Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

“Do I know you?” Petrov said.

“No, but I know you, Detective Petrov.”

“Are you Fisher?”

The man laughed, while Petrov continued his assessment: Good teeth, possibly veneered. Expensive aftershave. Nothing shelf bought.

“No, I’m not Fisher, although, unlike you, I know him. My name’s Kimmel.”

“General Kimmel?” Petrov said, turning toward the stranger.

“Formerly. I’m out of the forces now. Put out to pasture, as it were, after that whole Oakwell mess.”

“You were there, right?” Petrov asked, sliding effortlessly into detective mode.

“I was, for longer than I would have liked. If you’re about to ask me about it, there’s nothing I can tell you. Classified information, you understand.”

Petrov nodded, and took a pull on his cigarette. Noticing Kimmel watching him, he offered the pack. “Smoke?”

“No, not anymore. Haven’t touched one in years.”

Petrov raised his eyebrows, staring at the scuffed gold lighter that Kimmel was flicking open and closed in his hand. The retired General followed his eyeline and laughed, slipping the lighter back into his jacket pocket. “Good luck charm. Had it with me since my first tour in ‘Nam. A lot of the guys then had crazy things they did to bring themselves luck. Mine was this lighter. Old habit I guess.”

“Did it work?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

Petrov grinned and turned back toward the building across the plaza. “Can you tell me anything about Fisher?”

“There’s not much to tell. He’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I mean about his involvement in—” Petrov hesitated, wondering if he should go on, or how much Kimmel knew. He was even entertaining the idea that Kimmel was there at Fisher’s request to find out what Petrov knew.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here as a stooge,” Kimmel said with a wry smile, sensing the detective’s concerns. “That son of a bitch did everything he could to discredit what I was telling him about that place, and as soon as he found out I was telling the truth, he cut me loose and shut me out.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Oh? What happened to you?” Kimmel asked.

“Three years ago I was the first officer on scene after the massacre. Standard bread and butter job, right? We have our lead suspect in custody, enough evidence and eye witnesses to guarantee a conviction. It’s all looking good, open and shut case, right? So we take Marshall in, he’s a slam-dunk conviction, but we still have all this evidence to look through. There was a murder scene out in the woods, another in the hotel, along with a violent assault. Lots of loose ends still to tie up. So we start our investigation, taking our time as we always do, when we start to get the hurry up. Chief wants us done and out of there so the army can move in.”

Kimmel waited, letting Petrov speak.

“Straight away, I get that feeling. Call it instinct, or whatever you want, but it’s right there. There’s no way the army should have any interest in this case, and then to top it off, I start to see the F.B.I. poking around, not to look at the case as such, but I get the impression they’re there to keep an eye on us and what we’re doing. The more stuff that happens, the more curious I get. I start to look deeper into things. Do some digging, do some research on the place. I find out it has this godawful history, things that would make even the most skeptical man raise his eyebrows, you know?”

“The murders and suicides,” Kimmel said. “I know all about those.”

“Yeah, well it was news to me. The more I dug, the more I was sure they were hiding something. Anyways, two weeks after, I get a call from my partner. He says he found something new and that I really should go check it out. I race up there, I mean, really race. This was my chance, you know? No F.B.I., no army, just me. I get there, and it’s dark and it’s raining. I have this feeling, this awful feeling of dread. I guess it was because of what I’d read about the place, but that didn’t make it any less real. So my partner takes me to what he found. There was something in the house that had gone unnoticed before, something new that might have given me the answers I wanted.”

“The subcellar,” Kimmel said, glancing at Petrov.

“You know about it?” Petrov said, more surprised than he intended to show.

“Of course. Based on what you’ve said so far, the army team that you were under pressure from to get out of the way of was mine. Me and my men.”

“So you know what’s down there?”

“No,” Kimmel said. “The hotel was off-limits to my team. We were there for a… different reason.”

“Yeah, well that’s where I might be able to give you some info that might shock you. I went down there.”

“You entered the subcellar?”

“Briefly,” Petrov said, ushering away the memories of what he had seen before they could flash into his mind. “There was something down there. Some kind of… altar. I’ll be honest, it freaked me out, and I ran. Next thing I know, I’m frozen out of the case. I get hauled in front of my captain and told I was being put on something else. No explanation, no reason.”

“And that made you even more curious I presume?”

“Damn right,” Petrov said, glaring at the building across the plaza. “I tried to go back up there anyway, but the site was closed off. Army blockade, probably your men, General, based on what you just said. I showed them my badge, and then I tried to bully my way through, but they were having none of it. I demanded to know who was in charge, but they wouldn’t tell me that either. Thing is, General, I have contacts, friends in both the police and the army. I made some enquiries, had some files pulled. Most of it was classified of course, but this one name kept coming up.”

“Fisher,” Kimmel said. Petrov nodded.

“Yeah, Fisher. I kept scratching and calling in favors and eventually linked him back to this place,” he said, nodding to the building.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Kimmel said, thumbing the tatty gold lighter as he spoke. “You said yourself that you had your perpetrator for the crime. The case was, for all intents and purposes, solved. Why pursue it? Why not move on to other things?”

“Oh I did. In my line of work there’s always another case waiting around the corner, but that didn’t mean I didn’t keep trying. It’s become a hobby of mine.”

“Some might call it an obsession.”

“They might be right,” Petrov replied with a wry smile. “Whatever it is, I can’t seem to shake it. I’ve tried to make contact with this mysterious Fisher character at least a dozen times, each without success. Everyone keeps giving the same story. It’s like the son of a bitch doesn’t exist. I’ll find him though. I’ll find him and then I’ll find out what the hell they wanted up there.”

“I’d advise you to drop this, Detective,” Kimmel said, locking eyes with Petrov.

“What do you know about it?”

“Enough. More than I can tell you or anyone else at any rate. Just trust me when I tell you it would be better if you just forgot about the town of Oakwell and that damn hotel.”

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Let it go, Detective. Nothing good can come of it. They closed the town for a reason. If you ask me, sealing that place off was the best thing Fisher ever did. With luck, the forest will take it back and people will forget it ever existed.”

“Don’t you ever wonder about it? Don’t you ever want answers?”

Kimmel considered it for a moment, elbows on knees, hands clasped together, head low. He almost looked like a man in prayer. Petrov waited, giving Kimmel time to formulate his answer. Eventually, the former General spoke, his tone soft and reflective.

“The problem with answers, Detective, is that you sometimes feel worse after getting them. I can’t speak for you, but I and my men experienced something up there that, to this day, I can’t explain. As clichéd as it sounds, there’s evil up there. And it’s something you’d do well to leave alone.”

“What if I choose not to?”

Kimmel shrugged. “I can’t do anything about that. Fisher was the same. Some people just have to find out for themselves. I’ve looked into you, Petrov. You have a superb record, cracked some big cases. You seem like a smart guy, which is why I made sure I was here today to speak to you. Can I suggest that maybe this is one of those occasions when you ignore that police instinct of yours and let it go?”

“Point taken. I’ll consider it,” Petrov replied.

Kimmel glanced over at him, and for the first time, Petrov saw the strain in his face. Sure enough, it was hidden behind the tan and the years of living well, but it was there nonetheless.

“No you won’t,” Kimmel said. “People like you never do.”

“People like me?”

“Dogs, Detective Petrov.”

“Excuse me?”

“People like you are like dogs with a bone. You cling on and chew until you break it. Sometimes, even the big dogs bite off too much. Sometimes those dogs choke. Forget this, Detective Petrov. For your own good.”

Kimmel’s jacket buzzed, and he took out a mobile phone, which was at least fifteen years out of date. He briefly checked the number then slipped the phone back into his inside pocket. Petrov was amused at the General’s use of old school technology, and was about to comment on it when Kimmel stood, pulled out a pair of reflective sunglasses from another pocket and put them on. Petrov was glad those inquisitive eyes were hidden.

“I have to go. I’d say goodbye, Detective, but I have a suspicion you and I will meet again before this is all over.”

“Maybe we will. I don’t intend to give up on this.”

Kimmel nodded, his brow creased with a troubled frown. “You remind me of one of the men who worked under me. He was determined, headstrong. Fantastic leader, brilliant soldier. Everything changed when we went up to that place. We found him in his tent, wrists slit, or more accurately, gouged. He had hacked out the veins on his left hand and it looked like he had been trying to work on the right before he bled out. Not one of those cry-for-help suicides. This was the real deal. The thing I remember most is the note he left. It was hauntingly simple and struck a chord with all of us.”

“What did it say?” Petrov asked.

“It said ‘I can’t handle this anymore.’ We’d only been up there for three days. If you insist on pursuing this, just make sure you’re ready for the consequences.”

Kimmel walked away, hands in pockets. Petrov watched him go, unsure what to make of the surreal conversation that had just unfolded. He remembered his cigarette, and glanced down at it. Unsmoked, it had burned down to a column of ash. He flicked it onto the flagstones, and lit another while he searched for Kimmel in the crowd of lunchtime office workers milling around the plaza, hoping to convince himself that the encounter really did happen. The General, however, was long gone, lost in the crowd. Petrov sat there for a while anyway, smoking and trying to get his thoughts in order. Despite Kimmel’s attempt to frighten him off, his warnings had instead made Petrov more determined than ever to find out what was going on.

CHAPTER 14

The diner was busy, a symphony of chatter and cutlery as people ate lunch. Situated by a turnpike just outside Michigan, it was the perfect space for weary traveler and trucker alike to take a break and grab a bite to eat. The smell of coffee and bacon assaulted Emma’s senses as she pushed through the door, taking a second to scan the crowd for the person she’d come to find. She crossed the room, all fifties retro in style: white and red décor, reproduction posters on the walls from a time when Brylcreemed hair and leather jackets were the epitome of fashion. The counter was at the back of the room, beyond which was a partially open plan kitchen that was a hive of activity. Here, the smell of cooking food was even stronger, and Emma’s stomach growled in an effort to gain her attention. She squeezed in between people eating plates of eggs and waffles, and waited to be attended to, all the time keeping a close eye on the kitchen through the pass.

“What can I get you?”

Emma’s mind went blank, and she looked at the waitress, who waited with pen poised, smiling despite the fake, glassy-eyed look of someone jaded with her chosen profession.

“I’m looking for someone.”

“Who ya trying to find?” she said, struggling to make herself heard over the din.

“Uh, a Truman Lemoyne. I was told he works here.”

“He does, he’s a kitchen hand.”

“Can I see him?”

“He’s busy right now. Rush hour.”

“Oh,” Emma said, wondering what to do next.

“Why don’t you take a seat and have a bite to eat? Things should be calming down in here soon. How do you know Truman?”

“I don’t, I just… I need to speak to him.”

“If it’s urgent, I can bring him out for now.”

“No,” Emma said, finding a smile as false as the waitress’s. “It’s fine. No rush. I haven’t eaten yet anyway. What would you recommend?”

“Depends what you like. Bacon and eggs?”

“Are they good?” Emma asked, glad of the chance to compose her thoughts before she met the man she had traveled so far to see.

“Award winning. You want coffee too?”

“Why not.”

“Alright, you go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring them over.”

“Thanks,” Emma said, taking a seat at the counter, enjoying the ambience. She looked into the kitchen, searching the army of white-clad kitchen staff as they fulfilled orders. She wasn’t even sure why she was staring. She had no idea which one was Truman Lemoyne.