The Blue Ridge Project: A Dark Suspense Novel (The Project Book 1) (14 page)

I know it’s bad form, trade secrets and all, but where the fuck did you get this?”

“A trusted source.” Robert’s lips were tight.

“Hey, trust doesn’t mean shit. Look at me,” Jergens said and had another sip of his drink. Then he blew air out through pursed lips.

“I can’t say for definite either way, but it looks like it’s real. Technology has surely progressed some in my absence from the scene, so I can’t give you anything to take to the bank.”

“Would you run with it?” Robert asked, his eyebrow raised.

“Me? Shit, yeah. I’d hang the fucker with it. You send this up, though, and every photographer and analyst will be combing over it. And if they find out it’s not genuine, they’ll hang you out to dry by the scrotum. Never mind that it was good enough to fool both you
and
Pete Jergens.” He smiled a small, painful smile and offered the folder back to Robert.

“Although I doubt you’ll mention me in the press release.”

“It wouldn’t be polite,” Robert replied, putting the folder back in his bag. “Thanks for your time, Mister ...Pete. And the drink.”

“My pleasure. Sort of. Horrible shit you’ve got there, fake or not. A diseased mind is responsible either way.” Jergens finished his glass again and grabbed the mostly depleted bottle. He waved it at Robert. “One for the road?”

Robert shook his head and stood up. “If I have any more I’ll be too buzzed to drive back.”

“All right. You owe me a bottle, though. For disturbing me.”

Robert smiled. “Sure thing. You take care, Pete,” he said and stuck out his hand.

Jergens looked at it for a second before grabbing it and shaking.

“Watch yourself, sonny. Be smart, whatever you choose to do with it.” He let go, and stood up to fold away the chair Robert had been sitting in while he turned to walk back to his car. Jergens watched him as he left, holding the chair in one hand and the glass with the cow on it, half full of whiskey, in the other.

In the darkness, Frank’s first sense was that of a deep pain. It resided somewhere inside him, somewhere behind his stomach. He opened his eyes with some effort, and saw a stained wooden ceiling with a single light bulb hanging from it. He was on an uncomfortable bed with rough wool blankets that were stained a light yellow color. Sitting up, a steady throb started to pulse in his temples, and he rubbed them with his forefingers, breathing deeply.

The cracked phone on the bedside table rang with a shrill sound that pierced the quiet in the room. The throb in his head turned to a piercing pain and he instinctively picked up the handle.

“Hello, Frank,” a smooth and familiar voice said through the receiver.

“What ...? Who is this? What’s going on?”

“Take a deep breath, Frank. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to guide you through this.”

“Guide me through what?”

“What do you remember?”

Frank closed his eyes. He tried to think back on how he had gotten to this almost empty room, a room he guessed was in some cheap motel with twenty other shitty rooms just like it. A haze almost thick enough to be a full cloud came over his mind when he tried, and he started to panic.

“I don’t— I can’t remember anything,” he whined.

“This is Dr. Richardson. Do you remember me?”

Frank bit his lip, and then a small wave of relief came over him. “Yes, Dr. Richardson. I remember. We’re doing things that were thought impossible.”

“Very good, Frank. Very good, indeed. Now, I’m going to give you some instructions, and an address. It’s going to seem very strange, especially your final task, but I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Frank nodded, and said, “Yes, I trust you.”

“Good. First, I want you to check your pockets. You should find a wallet with an ID card inside, with an address.”

Frank found the pants bundled on the floor beside the bed, and fished out a brown leather wallet. It smelled of real leather, used and handled for a long time. He opened it up and saw that it was almost empty, apart from the ID and a loyalty card for some discount market.

The name on the ID was Kenny Arellano, with a picture of a tanned man with dark stubble on his face. Frank looked at it for a while and then picked up the receiver again.

“Okay, I’ve got it. What now?”

“For the next part, Frank, I want you to listen to me. You’re going to look in the mirror, but before you do, I want you to be assured that this is only temporary. Do not be afraid, I’m here to help you.”

Frank frowned and stood up, taking his time so as not to upset the fragile truce between his head and the headache. He hobbled over to the bathroom and looked into the cracked mirror, catching his reflection in between the spots of rust.

His face was the same as the face on the ID card. He raised his eyebrows, and the man in the mirror raised his. He opened his mouth wide, and the reflection did the same. He leaned in close, and saw that his pupils were growing and shrinking every couple of seconds.

He took a few deep breaths and his hands, which had been shaking violently, became almost still again. Walking back over to the bed, he ran a hand over his now protruding gut. He picked up the phone again.

“What’s happening, Doctor Richardson?” His voice was steadier than he had thought it was going to be.

“Like I said, Frank, it’s only temporary. You’ll be back to normal as soon as you’ve finished, and you’ll forget all about this.”

“I don’t think this is something I’ll forget very easily, Doc.”

“Don’t worry,” Richardson soothed, “it’ll be fine. Now, next you’ll need to go to the address on that card, and search the place. You’re looking for any correspondence or mention of Blue Ridge. When you find it, I want you to destroy it, and I’ll be in touch with what you have to do next.”

“All right,” Frank replied. Just then, the pain in his midsection flared up to a new level, and he groaned while falling back onto the bed.

“What’s wrong with me—with him, Doc? I’m in a bad way here,” he said.

“Like I said, Frank, it’s only temporary. I’ll call you at that address in an hour. Now get moving; the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can put all this behind you.”

“All right, Doc,” Frank whispered into the mouthpiece, then he heard the click as Richardson hung up. He then pushed himself off the bed and got dressed in slow motion. He stepped out of the room, looked up and down the empty hallway and made his way down the stairs and out of the building. The man at the check-in desk didn’t even look up as Frank passed.

The Sunken Well was full every Monday night, as most of the police drank there when they finished up their work weeks. Andrea was there, too, at the bar with Hynes and a bunch of other detectives and uniforms, all of them chasing down their whiskeys with pints of dark beer. They were talking and laughing, sharing tales of the job and ribbing each other.

“So, Nox,” one of the detectives said in between stories, “what made you want to be a cop?”

She finished off a glass and waved to the barman for another. “Lots of things. Mostly because I knew there was an overabundance of police like you, and I thought that maybe the public deserves a little better.”

The group laughed loudly, a few of them slapping the detective who had asked the question on the shoulder.

“No,” he said when the laughter died down, “seriously, what made you do it? You’ve obviously got a talent for it, young thing like you moving up so fast. What’s the motive?”

Andrea sighed, and looked down at her glass.

“It was because of my parents.”

“What, they made you be a cop? Old man was on the force?”

She shook her head.

“My parents were shot when I was a kid, and they never caught the guy.”

The mood around the group changed, like the air pressure had just dropped. One or two of the older men nodded, while most of the rest looked down at their drinks or around the bar.

Hynes ordered another round of drinks and they all raised their glasses.

“Well, we got our guy today, Nox, and that’s something.”

“I guess it is,” she said, and everybody drank. “Tell you what, guys, I’m going to head home. Early start tomorrow, as I’m sure a few of you have, too.”

There was some good-natured grumbling from the police gathered around the counter as she stood up and put on her jacket. Calls of “take it easy” and “stay frosty” came after her as she walked out.

She stumbled a little bit as she stepped onto the street to hail a taxi, and giggled. An idea came to her, and she flipped open her phone. She looked at the highlighted name for a few seconds before pressing the call button. Her call was answered at the same time she got into the back of the taxi.

“Hey, Lyons, what are you doing tonight?”

“That depends, Detective. What are you up to?”

“Well, I’ve just excused myself from a night’s drinking at the Well, but I’m not quite ready to go home.”

A pause on the other end of the line.

“My place is not too far from there,” Lyons said finally, and gave her the address.

“I’ll be there soon,” she said, and hung up.

*****

The next morning, Andrea woke up alone in Lyons’ bed. The sunlight was shining on the bed beside her, dividing the pillow into a lighter half and a darker half. She sat up and called for Lyons, and when there was no answer she got up and got dressed.

She didn’t remember much about the end of the night. Lyons had greeted her at the door and they had gone to the small living room where they’d drunk a couple of beers. After a conversation she couldn’t entirely recall, they’d gone to the bedroom, where the memories of the rest of the night disappeared.

The apartment was sparsely furnished. There were no pictures or posters, and the furniture was bland and uninteresting. She opened the wardrobe in the bedroom and saw Lyons’ shirts and pants hung in order, and more shirts and underwear neatly arranged on shelves to the side. The kitchen was equally devoid of personality, with just the bare essentials for cooking and eating. She took a glass of water and quaffed it all to get rid of the dry mouth and pounding head that was beginning to annoy her. After another quick look around the apartment, she grabbed her jacket from the back of the featureless sofa and left.

As she got to the street, her phone buzzed in her pocket and she flipped it open to see Hynes’ name on the little screen.

“Nox,” she said.

“Andrea,” Hynes said, “you better get down to the station right now.”

“Why, what’s happened?” Her pulse quickened, and the pain in her head increased to keep pace.

“It’s Gainsberg. He was found dead in his cell.”

*****

When Andrea arrived upstairs at the Homicide office, Hynes was there to greet her.

“That motherfucker,” he said, “didn’t even make it to trial.”

“How did it happen? Another prisoner?”

Hynes shook his head. “No, he was down there on his own. Camera footage doesn’t show anybody going down there, either. Looks like he slit his own throat with the jagged corner of the bedframe.”

Andrea took a few steps and sat down hard in her chair, putting one hand to her forehead.

“You all right?” Hynes asked, concern on his face.

She waved her free hand at him. “Yeah, just one too many last night. Damn it, Hynes, what a fuck up. Shouldn’t he have been under watch, suicide risk or something?”

Hynes nodded. “Should have, but wasn’t. You know how it is, Nox. They’re almost as short-handed at that jailhouse as we are.”

Looking around the office, Andrea noticed Lyons’ absence. “Anyone told Lyons yet? I’m sure he’d be pretty pissed, too, being his big bust and all.”

Hynes shook his head. “Ain’t been in today. Michaels was pitching a fit earlier because he never showed. Phone is off, too.”

She felt a dropping sensation in her stomach and her pulse started to race as Gainsberg's words came back to her.
Your man, the lion in the sheepskin
.
She looked up at Hynes, and very carefully chose her next few words.

“Hey, Hynes, what time did Gainsberg off himself, do you know?”

He shrugged. “Last check was around midnight, and he was still alive then. Probably some time between then and early this morning. Why?”

Andrea shook her head, slowly and deliberately. “Just wondering. I’m gonna go talk to Cap for a sec.”

“Sure thing, but don’t be too long. I’m going to need help with all the extra paperwork, or at least help with sending it on to someone else.” He winked at her and turned back to his desk.

She stood up and steadied herself with one hand on her desk. When she felt right, she walked down to Cap’s office and tapped on the door.

“Yeah!” the voice came in reply.

She went in and shut the door behind her.

“Nox! Heard about your boy Gainsberg. Tough break, no doubt. But at least there’s no chance of parole from wherever he is now, eh?” Cap said all this without looking up. When Andrea didn’t reply, he raised his head and saw her expression.

“Nox? What is it?”

Andrea sat on the empty chair opposite Cap.

“Cap, I don’t know how to say this, exactly...”

Cap closed the file that was open in front of him and folded his hands on the desk. “The best way, I’ve found, is usually to start at the start. What’s going on?” His voice was soft, measured, soothing. Andrea looked into his eyes and saw compassion there, behind the steel.

“It’s about Gainsberg. And Lyons. Have you heard from him today?”

Cap shook his head, frowning. “No, he didn’t even call in. The little prick is going to get himself suspended, I don’t care how much of a star he thinks this little fiasco made him.”

“Well, the thing is...”

She told him about Gainsberg’s claim about Lyons being the one who had mutilated the second girl. She also found herself telling him about going to Lyons’ place the night before and waking up alone.

Cap was silent for minute, his hands now folded in front of his mouth, elbows on the desk.

“So you can’t say either way if he was with you the entire night or not,” he said in a cold voice, a truly polar opposite of his earlier tone.

She shook her head, stray hairs falling over her face before she brushed them back with her hand.

Cap stood up and came around his desk to sit on the corner, right next to Andrea. He cast a cursory glance at the door before he spoke.

“Andrea, do you know what you’re saying here? I mean, you’re implying that Lyons is a sadistic nut, who framed another sadistic nut and got away with it. With no proof other than that of said dead nut, and your hungover and possibly regretful instinct.”

“I know, Cap. It’s not much, and I ignored Gainsberg when he said it. But if there’s even a chance... I mean, shouldn’t we look at the possibility? I’m no psychiatrist, but Gainsberg didn’t look like the type to do himself in. What if Lyons convinced him to do it? I don’t know, fucked with his head, or threatened to arrange for him to have a bad time in prison, who knows?”

Cap was silent again for a couple of seconds before speaking.

“You know if you’re wrong, they’ll all hate you out there. They will make life miserable for you. Accusing a fellow officer is a major ordeal, even if they are from out of town. Are you ready for that?”

She thought about it, and nodded.

Cap sighed. “You’ll have to get more evidence than what you’ve got now. And frankly, I don’t know how you will. The girl is in intensive care, and the parents have made it clear they just want to be left alone. Your star witness is dead, and I’m sure you see the problem with confronting Lyons directly.”

“I can reach out to his old precinct, see if anything weird pops up there. If he did do this, chances are there’s been some hint of it before, back where he’s from. Some case he was on, or some complaint about him.”

Cap stood up and walked back around to his chair. He pointed one long finger at her.

“All right. Do it, but it’s between you and me. And for fuck’s sake, be smart about it. If Internal Affairs gets wind that we're conducting secret in-house investigations, we'll both be out on our asses.”

She stood up and nodded. “Sure thing, Cap. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”