Long Gone Man (8 page)

Nineteen

“Okay,” Lauren said. “That's great.
Just leave it at the road and we'll walk down and get it.” She hung up. “That was Hank from the towing company. They got your van. The Mounties put cone lights around it last night to warn people it was there, not that anyone lives up beyond us or was likely to go to the lookout in the fog, but they were being cautious. It was too dangerous to try and move it until this morning.”

The fear and dread from the night before seeped back into Singer and she shivered.

“They can't bring your van up the drive because the Mounties won't let anyone come up to the house, so I told them to leave it there and we'll go down. I had them put a new battery in it and check it over.”

“I can't afford a new battery,” Singer protested.

“Who's asking you to pay? Finish your breakfast and we'll take Missy for a walk and get your wheels.”

“Why would you pay?”

“Good deeds are excellent for the soul and, lord knows, right now my soul needs all the help it can get.” She smiled and pulled a credit card out of the pocket of her jeans. “Besides, I charged it to John.”

The trees still
dripped with moisture but the fog had lifted. Beyond the stone wall bordering the edge of the cliff, a bald eagle rose from a nest at the top of a fir tree.

“Holy cow,” Singer said.

Lauren glanced to where the eagle balanced on the currents. Wings teetering, it hung there, seemingly effortlessly, a black silhouette on the sky.

“Haven't you ever seen one before?”

“God, not like this.”

“They have a brood there every spring, just adding more and more sticks to that big messy nest.”

“Man, I'd already figured out that you're a clean freak, but don't tell me you worry about the housekeeping habits of eagles. That's too much.”

Lauren followed Missy to the edge of the patio, where the little dog snuffled at all kinds of interesting things hiding under the fallen leaves. Singer shielded her eyes with her hand and watched the eagle. When it disappeared in a sharp dive, she crossed the flagstone patio to the eighteen-inch stone wall, the only barrier from a drop into the tops of trees. She backed quickly away.

“Shouldn't there be a fence or something to keep people from falling off? All this would do is trip you. Scares the hell out of me.”

“John didn't want anything to interrupt the view.”

Singer inched a bit closer, fascinated but repelled at the same time. She stretched her neck to look over the edge. She was looking down on a narrow channel that ran between Glenphiddie Island and a smaller island, light dancing on the water and sailboats skimming across the strait to the next island. Singer backed away from the wall as Lauren joined her.

The wind caught Singer's hair and swirled it around her face. She brushed it back with both hands, holding it in place. “The drop pulls me, makes me feel like I want to try flying.”

Lauren hugged her arms to her chest. “The Cowichan people have a myth that they fell from the sky.” She turned away.

Singer eased farther away from the edge and turned her back on it. “You gonna stay here?”

“I don't know yet. That depends on Janna. She owns Syuwun now.”

“Strange name, how did Johnny come up with it?”

“It's a native word, a Cowichan word, meaning spirit song, a ceremonial song sung out of grief for a loved one.”

Singer gave a soft gasp.

“Are you all right?” Lauren reached out a hand. “You seem,” she searched for the words, “well . . . are you all right?”

Singer nodded and looked back at the house, which sat on a small point of rock, jutting out above the landscape. Unlike the front of the house, which was made of logs, the back of the house was all glass. “This wasn't what I was expecting. I thought the whole house would be made of logs.”

“A crazy house, just like its owner, partly a fort and partly made of glass.” Lauren headed down a path after her dog, calling, “Missy, come back here.”

Singer started to follow but hesitated. “What's that?” She pointed to a set of stairs leading to a small, wooden structure.

Lauren followed Singer's pointing finger and said, “A gazebo.”

“What?”

“It's a kind of pergola.”

“Oh. Thanks for clearing that up.” Singer went to the stairs and cautiously descended the five steps to a steep path leading down to the weathered structure below. Singer hesitated, trying to judge how dangerous the rock-strewn path would be.
If one of those stones rolls
. . . she didn't want to finish that thought. A rope, strung from tree to tree, was the only thing protecting her from a fall, the rope and a strong grip. She reached out with both hands, pulling on the rope and testing it before she started down the path. Each foot was placed carefully and checked before the other was raised. But her fear didn't end at the bottom of the stone stairs.

Half of the shelter was built beyond the rock it perched on, slung out over emptiness. Singer crept to the outer balustrade, afraid that a heavy tread would shift the whole thing and send it plummeting into the abyss. She clung to the railing and extended her neck to peek over the side.

“Holy shit.” The words were mixed equally with terror and awe. “That is one scary drop.”

Beyond the railing was a sharp, hundred-foot drop onto the winding road below, and beyond that was a dream-like vista over the countryside. Silver roads, with tiny, toy-like cars, cut through green patchwork fields and led to the town of Kilborn.

Singer glanced back up at Lauren, who was standing at the top of the stairs with her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her jacket.

Singer eased away from outer edge of the structure. Carefully moving out of the small hut, she climbed halfway up the path before she lifted her head and said, “You were here last night, weren't you?”

Lauren had her hands out of her pockets now. She surged forward, her body stiff with tension and anger. She stared down at Singer.

“Why?” Singer asked.

Lauren growled, “You're the clever one, you tell me.”

“All right.” Singer pulled herself up a bit more, eyes locked on the woman leaning over her. “I don't think they've found the gun that killed Johnny. That's why they asked if we tampered with the one we gave them and why they're searching the house and grounds. Maybe you came down here and threw the gun that killed Johnny out over the road to the ocean beyond, where it would never be found.”

There was just one way back to safe ground and Lauren blocked it. With one kick, Lauren could send Singer crashing backwards to her death. Singer pulled herself up the steps, now more intent on the woman leaning over her than on the danger under her feet.

Singer said, “But I don't think you came down here to get rid of evidence.”

“So, Sherlock, tell me why.”

“You were going to kill yourself.”

Singer's words jolted Lauren back. She stood there like a statue, frozen with surprise, before reaching down and picking up Missy, burying her face in her pet's soft fur. She swung sharply away.

Twenty

Singer climbed the steps, breathing
raggedly and not just because of the exertion. At the top she bent over, hands on her knees, and took some deep breaths. Then she followed Lauren and Missy towards the woods.

At the large boulder marking the path, Lauren turned and waited for Singer. When Singer caught up, Lauren said, “Where did you come up with that crazy idea?”

“You told me that to get to Stevie's to see Chris Ruston you went in the other direction, using the shortcut around the end of the lake. When you came back from Stevie's, you must have walked past the house in the fog and come down here. That's why you didn't hear the shot. You weren't in the house. That gazebo thing is below the house, so the sound would pass over it.”

Lauren didn't respond.

Singer studied Lauren's face. “It wasn't a night for a walk and that's not a place to be in the dark. In fact, going down there was a really dangerous thing to do on a foggy night. It makes me shiver to think of it.”

Missy whimpered and struggled to free herself. Lauren leaned over and set her down. “I had a flashlight.” She didn't look at Singer as she spoke. “You need a flashlight to go to Steven's at night.”

Singer blew out a lungful of air. “Well, you had a pisser of a night, didn't you . . . dumped by a guy, thoughts of suicide, and then finding Johnny dead.”

Lauren unsnapped the leash from Missy's collar and put the strip of red leather in her pocket. “You forgot meeting a crazy woman.”

Singer thought about the zigzagging road below. “While you stood here, thinking of throwing yourself off, you saw me coming.”

“It was foggy remember.”

“But the lights would have shown.”

Lauren hunched deeper into her jacket, drawing her shoulders up.

“That's probably what brought you to your senses. Maybe I even saved your life. You saw light glowing through the fog, shining in the darkness where no light should be. It was enough to make you stop. Strange to think that a life could hang by such a random thread.”

Lauren snorted in disgust, but she didn't deny it.

Singer watched Missy snuffling under the leaves. “And then there's Missy. You'd have been leaving Missy alone. You'd never do that.”

“Only a moment's craziness. Don't make a big deal of it.”

“It does explain how you knew I hadn't shot Johnny, explains why you agreed to go along with my alibi idea.” Singer studied Lauren. “And here I thought I had to work hard to convince you.”

Lauren grinned. “Well, just so you know, I didn't kill John. And I still have doubts about you, by the way.”

“But you saw my lights.”

“How do I know they belonged to you?”

Singer waved an arm towards the cliff. “Who else was crazy enough to be out here? And if there was someone else driving up the mountain, where did they go? But there's another thing bothering me.”

“Only one?”

“Why did you go into Johnny's office last night? I mean, I don't get the feeling that you normally sought him out for a little chitchat.”

“You're right about that at least; John and I were experts at avoiding each other. The only chitchat we had was about food. I went in there last night to tell him I was leaving. I'd had enough.”

Lauren turned away. “Missy, come.” The dog, digging madly in a pile of leaves, ignored her. “Missy, come.” Missy was reluctant to leave. Lauren went back and snapped the leash on again, but still it took several pulls to get Missy started and then she darted ahead only to be brought up short by the line.

Lauren, moving quickly, almost as if to distance herself from Singer, walked ahead through the thick woods. Singer didn't try to keep up. She followed at a gentler pace, looking around her with interest at the world Johnny Vibes had inhabited, so different from the world of a rock star. Most of the trees around her were evergreens but with a few arbutuses and oaks mixed in. The floor of the forest was hidden deep in giant ferns. “Crazy fairy tale woods,” Singer called to Lauren. “It only needs a wicked stepmother.”

A bark of laughter came from Lauren. “That would be me.”

At the road,
an
RCMP
car was parked between the two totem poles that marked the entrance to Syuwun. Singer pointed at the nightmarish forms carved into the wood. “What do those mean?”

“I'm not exactly sure,” Lauren replied. “I think the one with its tongue out is called Hamasta. John said it had something to do with cannibalism.”

“Perfect. A cannibal is the right symbol for Johnny Vee.” Bitterness and anger filled Singer. “He lived off people his whole life.”

“Wow,” Lauren exclaimed, more interested in the yellow van rusting on the edge of the road. “What is it?”

“Beautiful beast, ain't it?” Singer said.

“Not exactly the words I'd use to describe this heap,” Lauren replied.

“Don't hold back, will you? Tell me just what you think.”

“I can't believe it runs,” Lauren continued, taking in the holes and dents as they walked around the van. “And you travel and live and everything in this?”

“Yup, ‘and everything' about covers it.” Singer ran her fingers over the new bright silver scratches from where she'd scraped along the wall of the mountain.

“Might have been better to leave it right where it was,” Lauren suggested.

“Thanks, for taking care of it.” Singer opened the driver's side door. “Hop in and we'll go back to Syuwun in style.”

“What style would that be, gypsy modern?”

Singer laughed. “That's me all right.” She climbed into the driver's seat. “I'm a gypsy and I'm modern.”

The passenger door shrieked open, metal grinding against metal. Lauren peeked inside and hesitated. A small cooler and various plastic
shopping bags, filled with unknown contents, littered the floor. Over this debris a shoebox, stuffed with scraps of papers, had fallen off the seat and exploded.

Lauren pointed at a sign on the dash that said
GET IN, HOLD ON, SHUT UP, AND PRAY
. “Is that your driving style?”

“Pretty much.”

“Explains a lot.”

Lauren stood there with Missy in her arms while Singer started pitching things over the motor mount and into the back. “Sorry about that; when you live alone, you let things go.”

“So I see. I can walk.”

“Nonsense.” Singer used her fingers to rake up wayward pieces of paper into a pile. “Just straddle the cooler and you'll be fine.”

Lauren swung up onto the split plastic upholstery that was oozing yellow foam. She glanced over her shoulder. Across the back was a bed of sorts and along one side was a counter with a small sink and two cupboards overtop. “This is kind of shocking for me. Home should be something stable and permanent, not this . . .” She couldn't find words to finish her thought.

“Hey, I worked hard to fall this low on the social scale. Show a little respect.”

Lauren flushed. “But why do you live this way?”

“It suits me.”

Lauren's surprise showed on her face.

Singer grinned. “Okay, sure, I'm fucked up, but who isn't?”

The Beast started with the first turn of the key. Singer patted the dash. “Good old Beastie.”

The Beast rumbled forward in reply.

Lauren gave a little gasp.

“What is it?” Singer backed off the gas, glancing around to see what she'd missed.

The eyes Lauren turned to her were wide with shock. “At this moment I'm as homeless as you, maybe even more so because I don't even have this rust heap of a home.”

As the Beast
climbed the half mile from the entrance to the house, the women saw people dressed in white jumpsuits in the woods. Bent over, they were searching the ground in front of them. “Are you sure they're hunting for the murder weapon?” Lauren asked.

“Hard to say,” Singer said. “But there's not much chance of them finding anything in there.”

Lauren was suddenly in a panic. “Oh my god, they'll find something that will tell them I was outside last night.”

“Look, you live here. Anything they find that's tied to you could have been lost yesterday or last week.” The van slowed as they watched the search.

Lauren said, “I'm having second thoughts about lying. If we sign our names to statements that aren't true, isn't that a crime in itself? When we go down to Kilborn to make our statements, I think we should tell Wilmot how it really happened.”

Singer pulled around the circle in front of the house. “If you want to change your story, that's fine, but we'll both become suspects again, maybe more so than before. And you better give your lawyer friend the heads up before we do it.”

Lauren slumped against the window. “I'm so ashamed of myself, falling for that skunk.”

“It happens to all of us. Get over it.”

Lauren said, “But why do all the guys I hook up with turn out to be crap?”

“There's been a lot of them, has there?”

“Two now.”

Singer barked out a laugh. “There'll be more. There have been dozens of smelly guys in my life, that's how people like me get all that famous experience we talk about. We get it by making mistakes. You'll be wiser now.”

Lauren gave a humph of disgust. “Not likely. I'm just a lousy judge of character.”

“No wonder you're having second thoughts about me.”

“It kept me awake last night, wondering what you have to hide. There's something, that's for sure.”

“I came here to talk to Johnny.” Singer turned off the engine, which made strange noises in its death throes. “That isn't to say I might not have killed him after I talked to him.”

Lauren stared out the window. “That's pretty much how everyone felt about John. Talking to him made you want to kill him. And I'm not worried that you shot John. It's what you might do next that's alarming me now.”