone was going to inform the men at the torture warehouse that Machiavelli and Fletcher were dead. They would shut down soon.

But this was necessary. Detective Diner had to be sold.

And what a good way to sell her, Sis. I love this stuff.

Sarah wondered if this was what she should be doing instead of all the dangerous stuff.

Maybe we should spend our time bringing people together like this instead of vigilantism.

Vivian whispered that there would be plenty of time to do the lovey-dovey tasks when Sarah was older and more feeble. Not now while she was still able to fight.

Great!

“Detective Diner?” Sarah interrupted. By this point, Marcus had introduced his three-year-old boy and offered Diner to come for dinner to meet the wife. They both agreed it had been too long. “Detective?”

“Yeah?” she turned toward Sarah, her eyes bloodshot. “What?”

“We have to go.”

“Where?”

“A certain warehouse. Not much time.”

Diner looked at the pavement, then back up into her brother’s eyes. They spoke of seeing each other this weekend and exchanged numbers.

Two minutes later, Diner was back behind the wheel and turning onto Brock Road.

“You okay?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah. Let’s do this and then I need a week off. I need to reconnect. I still can’t believe it.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Get back on the 401 and head toward Scarborough. Turn north on McCowan Road. The warehouse we’re going to is five minutes north off of Nugget.”

Diner looked back at her through her rearview mirror. “You sure about this? Just you and me? No backup?”

The refreshing feel of the detective’s voice sent waves of calm through Sarah. Diner was on her side, even if it was temporarily.