Oath Keeper

He pulled the cork on the red and left it to breathe on the table while he went to find some glasses. He left Sue doing the woman thing, wandering around the sitting room, inspecting. Normally a fairly private guy, this was the first time he could ever remember having a house guest, and he was feeling a little nervous as he went into the kitchen.

“Your place is very tidy,” Sue called, from the other room. “Except for your desk. You really should dust more.”

“Can’t do that,” he called back, as he hunted through the drawer for the good corkscrew. “Might lose an important clue that way, and then where would I be?”

He only had the two wine glasses and one was all he’d ever used, so he ran the water in the sink. They just needed a quick rinse.

“Hey! You’ve been holding out on me!” Sue called. She sounded a bit excited.

“What do you mean?”

Sue came into the kitchen waving her hand in the air. “This!” she said. “As if you didn’t know. You’ve put together an entire Regina Finch file. Why didn’t you say so?”

DelRoy smiled. Sue Nackenfausch had the most disarming way of playing characters. Like this afternoon at the mortuary. Too bad she was still hiding behind that married woman front. “You got me,” he said, nodding playfully at her empty hands. “I confess. But it’s written in code. You’ll have to read it to me.”

Sue gave him an odd look, but then she smiled, and proceeded to page through the imaginary docket.

“Oh, say! This looks interesting. Seems to be a letter to you. From you.”

He laughed. “You don’t say. And what, pray tell, did I have to say to myself?” With the glasses clean, he set them on a little serving tray and dropped a folded towel over his arm. With a wave of his arm, he ushered Sue back out toward the sitting room, where he’d left the wine, and followed along behind her as she began to read.

Marty, I think something screwy is going on, and if I’m right, you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about, and no memory of ever writing this down. Hell, I’m not even sure you’ll be able to read this. But before I continue, it’s crucial that you believe me, so I’m going to prove that this note is really from you, no matter how weird what I tell you seems. Okay?

Here’s the proof: Rebecca Calveigh. Tupperware.

DelRoy was startled by the sound of shattering glass. Sue whirled around to look back at him. “Martin? Are you okay?”

He could feel the heat of two emotions surging through him: shock and shame. How had she known about that? It was impossible! “Um, yeah. Fine,” he said, not wanting her to see his embarrassment. Rather than face her, he pulled a broom and dustpan from the closet by the door and then stooped to gather the broken bits of glass from the floor. Sue bent down to help.

“You really didn’t know what was in there, did you?” Sue’s voice was still bright, but edged with concern. Was she worried that she had revealed too much? But how could she have known to say exactly those words? However it was she’d found out, now his reaction had proven that her information was correct, so there wasn’t much use in trying to hide it. Besides, it wasn’t like it had been illegal or anything. Just stupid. And young.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Not really. Just a dumb thing from the past that probably means a lot more to me than to anybody else.”

Sue grinned. “And maybe Rebecca Calveigh, I’m guessing?” There was a playful twinkle in her eye, but when he didn’t react, it turned more serious. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

He laughed nervously. “You could say that.”

“Then we won’t,” Sue said. “But we should probably read the rest of that letter, don’t you think?” Why was she still going on with this? Why the game? He couldn’t think of any reason, so he just nodded his head.

Sue handed him the dustpan full of glass shards and crossed back to the desk, while he went to dump the remains of the old wine glasses and set about looking for replacements. There was no sign left of the trembling in his hands when he returned, just as Sue began to read again.

Okay, so you know it’s really you. But trust me, that little escapade is nothing compared to what seems to be going on around here. Let’s see. What do you need to know for background? Well, it’s June now. You’ve… I’ve… We’ve been working Missing Persons since April. Remember Arun Singh? He’s been showing me the ropes around here. Anyway, you know how Arun had a thing for cold cases? Had that stack of them on his desk? Well, he was talking about one of them a few days ago. The Regina Finch file. The one you’re holding now. Said he’d found something that connected her to a group of women running a home for abandoned kids. Check it out. It’s all in the file. Anyway, yesterday he decided it was time to go have a chat with these women, but when he got back, he was acting kind of weird. Didn’t seem to know what I was talking about when I asked him how it went. And here’s the really weird part. When I showed him the file, he pretended he couldn’t see it. Or at least, I think he was pretending. He kept asking why I was waving my hands at him, but I wasn’t. I was waving the Finch file at him.

“I remember that,” DelRoy said, as a cold shiver ran up his spine. He quickly set the new glasses down on the table. Before he dropped them as well. “But how are you doing this? How could you know any of these things?”

Sue looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t know anything, Martin. I’m just reading what’s written here. What you’ve written here.” She looked back down at the nothing in her hands, then her eyes widened with realization and she looked back up at him. “Wait a minute! You can’t see this folder either, can you? Like your friend, Arun.” She waved her empty hand in the air again.

He stared at her for a long, hard minute. But he wasn’t really looking at her. His eyes were just focused in her direction as he hunkered down into crunch mode, and began working the problem. Things were not adding up. He couldn’t tell whether Sue was being sincere, or whether she was a master actress in the midst of some elaborate head game. Earlier, he wouldn’t have given that possibility any consideration, but given how quick-witted she’d been at the mortuary, now he wasn’t so sure. Was this just more of the same? Was she playing him? But why would she? This was her case. What good would it do her to confuse the guy trying to help her?

And then another thought occurred to him. Maybe she actually believed there was something in her hand. But that just raised more questions. If it was true, then somebody else was feeding her information—information that nobody else could possible know. No way in Hell. Not a chance. There was only one person alive who knew the significance of those words. Not even Rebecca herself knew the full story. No. So, once you have eliminated the impossible… There was only one conclusion. As improbable as it might be, he himself had written the note that Sue now held. And, just as improbably, there must really be papers in her hand—papers that he could not see, and that he had no recollection of ever having written.

DelRoy could feel his heart racing and sounds were getting distant. Fumbling for the arm of the couch, he flopped himself down. Then he poured a full glass of wine and drained it off in a single gulp. After pouring another, he raised the bottle to Sue in a silent question, hoping she couldn’t see how badly the bottle shook in his hand. Sue nodded, so he poured her a glass too. When they were both settled back onto the sofa, Sue prodded gently.

“Well no,” he admitted. “Not really. It’s… disturbing.” He waved his glass at her empty hands. “You got the people right—though I don’t know how—but the way I remember it, Arun and I got into an argument about proper documentation. I must have said something stupid to him. I don’t remember what. Because shortly after that, he asked the captain to reassign me. So I got handed off to Trina Wyatt for the rest of my orientation, and then spent the next year trying to stay out of Arun’s way. Until he retired.” He let his voice drift off, unsure whether to risk saying anything else.

“There’s more here,” Sue said gently, tapping one empty hand with the other. “You want me to keep reading?”

DelRoy felt completely lost. Could she really believe there was something in her hand, even though there clearly wasn’t?

“So just to be clear,” he said, “you’re actually reading this. From a piece of paper. Lying inside a file folder. Which is right now in your hands. That right?” Sue nodded. He could only shake his head. “By all means then,” he said. “Keep reading.”

Sue looked uncertainly at her “papers,” and then glanced back up at him. “You sure?” He nodded. Sue held his gaze for a moment, and then turned back to her fingers and began, again, to read.

… waving the Finch file at him. Well that was a week ago, and ever since then, I’ve been going through these notes. All kinds of crazy things. Missing Person files that vanish without a trace. Calls to Children’s Services that don’t get documented or followed up. Social workers who lose kids in the system. And all of it pointing back to that one common element: Our Lady of Divine Suffering’s Home for Orphans and Evictees. That’s where Arun went, just before he stopped being able to see the file.

And it’s where I’m heading tomorrow. With Judy Chan. Apparently they have these little shindigs regularly, and because she works in Children’s Services, she’s been to a few of them. I managed to get her to invite me along this time. Don’t think she knows I was fishing for it.

Anyway, I don’t know what we’re going to find when we get there, but I don’t want this file to just disappear, so I’m leaving it here on the desk. Right on top of the keyboard. That way if it does disappear—

“But I don’t have a computer,” DelRoy said, gesturing at his desk, which was obviously free of any technology. “They just suck you into working at home, so I never got one.”

Sue gaped at him. “But, of course you have a computer, Martin. It’s right there on your desk! That’s where I found the file. Lying on top of your keyboard, just like the note says.”

DelRoy looked back at the desk. No keyboard. No screen. Just a mess of paper. And a couple of pens. “Okay, then. Touch it,” he said. Sue looked at him oddly. “Touch it!” he said again, this time through gritted teeth. His temper—normally nonexistent—was rapidly rising. Someone was playing very unfunny games with him, and he was having trouble figuring out who to blame. He was pretty sure it wasn’t Sue now, but that just made it worse. DelRoy jumped to his feet and began to pace. He could feel the tension climbing up his arms from his clenched fists.

Keeping one eye on him, Sue got up slowly and went to the desk to do as he asked, as DelRoy just stood there, trembling. With a shrug, she reached out a hand and patted at the empty air. DelRoy watched her fingers as they flattened against the nothingness, like a mime playing the trapped-in-a-box game, only inside-out. But this was too much. There was no way an entire computer was sitting on his desk. One that he’d just never noticed before? No way! There were limits to how far a guy’s gullibility could be stretched and this was about ten yards too far. To prove his point, he stormed across the room and shot his hand out, punching at the empty air under Sue’s hand.

And a jolt of pain raced up his arm.

“Martin!” Sue gasped, the shock plain upon her face. “Why did you… Are you okay?” DelRoy sucked in air and clutched his screaming hand to his chest. Sue reached out a hand of her own, but he twisted away from her, too confused—and embarrassed—to accept her sympathy.

“We’d better get some ice on that,” Sue said, then she stepped past him and went into the kitchen. She came back a minute later with a towel folded around several lumps of ice from the freezer, but he ignored her and continued to probe at his desk with his good hand, forcing himself to lower his fingers over every square inch of its surface. And even though he couldn’t see anything other than the clutter of paper he’d always seen, there was an obvious computer-shaped region of space where his hand would not go, along with a matching monitor-shaped space, and a keyboard-shaped space as well.

“What the hell is going on?” he said, scarcely noticing how much his voice shook. Sue took his throbbing hand and placed the bundle of ice on it, holding it there between her own. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I see it?”

Sue looked at him. Her eyes were filled with sympathy. “I don’t know, Martin. At first I thought you were teasing me. Saying that you couldn’t see the file. Couldn’t see the computer, even though they’re both right here, plain as day. Then I though you must be lying, but how could you be lying about something so blatantly false? Although it’s pretty obvious now that you really can’t see it. Nobody would have punched that CRT screen the way you did. Not if they could really see it.”

“CRT?” he said. “It’s that old?”

Sue nodded. “And I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s covered in dust too. The rest of your place is nice. Tidy, for a man. But the desk is filthy, like you haven’t even set so much as a coffee on it since some time last century.”

“You might be more right than you know,” he said.

“Is your hand okay?”

DelRoy looked down. A hot ache still pulsed through the knuckles at the base of his fingers, but he was able to wiggle them without awakening anything more than a dull flare.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said. “What else does the note say?”

“Not much,” Sue said. “Just that you were going to leave the file on your keyboard so that you’d be forced to confront it, even if you did suffer the same amnesia as your friend, Arun. But that’s all you wrote. The note ends there. It’s signed, ‘Be careful. Love, Yourself.’”

He grinned weakly. “Well, at least I was playful about it.” Sue had picked up the invisible folder again and was flipping through it, her eyes as round as watch faces.

“It’s all here, Martin. Regina Finch. Her Missing Person report. Interviews with her neighbors and co-workers. High school records. Photographs. Newspaper clippings. Whoever compiled this was very thorough.”

“So who is she? Master criminal? International child smuggler? Psycho-hypnotist?”

“Oh dear,” Sue said. A hand came up to cover her mouth. “Look at this,” she said, pointing at another invisible page. Then she realized that he still couldn’t see it. “She was a mom,” Sue said. “A foster mom. And fourteen years ago, she inherited some money, then she vanished. And all five foster kids with her. The investigation was fierce, until… Oh no.” Sue turned to look at him with such sorrow in her face that he could feel the bottom fall out of his own chest.

“It says here that she was probably murdered.”

“‘Probably’ murdered? Or ‘was’ murdered?”

“It says ‘probably.’ Written on the last page. It looks like the same handwriting as most of these other notes. Except for yours.”

“Probably Arun’s then,” DelRoy said. “And he’d be guessing. If he had any evidence, he’d have said so.”

DelRoy sat back down on the sofa, one hand throbbing and the other wrapped around his wine glass. “Well, you’re going to have to read it all. Try and learn as much as you can from the notes. The more we know, the more likely we’ll be able to connect it to something. Is there a picture?”

“Of Regina? Yes, a couple. There’s a family photo of her with her kids, and a newspaper photo.”

“Show me the family photo.”

Sue held up a sliver of nothing between her fingers. DelRoy sighed. “Figures. Describe her to me, would you? I feel like I’ve been chasing a ghost through my memories, and this isn’t helping.”

Sue looked at her hand. “Well, she looks like a nice woman. Kind eyes. The kind that seem to smile, even when she’s tired. And she is. Tired, I mean. Fairly thin, and plain looking, but tired. Although who wouldn’t be? The girls in the photo are all young. Not one of them looks older than five. That would be enough to drive any mother to exhaustion.”

The detective nodded. “So it’s one of those cases then,” he said, setting his wine down on the coffee table.

Sue wrinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. The sweet, devoted mother of five who inherits a ton of money, buys a crematorium, kills the kids and disposes of them, then, in her guilt, buys a private high school and an orphanage to make amends. You read about it every day.”

“Are you seri—?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Cop humor. What would this case be without another impossibility before supper?”

DelRoy stretched back on the couch and scrubbed at his hair in exasperation. It had reached the point where this was no longer just a case. No longer just about Sue and her missing daughter. It had become personal. Martin was no longer just a nice-guy cop helping an attractive woman with her problem. Now he was involved. Personally. And he was getting angry.

“Read it to me,” he said, keeping his eyes closed so he could concentrate. “Read me every single word.”

It was two days later, and DelRoy sat in his car, half a block from the Old Shoe. Sue sat quietly beside him, drinking her coffee in cautious little sips. The gray afternoon sky had already grimed itself into the darkness of night, and a chill wind blew down the empty street around them. The car was running, to keep the heater going, but all the lights were out.

They were on a stakeout.

Yesterday, Sue had managed to get some information from the girls about the parties. Apparently, the Goodies held one every Friday night. The kids didn’t know what went on there, and had no idea who attended them, but they were certain that they happened every week, starting promptly at eight. Every Unlovable knew the schedule, because it was the one day when they got a bit of a reprieve from the constant badgering of the nuns, who were always too busy with their guests on party nights to spare any more than a single Sister to watch the entire place. So even though Failing Light came early on Fridays, the girls could lie in their beds and talk as much as they wanted, without fear of being shrieked at, or punished.

When he had announced that he was going to go watch the party guests arrive, Sue had quickly insisted on coming with him, and now here they were, alone together. Again. And the more often it happened, the more uneasy he grew.

“If you’d asked me last week,” he said, trying to fill the silence that was anything but comfortable. “I’d have sworn up and down that I’ve never even seen this building before.”

Sue patted his hand. “Well, when it comes to the Old Shoe, your memory isn’t exactly the most reliable thing going now, is it?”

DelRoy grimaced, but he couldn’t argue the point. “At least I can see it,” he muttered.

Sue laughed. “That would have been awkward, huh?” Despite his irritation, he chuckled.

“It’s almost seven. According to the kids, people should start arriving soon,” he said.

“So who is it we’re looking for, exactly?” Sue asked.

He shrugged. “Nobody specific. This is more fact-finding than a witch hunt. Sure, it would be nice to get some hard evidence on whoever it is in my department that’s involved, and it would be even better if we got a sighting of Regina Finch, but we still have no idea what’s actually going on. So the best I’m hoping for is that we’ll get a few leads, based on who shows up.”

“It’s too bad Ned and I never got an invitation,” Sue said. “If we had, then you and I might be sitting somewhere warmer now, instead of freezing here in the darkness waiting for clues to parade past us.”

She was making light, DelRoy knew, trying to fill the drab hours of waiting, but how could she not realize that she was sending mixed signals, too? Talking about Ned, and in the same breath talking about himself and her sitting somewhere warmer? More intimate? He sucked angrily at his coffee and felt himself slumping down into somber thought. What could she be thinking?

“Something wrong, Detective?” Sue asked, after a moment of silence had stretched into three.

DelRoy jerked his head up. “What? Oh, sorry. No, nothing’s wrong. Just thinking.”

Yes. There was something wrong, dammit. This was the fourth time they’d ended up in some intimate little situation while discussing the case. And every time, it had been without Ned. Without Mister Nackenfausch. DelRoy had been certain for several days now that Sue and Ned weren’t actually married. Not only because that’s what his instincts told him, but also because he was a detective, and he’d done a little detecting. There was no marriage license on record. No joint taxes filed…

Granted, none of this was proof, really. Not ironclad. But it was enough for him. So why the charade? He wanted to ask her. Wanted to tell her that he had penetrated her game. Wanted to hear her explanation, and to be reassured that it didn’t have anything at all to do with her missing daughter, or with any of this other craziness they were unearthing now. Only he couldn’t ask. Because he was afraid he’d learn she really was mixed up in it all. Or find that the question drove her away.

Most people who lie build a shallow story. They don’t plan out all the details. So if you want to catch them at it, all you had to do was ask about a specific detail that they should know about, if their story were true. Sure, Sue probably had an answer ready for where and when the wedding had taken place, and for where they’d been when Ned proposed. But had she prepared other details? Like, where they’d held the wedding rehearsal dinner? Or where she had registered for her china? Probably not. When people get an unexpected question like that about their past, the truthful ones get drawn back into reminiscing, trying to recall the answer. But the liars panicked and got defensive about the question. Not always, of course. Especially not the accomplished liars. But with the garden variety mom or pop who gets caught up in events that are spiraling out of their control? The ones who reached for that lie as a desperate bid to gain back some of their control? Well, they didn’t reminisce. They panicked. And when they did, they often lashed out too.

So yeah, he was pretty sure that he could get the truth from her, and he needed to. He couldn’t go on pretending not to know. She might not feel it, but it was becoming a barrier between them. A barrier for him, anyway. Which is why he’d agreed to let her come along. To confront her. To shine his trick question lamp in her eyes and watch her squirm in the light. Only now, as he sat there, sipping his coffee and watching its steam fog up the windshield, he realized that he didn’t want to use his professional techniques. Not this time. Not on her. This wasn’t professional interest. This was off the clock. And more importantly, it was getting personal too—in a number of ways—and his usual tricks of the trade suddenly felt cheap.

“Why are you pretending to be married?” he asked. The question just blurted itself out of him.

Sue’s answering sigh of relief almost shattered him.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, setting her own cup back on the dash. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, but I was afraid it would…”

“Make you look guilty? Of something?”

Sue nodded and began to fidget with her scarf. “But I’m not!” she added. “We’re not. Or, at least, not what you must think.”

“Sue,” he said, resting his hand over hers, stilling her sudden nervousness. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

She looked away, then she nodded tightly. “It’s a bit of a long story,” she said. “And a weird one. And kind of personal too. I’d have told you sooner, only I couldn’t be sure you weren’t part of the conspiracy.”

DelRoy laughed. “Which is exactly what I told myself about you,” he said. Sue turned back to face him. There was a weak smile on her face, but mostly, she looked nervous. “So spill. Who is Ned, really? Is he making you do this?”

“What?” Sue’s shock was plain. “No! Of course not!”

“Then why…? I mean—”

Sue looked at the confusion that must be painted all over his face, and then she burst out with happy laughter. “Oh, you goof! Ned Nackenfausch is not my husband, and he’s not some manipulative master villain. He’s my brother!”

Chapter 16