Secrets of the Hanged Man (Icarus Fell #3) (An Icarus Fell Novel) (21 page)

“Anything else going on?” I said trying to make conversation but not really expecting to hear about an upcoming party or a difficult math test on the horizon, given the deaths. Truth be told, my insistent aches and pains made me want to curl up in a corner rather than converse, anyway.

In response, Trev dropped his gaze to his feet, kicked at a tuft of grass and jammed his hands, phone and all, into his pockets.

I don’t like this.

“
Trev? What did you do?”

Jumping to the conclusion he’d misbehaved probably wasn’t the best parental technique, but my parenting skills were a few years out of practice, though Rae might suggest they’d never really been used. Trevor didn’t seem to notice the slight as he rocked side to side, shifting his weight one foot to the other and back. The longer it took him to answer, the worse I assumed it to be.

“Trev?”

He finally raised his head but hesitated seconds before breaking the news.

“Mom and Ashton are getting married.”

I forgot the ache in my shoulder, the pain in my stomach and calf, all of it swapped for the feeling my ex-wife had crept up behind me and kicked me in the balls.

***

Cory stared after Trevor’s ‘Uncle Ric’ as he limped his way back through the throng of students, rubbing his shoulder as he went. The farther he got away from them, the less he limped, and the less the pain in Cory’s own shoulder, leg and stomach throbbed. After a minute, he disappeared amongst the teens and Trevor said something Cory didn’t catch. He gave his head a shake and took a deep breath, happy to find the discomfort in his chest had dissipated.

“What?”

“
I said ‘what do you want to do?’”

“
Whatever.”

They started walking, their feet carrying them toward the park, their usual destination when they had nowhere to go.

“We could go to your house,” Trevor suggested.

“
Naw. My mom’s got quite the mess going on.”

“
Mine’ll be out, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to be around when I see them again.”

“
Right.”

They wended their way through the other students without speaking to them or seeing who they passed. With Manny and his gang gone, they had no one to be afraid of, and neither of them had other friends to look for. Cory’s thoughts rested on Trevor’s uncle, the familiarity of his face tickling a connection in his mind that refused to complete. He suspected he’d seen him somewhere before, but there was more, as if he recognized his
smell
.

“
There’s a resemblance between you and that Ric guy.”

“
Yeah. People say, but he’s no relation. A friend of my dad’s.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Maybe a friend of my mom’s, too.”

Cory laughed, too, but didn’t mean it. He was too busy deciphering the tumult of vague memories and unwarranted pain within himself, struggling with the pieces until they clicked into place like the last two Lego blocks snapping together to finish a model. The shape it created nearly made him stop walking, but he forced himself to continue to prevent Trevor from being curious and asking questions. He continued staring at his feet rather than at his friend.

Cory shook his head, doing his best to convince himself he’d reached the wrong conclusion, searching for the flaw in his logic, but it eluded him. The limp, the other obvious pains, the tense stress he brought to Cory. The smell.

Ric was the man he’d seen at the playground when Gonzo met his end, and the man who’d taken his mother.

And he’d seen him another time before that.

A Month Ago

The phone vibrated on the passenger seat beside Detective Shaun Williams. He diverted his eyes from the road and read the single word flashing across the small lighted square on the front of it.

Meg
.

“
Christ.”

He rubbed the bare spot on the ring finger of his left hand, debating whether to answer her call or not. If he didn’t, it’d be worse the next time she called. With a sigh, he grabbed the phone off the seat and flipped it open.

“Williams.”

“
Shaun, it’s me,” she said. Even through the ancient cell phone’s tinny speaker, he detected a note of desperation in the three brief words.

When doesn’t she sound desperate?

“What do you need?”

“
He’s gone.”

Williams spun the wheel to take a corner while holding the phone against his ear with the other hand, waiting for her to say more. She didn’t.

“What are you talking about? Who’s gone?”

“
Cory. I’m worried about him.”

“
Meg, the kid’s almost seventeen, practically a man. Cut him some slack.”

“
But he’s been gone for two days, Shaun.”

The detective hesitated before responding. In the turbulent years of their marriage, he’d failed to connect with her son. It seemed everyone had.

“We’re not together anymore, Meg. Remember? He’s not my responsibility.”

Never was, really.

“I remember,” she said, her tone gone quiet. His old phone distorted her voice, but he suspected the tell-tale sound of held back tears in her words.

His leaving had hurt her, a fact she’d made clear in the months since the split. Her hurt and her intention to get him back were obvious to everyone willing to listen, and many people who weren’t. But he couldn’t live like that, not anymore. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she cut him off.

“Two
days
, Shaun. Please help me.”

“
Meg, I--”

“
If you help, I won’t call you anymore.”

I doubt it.

He moved the phone away from the side of his head and sighed. Did she mean it this time? Would finding the kid be his ticket to peace? He replaced the phone to his cheek.

“
What do you want me to do?”

“
Have a look around for him, Shaun. Get some of the other policemen to help. Please, find him.”

Ahead, someone waited at the crosswalk. Detective Williams slowed the car to allow the man to cross, brakes squeaking. He stepped off the curb and raised his hand in thanks, turning his face toward the car. Shaun Williams’ mouth dropped open in disbelief.

It’s him.

“
Please, Shaun. He--”

“
I gotta go, Meg. I’ll look, I promise.”

He snapped the cell phone shut and tossed in onto the seat while stabbing the power window button with the index finger of his other hand. The glass chattered halfway down and stopped.

“Hey you,” he called out the window, breath misting in the cold air. The man quickened his pace without looking back. “Stop!”

The fellow bolted across the street, so Williams hammered the gas, the car’s engine roaring and tires chirping as he cranked the wheel to round the corner after him. He gained on him, the car’s headlights bearing down on the multiple homicide suspect who’d escaped police custody, but he darted off the sidewalk, across a lawn and over a fence.

“Damn it,” Williams cursed and goosed the accelerator.

The old Dodge hesitated before giving him the power he asked for. He wished he could drive a newer, more powerful car, but a detective’s salary wouldn’t stretch far enough to support two ex-wives and a new car.

The engine roared and the testy transmission slammed into the next gear, jerking him in his seat as he reached out the window to put the already flashing cherry light on the roof. If he got around the block fast enough, he might be able to cut him off.

He rounded one corner and the next in time to see the perp disappear into an alley. Detective Williams searched his vast mental catalog of the city’s side streets and alleys to realize this particular one came to a dead end.

“Gothca, bastard.”

He gunned the engine to get down the block, then slammed the brake pedal to the floor, tires squealing as he skidded to a stop at the entrance to the lane. A figure stood in the middle of the alley, not running anymore, not attempting to hide.

Williams threw the car door open and struggled out, forgetting to undo his seat belt. He cursed, pushed his thumb against the release button, and climbed out of the car, pulling his pistol out of the holster at his hip at the same time.

“
Halt,” he called; the suspect didn’t react. Williams raised his gun, but the man made no threatening move, didn’t look like he intended to draw on him. He stalked around the front of the car. When the man remained still, Williams started running toward him.

He took off again and Williams cursed.

I’m getting too old for this.

The suspect disappeared around a corner. Williams pushed himself faster, but then slowed as he came to the corner, rounded it with care and found the murderer standing in the middle of the alley a few yards away, facing him. The detective skidded to a halt beneath an overhead light.

Making a stand.

“
Mr. Fell,” he said between panted breaths, the stench of garbage assaulting his nostrils. “If that’s really your name.”

“
It’s the name the bastard gave me,” he muttered. “We seem to meet under awkward circumstances, don’t we, Detective?”

“
Sometimes happens between serial killers and cops.”

“
I didn’t kill anyone.”

“
Right.” Williams leveled the gun, his gaze unwavering. “And I’m Serena Williams. Put your hands behind your head.”

***

A shout echoed down the alley, bouncing from brick wall to brick wall, then the sound of footfalls. Cory looked back over his shoulder, but saw no one coming around the corner. Yet. The footsteps were closing, leaving him a choice: hide or explain why he was in an alley at this time on a school night.

He noticed a place between two garbage bins wide enough to wedge himself into and headed for it. With his dark clothing and the dim alley, he should be rendered near-invisible. He hurried to the spot, kicking something as he reached it and he looked down to see a jagged rock spinning away from his foot.

A man came around the corner at a run and Cory’s heart leaped into his throat, but the guy got tangled in a pile of garbage bags and fell. Cory used the opportunity to wiggle himself between the bins and settled in to wait and watch.

The man scrambled to his feet and continued past where the teen hid, then stopped and turned, backing away a few steps as another guy came around the corner and skidded to a halt under an overhead light. Cory’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Mr. Fell,” his stepfather said between panted breaths. “If that’s really your name.”

“
It’s the name the bastard gave me,” the other guy said. “We seem to meet under awkward circumstances, don’t we, Detective?”

“
Sometimes happens between serial killers and cops.”

“
I didn’t kill anyone.”

“
Right.” Williams pointed the gun and the teen’s muscles tensed. “And I’m Serena Williams. Put your hands behind your head.”

Cory glared at the cop. If he hadn’t left, he and his mother wouldn’t have had their most recent fight that forced him out of the house to hide in an alley. If Shaun hadn’t deserted them, she’d have one less thing to blame Cory for.

The other man hesitated and, when he spoke, his tone changed, held a note of surprise. “Detective Williams?”

“
Yeah, that’s right. Now that we’ve been properly introduced, put your fucking hands behind your head before I shoot you.”

A shiver of excitement prickled along Cory’s limbs and he worried the movement might give him away. In his head, he imagined this man wrestling the gun out of the detective’s hand and making him pay for how he’d made his mother feel, for driving an even wider wedge between him and the only person he cared about.

“You’ve got to go,” the man said. He glanced away from Shaun and his eyes passed over Cory’s hiding place, but he didn’t see him. “You’re in danger.”

“
Me?” Cory’s estranged stepfather stretched his arm farther, threatening the man with the barrel of the gun. “If you don’t get your hands up right now, you’ll never walk again.”

Cory’s teeth ground together and he glared at the detective, remembering they way he and his mother fought, how he left her crying and worrying when he didn’t come home until late, or not at all. Being with Shaun had hurt her, but his leaving hurt her more. Unbridled hatred bubbled in the teen’s stomach. Near his foot, the rock he’d kicked when he hid quivered and slid a few inches toward the two men.

“You’ll thank me for this later,” the man said and rushed Shaun.

Several things happened in rapid succession: the stone skittered across the pavement; the gun went off, the explosion of hammer contacting bullet thunderous in the alley; the man threw himself into Shaun, tackling him.

Time and movement slowed as they went to the ground. Cory saw the jagged rock settle in the precise spot where Shaun’s head hit. The other man landed on him and his stepfather’s breath whooshed out of his lungs, followed by the dull thud of the pointed rock entering his skull. They lay there for a few seconds, the man pinning Shaun under his weight, holding his gun hand. Shaun twitched once, twice, then went still.

A second later, a shadowy version of the detective climbed to its feet and took a step back from the two men. Cory stared at the there-but-not-quite-there apparition of his stepfather, then looked back at the Shaun Williams lying on the ground, blood leaking out of the wound in the back of his head.

He’s dead.
In the shadows between two garbage bins, Cory smiled.
And I’m responsible.

***

The lock clicked and Meg stiffened in her seat on the couch, forgetting the TV program playing unseen on the set. She held her breath wondering who’d come through the door: Cory? Shaun? Both?

Please let it be Shaun, only Shaun.

A long time had passed since she felt bad for wishing her son wouldn’t come home. Her love for him had gone numb years before and disappeared completely soon after. If she told herself the truth, she’d have admitted the reason she called Shaun wasn’t so he’d look for Cory, but an excuse to hear his voice. She looked toward the doorway at the sound of footsteps, her heart beating fast.

Until she saw Cory alone in the hall.

His hair hung limp and long and his black clothes looked grubbier than usual. He stood in the doorway, shoulders slouched forward, an indescribable expression flickering in his eyes. Meg tensed, considered getting up and going to him, pretending to be concerned for his welfare, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she looked at him and wondered how this...this
thing
could have come from her.

Half a minute passed before he spoke.

“Shaun’s dead.”

Meg sucked a quick, short breath of surprise through her nose. Her heart contracted, squeezing against her ribs hard enough to hurt. Somewhere, deep inside, she’d been waiting for the day when she’d hear those words.

“Not today. Please, not today,” she whispered and pressed her lips together, fighting back the tearful sob struggling its way up her throat. Seeing him standing there, expressionless, without a hint of remorse in his demeanor, made it easy for her to replace the urge to cry with anger.

Finally, she pushed herself up off the couch and crossed the room to stand in front of him. Meg looked up into his dark eyes that resembled neither hers nor his father’s and recognized joy shining at the back of them.

She drew her hand back and slapped him hard across the face, then went down the hall into her room, worried the whole way for what fate might befall her. The door slammed shut and she collapsed onto the bed, the sob she’d been holding back tearing from her lips, her palm stinging.