The Night Is Deep (A Liam Dempsey Thriller Book 2) (20 page)

He wanted to say more, to dig at the wound and open it up fully so that it could bleed. But then he saw her feeling her pants pockets again for cigarettes that weren’t there and his anger deflated.

“Any update on Rex?” Liam asked.

A cloud dimmed Perring’s features. “He’s about the same. Hasn’t woke up yet but his vitals have improved. The doctors are hopeful.”

“He’s going to make it.”

She nodded and seemed to come back to herself from far away. “Owen’s sleeping now and you should do the same.”

“I still need—”

“You need to rest. I’m putting you in charge of Owen tonight when everything goes down.” She paused. “There was a complication with the boat we didn’t foresee.”

“What was it?”

“There is no below deck on
The Mare
. It’s a simple trawler with only a small cabin at the front. There’s no room to hide a SWAT team anywhere.”

“Son of a bitch,” Liam said. “He picked it out specifically.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there any way to modify it to fit the men inside?”

“Not in this short a time. Besides, I don’t want to risk him seeing us messing around with the boat before it leaves the harbor tonight. He could execute Valerie simply because he didn’t like what we were doing.”

“But how are you going to have police presence there? You can’t just hand the money over and hope he plays fair.”

“We have an army helicopter waiting at the airport that will have a SWAT team on board. They’ll be in the air and in contact with the captain of
The Mare
the entire time as well as with our surveillance boat. The moment the exchange is made they’ll be there. He shouldn’t have more than a two-minute head start.”

Liam shook his head. “I don’t like it. There’s too many variables left open. Too many things could go wrong.”

“What would you have me do?” Perring yelled. The acid in her voice startled him. “Tell me, Liam, because I’d love to know where I’m falling short.”

He opened his mouth to reply but a knock came from the other side of the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Heller’s voice.

“Fine. We’re fine,” Perring said, opening the door and disappearing down the hallway. Heller stood framed in the doorway as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he simply nodded once and moved out of sight as well.

Liam rose and gathered his things before walking to the living room. Owen stood near the windows but he didn’t spot Perring anywhere in the kitchen or dining room.

Exhausted, he sat on the couch and leaned into its soft folds. For a time he searched for another tack that could give them the upper hand when evening arrived, but came up with nothing. The kidnapper had planned this out too well. He reached out and drew Alexandra’s diary to him, turning the pages arbitrarily, and came upon the very last passage she had written.

I have to do something to get rid of this feeling. I want to die.

What had she done to escape the fear of losing the person she loved? To what lengths would a young woman go to ensure the future she’d dreamed of? Was death really what she’d chosen, or was there something unseen lurking beneath the guise of the self-inflicted tragedy?

He flipped back to one of the first entries, his eyes happening across the passage about Alexandra receiving the gold bracelet with the cross, from her father. The man who would one day pay a bartender to lie in order to get the justice he thought was due for her death. The strangeness of life was something to behold and never ceased to create unease within him. At the end of the day, no one was safe from the tide of life or what waited thereafter.

He was about to close the diary when the word
cross
caught his eye again.

Cross.

Crucifix.

Church.

“Was the church where Alexandra died the one she worshipped at?” Liam asked, a splinter of thought sticking in his mind.

“No. I don’t think Caulston went to church very much after Val and Alex’s mother passed.”

“Then why did she choose that church?”

Owen shrugged. “It was close to the party she left. I suppose the bell tower was the highest thing she could see.”

Liam climbed to his feet, wincing as he did, and began to pace. “There’s something there, some significance. Why a church? Why that night? How does it connect to what’s happening right now?”

“I don’t know. It could be any number of things.”

Liam paced past the windows, gradually slowing to a stop.
Any number of things.

Number.

2.

There was a beat of utter stillness and silence before he jerked with the realization, startling Owen so much the other man flinched.

“What?” Owen asked.

“Where did Marshall Davis go to church?”

“What are you talking about?”

“In his mug shot he was wearing a crucifix. Did he go to church when you were in school with him?”

“I have no idea. Like I said, I didn’t know him all that well.”

“What’s going on?” Perring asked, coming into the room through the kitchen. Liam caught the faint whiff of cigarette smoke.

“We have any background on Davis’s personal life? Where he went to church?”

Perring frowned. “No, but I can have Heller take a look. Why?”

Liam walked past her without answering and found Heller sitting at the far end of the dining room table, his glasses pushed up on his forehead.

“Heller, can you dig up some information on Marshall Davis?”

“Sure. I had his file pulled a minute ago—”

“No, not his file, I’ve read that. I’m talking family history, personal life, that sort of thing.”

“Uh, I guess so,” He gave Perring a look over Liam’s shoulder and the detective nodded. Heller set to typing at his laptop and a moment later sat back. “Marshall Steven Davis, born September second, nineteen eighty to Thomas Gerald Davis and Michelle Farah Davis. Attended Duluth, West Elementary, graduated Duluth East High School in nineteen ninety-nine. There’s references to his arrests, public warrants, things like that.”

“Nothing else?” Liam asked.

“Not that I see here.”

“How about his parents?”

“Liam, what’s this about?” Perring said.

“Just look his parents up.”

Heller began tapping again and after a minute turned the computer slightly toward Liam. “Mother filed for divorce when Marshall was five, father died four years ago after doing a year stint for breaking and entering. Looks like he had a drinking problem he wasn’t able to support.”

“Like father like son,” Perring said. “I’m not seeing what you’re looking for here.”

Liam leaned closer to the screen. “I’m not either. How about an obituary for his father?”

Heller typed several keywords in and searched, bringing up the article after a moment. “Thomas Gerald Davis, died May third, two thousand eleven at St. Mary’s Hospital. Let’s see . . .” Heller scrolled down the short obit. “Grew up south of Duluth, married twice. Marshall’s listed as his only child. He held several jobs including freelance carpenter, backhoe operator, and . . .” Heller paused, eyes narrowing.

“What?” Perring asked.

“And custodian for Saint Peter’s Sovereign Cathedral.”

Liam straightened, eyes locked on the screen. “That’s it.”

“Holy shit,” Perring murmured.

“What? I don’t understand,” Owen said.

“Marshall’s father was a custodian at the church where Alexandra killed herself. He would’ve had keys to the building and that means Marshall had access too.” Liam turned to face Perring and Owen. “I don’t think Alexandra committed suicide at all. I think Marshall Davis murdered her.”

CHAPTER 22

“Marshall murdered her? Are you joking? They didn’t even know each other,” Owen said.

“Marshall was obviously an addict, but he also bought and sold. We know he was involved with at least one major supplier in the area and possibly a second. I think he was dealing way back at the end of high school and somehow Alexandra got tangled up in it. Either she was using or she saw something she shouldn’t have and Davis decided he couldn’t let her live.” Liam glanced from Owen’s astonished face to Perring who was chewing her lower lip. “He had his father’s keys to the church. He must’ve overpowered Alexandra and brought her up to the bell tower.”

Owen shook his head. “There would’ve been signs of a struggle, some evidence that she was thrown over instead of jumping.”

“Not if he was careful,” Perring said. “If he knocked her unconscious somewhere else, the trauma to her skull from the fall would’ve covered up any signs of foul play.”

“But what does this have to do with Valerie?” Owen asked.

“I think she knew, deep down, that Alexandra wouldn’t have killed herself. At first she suspected Jenner but I think over time Valerie realized he truly loved her sister. I spent five minutes with him and I could tell,” Liam said. “But Alexandra’s death crushed her mentally and emotionally for a long time. It must’ve been recently that she had something to go on and started to dig into Marshall’s past. That’s why in the last few years she started leaving the house and making progress with her therapy.”

“So Marshall caught wind of it and took her?” Owen said. “How would he have the capability? The know-how? I mean, I didn’t know him well but he never seemed like the sharpest knife in the drawer.”

“Maybe he had some time to plan it, I don’t know,” Liam said.

“How do Dade’s and Gage’s deaths fit into this?”

“They might’ve been privy to some piece of information that could tie Marshall to Alexandra’s murder and he decided to eliminate the loose ends.”

“But if Marshall isn’t number two, then who is? And why go to the trouble to kill them in the way he did?” Perring asked.

“I don’t know. Regardless of the motives, one thing’s for certain, we need to search the church. It’s somewhere he’s familiar with, maybe even comfortable at. Who knows, it could even be where he’s been hiding out since leaving the halfway house.”

“I agree. I’ll organize one of the SWAT groups here to go. We should be able to leave in under ten. Heller, find out if there’s been mass at Saint Peter’s this week. There’s a good chance that’s where he’s been holding her.” Perring nodded once at Liam and moved to the entryway.

Owen walked into the living room and sunk into the couch. Liam followed and stopped a few feet away.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I think we finally have our connection and motive,” Liam said. “If Valerie’s being held there we’ll get her back.” Owen merely nodded, his gaze hazy and unfocused. Liam was about to sit beside him to offer another attempt at comfort when Perring entered the room.

“Heller says the church hasn’t had regular mass this week since the resident priest is traveling. We’ll be ready to go in five.”

“I’ll be right there,” Liam said. He turned back to Owen who was rocking slightly on the edge of his seat. “Are you going to be okay here?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” the other man replied in a distant voice. Liam watched him for a short span before moving toward the dining room, but Owen’s voice stopped him before he could cross the threshold.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?”

“Kill the bastard if you can.” Owen still wasn’t looking at him, and after a brief pause, he rose from the couch and disappeared in the direction of the upper level.

Saint Peter’s Sovereign Cathedral sat on a knoll on the lower north side of the city. Its grounds were well manicured, the grass still a vibrant green beneath the fallen leaves that dusted the edges of the small clearing the church was built in. The building itself was an imposing structure of dark-red brick. The bell tower rose at least sixty feet into the air, looming over the rest of the building like a solemn watchman.

Liam and Perring pulled to a stop on the nearest street flanking the property and watched the black conversion van hauling the SWAT team roll past to the second strategic position.

“They’re going in through the side and rear entrances. They’ll make sure the main level is secure before we go up. We’ve notified the staff and they’ve locked themselves in their offices. If he’s here, I’d wager he’s holding her in the tower,” Perring said.

“Yep,” Liam replied, checking the load in his weapon.

“You sure you’re up for this? I don’t want you endangering anyone if you can’t stay on your feet.”

Liam smiled. “Try and keep up with me.”

“Asshole.”

Perring adjusted her earpiece and squinted at the building. “Okay. We go in one minute. Liam and I will take the front. Two teams, one sweeps the main level and basement, the other heads for the tower. Be safe.” There was a muted reply from the SWAT team leader and Perring drew her own weapon before they exited the sedan.

Though the day was bright, a chill hung in the air as they crossed the grounds toward the church. Leaves whipped about their feet in coiling motions and the wind sung through the trees.

They moved faster as they mounted the steps that lined the front of the church. Liam pulled the right side of the double doors open for Perring. She cleared the entryway and he followed her inside.

The interior of the church was blindingly dark compared with the outside daylight. It took the better part of ten seconds before Liam could make out the wide hallway they stood in, graced with statues of various saints.

They moved forward in tandem, Perring taking the left, Liam the right.

Five steps and they were in a vestibule beside a sprawling sanctuary. Dark, curving support beams spanned the high ceilings and a cross, matching the color of the stained wood, held a statue of Jesus tearing himself away from the nails that held him there.

Movement at the rear of the huge space drew Liam’s attention, as three SWAT members spread out between several pews, rifles up and sweeping the area. Three more men appeared at the opposite end of the vestibule and streamed toward a large door marked ‘Tower.’ They clustered around it, the lead team member grasping the doorknob and yanking.

In a split second the team had disappeared through the tower door, and Liam and Perring rushed after them.

A spiral, concrete staircase wound up through the tower’s center, the constant turning beginning to make him dizzy as he kept pace behind Perring. The scuff of many boots was loud in the enclosed space and he kept waiting for the sound of a gunshot to shatter the silence. After what seemed like an eternity they arrived at another wooden door identical to the one on the main level. The team ahead of them was already in place, swinging a door-breaching ram.

There was an explosion of splinters and the yells of the team as they rushed inside.

Liam stepped to the side of the broken door, aiming his weapon into the room. His heart hammered in his chest relentlessly, every muscle tense and aching with his injuries.

He nodded at Perring as she swept inside, then followed a second later.

The bell tower was square and not as large as he’d imagined. The brick walls were broken by tall, gothic-arched windows, their openings grated with steel bars he assumed were installed after Alexandra’s death. A single brass bell hung silently from an iron stand in the center of the room.

Otherwise the space was empty.

“Damn it,” Liam said, lowering his handgun. Perring moved around the room, looking out several of the arched openings before gesturing to the other team members.

“Go assist with the sweep of the basement,” she said. The men filed quickly out of the room, their footsteps growing fainter until quiet refilled the tower.

“I really thought they’d be here,” Liam said after a moment.

“It was a good hunch, don’t beat yourself up.”

He squatted down in the southeast corner where something small and yellow lay covered in a slight layer of dust. “Look at this.”

“What is it?” Perring asked, stooping beside him.

“Foam earplug. Guarantee Davis’s DNA is on it. He’s been staying here, using ear protection for when the bell tolls. It’s a perfect place to hide, sleep off the end of a high.”

“We’ll have forensics bag it, but I’m guessing you’re right. He was here.”

“Damn it,” he said again, holstering the Sig. The urge to strike the brick wall was almost overpowering, but he resisted.
So close
.
They’d been so close
.

“As soon as SWAT’s done with the sweep we should get back to the house.”

“Yeah.” Liam moved to the head of the twisting stairway.

“Liam.”

“What?”

“We’ll get him.”

“I know. I just hope it’s not too late before we do,” he said, starting down the stairs.

The rest of the morning coasted away beneath the constant preparations. Phones continued to ring, people moved in and out of Owen’s house in a steady flow, and the waves washed against the shoreline in cold, unending repetition.

An all-encompassing fatigue finally settled over Liam in midafternoon, and under Perring’s unyielding insistence, he went to lie down on the couch to rest.

His chest ached. The rib that Paul had said might be cracked was the worst, its protestations like a dagger in his side when he moved wrong.

You failed her,
the dark interior voice said. It spoke in pointed tones of malice.
You failed Valerie and you failed Owen.

No.

Yes. You failed her and now she’ll never come back home. Dani will be gone forever.

His drooping eyelids snapped open and he shook his head.

Valerie, not Dani. Dani was safe.

When the voice didn’t reply, he closed his eyes but was unable to stifle the thoughts of the evening to come, which whirled through his mind in a tempest. There couldn’t be a mistake tonight. One false step and Valerie would be lost.

The pain of his body was mollified as his thoughts quieted, sleep’s demands nearly irrepressible. He would just doze for a while, if only to resharpen the edge he had lost overnight in the woods. He would drift for just a moment.

As the fatigue became an immovable weight, dragging him ever downward, he heard muted words being spoken by the dark voice like some demonic Gregorian chant. But before they became clear he was sleeping and they faded away into silence.