The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 8

  She didn’t know how to get to the PI’s office from the airport, but she had an address and the rental came with a GPS guidance device. He had her type the information into the device and they soon headed toward the outer suburbs.

  “You live in the burbs?” he asked.

  “Where else would we live?”

  “Never took Kate for a square lawn and shrubbery type. Figured she’d stay in the city.”

  “In Detroit? Yuck. No one lives in Detroit unless they have to.”

  “She had an apartment on the Cass corridor while she was going to Wayne State. Studying fine art.”

  “Dude, every time you talk about her, I’m sure I knocked on the wrong door.”

  By the time they reached the office, night had fallen. They pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall with most of the storefronts empty except for the “Now Leasing” signs. One storefront had the window blacked out and the name of the agency printed in white lettering—Walkowitz Discreet Investigations.

  Fluorescent lights looming over the lot hummed, their phosphorescent glow giving things a dreamlike quality. The humid air felt thick against Lockman’s skin, which had long ago adjusted to Southern California’s dry warmth. A mosquito buzzed in his ear. He swatted it away.

  “I forgot about the time change,” Jessie said. “He’s probably not open.”

  “No harm in trying.”

  “What if he’s not there?”

  “No point in dealing with what ifs.”

  “Just, what will you do? Stay until morning?” She looked at him funny.

  He couldn’t read what she was getting at. Hell, the only time he could read her was when she was lying. Or scared. Anything more subtle seemed to get lost in the torrent of her unpredictable temperament.

  He would have made a terrible father. Maybe the way things went down was for the best.

  “I’ll stay only as long as I need to find out who gave me up.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then you won’t have to worry about it, because you get to go home tonight.”

  “You’re just going to drop me off on the way to wherever? After all I’ve been through to find you, and you’re going to leave again?”

  Lockman reminded himself to compartmentalize. Still, something tickled deep in his chest. “I don’t know what you expected to find, but it obviously wasn’t…” He threw his arms out at his sides. “This. As long as you’re near me, you’re in danger. I can’t have that.”

  “What about my interrogation? Don’t I need to get debriefed?”

  Lockman had never heard such a perfect mix of sarcasm and sincerity. The girl was something else. “The circumstance has changed. I don’t know what’s going on. Until I do, I can’t trust anyone I used to know. Besides, Kate’s probably worried about you.”

  She looked away, wiping her face with the back of a hand. “You dick. I just wanted to get to know you.”

  That tickle fluttered a little harder. He imagined ice water pouring down his throat and freezing whatever stirred inside of him. “It’s not a good time.”

  She glared at him, defiant despite the tears poised on the rims of her eyes. “You had fifteen years before now. When would have been a good time?”

  A black feeling bubbled up inside of him. Something too slick to get a hold of and shove away. Something that defied compartments. His only recourse was to leave it unnamed. A lie of omission that did not fool any part of him.

  “I’m sorry I left. If I’d known about you, maybe I could have done differently.”

  She sniffed and blinked the tears out of her eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with so I can go home and get grounded for the next ten years.”

  He wanted to say more. But what he wanted didn’t matter. He turned and approached the investigator’s office. He tried the door, found it locked. He rapped on the glass. When the lock clicked and the door swung open, Lockman blew out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

  A short, round man wearing a sweater vest over a dress shirt and tie stood in the doorway, blinking at Lockman through round spectacles. He had a dark mustache with flecks of gray. Most of the hair down the center of his head had given way to baldness, but he fought the good fight with the old standby comb over. Somehow it didn’t look as ridiculous on the short fellow, even gave him a disarming appearance.

  Lockman would have wondered why the man wore a sweater vest in the middle of summer if he hadn’t felt the rush of cold air coming through the door. He shivered. Guy must have had the air-conditioning set to meat locker.

  The man surveyed Lockman then shifted his gaze to Jessie. Light of recognition dawned in his eyes. “Oh.”

  Lockman almost laughed. “Yeah. Oh.”

  The man Lockman presumed was Walkowitz licked his lips. He frowned at Jessie like a disappointed parent. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  Jessie hooked a thumb at Lockman. “He’s got bigger muscles.”

  Walkowitz’s attention returned to Lockman. He looked Lockman up and down, spent several seconds studying Lockman’s arms. “I see.”

  Lockman stood a little straighter, maximizing his height advantage over the PI. “I’d say we need to talk. But you already know that.”

  “Come in.” Walkowitz held the door open for Lockman and Jessie. He pushed it closed once they were in and turned the lock. “After hours I prefer to keep the door bolted. You understand?”

  The office had little in the way of style or décor. White drywall with a few generic black-and-white landscape photographs. A metal desk that looked like something borrowed from a teacher’s classroom sat facing the entrance. Behind the desk an open door led into what looked like a similarly undecorated office. “Anyone specific you think might visit after hours?”

  “Not at all.” Walkowitz gestured toward the back office. “Please, we can all sit and chat in my office.”

  They followed Walkowitz in and took the pair of chairs before his desk, which looked like a standard purchase from an office supply catalog—a lot of pressed wood with fake wood grain.

  “You just move into this office?” Lockman asked.

  “We upgraded from my home office. My wife and I. But that was a good six months ago. We had plans to do more decorating, but it’s all we can do to pay the lease with the economy the way it is. We upgraded just in time to be too late.”

  “Business bad enough you’ll take money from little girls?”

  He frowned, but did not look the least bit miffed. Jessie, on the other hand, jerked in her seat and gave him the lip curl to end all lip curls.

  “I’m not a little girl.”

  Lockman waved a hand. “Be quiet. I’ll handle this.”

  Walkowitz adjusted his glasses. “I take it you are the father she was looking for?”

  “You should know. You’re the one that tracked me down.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Only you didn’t track a thing, did you?”

  The PI’s mustache twitched. He adjusted his glasses again. “I went where the investigation took me. The information I provided the young lady here was accurate, was it not? What else matters?”

  “I don’t want to play. Do you understand?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “The problem here is you think you can mouth-dance your way out of this. But the only word that matters to me is a name.”

  “What name?”

  “Who told you where to find me?”

  “You came a long way to ask an unanswerable question. I found you the old fashioned way. Detective work.”

  Lockman slammed a fist on the desk. A picture frame fell flat with a snap. A crystal paperweight hopped a fraction of an inch across the glossy surface. “Bullshit.”

  “Don’t spaz,” Jessie said.

  Walkowitz’s mouth turned to a thin line under his mustache. He slipped his glasses off, set them gently on the ink blotter in front of him. “You sound awfully upset at being found. I can understand blaming me. But I�
��m just the middle man. Don’t you think you should discuss this with your daughter?”

  Lockman let his breath ease through his teeth, leaned back in his seat. “This is really how you want to play this?”

  “I’m not playing anything. You’re making me into the enemy because you can’t run away from your responsibilities anymore.”

  “Jessie. Go wait in the car.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk with Mr. Walkowitz here alone.”

  “Duh. Why?”

  Walkowitz crossed his arms. “He thinks he can intimidate me. Might even threaten physical harm. Don’t worry. Let the adults work this out.”

  Jessie gaped at Lockman. “You’re not really going to hurt him, are you?”

  “It’s like he said. I’m probably going to use some harsh language here in a second. I’d rather you not have to hear it.”

  She looked back and forth between the men, shook her head. “This is some macho thing, isn’t it? Mom’s always complaining about Alec’s macho act. Guys are all alike.”

  “Go, Jessie,” Lockman said.

  She huffed, but stood and left the office.

  Lockman stared Walkowitz down until he heard Jessie unbolt the outside door and the door close behind her.

  “You were only half right. I’m not going to threaten physical harm. I’m literally going to fuck you up unless you answer every one of my questions straight.”

  “That,” Walkowitz said, “sounds like a threat.”

  Lockman swiped the crystal paperweight from the desk. In the next instant he threw it straight at Walkowitz’s face and hit his target square.

  Walkowitz’s head snapped back. The paperweight careened off his nose and thumped to the floor. Blood welled from a cut across the detective’s nose. He cried out and covered his face with both hands.

  Lockman launched off his chair and reached across the desk. He grabbed Walkowitz’s tie through the V-neck of his sweater vest and yanked the PI forward.

  Walkowitz gagged and took his hands off his face to tug at his tightening collar.

  With his face inches from the PI’s, Lockman said, “I don’t threaten.”

  One of Walkowitz’s hands left his collar and fell behind the desk. Lockman heard the drawer slide open, was ready when the gun came up. He grabbed Walkowitz’s wrist and knocked his hand hard against the edge of the desk.

  The gun toppled out of his hand.

  Walkowitz now grunted and jerked, his face turning deep red. He clawed at Lockman’s arm, panic overwhelming logic. The guy obviously didn’t know how to fight or he might have tried digging at Lockman’s eyes or striking him in the throat. Soft, in other words. Easy to break.

  “I don’t believe in torture,” Lockman said. “But I do believe in showing a display of strength. Now you know the score. Can I let go?”

  Walkowitz coughed. He pleaded with his eyes. It was enough for Lockman. He let go of the tie.

  Walkowitz fell back in his chair gasping and working his fingers into the knot of his tie. He pulled the tie loose and whipped it to the floor as if it were to blame. His angry glare came next, but Lockman didn’t worry. The man’s pride depended on him at least acting pissed off, even if he had actually pissed himself.

  Like Jessie said. Macho stuff.

  “You need a drink of water or something?”

  Walkowitz shook his head.

  “You let me know when you’re ready to go on.”

  The PI dabbed at the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. He looked at the blood on his fingers and groaned. Lockman gave him credit for staying cool, though his hands shook slightly.

  “Can I reach in my drawer for a handkerchief?”

  “You don’t strike me as the type to have more than one gun handy. Go ahead.”

  Walkowitz retrieved a white handkerchief from his desk drawer, folded it in quarters, and pressed it against his nose. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “I know your name, both the one you’re using and your real one. I know your address in California. And now I know you’re violent. That’s about it.”

  “Looks like that good old detective work didn’t work so well after all.”

  “Cut the shit. We both know someone else told me where to find you.”

  Obvious all along, but Lockman’s gut still seized when the PI confirmed it. “Who?”

  Walkowitz took the handkerchief from his nose and surveyed the bright red stain on the stark white. “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you wanted to cut the shit?”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know. After the girl hired me, I started with the basic searches. Mostly computer stuff. I no sooner have your name typed into a few search engines and this guy visits me the same night.”

  “He just shows up.”

  “Yeah. He looked like a spook. I figured him for FBI or CIA. But he never said one way or the other.”

  It took every effort to keep his voice even. “Describe him.”

  Walkowitz tossed the handkerchief on the desk next to his glasses. “You’re not the first to threaten me this week. He had me pretty convinced not to say anything about how I got my info.”

  “He’s not here. I am.”

  “Figured you might say that. I’m a small time PI. Mostly do insurance work. Started this business with my wife after an injury on the force convinced me I didn’t belong in the life. This cloak and dagger stuff is beyond me. Whatever you’re involved with, I want to be left out.”

  “I understand. But I can’t leave here until I know who talked to you.”

  “We never had children, my wife and I. But I love my wife very much. She’s not good on her own.”

  “Don’t.”

  The PI’s eyes watered. “I’m just one little man.”

  Lockman looked over his shoulder, toward the door where Jessie had left. He stood. Closed the office door. He turned off the voice pleading with him not to hurt this poor man who had found himself in the middle of something beyond his control.

  “You’re going to torture me while your daughter waits outside?”

  “I’m not going to torture you.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  Walkowitz rolled back in his office chair. He threw a frightened glance toward the floor where his gun had fallen. “What? Why?”

  “Because whoever spoke with you can’t know I found you. If you can’t help me find him, I have to make sure you can’t help him find me.”

  “I promise I won’t.”

  Lockman pulled off his shirt. The over-conditioned air chilled his skin into gooseflesh.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t want blood on my clothes.”

  Walkowitz glanced at the gun again.

  “You’ll never make it in time.”

  The PI’s shoulders bobbed as he began to sob. “Please.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Please, don’t.”

  Lockman walked around the desk and stood over Walkowitz. He tensed the muscles in his arms and abs. “I can crush your windpipe or snap your neck. I’ll let you choose.”

  “Your daughter is right outside.”

  “Describe him!”

  Walkowitz spun in his chair and flopped to the floor, fumbling for the gun. Lockman kicked the chair out of the way and yanked the portly PI to his feet by his collar while Walkowitz reached out with splayed fingers in vain.

  Lockman swung the PI around and slammed him against the wall. He pressed his forearm against Walkowitz’s throat. The smell of sweat and urine wafted from the PI.

  “This man. Did he threaten your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “He promised to kill you both.”

  “He said he would make me watch my wife get raped before they killed her.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “He knew I was looking for you based on a few searches. For all I know, h
e’s listening to us now.”

  “You think this place is bugged?”

  “I don’t know.” He crumbled into sobs. Snot and tears glistened on his face and dampened his mustache.

  Lockman’s stomach turned. The taste of bile singed the back of his tongue. He released Walkowitz, walked away.

  Walkowitz slid down the wall and sat there weeping like a bullied child.

  “I’m sorry,” Lockman said. It sounded ridiculous and hallow even to him. “I’ll leave you be.”

  “You’re not going to kill me?”

  Lockman picked up his shirt and pulled it on. “Never meant to. But I had to try.”

  “What about my wife?”

  Lockman stared at Walkowitz with narrowed eyes. “I’m cold blooded. But no killer.”

  “But him. Will he kill her?”

  “I don’t even know who he is. But if they have anything to do with what I used to do, I’d quit your lease and move the business out of state.”

  Walkowitz covered his face. “Jesus Christ. This can’t be happening.”

  “There’s another option.”

  The PI took his hands away and stared at Lockman.

  “You could describe this man to me, help me find him, and I could make sure he never comes near you or your wife ever again.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ohmigod, what did I get myself into.

  Jessie ran. She ran as hard as she could, first toward home, then veering off course, no plan on where to go, only that she had to get away from him.

  A brute. A monster.

  Why hadn’t she done as she was told and waited in the car? Only, if she’d done that she wouldn’t know how much of a psycho her dad really was.

  Instead of leaving, she had opened and closed the front door to the detective agency, then waited in the reception area, peering in at her father and the detective.

  She almost cried out when her dad threw the paperweight at the detective’s face and started choking him with his tie. She had to clamp her hands over her mouth and barely caught the squeal against her palms.

  But things got much worse after he closed the door. With only her ears and her mind’s eye to construct the scene, she grew sick to her stomach.

  Those horrible words from her father’s mouth…