16

JUNE 7
THURSDAY AFTERNOON

Wrapped in a blanket of humidity, Ian felt panic building in his chest. He looked around.

Behind him was a pool. In front, an open patio door. Around each were grown-ups, talking and drinking and paying him no attention.

A man was walking away. Though frightened, Ian felt compelled to follow. He weaved through an ocean of pant legs and dresses as though being dragged in the man’s wake.

Ian came to a black piano, which stood like an island in the crowd. By the keyboard was a jowly man with an iced drink in one hand. He glanced down, then raised a stubby finger to point in a different direction.

The crowd parted the way he’d been directed, and Ian took the gap, soon finding himself standing before a closed door. He hesitated. Then he turned the knob and entered, closing the door behind him.

It was a square bedroom with a single window with drawn shades. A bed occupied the middle with chairs scattered about. A man was seated on the bed.

Ian stared at the seated man. He knew who he was. It was Rory Doyle. To one side of the bed were an old man and a large man, the old one seated with a hat in his hands, the large one leaning against the wall.

A voice stated, “What’re they doing here?” Ian turned to see the speaker, a fourth man who he knew instinctively was the man he’d followed from the pool.

“This is my house,” the man went on. “They’re spitting on her grave by being here.”

The old man with the hat in his hand spoke. “Nobody else knows them,” he said. “And we’ve business to handle.”

“She was my sister,” the man from the poolside said.

“Let it go, boyo.” It was the large man, speaking for the first time.

Ian also knew the large one, he realized. He’d seen him in a cemetery—and elsewhere too. His name was Sean Callahan.

“Ian,” a voice called from the dark corner by the shaded window. “Be a good boy. Go back to the pool now.”

This was a dream—or maybe several dreams shaken together and poured over him all at once. But the voice from the shadows instantly gilded it with a firmer sense of reality.

Fear began bubbling from Ian’s every pore. He wanted to run to the voice—for protection or to protect, he wasn’t sure. Even if he couldn’t see her, he knew it was his mother speaking, and that from her dark corner she was the only possible source of safety in this room.

Ian also knew, with a son’s certainty, that his mother was very afraid.

———

Ian opened his eyes tentatively. The tension headache was drilling into his forehead again this afternoon. He looked about, gaining his bearings.

He was lying on the love seat in the office library. The ICR reports were on the floor beside him. He’d lain down to rest after his meeting at Kieran’s with Brook and before heading to Mankato.

Within seconds of awaking, he could recall only the vaguest details of his dream. It was enough, though, to know he was creating a mosaic in his sleep around the people and events confronting him in this case and in his life.

It wasn’t a pleasant picture.

Katie’s heels approached down the hallway an instant before she appeared in the library door.

“Good,” she said. “You’re up. You said you wanted to get going about now.”

Ian rubbed his face. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Katie shook her head. “You want me to stay overnight with your mom?”

“No,” Ian said. “I’ll do it. Maybe I can get caught up on my sleep this weekend. If you could just cover the afternoon like we talked about.”

Katie nodded. “Done. Oh, by the way, those criminal background checks came back this morning. Nothing on Ed McMartin, Sean Callahan, or Rory Doyle.”

“No criminal records at all?”

“None. Nada. I’d asked for only twenty years back, but they reviewed them back to 1985. On all three guys.”

Ian was taken aback. Before his nap, he’d reviewed the ICRs Brook had given him. Given the surveillance, he’d expected at least one of them to have an adult criminal record. What did that mean about his concerns?

“Okay, thanks,” he replied.

Ian rose and went into his office to grab his sports jacket. Maybe he shouldn’t be so worried. Maybe he was letting Brook’s accusations make him too touchy about the case.

He headed back into the hall. As he passed her at the reception desk, Katie looked up.

“Got everything you need?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Get ahold of Harry and ask him if he can find time to call me on my cell. Tell him I want to find somebody on the ‘other side’ of the criminal defense business.”

Katie nodded. “He’ll know what that means?”

“He should.”

Ian took the stairs down to the parking garage. He’d made real progress today. If things went well with Rory’s ex and Harry came through, he might get his report done despite the short time limit. Take the money and move on to other priorities—like what he could do for his mother with the cash and how he should handle the malpractice case.

He slid into the Camry.

And what he’d do about everything personal Brook had resurrected at Kieran’s.