Whispers of the Dead (Tom Gabriel #2) Page 5

  ‘No, I haven’t been up to my rooms yet. I thought I’d walk round the hotel grounds first, and make sure everything was as it should be.’

  ‘I put her in the room next to yours, but you’ll be paying Mister-private-investigator-gun-toting-vehickle-wrecking-Gabriel – you can be sure about that.’

  ‘What do you mean – you’ve put her in the room next to mine? Who?’

  ‘I ain’t met her before, but she said she was your daughter and her name was Sari – or somethin’ like that. Had a little girl and a load of luggage with her as well.’

  ‘My daughter Sara?’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be it.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘I just did Mister-smart-mouth-Gabriel.’

  He left Allegre still muttering to herself and hurried up to his rooms. Number fourteen was already occupied, so he knocked on number twelve.

  The door opened and Sara came crying into his arms. ‘Oh, dad.’

  He didn’t say anything.

  She smelled of cherry blossom.

  As he hugged her, his fingers became entangled in her long auburn hair.

  ‘He betrayed me, dad,’ she blurted out between sobs.

  ‘Where’s what’s-her-name?’

  She forced a tight-lipped smile. ‘Can’t you even remember your own granddaughter’s name?’

  ‘You know I’ve never been any good with names.’

  ‘She’s inside.’

  ‘Grab her, and let’s go into my suite. Mona’s coming over at eight for spaghetti and meatballs. I’ve got to cook it yet, but there should be enough for all of us. While I’m preparing the food, you can tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘Okay.’ She went back into the room and returned with a blonde two year-old girl perched on her left hip. ‘Say hello to Grandpa Tom, Rochelle.’

  Rochelle hid her face in her mother’s hair.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know me yet.’

  ‘I was thinking that might be a good thing.’

  ‘Still got that mouth, I see.’

  ‘You’re the one I got it from.’

  While Sara and Rochelle settled themselves into his living space, he went down to the Nitro and picked up the food he’d bought.

  In a relatively short while, Rochelle was playing happily on the floor with her toys, and watching Tom & Jerry trying to kill each other on the television.

  Sara sat on the other side of the breakfast bar watching him chopping, seasoning, soaking, crushing and stirring. ‘You always were a good cook,’ she said.

  ‘Your mother was the cook extraordinaire. I only played at it on some weekends.’

  Tears tumbled over her cheeks. ‘I wish mom was still here so that I could talk to her – she’d know what to do.’

  ‘As you and Misty are so fond of telling me: “It’s been five years now”.’

  ‘I know, but . . .’

  ‘So, tell me what’s been going on with you and what’s-his-name – maybe I can help’

  ‘Brad, dad.’

  ‘I never did like him.’

  ‘You never liked any of my boyfriends.’

  ‘That’s because they were never good enough for you.’

  ‘Brad used to be.’

  ‘His eyes were set too close together for my liking.’

  ‘No they weren’t – aren’t.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He’s been seeing another woman. I mean, he has a beautiful two year-old daughter and a woman who loves him. Why would he betray us like that, dad?’

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Sara carried on.

  ‘I saw them together, you know. I’d had my suspicions for a while, but I kept telling myself it was all in my imagination, that I was being foolish . . .’

  ‘I hope you have more evidence than merely seeing them together? Where did you see them? At the mall? At a coffee shop . . . ?’

  ‘Humping like bunnies in a motel room.’

  He stopped chopping tomatoes and touched her hand. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I put Rochelle in the car, followed him to work and waited. I didn’t have to wait long. He came back out, drove to a motel and booked a room. Shortly afterwards, a blonde woman turned up – couldn’t have been more than eighteen with tits like melons and an arse to match – looked like trailer-trash, but maybe I’m biased.’

  ‘And how exactly did you see them in bed together when you were outside?’

  ‘Through a gap in the curtains. They must have been in a hurry, because I only had to walk from the car to the room. They’d already got themselves naked, and she was riding him like she was at the rodeo.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to stay and watch the finale, was I? I drove home, packed my bags and flew here.’

  ‘Doesn’t what’s-his-name know you’ve gone?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to wait around to tell him.’

  ‘You didn’t leave him a note?’

  ‘Why would I? I hate him.’

  The phone jangled, and he could count on one finger the number of times people called each month. He wiped his hands and picked up the receiver. ‘Tom Gabriel.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Gabriel. Sara and Rochelle aren’t there with you, are they?’

  ‘How would it be if I came up to Grand Junction and broke all the bones in your body?’

  ‘And you’d have every right to. I couldn’t speak to her, could I?’

  ‘I can’t imagine why she would . . .’

  Sara held out her hand for the phone.

  He passed it to her, and then slid the tomato sauce in the oven – he was running a bit late.

  She listened intently for a couple of minutes and then said, ‘Don’t call here again, Brad. As far as you’re concerned – Rochelle and I don’t exist anymore. And if you try to get contact rights I’ll bleed you dry and make your life a living hell. Now, fuck off and leave us alone.’ She ended the call and passed the phone back to him.

  ‘What have I told you about swearing, young lady?’

  She laughed. ‘I never swear in front of Rochelle, but I feel much better now that I’ve sworn at him.’

  ‘You did the right thing.’

  ‘He said it was a one-off, a spur of the moment thing, and that he’d never ever do it again.’

  ‘You didn’t believe him?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. He’s a fucking liar. That was no first time hump. He’s been distant for about three months now. I could probably identify the exact day they had their first . . .’

  ‘I don’t think we need any more foul language, Sara.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. He just makes me so fucking . . . Anyway, I’m a single mom now. If he can lie to me so easily I could never trust him again. We’re finished. I’m going to stay here with you now, dad.’

  His face creased up. ‘You are?’

  ‘I should never have left home in the first place.’ She burst into tears.

  He walked round the breakfast bar, but because his hands were covered in breadcrumbs and minced parsley he could only half-hug her.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘That’ll be Mona. Can you get it for me?’

  Sara went and opened the door and there was some shouting, screaming and hugging as the two old friends said hello to each other after such a long time.

  ‘And this is your daughter?’ Mona said, kneeling down and stroking the girl’s hair. ‘Hello, Rochelle.’

  Rochelle thrust a building block at Mona with the letter “O” on it. ‘O,’ she said.

  ‘That’s right,’ Mona congratulated her. ‘Clever girl.’

  Rochelle squealed with delight.

  ‘I’ve been teaching her the alphabet,’ Sara said. ‘You’re never too young to learn, that’s what I say.’

  Mona looked up at Tom. ‘You never said you had Sara here.’

  ‘I didn’t know myself until Allegre informed me that she’d deposited her in the suite next door.’ />
  She turned to Sara. ‘Where’s . . . ?’

  ‘Don’t ask. Men are not a subject I wish to discuss at the moment.’

  ‘Suits me,’ Mona said. ‘It’s common knowledge what I think of men.’

  ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

  ‘No. Did your dad tell you what he did to the last one I was living with?’

  Sara shook her head.

  ‘Threw the bas . . . Threw him out onto the sidewalk. Dirty two-timing . . . Anyway, I’m living on my own now, and I like it just fine.’

  ‘Me too,’ Sara said nodding.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘Maybe another time. It’s a bit raw at the moment.’

  ‘Okay. So, are you here for a short stopover? Or, do you plan on staying?’

  ‘I’m staying. You’re looking at a single mom who’s going to get her life back on track.’

  ‘You thinking of going back to nursing?’

  ‘To start with.’

  ‘And then what?’

  Sara performed a courtesy. ‘You’re looking at a future doctor.’

  Tom looked up from mixing the onion, pepper and garlic. ‘Which is what you should have been in the first place, young lady. Marrying what’s-his-name was the worst thing you could have done.’

  ‘If you recall, I was five months’ pregnant at the time.’

  He began grating the parmesan cheese. ‘Having sex before marriage and getting pregnant was the worst thing you could have done.’

  ‘Wasn’t mom pregnant with Misty when you two got hitched?’

  ‘You need to wash your mouth out with soap, young lady.’

  ‘That’s what mum said, anyway.’

  ‘Your mother must have got her dates mixed up. Anyway, I think it’s a very good idea for you to get back to work, and you know I’ll support you in any way I can.’

  ‘You could look after Rochelle,’ Mona suggested. ‘Instead of embarrassing yourself by pretending to be a private investigator.’

  ‘Embarrassing myself? Pretending?’

  ‘It’s a young man’s game now, Tom.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  Mona gave him a wry smile. ‘Yep, that’s right. And if you cared to look in the mirror anytime soon, you’ll see that you’ve become a fossil.’

  ‘A fossil?’

  ‘You don’t need to work. You could stay here, look after Rochelle and be a proper grandfather.’

  He added the meatballs to the sauce. ‘And while we’re on the subject of grandfathers, I’d like to make it clear from the outset that my responsibilities as a grandfather will be limited to a few hugs, maybe playing on the floor for fifteen minutes or so, and possibly a bedtime story. Also, “Granddad Tom” – or any derivative of said name – is not something that I will respond to under any circumstances.’

  Both women laughed.

  ‘I feel sorry for Rochelle,’ Mona said. ‘They say that you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Sara agreed.

  A staccato knock on the door made them jump.

  ‘Who the hell is that at this time of night?’ Tom said, making his way along the hallway.

  He opened the door.

  Rae barged past him. ‘You’re cooking. Good. I’m starving.’

  ‘I don’t . . .’

  ‘You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered.’

  ‘Mona’s here,’ he said.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘And my daughter – Sara, with her daughter – Rochelle.’

  ‘You remembered her name,’ Sara said.

  ‘He’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow,’ Rae said.

  ‘This is Rae,’ he said, introducing her to Sara. ‘She’s an investigative journalist working at The Record who I help from time to time.’

  ‘You help me?’ Rae said.

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  The two women shook hands.

  ‘Mona you already know.’

  Rae and Mona nodded at each other.

  He guessed that they were never going to be best buddies.

  ‘Is that “Ray” as in “Ray Charles”?’ Sara asked.

  Rae laughed. ‘I wish my parents had given me a boy’s name, but no – they gave me an insect’s name instead. My name is Butterfly Raeburn – Rae for short.’

  Sara nodded. ‘Yeah, I can understand why you would call yourself Rae. Butterfly really doesn’t lend itself to being shortened, does it?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  Mona’s lip curled up. ‘I think . . .’

  Tom interrupted like a diplomatic attaché. ‘Should we eat?’

  ‘What is it?’ Rae asked.

  ‘Spaghetti and meatballs.’

  ‘My favourite.’

  ‘Every meal you eat is your favourite.’

  ‘I know.’

  After her long day, Rochelle simply toppled over on the floor and fell asleep. Sara covered her over with a blanket from the bedroom.

  ‘Is Mabel still here, dad?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s her place. I’m simply passing through. She’ll still be here long after I’ve turned to dust. She’s usually standing by the large ornamental flowerpot in the bedroom, but she’s curious about what’s going on out here, so she’s in here now.’

  ‘Where?’ Mona asked, looking around.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s over by the doorway. I don’t normally have guests. In fact, I never have more than one guest at a time. With Rochelle, I have four tonight. So, she’s a bit curious is all.’ He spoke to the empty space that led into the bedroom. ‘You know all three of these ladies, Mabel. It’s an unplanned get-together. If I’d known, you know I would have discussed the arrangements with you, and nobody will be staying the night you can be sure about that – it’ll just be you and me as usual.’

  ‘You speak to her as if she’s real,’ Mona said.

  ‘In my reality, Mabel is real.’

  They sat at the dining table.

  Tom put a serving of spaghetti on each plate, and the steaming meatballs in sauce in the centre of the table for them to help themselves.

  ‘Laura Jordan tells me you’re looking into our John Doe?’ Mona directed at Rae.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you’ve discovered something?’

  Rae’s forehead creased up. ‘Have I?’

  ‘When you came in, you said to Tom that he’d never guess what you’d discovered. Is it something to do with the John Doe?’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s about my father.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Mona eyed Rae suspiciously.

  Tom knew Mona well enough to know that she knew Rae was hiding something. He’d planned to ask Mona about obtaining a copy of Roger Harrison’s Missing Person Report, and to see if she’d run the name Joseph Fowler – that Sally Stackhouse had given him – through the Criminal Information Centre (CIC) database. He might also have asked her about the current whereabouts of Johnny Betcher, but with Sara and Rae here none of that was possible. He’d have much preferred to ask her for favours while she was eating his meatballs and drinking his wine, but it would simply have to wait until tomorrow now.

  Also, he wanted Rae to find out about the addresses he’d copied down from Roger Harrison’s satnav. Maybe she’d stay behind, so that she could tell him what she’d discovered.

  ‘So, tell us all about Rochelle, Sara,’ he said, guiding the conversation onto a neutral topic. Having so many topics as off-limits made it difficult to know what to talk about.

  The night was a success.

  Sara left first. It had been a long day for both her and her daughter, and she said she needed to put Rochelle to bed. ‘If she doesn’t get her eight hours, she gets really crabby.’

  ‘I remember someone else like that,’ he reminded her.

  ‘It must be genetic,’ Mona suggested. ‘I recall you being like that as well.’

  �
��Me? No, you must be mistaking me for Danny Butler . . . ?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Or Malky Wise?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Or Paul Sliwinski?’

  ‘Nope. Some days, you were the crabbiest bastard that ever walked God’s green earth.’

  ‘I’m devastated.’

  ‘Of course you are.’

  Mona couldn’t drive herself home because she’d had far too much red wine.

  He was going to call her a cab, but Rae offered to drive her home instead.

  ‘Really?’ Mona said. ‘I don’t even like you.’

  Rae pulled a face. ‘I don’t like you either, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be civil to one another, and you’re on my way home.’

  ‘Okay, I gratefully accept.’

  It was eleven-thirty by the time everyone had left. He locked up, left the washing-up until the morning and crawled into bed.

  Chapter Five

  Wednesday, October 10

  ‘This had better be good?’

  ‘You’ll never guess what I discovered.’

  ‘Can’t we play that game in the morning.’

  ‘It is the morning.’

  He checked the luminous hands on his military-issue BELRUS 3818B watch that he’d won in a poker game from a supply-type called “Swanky Syd” in Vietnam in ‘73. All the other guys wanted an Omega Chronostop, a Seiko 5, or a Rolex Oyster Perpetual from the PX, but he was happy with the 3818B. They were meant to be “throw-away” and “cheap”, but he’d had his going on fifty years. It had been serviced twice and he’d changed the strap a few times as well, but it carried on doing what it was designed to do – keep time.

  ‘Quarter to one! Are you crazy?’

  ‘Guess?’

  He lay back with the phone pressed to his ear and closed his eyes. ‘A sleeping bag?’

  ‘Be serious.’

  ‘A duck-feather pillow?’

  ‘You’re not being serious.’

  ‘It’s all I can think of.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you unless you guess.’

  ‘His name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A relative?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I give up.’

  ‘A key.’

  ‘That’s great – goodnight then.’

  ‘A key to a left luggage locker at Palatka station.’

  ‘How come you found it and the police didn’t?’