Authors: Cathy Perkins,Taylor Lee,J Thorn,Nolan Radke,Richter Watkins,Thomas Morrissey,David F. Weisman
The parka that he took out of the back seat also claimed
waterproof status and boasted a comfort level to -30 degrees. This was also
black because of the nighttime vigilance that he planned to keep, as he didn’t
want to be seen. He pulled the fur-lined hood over his head and thrust his
hands into heavy gloves. This time he’d be ready for anything.
Shutting the car door, he turned towards the house.
The heavy wind tore the hood from his head, as the rain smashed
against his face. He reached up and pulled the hood down again, jerking on the strings
near his neck to hold it in place. Red and gold maple leaves sailed past him in
a semi-horizontal decent to the soggy earth.
When he stepped into the woods, the trunks of the trees reduced
the force of the wind. Water fell in large drops from the higher branches where
it had collected. These mixed with the rain to pound on him.
Chase looked at his parka. Water beaded up on the surface. He
smiled. Maybe he would stay dry this time.
After pushing his way through the trees and brush, he located a
light from the house which he now knew belonged to Vincent Fonck’s sister, Kay
Miller, and her husband Barry. Vincent couldn’t remember if Kay’s daughter
still lived with them or if she had moved out, but Bowden had seen her several
times during the three days that he had watched the house.
The light grew brighter as he approached, and he soon found
himself at the edge of the woods. He stayed five or six feet back in the tree
line to help blend in, although he thought that no one would be able to see him
even if they did look outside. It was just too dark.
Working his way around to the front, Bowden confirmed what he
thought would be the case—the police had left. The front door was nailed
into place. At least it was closed. He didn’t know if it would open or not. He
sat outside in the dark, watching for any movement inside, hoping that the
family hadn’t returned.
An upstairs light flicked on and his attention darted to it. He
watched as a slim female in her early twenties walked by the window. He assumed
it was Vincent’s niece, Tara. He looked around for a better position, where he
could view the room. He located a spot about fifteen feet away and quietly
moved to it. Another window lit up as Tara entered another room. He thought it
must be a bathroom window, judging by how small it was and the fact that it
seemed to be connected to Tara’s room.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out his binoculars. He
had come out in the hopes of getting back into the house, or maybe running into
the man in gray. The chances of either one of those things happening now that
the Millers were home, looked bleak.
He focused on the window when Tara walked past again. He just
caught a glimpse before she disappeared into the bathroom. He waited quietly,
holding the binoculars in his hand, and wondering if he should try to get into
the house once everyone had gone to sleep. He decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
The bathroom light went off and he raised the binoculars. Tara
wore a light blue bathrobe, and held herself with her arms wrapped tightly
around her. She glanced out the window and he shrank back, then shook his head as
he felt a tinge of guilt that made him look away. She really wasn’t his
business.
It wasn’t even eight p.m. He wondered if he should wait around
and see if the guy in gray showed up, or if he should check on Andre Fonck, the
owner of the red Corvette.
The temperature dropped a couple of degrees, and the wind picked
up. Rain fell in sheets, pounding down on him. He turned and started for his
car, his decision made. He’d check on Andre. He sloshed through the puddles on
the ground, his back bent against the driving force of the wind and rain.
Someone stood near his car, leaning over and looking in the window. The man
straightened and turned, allowing Chase to see the gray fedora.
Pounding rapidly, Bowden’s heart jumped into his throat and hung
on, restricting his breathing. “Stay right there!” he yelled as best he could.
The man continued to turn towards him. Bowden’s training
screamed at him,
Watch the hands!
They
were hidden in the man’s pockets.
Bowden flung the glove off his right hand and reached beneath
his coat. He closed his fingers around the butt of the Glock and jerked it
free. The gun came out—a lethal deterrent—chest high, the barrel
swinging up to cover the man next to the Mercedes.
He lined up his sights. “Take your hands out of your pockets.
Slowly!”
The man eased his hands from his pockets, his fingers extended
to show that they were empty. He looked much better now. His skin held a
healthy, pinkish color, and his eyes were livelier.
Bowden took two cautious steps forward. “Who are you?”
“A lost soul,” the stranger responded, his voice clear and
strong.
Chase didn’t like playing games. He raised the gun so that it
pointed menacingly at the man’s head. The man smiled back, his expression daring
him to shoot.
“What’s your name?” he shouted.
“Sam Riley.”
It wasn’t a Fonck family name and Bowden didn’t believe him. He
had a gut feeling this character was linked to the murder, and he had learned
not to ignore those feelings.
“Show me some I.D.”
The skin around Riley’s eyes crinkled, and he shook his head.
“Come on. The I.D.” He clamped his teeth together, trying to
control his anger.
Riley took a step towards him, forcing him to make a decision.
Shoot or fight. He knew that Riley had been armed earlier. This time he looked
younger; late twenties.
He hesitated. Riley took another step closer.
“Stop!” he yelled, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. He could see
the resolve in Riley’s eyes. He waggled the Glock slightly to emphasize his
order.
“What are you doing out here?” Riley demanded, still walking
forward.
“Stop right there!” he screamed, his voice cracking, his heart
rate jumping. Too close—
danger
!
Riley stopped. “Okay. I’m stopping. Answer the question.”
“I’m trying to solve a murder.”
Riley smiled. Nodded, as if it made sense. “The one in the
house? Adam Fonck?”
Bowden nodded, wondering if he had the killer in his sights. He
swallowed hard realizing that Riley had turned the conversation around,
becoming the one asking the questions. He felt a sudden respect for the man
standing at the wrong end of the gun.
“I had you down for that,” Riley said.
“So did the police.” He was fine with the conversation,
somewhere in it he would find a way to take the lead again.
Riley put his hands on his hips. “You chased me off as I arrived
that afternoon. I didn’t know Adam was dead until I came back later. So what
happened?”
“I found him dead. I thought you killed him.”
Riley smiled. “I didn’t kill him.”
He grinned back at him, feeling more confident now that Riley
was offering a defense. “And I suppose you can prove it?”
Riley nodded. “Proving that is easy,” and he reached into his
pocket.
Bowden’s finger slid over the trigger. “Stop!”
As Riley’s hand came free, Bowden could see that he held his
gun. Bowden fired. The forty-five slug passed through Riley’s body and
shattered the Mercedes’ driver’s window as it entered, and the passenger window
as it exited.
Riley didn’t flinch. His gun came up and he leveled it as Bowden
pulled the trigger a second time, firing at center mass. The bullet sailed
through Riley and smashed out two more windows of the car. Bowden’s mouth fell
open, his eyes wide. He couldn’t believe he had missed, that the rounds had no
effect on a man standing ten feet from him.
His mouth went dry as Riley calmly leveled his gun. He wouldn’t
go down that way. He squeezed off half a dozen rounds from his Glock before
flame spat from the blue .380, the noise rolling all together in a thunderous
explosion.
All his muscles tightened, anticipating impact and the pain. But
there was nothing. He stared. He knew what it was like to be shot. He’d felt it
before, the fire that passes through your body.
There was no fire
.
Riley had missed. He looked up. Riley stood just three feet
from him, placed the barrel an inch from his forehead and pulled the trigger.
He heard the thunder of another round. The sound, inches from his ears, was
deafening.
He shook his head, trying to get the ringing to stop. He clamped
his left hand over his ear, tilted his head sideways, then stopped.
His ears shouldn’t
be ringing. He should be dead.
He lifted his hand to his face, his fingers probing for the
hole, searching for blood. There had to be something. Somewhere.
Nearly a dozen rounds fired at less than ten feet, the last few
at point blank range? They all couldn’t have missed. Maybe he was in shock.
No pain. No blood?
Nothing had happened to him. It wasn’t possible.
“You see?” Riley asked, bitterness in his voice. “I didn’t kill
Adam. I can’t. And you can’t kill me.”
He stared at the man in front of him. Blanks would explain why
he himself hadn’t been hit, but there was no explanation for the fact that
Riley was still on his feet. Eight rounds to center mass from a .45? He
couldn’t miss. Riley should be down.
He reached out a shaking hand, raised it to Riley’s face and
stretched out his finger. He stopped, afraid to touch the man. Afraid he might
not touch anything. He swallowed, closed his finger into his hand making a fist
and brought it down to his side. He couldn’t believe the explanation forming in
his mind.
“A… a…” Bowden couldn’t say it. He didn’t believe it. His voice
was as shaky as his hand. He looked at the Glock and then back at Riley. He
lifted the gun. It felt very heavy. He held it an inch from Riley’s forehead.
Riley shrugged.
Bowden pulled the trigger. The gun bucked in his hand and a
deafening explosion assaulted his ears. Riley smiled back at him.
He shook his head and looked at his gun.
“There’s nothing wrong with your gun. Look at your car.” The
Mercedes was riddled with holes and every window shattered.
Bowden nodded, his cheeks puffing out as he filled them with air.
He forced that air out through his lips. “I know.” He turned and walked to the
edge of the woods, paused, looked over his shoulder, and returned to stand in
front of Riley. He stared at him for several seconds, fumbling with the useless
Glock as he forced it back into the holster.
Riley leaned forward, a concerned look on his face. “You okay?”
“You, uh...”
“You’re whiter than I am.”
Bowden rubbed his chin. “Are you a...”
Riley finished his sentence for him. “Ghost? Yeah. That’s me.”
Chase blinked his eyes. His shoulders slumped, his chin dropped.
“I don’t believe....” He glanced at the dead man standing in front of him. “I
don’t get it.”
“What?”
Bowden scratched his head under his hood. “It’s not possible.”
Riley grinned. “I’m here, aren’t I? Have a little faith.”
“It was you I chased through the woods?”
“Yes.”
“That would explain it. Why the dog didn’t get a scent on you.”
Riley nodded his head.
Bowden shook his head in disbelief. He looked at the demolished
Mercedes and laughed, trying to ease his tension. It was the only thing he
could think of doing and it didn’t help. Even his knees were shaking.
“So… what are
you
doing...” Bowden waved his hands at the woods, “out here?”
Riley sighed. “I’ve been trying to solve a murder.”
“Adam Fonck’s?”
“No,” Riley said, removing his fedora. “Mine.”
Bowden looked at the bullet hole in Riley’s forehead.
It couldn’t be real.
He leaned closer, looking
hard. But it was real. He’d seen enough of them to know. He shivered.
“Sorry about all this,” Riley said, sweeping his hand across the
Mercedes and shrugging. “I just wasn’t sure what it would take to convince
you.”
Bowden nodded and pursed his lips, struggling to assimilate all
the information. “You uh… got shot in the forehead. How come you didn’t see who
did it?”
“I was ambushed. Never saw the person. He was in hiding and used
a rifle.”
“Something small,” Bowden stated, “like a twenty-two long.”
“Something like that.”
Chase pulled on his discarded glove, conscious of every movement
he made. He had to mentally force his body to respond to his mind. It made his
motions awkward, like a bad actor in a ‘B’ movie. He swallowed, forcing the
saliva down with tight muscles that didn’t want to respond. “Where’d it
happen?”
Riley pointed at the house. “Right out there. Seventy years
ago.”
Bowden rubbed his chin, intrigued. “Same family?”
“Yes. Kay Miller’s grandfather lived here then. He had a wife
and three kids. The oldest looked a lot like Tara.”
“But you weren’t part of the family?”
“No.”
Bowden wondered how far away from civilization this house had
been seventy years ago. How big was Issaquah? Was it even there? “Then why were
you killed? What were you doing out here?”
“Investigating a fraud case involving Kay’s grandfather.”
He straightened his glove while he took a moment to think. “It
sounds like the grandfather had a motive.”
“He did, but he didn’t kill me. That’s why I’m stumped.”
“For seventy years?”
Riley grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t have any new
information. I just keep rehashing the same stuff over and over and I never get
a different perspective.”
He glanced up at the rain. The wind and cold, moist air was
making his nose run. He sniffed. “It must be frustrating.”
“It’s a little hard on the self esteem.”
An idea started to form in his mind, slowly taking shape as he
spoke. “So you are very familiar with the house and the family?”
Riley grinned. “You could say that. I spent seventy years in
that house.”
“What about the painting that Kay’s father did? Are you familiar
with that?”
“I looked at it every night as he worked on it. It was a very
detailed landscape scene.”
“Landscape?”
“A shoreline. Like how it would look to someone from a boat.”
That wasn’t what Bowden expected. How could someone paint clues
into a landscape scene? It would be impossible to give directions. A town,
maybe. Words on buildings and numbers on clocks could provide clues. He needed
to see the painting. Maybe an article or object painted in it had great value.
“Do you know who took the painting?” he asked.
Riley shook his head. “You think the murderer took it?”
“Possibly. Look… I’ve got to talk with Andre Fonck.”
He walked over to his car and opened the door. He brushed the
glass off the driver’s seat with his hand. Rain blew through the open windows
soaking everything inside.
“Are you going now?” Riley asked.
“Yeah. I’d better. I can’t get into the house.”
“Sure you can. Just knock on the door.”
He stopped and looked back at Riley.
The ghost continued. “Tell them someone shot up your car.” He
started laughing, exposing his teeth. “And that you need a tow truck.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“Sure. They’re good people.”
Bowden looked at the dark woods, as though he could see through
them and right into the house. “You coming?”
“No. I can’t. There’s this thing about light that makes me fade.
Like the way you saw me earlier today.” Riley shrugged an apology. “That’s how
I look in low light. Awful isn’t it? In bright light I’m completely invisible.”
Bowden stared at him for several seconds. “Okay.”
He didn’t know what else to say. He walked up the road to the
driveway. Glancing back he could see Riley still standing by the car.
A ghost
.
He still couldn’t believe
it.
Had anyone else around here seen him?
When he stepped up on the porch he could see that the doorframe
had been nailed back together. It worked, but wasn’t very strong. Someone was
going to have to come out and replace it. He rang the doorbell and waited. A
heavyset man in his late forties answered, wearing purple sweatpants and a gray
sweatshirt with a Husky logo on the front.