Tess lived on Cumberland Avenue, within a stone’s throw of the Portland Public Library, assuming of course her throwing hand wasn’t damaged and the stone small enough to skip along the pavement the last hundred yards or so. Her apartment was on the upper floor of two storeys, over a curio shop that closed by six every evening. Private access to her rooms was gained by a flight of wooden steps alongside the building. She’d lived there since her acrimonious split with Jim Neely, requiring less space. If she desired more room, Deering Oaks Park was only a short stroll away, and she often jogged along the shore of the pond when feeling energetic. There’d be no jogging today, she was worn out, and the desire to collapse on her own bed was almost overpowering. She’d moved to Cumberland Avenue for a couple of reasons – the first being the small apartment was affordable on her reduced income, but primarily because the library was where she conducted much of her research, her office away from home. There were plenty of local amenities, and nearby a plethora of high-end boutiques, restaurants, and coffee shops could be had on Congress Street, and adjoining roads. Close by was the neurological-rehab centre in which she’d spent many hours while recovering from her debilitating injury: recently she’d halved the frequency of visits, but had an appointment early next week.
She’d only been away a few days, but the atmosphere in her apartment felt flat, abandoned, deserted. It smelled different. The air was still and chilly to a point that she shivered. Standing in her living room, her bags and suitcase at her sides, she made a slow perusal of her home, her gaze skirting over all her familiar belongings, and felt an odd sense of dislocation, as if she didn’t belong. Wasn’t she relieved to be home? Yes. In a way she was. But there was also a discomfort about being back she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It took a moment before she realized the tangible weight pressing against her heart was loneliness. When she first split with Jim, the new freedom had been welcome, and surrounding herself with all her favourite items had been a pleasure. But now it was as if she was missing out on something, by not having a companion at her side to enjoy them with her.
Hell! It was less than half an hour since she’d parted ways with Po, and already she was missing the irascible lout.
‘Get a grip, Tess,’ she said aloud. ‘You’re meeting him again in a few hours.’
Her words sounded invasive in the small space, and she would swear that they reverberated back at her from the walls, set the light bulb swaying in the ceiling rose. Nonsense, but she felt the room had been sealed as tight as a mausoleum these past few days and her breathy exclamation had stirred the atmosphere to a frustrated buzz. She ran her fingers through her hair. It felt gritty and in dire need of a wash. It coalesced her thoughts. It’s why she’d returned home, because she was desperate to bathe, and to get into some fresh clothes. She was positive she still stank like a swamp.
Memories of slogging through the ochre-tinged mud flooded her, and unbidden Crawford Wynne’s mutilated corpse. That is what Sower does to witnesses, she reminded herself.
She swore under her breath, banishing any insecurities from mind. For too long she’d allowed doubt to control her. That snow-filled night when the innocent store clerk died had been a personal shortcoming that she’d carried since, and it was more debilitating than her physical injury. When the robber’s blade cut at her wrist, and her gun had gone off, plunging a bullet through the counter and into the clerk, part of her had perished along with him. As much as her wound hurt, it was nothing to the pain searing her heart when she discovered she was the slayer of an innocent man. She’d told herself it was an unfortunate accident, not her fault but that of the thug trying to cut an escape route through her, but she couldn’t expunge the guilt. She’d fought to keep her job, but inside she knew that it was a battle she couldn’t win, one perhaps she didn’t really want to. How could she ever perform her duty again, knowing that the fear of consequences would ever stay her hand? Despite railing against the notion, she’d been secretly relieved when forced out of her job. Yet now, in hindsight, those feelings were displaced. When she’d walked out of the hotel last night and found Po terrorized by armed men she hadn’t paused in going to his assistance. She’d selflessly put her safety before his, and though she hadn’t known it at the time, something inside her had changed – for the better.
Albert Sower was to be feared; being no less dangerous while directing murder from his prison cell than if he was out on the streets. His faceless killer was to be feared also. Yet her internal warning fell on deaf ears. In fact, after everything she’d learned of Sower and seen done on his behalf, it made her more determined to see the bastard imprisoned for a very long time, preferably until he expelled his final breath. For his malicious henchman, she hoped his punishment was instant and more agonizing than languishing for decades in a cell. A cold shiver assailed her again, but this one more of anticipation of the inevitable.
But despite the certainty of the future, she locked the door. Clearly she’d been spied on from Maine to Louisiana, and possibly back again. If Sower’s people didn’t know beforehand, they would’ve learned her home address by now, and sooner or later they’d come looking for her.
Tess moved through her apartment, switching on lights, adjusting the dial on her heating, turning the temperature up a few notches. She’d only been in the balmy south a few days, and despite bemoaning the sticky heat some acclimatization must have occurred. Next she hit the bathroom, and turned on the shower, but had second thoughts. She began to fill the tub instead: a luxury she was owed.
Bathed, pampered, and perfumed, she left her bags where they rested, planning on leaving her apartment, and getting back inside her Prius for the short drive across town to Charley’s auto shop. As she approached the door, knuckles rapping on the frame halted her. Her first thought: Sower’s people had come for her sooner than expected. She crouched instinctively, and began looking for a weapon.
‘Tess? Tess? You home?’ The rapid knocking came again.
She recognized Alex’s voice, and relief flooded her. But why the urgency? After landing, she’d sent a text to let him know she was on her way home, and demanding that he let her know he was OK, but hadn’t expected an immediate visit.
Opening the door she found Alex leaning with one shoulder against the frame, as if he lacked the strength to stand. His Portland Police Department uniform was rumpled, and his features hollowed out with concern. Like hers his hair was fair, but sweat darkened it. His forehead was dotted with perspiration. Beneath the glow of the porch lights pale streamers of steam rose off him. He smiled when he saw her, but it was one of desperate thanks. He said, ‘Oh, thank God.’
Tess pulled him inside, and he hugged her.
‘I’ve tried calling you,’ she said tersely as they broke their embrace. ‘You had me worried when you didn’t reply. I thought …’ Should she admit to fearing that Sower’s people had got to him?
‘I’ve been, uh, busy,’ he said, also reticent about admitting something. He put a hand over his face and shuddered out a moan.
‘What’s wrong? What has happened?’ Panic gripped her, and her first concern was for family. ‘It isn’t Mom?’
‘No. No. Mom’s fine.’ He sagged noticeably. ‘It’s someone else.’
‘Who? What are you talking about, Alex?’
‘Emma,’ he said, and the familiarity in which he mentioned the name surprised her.
‘Emma Clancy? You know Emma?’ She experienced a shifting sensation inside her chest. ‘Oh, don’t tell me …’
It all made sense now. She remembered that first opening statement of Emma’s, how Tess had ‘come highly recommended’, but how she wouldn’t divulge who had made the recommendation. At the time Tess thought Clancy was being coy about her source, and now she understood why.
‘You’ve been seeing Emma Clancy?’ she asked, to make certain that she hadn’t misread anything. ‘The DA’s investigator who I just happen to work for? Jesus Christ, Alex! Emma has a husband! Are you trying to wreck her marriage?’
‘She’s already getting divorced,’ he said lamely. ‘It’s why we had to keep our relationship secret: their divorce is based on her husband’s adultery; it wouldn’t look good if it came out she was also having an affair. Anyway, divorce proceedings were underway before we met …’
‘Yeah? So how long has this been going on? Oh, I see now … it was you that recommended me to—’ The words caught in her throat, as she didn’t know how to react. She had mixed feelings – insulted that she’d only got the job because Mrs Clancy’s illicit beau had whispered Tess’s name into her ear, but also thankful to Alex that he’d given her the desperately needed jumpstart to her career. She was angered by the first, but a wash of endearment went through her for the second. She shook her head at him.
‘Tess, you don’t know what you’ve got yourself tangled up in,’ he said, and she watched his face tremble with regret, ‘what I’ve got you tangled up in. Shit.’ Alex stepped away, shoving back his mussed hair. When he wiped his palms on his thighs his trousers held moist streaks. He glanced at her TV, but it was inert. ‘You haven’t caught the news since you got back?’
Pointlessly, Tess also glanced at the dead TV screen. ‘No. I haven’t had the chance. What’s going on, Alex?’
‘Emma’s missing. It’s why I’ve been unable to answer your calls; I’ve been too busy looking for her. I was hoping you might know—’
Tess stopped him in his tracks. ‘I haven’t once been in contact with her. Damn it, I knew something was wrong!’ She thought about the brief telephone conversation when Monica Perry had expressed her own concern over Emma’s silence. ‘Surely Emma’s boss suspected she was in danger; why didn’t he do something sooner?’
‘That’s a question being asked by Portland PD, but we might not get a straight answer soon.’
‘Why not?’
He stared at the floor. ‘You should come with me now.’
‘Where to?’
‘Just come on, we’ve wasted enough time. Grab your jacket. It’s best you see for yourself.’ Alex was already rushing to the door.
‘I was about to go and meet Po,’ she said.
‘Call him. Tell him to meet us.’
‘Where?’
‘Baxter Boulevard,’ he said. ‘Tell him to come to the attorney’s office near Belmeade Park.’