Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (28 page)

I put my head down on the pillow and tried to relax, tried to come up with the next thing I could do for Farley, but nothing came. I would need to call my mom, and get some more advice. Great. After everything that went on, I needed to get more advice from my mom.

I closed my eyes, feeling overwhelmingly tired. Someone entered the room, but I kept my eyes closed, hoping they would go away. They didn’t. I opened my eyes, though it felt like two ton boulders were attached to each of them.

A police officer stood by the bed, looking tired and pissed off. I recognized her. She was Sergeant Worth, the other officer who had come to talk to me about the fire at my apartment building. It felt like the fire had happened years ago.

“You Jenner? Marie Jenner?” she asked, obviously not recognizing me. I nodded. “I’m here to take your statement.”

I figured she’d listened to the rather nasty voicemail message I’d left her about Constable Williams. Finally. Then I frowned. She didn’t remember me. That couldn’t be it. “My statement about what?” I asked cautiously.

“About the incident that put you in the hospital.” Worth went from looking slightly tired to looking slightly puzzled. “You
do
remember what happened to you, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

I unsuccessfully tried to pull myself upright on the bed. The cop reached over, flicked a switch, and the back of the bed rose until I was sitting comfortably upright.

“Thanks,” I said. “That’s better.”

“No problem.” She smiled. Almost. “We got backed up at the crime scene. However, we’re here now. You feeling up to giving a statement?”

“Sure.”

The cop reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small note pad and a pen. She scratched something—I was guessing the date and time—on the top of the pad, then glanced at me.

“Now, in your own words, tell me what happened.”

It took me only five minutes to go over the events of the day, which surprised me a bit, considering how eventful the day had been. The cop diligently wrote down every word I said without any questions until she was sure I was finished.

“Did you notice anything unusual happening before today?”

“I talked to another police officer about some suspicions I had, this afternoon,” I said. “He took it under advisement.”

Worth glanced up, her eyebrows quirking. “Who did you speak to?”

“His name was Constable Williams.” I quirked my eyebrows back at her. “He told me you are his superior. I phoned you about him, just before the explosion.”

“Williams has your statement?”

“He didn’t write down a darned thing.” I sighed. “Even the odd stuff.”

“Odd?”

“Weird.” I leaned back, my head spinning. “I don’t know. I tried to tell him about Carruthers, but he wouldn’t listen.” My words stopped the cop cold, and she stared at me intensely.

“The owner of the building?”

I nodded, carefully.

“Why do you think he should have done something about the owner of the building?”

“Because he hired Don Latterson to blow it up,” I said. “That’s why.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?”

“Didn’t Mr. Latterson tell you Carruthers was involved?” I asked, struggling to sit further upright. They’d arrested him. She had to get the connection. She had to.

“No. He said he planned it himself, and hired Raymond Jackson to set off the bomb. He never mentioned Carruthers.” She blurted the words out, then rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she muttered, “I need to get some sleep.”

“Well, Mr. Latterson’s covering for Carruthers. Carruthers paid him off, or something.” I looked around the room for my clothes. “Can you open that closet, please?”

“Why?”

“Because I have the information on a flash drive in the pocket of my sweater that proves Carruthers is involved, and I don’t know what the doctors did with my clothes.”

She opened the closet, but it was empty. “They probably had to cut your clothes off.”

“But—but the information—” I glanced around, frantically, hoping it was sitting on a counter top somewhere, but there was nothing there. Nothing at all. “I have to find that flash drive.”

“Do you really think it will explain everything?”

“Yes. It will.”

“I’ll see if I can find it.”

“Thank you.”

“Why do you have information like that?” She peered at me with her sharp cop eyes, and realized I’d trapped myself. The only reason I’d collected what I’d found was because of Farley, and there was no way in the world I was telling this cop that a ghost had pointed me in Carruthers’ direction. No way at all.

I could mention Farley being killed, though, couldn’t I?

“There was the death—Farley’s death—”

“Who? Oh, wait a minute, the guy who was electrocuted. I don’t have the paperwork on that yet.”

“Well, you should get it. Carruthers and Mr. Latterson are involved in his death, too. I’d bet my life on it.”

All right, so technically Farley had killed himself, but those two were involved in blowing up the Palais, which was what Farley had been trying to stop. In my books, they were involved, and deserved to pay with lots and lots of time in jail.

The cop stared at me for a long moment, until I turned away. I listened as she tucked the pad of paper back into her jacket pocket. “I’ll check with Emerg to see if I can find your clothes, and that flash drive. And then you and I will be talking again.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll be here much longer,” I said, trying for a bright smile. I didn’t pull it off. “At least, I hope not.”

“If I need to, I’ll find you.” The cop turned toward the door, and without another word, was gone.

I pressed the button, sending the bed slowly back to flat. I was exhausted. Tomorrow I would deal with my missing clothes and the flash drive, and everything. Including Farley. I needed to make him understand why I felt it was so important that he reconnect with his daughter.

“Tomorrow,” I whispered, and closed my eyes. “I’ll deal with all of that tomorrow.”

Farley:
Lucky Marie Meets the Rat

I stood outside Marie’s room, watching the action. First the lady cop went in, and though I dearly wanted to know what the hell those two talked about, I stayed outside. I was still sizzling from Marie’s suggestion that she connect with my daughter, Rose. There was no way on God’s green earth I was letting that happen. That was a closed topic. No way in hell I was going back there.

When the cop left at nine, the ladies in white were getting everybody tucked in for the night. The occasional alarm sounded, but even those seemed sleepy. No-one got too excited, or did the “Code Blue” thing or anything. Just nice, efficient tucking in and putting to bed.

Until Carruthers, looking rich, powerful, and not about to take any crap, walked out of the elevators and up to the nurse’s station at close to 10:30.

“I’m here to see Marie Jenner.” His voice sounded like gravel, as though he’d smoked a couple dozen cigars in quick succession.

“It’s after visiting hours.” The nurse behind the desk didn’t glance up. “Come back tomorrow between nine and nine.”

“I don’t think you understand me. I am here to see Marie Jenner. Now.”

The nurse looked up, her eyes sparkling dangerously. I know she thought this was her domain and that she wasn’t about to be pushed around by an asshole in a suit, but I didn’t stick around to see what Carruthers did to her. I needed to warn Marie.

I walked into her room, but she was asleep. Before I could wake her up the door swung open, and Carruthers entered the darkened room.

Marie:
Meeting the Rat

It was harder to fall asleep in that hospital than I thought it would be. They kept my door open, so all the noise from the ward kept floating in. Cries of pain, alarms beeping, plus occasionally, laughter.

Finally, the noise outside the room started to calm. Someone pulled my door almost shut, and even that noise was tamped down to a drone. Then I was finally able to fall asleep.

It was a bit bumpy, to be honest. Meaning a series of nightmares filled with flashes and smoke, and then Don Latterson grabbing my throat, looking more and more like a demon, until I wanted to scream, and I couldn’t.

I couldn’t scream. The wire was back around my throat and I couldn’t scream . . .

I lurched awake, grabbing the top sheet that had tightened over my neck and flinging it away from me. I gasped in air like I’d actually been strangled again, and felt the pulse in my throat pound like a drum.

Farley was standing just inside the door, glowing softly. He put his finger to his mouth in a “shh,” gesture when someone else standing in the dark asked, “Are you all right?”

I did not recognize the voice and screeched as I tried to fling myself to the floor, only managing to get myself even more tangled in the bedclothes. I couldn’t move, and claustrophobia mixed with a resurgence of the terror I’d felt at the Palais. I honestly thought I was going to die. Again.

“Don’t hurt me!” I cried. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man’s voice said.

“You’re a liar, you son of a bitch,” Farley snarled. “A lying liar!”

“Who are you?” I asked, scrabbling with the stupid bedclothes which had me tied down so tightly I had another paralyzing moment of claustrophobia. “Who is that?” I asked Farley, but before he could answer, the stranger spoke.

“Let me turn on a light while you compose yourself, that’s a good girl,” he said. He walked toward the door and threw the light switch. “Is that better?”

A tall middle aged man in a power suit stood by the light switch. I didn’t recognize him, which did nothing to make me feel calmer.

“It’s George Carruthers,” Farley finally said. “He’s the son of a bitch who ordered Macho Don to blow up the Palais.” He spat. The glowing spittle flew through the air and struck George Carruthers on the cheek. It hung there, glowing and quivering, unnoticed.

“I’ll get help!” he yelled.

“Don’t leave me!” I cried.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Carruthers said as Farley disappeared through the closed door. I was alone with Carruthers. That was not good.

I groped in the bedclothes for the call button, and felt the air around me turn to glue when I couldn’t find the stupid thing. Carruthers walked up to my bed and I licked my lips. I needed to calm myself, because if he tried anything, I only had my wits. My strength was gone, blown away when the Palais exploded all over me.

If this guy was going to do me harm, I needed to get someone else—someone corporeal—in the room with us. Since I couldn’t find the stupid call button, I decided to play the “I don’t know you,” gambit, to buy some time.

“I think you have the wrong room,” I said.

“Oh no,” Carruthers said. “I’m in exactly the right room.”

“No, I don’t think you are,” I said, and tried to smile. That did not go well. “If you go out and find the nurse—”

“The nurse told me exactly where you were, Miss Jenner.”

As I tried to comprehend what he had just said, Carruthers pulled a chair up to the side of my bed and sat, crossing one leg over the other. He pointed at a bouquet of flowers on my bedside stand. “You like daisies?” he asked.

I quit staring at him, and instead stared at the bouquet, which had been placed in an empty water jug and leaned haphazardly. The flowers were wilting. There had been no flowers in my room when I’d fallen asleep.

“Why did you bring me flowers?” I asked.

“Oh, they aren’t from me,” he said.

I filed the flowers under “who cares right now” and focused on the man sitting way too close to me.

“Who are you?”

“George Carruthers,” he said, and smiled. “No doubt you’ve heard of me.”

“You’re the owner of the Palais,” I whispered. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, it’s not how you can help me,” Carruthers said. He glanced down at his beautifully manicured hands. “No, I’m here to find out how I can help you.”

I blinked. “Help me?”

“Yes, dear. Help you.” He stopped admiring his fingernails and glanced over at me. His eyes were like brown ice. “After all, you were one of my tenants, and—”

“I wasn’t technically a tenant,” I replied, still clutching the top of the sheet protectively to my throat. “I worked for one.”

“Ah, yes, well, that is true. However, I want to take care of everyone who was in my building. Especially one who was damaged.” Carruthers spoke the last word softly, delicately, and pointed at my face. “You
were
damaged, weren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “But I still don’t see—”

“You’re out of a job, and I’m going to make sure you’re comfortable until you can find another one.” Carruthers spoke abruptly, as if suddenly tired at the amount of his precious time our conversation was wasting.