Omens
Page 110
He held the door for me. “I’ll use it for a few days.”
A woman bumped into him, so intent on texting that she just kept walking.
“No, no, don’t apologize,” I said. “Really. It’s okay.”
Gabriel gave a half smile.
“Yes, I’m a whole lot braver when they can’t hear me,” I said.
“We’ll work on that.”
As we stepped out, I spotted a child standing in the ambulance lane. A dark-haired boy no more than three, frantically looking about.
I glanced back at the woman who’d bumped into Gabriel, still visible through the window, still texting.
“Are you looking for your mommy?” I called to the boy.
He nodded, solemn faced.
I put out my hand. He didn’t take it but let me lead him into the hospital. Gabriel followed. When we got to the waiting room, the boy let out a breath of relief and ran to the woman. She shot him a glare of annoyance, gestured to a chair, and told him to be quiet.
“Bitch.” I looked at Gabriel. “I’m ready to say that to her face now.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” he said.
I was holding the door when I realized he was still inside, watching the little boy. He noticed me and strode out.
We were at the car before he spoke. Even then he cleared his throat twice—pausing for a few moments after the first time, as if reconsidering. When we were in the car, he cleared it again and said, “At Evans’s house. You said he had photos of my mother.”
“Or someone he claimed was your mother. I wouldn’t know, of course, and I suspect it was just a lure to get me there—”
“Olivia?”
I glanced over.
“You don’t need to make this easier for me. If he knew about my mother, he knows about my past. I’m presuming he hired an investigator. I’m presuming he told you what that investigator discovered.”
“He really didn’t say—”
“Olivia.” He waited again for me to meet his eyes. “I would like to know what he told you, in case there are any lies that need correcting.”
“Like I said, he claimed you killed your mother, which I didn’t believe. I thought she OD’d, and you hid the body to avoid going to children’s services. From your reaction earlier, I know that’s not true, either.”
“And the rest?”
“He said that you pretended she was alive and lived on your own.”
He nodded. He put his sunglasses on, despite the dark parking garage, and faced forward, starting the car.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was completely unsolicited information, and I know you’d rather I hadn’t heard, but I can promise that I will never pass it on.”
“It’s a matter of record, if one digs deeply enough. I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You don’t advertise it, either. Nor will I.”
“Thank you.” He started to back the car from the spot. Then he looked over. “And thank you for not believing I killed her.”
I nodded and waited for him to finish backing out. He didn’t, just let the car idle there.
“The police will have the photos,” he said. “I’ll need to see them.”
“You will. And if you want company . . .” I felt my cheeks flush and was glad for the semidark. “Not to presume, of course. I just meant that someone should go with you. I’d be happy to, but you’d probably prefer Rose.”
“No. You’ve already seen the pictures, so that would be easiest.” He cleared his throat. “You should be there anyway, to confirm they’re the ones Evans showed you.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Just set up a time, and we’ll do that.”
He nodded and backed the car out.
• • •
We didn’t speak anymore of Gabriel’s mother. We had another parental issue to tackle. I needed to see Pamela. To tell her what had happened, what we’d found.
When we arrived at the jail, Gabriel asked me to wait in the car for a moment. He had another call to make. A very private one, apparently, because he didn’t even take out his phone until he’d walked several cars away. He wasn’t gone more than a couple of minutes before coming back for me.
We were about a dozen steps inside the prison doors when Gabriel’s phone rang. He checked the screen and frowned.
“Blocked,” he murmured. He started to put the phone back into his pocket, then hesitated and answered. “Gabriel Walsh.”
A voice replied. I could only catch the sound of it, no words.
Gabriel’s frown deepened into a scowl. He waved at me, telling me to stay put while he took the call outside.
“I believe my message was very clear,” Gabriel said. “Our business is at an end. I wish to return your—”
The heavy doors cut his voice short. A few minutes later, he came back. I couldn’t read anything in his expression. He just limped in, motioning for us to carry on. It wasn’t until he was through the next set of doors that he paused. He looked around, as if confused. Then he took off his sunglasses.
“That helps,” I said.
He only grunted, his gaze distant.
“Having second thoughts about this visit?” I asked.
“Of course not. Pamela should hear the news from you.”
We got another few feet before he stopped and turned to me. “We need to talk.”
“Change of script?” I said.
He frowned.
“For speaking to Pamela,” I said. “You want to change what we discussed.”
“No, no. This is—” He shook his head and resumed walking before continuing. “Did you want to change anything? I understand this will be difficult. If there’s anything you want to discuss, now is the time.”
Will you tell me what you really think? Did my parents kill those other three couples? Am I chasing a fantasy?
Is there a chance they’re innocent? Or could Todd Larsen have done it alone? Could Pamela be innocent?
I’d like your professional opinion. No, I’d like your personal opinion, Gabriel, and I’d like your advice, and I know I can’t ask for either, because you’ll only give me the professional line—how you have no opinion as to their guilt or innocence and pursuing this matter further is entirely up to me.
A woman bumped into him, so intent on texting that she just kept walking.
“No, no, don’t apologize,” I said. “Really. It’s okay.”
Gabriel gave a half smile.
“Yes, I’m a whole lot braver when they can’t hear me,” I said.
“We’ll work on that.”
As we stepped out, I spotted a child standing in the ambulance lane. A dark-haired boy no more than three, frantically looking about.
I glanced back at the woman who’d bumped into Gabriel, still visible through the window, still texting.
“Are you looking for your mommy?” I called to the boy.
He nodded, solemn faced.
I put out my hand. He didn’t take it but let me lead him into the hospital. Gabriel followed. When we got to the waiting room, the boy let out a breath of relief and ran to the woman. She shot him a glare of annoyance, gestured to a chair, and told him to be quiet.
“Bitch.” I looked at Gabriel. “I’m ready to say that to her face now.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” he said.
I was holding the door when I realized he was still inside, watching the little boy. He noticed me and strode out.
We were at the car before he spoke. Even then he cleared his throat twice—pausing for a few moments after the first time, as if reconsidering. When we were in the car, he cleared it again and said, “At Evans’s house. You said he had photos of my mother.”
“Or someone he claimed was your mother. I wouldn’t know, of course, and I suspect it was just a lure to get me there—”
“Olivia?”
I glanced over.
“You don’t need to make this easier for me. If he knew about my mother, he knows about my past. I’m presuming he hired an investigator. I’m presuming he told you what that investigator discovered.”
“He really didn’t say—”
“Olivia.” He waited again for me to meet his eyes. “I would like to know what he told you, in case there are any lies that need correcting.”
“Like I said, he claimed you killed your mother, which I didn’t believe. I thought she OD’d, and you hid the body to avoid going to children’s services. From your reaction earlier, I know that’s not true, either.”
“And the rest?”
“He said that you pretended she was alive and lived on your own.”
He nodded. He put his sunglasses on, despite the dark parking garage, and faced forward, starting the car.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was completely unsolicited information, and I know you’d rather I hadn’t heard, but I can promise that I will never pass it on.”
“It’s a matter of record, if one digs deeply enough. I’m not ashamed of it.”
“You don’t advertise it, either. Nor will I.”
“Thank you.” He started to back the car from the spot. Then he looked over. “And thank you for not believing I killed her.”
I nodded and waited for him to finish backing out. He didn’t, just let the car idle there.
“The police will have the photos,” he said. “I’ll need to see them.”
“You will. And if you want company . . .” I felt my cheeks flush and was glad for the semidark. “Not to presume, of course. I just meant that someone should go with you. I’d be happy to, but you’d probably prefer Rose.”
“No. You’ve already seen the pictures, so that would be easiest.” He cleared his throat. “You should be there anyway, to confirm they’re the ones Evans showed you.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Just set up a time, and we’ll do that.”
He nodded and backed the car out.
• • •
We didn’t speak anymore of Gabriel’s mother. We had another parental issue to tackle. I needed to see Pamela. To tell her what had happened, what we’d found.
When we arrived at the jail, Gabriel asked me to wait in the car for a moment. He had another call to make. A very private one, apparently, because he didn’t even take out his phone until he’d walked several cars away. He wasn’t gone more than a couple of minutes before coming back for me.
We were about a dozen steps inside the prison doors when Gabriel’s phone rang. He checked the screen and frowned.
“Blocked,” he murmured. He started to put the phone back into his pocket, then hesitated and answered. “Gabriel Walsh.”
A voice replied. I could only catch the sound of it, no words.
Gabriel’s frown deepened into a scowl. He waved at me, telling me to stay put while he took the call outside.
“I believe my message was very clear,” Gabriel said. “Our business is at an end. I wish to return your—”
The heavy doors cut his voice short. A few minutes later, he came back. I couldn’t read anything in his expression. He just limped in, motioning for us to carry on. It wasn’t until he was through the next set of doors that he paused. He looked around, as if confused. Then he took off his sunglasses.
“That helps,” I said.
He only grunted, his gaze distant.
“Having second thoughts about this visit?” I asked.
“Of course not. Pamela should hear the news from you.”
We got another few feet before he stopped and turned to me. “We need to talk.”
“Change of script?” I said.
He frowned.
“For speaking to Pamela,” I said. “You want to change what we discussed.”
“No, no. This is—” He shook his head and resumed walking before continuing. “Did you want to change anything? I understand this will be difficult. If there’s anything you want to discuss, now is the time.”
Will you tell me what you really think? Did my parents kill those other three couples? Am I chasing a fantasy?
Is there a chance they’re innocent? Or could Todd Larsen have done it alone? Could Pamela be innocent?
I’d like your professional opinion. No, I’d like your personal opinion, Gabriel, and I’d like your advice, and I know I can’t ask for either, because you’ll only give me the professional line—how you have no opinion as to their guilt or innocence and pursuing this matter further is entirely up to me.
