Omens
Page 83
Gabriel nodded.
“But the killer took his cell phone and wallet . . . ?”
“To delay identification.”
“Right.” I inhaled and collected my thoughts. “He hung up on you and came out to call someone without his girlfriend overhearing. Whoever he called told him to wait. He did.”
“That’s a plausible theory, yes, but—”
“Leave it as a theory until proven otherwise. I know.”
I looked around. There was a Dumpster ten feet away. I walked over and climbed up until I could see inside.
“It’s less than half full. If you’re trying to hide the body, why not dump him in here?”
“Lack of time. Or lack of strength. I could manage it, but it would be difficult, and it would leave me covered with blood.”
“Okay, so now we call the police.”
I took out my cell. He plucked it from my hand.
“Once the body is discovered, it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Gray’s girlfriend learns of his fate. Given that she was frightened enough to vault over her balcony, I don’t think news of his death will loosen her tongue.”
I looked down at Gray. Leaving a man dead in an alley was wrong. But that woman was our only hope of finding out what Peter Evans told Gray twenty-two years ago. Besides, did I really want to get pulled into a murder investigation?
“Should we put him in the bin?” I asked.
Gabriel’s brows shot over his shades.
“I just meant . . . Maybe we could buy some time. He hasn’t been dead long. Time of death is a vague science. If he’s found now, his girlfriend would ID us and we’d be suspects.”
“Good thinking.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it first.”
“I was going to return after I got you safely to the car. But if you’re offering to help, that will make the task easier.”
• • •
So I helped Gabriel Walsh move a body. What consumed my thoughts was not guilt, but how I’d found the corpse in the first place. I’d led Gabriel to a dead body based on omens and intuition, and he was as unperturbed as if we’d stumbled on Gray during a random shortcut.
I didn’t know what to make of that.
I remembered Rose asking me if I ever saw omens that weren’t really there. I had the answer now. I had a lot of answers now. I’d had them for a while and had just kept pretending otherwise.
Apparently, I could . . . I don’t know what exactly. Read the signs? Interpret omens? See portents? Was there a name for such a thing? Where would the ability come from?
I knew the answer to that—from the woman who’d taught me those rhymes and kept a chest of mystical supplies in her bedroom. The woman accused of murdering eight people in occult rituals.
I needed to speak to Pamela again. And I would, in a few hours. For now I had to focus on getting Gray’s girlfriend to talk before the cops found his body.
“So how do we do this?” I asked.
“I believe I know a way,” Gabriel said. “I’m going to drop you off in a better neighborhood, where you can find lunch. I’ll call when things are in place.”
“That’s very considerate, but I’m not hungry.”
“Perhaps not now, but—”
“That tone in my voice a moment ago? Sarcasm. I know you aren’t being considerate. You’re trying to dump me so I don’t see how you get this woman to talk. I’m not hiding in a sandwich shop.”
He looked at me over the roof of his car. “I’d really rather you did.”
I opened the door. “As the song says, we can’t always get what we want.”
• • •
We drove through about ten miles of farmland before Gabriel pulled into a wooded lane marked Private Property. The rutted drive made him wince with each bump. After a couple of hundred feet, the drive widened. It was lined with motorcycles. Big-ass motorcycles.
“First you buy me a mocha. Then you let me help you hide a body. Now you take me to a biker clubhouse. Best. Day. Ever.”
His lips tightened. “You’re staying in the car.”
“Hell, no. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
I reached for the door handle. He smacked down the automatic locks. “This isn’t a game, Olivia.”
“I’m kidding. But I did just move a corpse. I think I can handle this.”
“I’m their lawyer. It’s a relationship based on mutual respect. I cannot waltz in there with another client.”
Damn. Why did he have to make such a good point?
I sighed. “All right.”
He hesitated.
“I said all right. Go. I’ll wait.”
CLEANUP DUTY
The man looked at the spot where he was supposed to find Josh Gray’s body. It was gone.
He peered up and down the alley. Then he walked from one end to the other and checked the GPS coordinates on his phone. This was definitely the place.
He made a call.
“It’s not here,” he said when his boss answered.
Silence.
“The body,” he said. “Gray’s—”
“Are you actually telling me this on an unsecured cell line?”
Yeah, because I don’t have a secured one, he wanted to snap back. He didn’t. He apologized. Then he asked what the boss wanted him to do.
“Find it, of course. She didn’t drag him out of there.”
The line went dead. The man sucked in breath. This was stupid. If you want someone dead, you just kill them. All these layers of complication. First the old man. Now this. He didn’t understand it.
The boss said Gunderson’s death was a precaution, in case he decided to help the Larsen girl. Which was bullshit—from what he’d read in the paper, there was no way in hell Gunderson was helping the Larsen girl. And how would he anyway? He didn’t know anything.
It was just a lame excuse to test the latest “upgrade” to the boss’s invention. Now he’d tested it a second time, which left his loyal employee here, trying to move a body that appeared to have . . .
His gaze caught on the Dumpster. He shook his head. No way. The boss was right—the meth-head chick couldn’t drag a two-hundred-pound guy, let alone lift him into a bin, which is why he’d been called on cleanup.
And yet . . . well, there wasn’t anywhere else to take him, was there?
“But the killer took his cell phone and wallet . . . ?”
“To delay identification.”
“Right.” I inhaled and collected my thoughts. “He hung up on you and came out to call someone without his girlfriend overhearing. Whoever he called told him to wait. He did.”
“That’s a plausible theory, yes, but—”
“Leave it as a theory until proven otherwise. I know.”
I looked around. There was a Dumpster ten feet away. I walked over and climbed up until I could see inside.
“It’s less than half full. If you’re trying to hide the body, why not dump him in here?”
“Lack of time. Or lack of strength. I could manage it, but it would be difficult, and it would leave me covered with blood.”
“Okay, so now we call the police.”
I took out my cell. He plucked it from my hand.
“Once the body is discovered, it’s only a matter of time before Mr. Gray’s girlfriend learns of his fate. Given that she was frightened enough to vault over her balcony, I don’t think news of his death will loosen her tongue.”
I looked down at Gray. Leaving a man dead in an alley was wrong. But that woman was our only hope of finding out what Peter Evans told Gray twenty-two years ago. Besides, did I really want to get pulled into a murder investigation?
“Should we put him in the bin?” I asked.
Gabriel’s brows shot over his shades.
“I just meant . . . Maybe we could buy some time. He hasn’t been dead long. Time of death is a vague science. If he’s found now, his girlfriend would ID us and we’d be suspects.”
“Good thinking.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it first.”
“I was going to return after I got you safely to the car. But if you’re offering to help, that will make the task easier.”
• • •
So I helped Gabriel Walsh move a body. What consumed my thoughts was not guilt, but how I’d found the corpse in the first place. I’d led Gabriel to a dead body based on omens and intuition, and he was as unperturbed as if we’d stumbled on Gray during a random shortcut.
I didn’t know what to make of that.
I remembered Rose asking me if I ever saw omens that weren’t really there. I had the answer now. I had a lot of answers now. I’d had them for a while and had just kept pretending otherwise.
Apparently, I could . . . I don’t know what exactly. Read the signs? Interpret omens? See portents? Was there a name for such a thing? Where would the ability come from?
I knew the answer to that—from the woman who’d taught me those rhymes and kept a chest of mystical supplies in her bedroom. The woman accused of murdering eight people in occult rituals.
I needed to speak to Pamela again. And I would, in a few hours. For now I had to focus on getting Gray’s girlfriend to talk before the cops found his body.
“So how do we do this?” I asked.
“I believe I know a way,” Gabriel said. “I’m going to drop you off in a better neighborhood, where you can find lunch. I’ll call when things are in place.”
“That’s very considerate, but I’m not hungry.”
“Perhaps not now, but—”
“That tone in my voice a moment ago? Sarcasm. I know you aren’t being considerate. You’re trying to dump me so I don’t see how you get this woman to talk. I’m not hiding in a sandwich shop.”
He looked at me over the roof of his car. “I’d really rather you did.”
I opened the door. “As the song says, we can’t always get what we want.”
• • •
We drove through about ten miles of farmland before Gabriel pulled into a wooded lane marked Private Property. The rutted drive made him wince with each bump. After a couple of hundred feet, the drive widened. It was lined with motorcycles. Big-ass motorcycles.
“First you buy me a mocha. Then you let me help you hide a body. Now you take me to a biker clubhouse. Best. Day. Ever.”
His lips tightened. “You’re staying in the car.”
“Hell, no. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
I reached for the door handle. He smacked down the automatic locks. “This isn’t a game, Olivia.”
“I’m kidding. But I did just move a corpse. I think I can handle this.”
“I’m their lawyer. It’s a relationship based on mutual respect. I cannot waltz in there with another client.”
Damn. Why did he have to make such a good point?
I sighed. “All right.”
He hesitated.
“I said all right. Go. I’ll wait.”
CLEANUP DUTY
The man looked at the spot where he was supposed to find Josh Gray’s body. It was gone.
He peered up and down the alley. Then he walked from one end to the other and checked the GPS coordinates on his phone. This was definitely the place.
He made a call.
“It’s not here,” he said when his boss answered.
Silence.
“The body,” he said. “Gray’s—”
“Are you actually telling me this on an unsecured cell line?”
Yeah, because I don’t have a secured one, he wanted to snap back. He didn’t. He apologized. Then he asked what the boss wanted him to do.
“Find it, of course. She didn’t drag him out of there.”
The line went dead. The man sucked in breath. This was stupid. If you want someone dead, you just kill them. All these layers of complication. First the old man. Now this. He didn’t understand it.
The boss said Gunderson’s death was a precaution, in case he decided to help the Larsen girl. Which was bullshit—from what he’d read in the paper, there was no way in hell Gunderson was helping the Larsen girl. And how would he anyway? He didn’t know anything.
It was just a lame excuse to test the latest “upgrade” to the boss’s invention. Now he’d tested it a second time, which left his loyal employee here, trying to move a body that appeared to have . . .
His gaze caught on the Dumpster. He shook his head. No way. The boss was right—the meth-head chick couldn’t drag a two-hundred-pound guy, let alone lift him into a bin, which is why he’d been called on cleanup.
And yet . . . well, there wasn’t anywhere else to take him, was there?
