Triage: A Thriller (Shell Series) (33 page)

“You’re evil personified,” he said, glaring at me. “I can’t believe I missed that during our first meeting.”

“Ms. Barnes might still be out there and in trouble,” I repeated.

“I told him it was foolish,” he whispered, looking away from me.

The vein was opening and I was wise enough not to stanch the flow with words of my own.

“He called it his ‘project’,” Enger went on, sighing and shaking his head. “When he asked for my assistance, I outright refused to involve myself. That was a source of serious friction between us.”

“Friction, huh?”

He frowned at me. “Is that an attempt at gay humor?”

“You’re paranoid,” I said, smiling.

“Will you please leave me be, Shell?”

“His project…”

“You won’t leave this alone will you?”

“I’m pretty persistent,” I said. “And persuasive.” I didn’t bother cracking my knuckles. He still got the picture.

 “Darren could be headstrong,” he said, looking away, “so my refusal buoyed him rather than deter him. He latched on to this thing like a dog on a bone.”

“I know you’re used to speaking in clichés, I’ve seen a few of your speeches, but what
project
did he latch on to?” I could feel the pulse at my throat. Project. Siobhan had used the same word.

“I feel as if I’m doing Darren another disservice in death, Shell. This doesn’t sit well with me. He was a very private man. He wouldn’t possibly be happy about me discussing his business in this manner.”

“But…”

He sighed once more. “Darren had a very rough childhood. Single mother with substance issues, no father that she would ever mention. Bounced around from one run-down apartment to the next. Yadda yadda. And some abuse, yes, at the hands of the teenage son of a family that took him in for a time while his mom was pretending in rehab. But don’t you dare link that experience to Darren’s sexual orientation.”

“I pass no judgment,” I lied. I had spent almost my entire adult life playing God.

“However you look at it, it wasn’t a good upbringing,” he said. “Not too long ago he became obsessed with finding out who his father was. I tried to convince him of the futility of the effort. Whether he found the man alive or not, and whether his father was happy to be found or not, I knew that Darren would hold on to his bitterness. I’m afraid I knew Darren better than he knew himself at times. He tried to convince me that wasn’t the case. He wouldn’t hold any animosity toward his father. He just wanted to give him an opportunity to answer some simple questions. I knew they wouldn’t be simple questions, and that whatever answers he got from his father wouldn’t be enough.”

“He found his father?”

He nodded. “And a half-sister.”

If I had of been standing I might have fallen. “Shit.”

“Ms. Barnes,” he said, pursing his lips distastefully. “Once they got together the thing moved in an altogether different direction. My worst fears realized.”

“They were shaking the father down in some way,” I said. “He must be a man of some prominence.”

“Look at you, Hercule Poirot,” he said.

“Uncle John?”

He harrumphed. “God, no. Get off of that kick.”

“How does he play into this then?”

“He doesn’t.”

I didn’t challenge that notion. “You know who the father is?”

“Darren wasn’t a bad man,” he offered. “Sometimes he made regrettable choices. But he wasn’t a bad man. And as much as I’d like to say so, I don’t believe Ms. Barnes was a bad woman, either. Neither she nor Darren had an easy upbringing. I was raised by a mother and a father. They’re still together. I understand how privileged I’ve been.”

“Who is Nevada and Sweet’s father?” I said.

“I don’t know who he is, Shell. I stopped Darren from talking anytime the subject came up. I couldn’t allow myself to be privy to anything remotely unlawful.”

“Remotely? Blackmail seems pretty black and white to me, Enger.”

“From what little I do know, they weren’t approaching it as blackmail. More of a situation where they were giving their father an opportunity to do the right thing by them.”

“You came up with that on your own, or with the help of your campaign manager?”

“This conversation is over. I don’t have anything else for you.”

“Give me the father’s name, Enger.”

“Do you understand English? I don’t have it.”

“I think you’re bullshitting me, Enger.”

“You break into my home, and despite that I tell you what I know,” he said, “and still you cast aspersions? I can’t begin to imagine what it must be like to walk around in your skin.”

“Get back to me if you find out anything that points to the father’s name and I’ll continue exploring the connection between you and Uncle John.”

“I’d really like to be alone now.”

I left him in the kitchen smelling of burned popcorn, and exited through the front door.

I DIDN’T USE IT for my re-entry.

ENGER WAS A FITFUL sleeper. Afraid of the dark perhaps, because a lamp burned brightly from the nightstand next to his bed. The sheet from earlier lay in a crumpled ball next to him on the bed. His boxers tangled up with the sheet. He awakened, coughing, reaching frantically for a breath and his face.

“If duct tape ran for office, it’d get my vote,” I said.

He snatched a thin strip of gray tape from covering his nostrils, and a second strip from over his mouth. “You’ve crossed a line,” he barked.

“Glad to see you locked the garage. I have a few other suggestions for you too.”

“You’re insane,” he said, his eyes wide with terror.

“
Mentally unstable
is more politically correct. You should know that.”

“I’m calling the police.”

“It’s silly to announce that,” I said, “and plus, the phone lines are cut.”

“You’re going to kill me…”

“At least you can say your life ended after a pleasurable dream.”

“What?”

I nodded near his midsection. “Dreaming about
Darren
?”

His nostrils flared but he didn’t bother to cover his erection. “Homoerotic impulses, Shell? I didn’t figure you for the type.”

“I want a name, Enger.”

“What? And you’ll anally violate me if I don’t give you one?”

“You’re a troubled man.”

“I’m not alone in that regard.
Ms. Barnes
told Darren some things about you.”

“A name.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“More clichés.”

“I have nothing to tell you.”

“Frederic and Thomasine Enger.”

“What?”

“Frederic likes to golf on Tuesdays at Charleston Springs. Some of the regulars he golfs with have taken to calling him double bogey behind his back. Thomasina volunteers at a nursing home three days a week. She’s particularly fond of a woman named Iris. Neither your father or mother deem it necessary to lock their vehicles, even if they’re leaving them unattended for hours.”

“Are you threatening my family, Shell?”

“Yes. Your parents specifically. And if that doesn’t move you…Claude James. I believe you refer to him as Bubbie. College boyfriend?”

“Donald Theodore Holliday,” he said, releasing the name in the way a pierced balloon releases air.

I smiled. “Your cooperation is much appreciated.”

“You try this shit with him and you’re in for a world of trouble. He has special protection.”

“Does he?”

He smiled without warmth. “Absolutely.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And I’ll pray for you,” he whispered.

TWENTY-SIX

THE BALANCE OF THE early morning was uneventful. I drove back to Elm Street from Cole Enger’s place, whispering the name Donald Theodore Holliday throughout the entire ride. Slogging through the muck of this whole mess had brought me to yet another promising trail. Blackmail is a dirty business and if Sweet and Nevada had involved themselves in it there was no wonder that violence would enter into the equation. Sweet’s fate had already been revealed, so all I was left with was the hope that Nevada’s didn’t match his.

Siobhan was asleep on the sofa when I got back. I stood and watched her for a moment. I can’t begin to adequately describe her beauty. Eyes closed, her guard completely down, she transformed from a swan into something even more mythic. Suddenly I was aware of my breathing. The story of my life when it came to beautiful women. They’d always proven to be a distraction at the highest level.

But now was not the time for distractions. I needed to focus more than ever. Every minute wasted left Nevada either in the crux of serious trouble or without the dignity of a proper burial. Either way, my intention was to bring her home. All of that in mind, I moved away from the sofa and to the kitchen, where I pulled out my cell phone, dialed a number, and settled myself to whisper.

“I’d hoped I’d hear from you today,” Trina whispered in my ear. Whispered. As always she was a step ahead of me.

“Are you near a computer?” I whispered back.

“I’m speaking low because it’s early and my voice leaves a lot to be desired. You must have company.”

“Siobhan’s resting,” I said in a flat voice. “I don’t want to disturb her.”

“More often than not I want to tell you to go to hell. The problem is, then I want to beg you to take me with you.”

“Are you near a computer?” I repeated.

“The computer I’ve used to book us flights and hotel rooms?”

“Sure,” I said.

“So you’re sleeping with her, too?”

“Google, or whatever search engine you prefer.”

“It’ll all come back down on you someday.”

“Donald Theodore Holliday. I’m betting the last name is with two Ls. He’s a man of some prominence. Tell me what comes up.”

“Do you not care about us?”

“At the moment,” I said, “no.”

I heard her take in a breath, imagined her squaring her shoulders, the muscles churning in her jaw. “Donald Theodore Holliday?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The click of keys from her end of the phone line, then a small laugh.

“You’ve found something, Trina?”

“What do you need with this man?” she asked.

“To talk.”

“Talk like normal people? Or your kind of talk?”

“Talk,” was all I would allow.

“Grab a piece of paper and something to write with.”

“Already have it.”

“I have an address for you.”

“An address?”

“So you and Donald Theodore Holliday can talk in person.”

“Give it to me,” I said, and she did. “Is this a residence or place of business?”

“Neither,” she said, and laughed again.

“Neither?”

“It’s a place of
worship
, Shell.
Bishop
Donald Theodore Holliday. Two Ls, just as you suspected.”

“He has protection,” I mumbled, remembering Cole Enger’s words.

“Anything else, Shell?”

“That’ll do. And listen—” I stopped abruptly.

She’d disconnected the call.

Lightheaded, I moved back into the living room. Siobhan was still asleep. I watched her as thoughts rolled over in my head like the tumblers of a lock. Would Nevada blackmail a minister? Even a crooked one? My assumption was that Holliday was bent, but the last year had been one of awakening for Nevada. As much as I hated to admit it, she had been reborn. Then again, mounting evidence pointed to the likely possibility that she had started prostituting herself. Don’t saint her, I thought to myself. If Bishop Donald Theodore Holliday was capable of murder—and even without knowing him I believed he was—Nevada was capable of, if not that, blackmail at the very least. There were so many ways she could justify the decision. I was so immersed in thought I answered my suddenly ringing cell phone without hesitating even though I didn’t recognize the incoming number.

“Shell?” Her voice was tentative and small, none of her usual strength evident in its notes.

“You’re the last person I expected to hear from,” I said.

“I have some information for you.”

“Information?”

“I’ve kept my ear to the street.”

The flyer. I straightened up. “Alive still?”

“Barely, from what I understand.”

“Where?”

“Better if I show you.”