The Shivers Between, Book II: A Supernatural Mystery: Dark Moves Beneath, #2

By DH Young

Okay, now there's magic. But what do you do about it?

 

Owen's in worse trouble than ever. His world is upended. He thinks he knows what's going on, but is he right? Can he be right? Or is he losing his mind?

His girlfriend is back, no longer a kidnap victim. Sort of. Maybe. But is she safe? Is Owen safe? What should he do about his old job? Go back? Run away? Why is any of this happening?

 

Nothing is certain. Except this: Owen's not out of the woods yet. And what's up with the missing girl? Is she okay? When the entire world turns out to be something different, something with rules he's never learned…what's the next step?

 

Find out, in Book Two of The Shivers Between

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cabin Fever Press
• Release date: Jun 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393804079

Book preview

The Shivers Between

D H Young

Cabin Fever Press

Copyright © 2018 D H Young

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

ChapterTwenty-Five

Epilogue

Thanks for Reading!

Dedication

This one is for the kids who make their home with us. In birth order: Jeremiah, Damien, and Brigit. I love you guys, and being your dad is both a privilege and an awesome responsibility.

Thank you for your patience with all my writing time. I know it’s sometimes annoying. Also, thanks for the interruptions! They’re annoying too. But we’re in this life together, and that’s always going to be part of it. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

That said, I’m gonna buy me a handheld bug zapper and a stack of fresh batteries. We’ll see how things work out from there.

Chapter One

(Wednesday Morning—Gordon)

Gordon heard about it from Ramirez around seven that morning. It seemed to him the kid popped up everywhere lately. Maybe he was looking for a promotion.

Gordon snorted. When Ramirez got a little more seasoning he’d know better who to suck up to. Gordon was considered effective in his job, but he wasn’t a player in office politics and hadn’t been for years. He already had everything he wanted from the Department. All he had to do was hold on to it. Which basically meant no high-profile screwups.

Ramirez was blind to all that, and probably had no idea his tip could endanger Gordon’s career. Still, the kid was turning out to be a good cop. Gordon was grateful to him. Mostly.

The body had been found at a hotel on SPID at about five-thirty. The cleaning staff had noticed it when they’d gone to take out the garbage and seen a hand poking out of the trash bin.

If it hadn’t been so close to full, Ramirez had told him, the body might not have been found for days. Yeah. Gordon could buy that. But the thing was, there were other trash bins around, and somebody had chosen that one in particular. Whoever had done it could have piled garbage on the body, too, but hadn’t.

He and Faulkner went to check it out. The Feds were sure to show up and claim their territory when they heard about it, but they weren’t there yet, and the CCPD crime-scene team still rummaged onsite. Gordon spotted Garvey, from the medical examiner’s office, and nudged Faulkner.

Faulkner unobtrusively cut Garvey from the crowd and brought him back to where Gordon waited.

Hey Gordon, Garvey said. How come you guys got called on this? Looks like a federal show, not gonna be our problem. They ought to be here in a few minutes.

You get a look at the body? Gordon asked.

Sure. Didn’t get an ID until they searched the trash, found a purse with a license that matched. It took a while to figure out it was federal.

Gordon nodded. Finding the purse near the body was consistent with his suspicions. Or they could be dealing with a very stupid killer, which was actually fairly standard. But he didn’t think that was it. Not this time.

Faulkner spoke up. Can you tell us anything? The probable cause of death? Wounds? Anything?

Garvey looked at them. Something’s going on here, right? This is part of something else, or you guys are in a pissing contest with the Feds? I don’t need to get in the middle of this.

Gordon shrugged. So don’t. Tell us what you know and we’ll go away. It won’t come back on you.

Garvey met his eyes, then wiped his face. Oh, what the hell. You’ve done me enough favors. His hand lingered to pick his nose. Gordon pretended he didn’t see it. She was beaten pretty severely. Garvey wiped his hand on his pants. I can’t give you a cause of death, you know that, but there was trauma to the back of the head. My guess is that did it. Also, she was raped. Vaginal bruising, some semen. And what looks like it might be skin under her fingernails, so between that and the semen they have a pretty good chance to ID the guy if they find him.

Is there anything else? Faulkner asked.

No. And if you’ll excuse me, I have a couple of kids who depend on me to feed them, so I’ll be going before I lose my job.

Thanks, Garvey, Gordon said. You’re a prince. We owe you one.

I’d prefer it, Garvey said over his shoulder as he walked away, if you’d just forget about it completely. I have.

Gordon looked at Faulkner. This stinks, you know.

Faulkner shrugged. I haven’t even met him. I agree it doesn’t make much sense, but how often do we meet a criminal genius?

Gordon lit a cigarette. "He’d be the first. But he’s not this dumb. Especially if he’s still here. Let’s go see." He walked into the hotel.

Faulkner raised an eyebrow, shrugged again, and followed him.

* * *

Owen woke to knocking on his door. Oh come on, he thought as he rolled out of bed. Again? What now?

He glanced at the clock. Seven fifty-three. He picked up the .45 and went to the door.

This time there was plenty of light coming through the window, so he didn’t look through the peephole. Maybe Shawna had a point about that. Who’s there? he called.

Gordon.

Just a sec. He looked at the gun. Oh hell, Gordon had seen guns before. He reversed his grip on the Colt, holding it by the barrel, and opened the door.

Gordon stood outside with a small, neatly dressed black man. Owen stood back, waving for them to come in, and offered the gun to Gordon hilt-first. Careful. You want to shoot me, better use your own. This one needs cleaning.

Gordon took it, nonplussed. Nervous? he asked

I’ve got reason to be. Owen pointed to the table. Have a seat, gentlemen. If you want coffee, I can make some.

The black man smiled. I’m Jon Faulkner, Mr. Tremaine. Detective Gordon and I are partners. And yes, I would like some coffee. He sat down, quirking an eyebrow at Gordon. Phil?

Gordon shrugged. Sure, coffee would be good.

Owen started making it, using supplies the hotel had left in his room. He had no idea how much they’d charge him for the coffee—but he wasn’t really awake, and he’d drunk too much Scotch last night. Is there something I can help you with?

Maybe, Gordon said. Let’s wait till we’re all sitting down for that. How’ve things been going?

Owen laughed briefly. I don’t know. I’m confused by it all. I’ve got a better handle on the stuff going on at CyberLook than I did the last time we spoke, if you guys both know what I’m talking about. It’s where Junior and I used to work? He looked over his shoulder.

Gordon nodded. Faulkner knows what I know.

"Okay. I talked to Viktor Bentley, and he hired me to try to find out what bothered Junior so much he’d tried to hire me. I haven’t figured that out at all, but here’s what I did find out. He summarized what Johnny Opiela had told him and Martina. So I don’t know what’s going on there, but it’s bigger than I thought."

He brought the coffee to the table. Only two real mugs, guys, so you take ‘em and I’ll drink out of this. He picked up one of the plastic cups he and Shawna had used and washed it out in the sink, returning to the table with coffee in hand.

Gordon looked at the empty cup remaining on the table, then glanced briefly at Faulkner.

Owen’s head hurt. Christ on a crutch. Why hadn’t he picked those up before he opened the door? How many other ways would he screw up, this morning?

Let me see if I got this straight, Gordon said. You think Bentley’s company is doing some work for the government, but you’re not sure.

Right. It has to be something like that. Could even be a foreign government, I guess. Maybe that’s why that guy Stanley was with you?

Gordon made a face. Faulkner looked interested. I thought you and your friend had a theory about eco-terrorists?

Not my theory, Owen said. Carl’s theory. But I don’t know enough to rule anything out. As I said, right now I’m confused.

Faulkner nodded. There’s a lot of that going around. He looked at Gordon. Phil?

Oh hell, Gordon said. Mr. Tremaine, I have to ask you a question. He pointed a finger at Owen. I know you have a tendency to think for yourself, and you can get a lawyer if you want and refuse to answer anything we ask. But I think I’ve been fair with you so far, and I’d like you to answer this honestly and completely. It’s important. Okay?

Owen looked at him. Gordon was unsmiling, the sparks of humor Owen had come to expect nonexistent now. Sure. Gordon was right. He had been fair. Shawna’s fears about the police in general might or might not be well-founded, but Gordon consistently demanded the truth. If I can answer, I will.

Faulkner spoke up. Phil? It’s not our case. We can just leave. Right now.

Gordon shook his head. No, I think we need to see this through. Or at least I do. He looked back to Owen. Okay. Mr. Tremaine, when was the last time you saw Shawna McPhee?

Not their case? What did that mean? If they weren’t even going to work on it anymore, why talk to them? But Gordon didn’t look like he would let it go. And they had come to him. Owen decided to cooperate, for the moment at least. Besides, Shawna was gone and had been for hours. And they’d seen the second plastic cup. She came by last night, about two o’clock.

Why did she come? Faulkner asked.

To tell me she was okay. There was no way he could explain about Andrea and Aaron. Fair or not, good cop or not, even Gordon wouldn’t believe that one.

But he suddenly realized he had an opportunity to do something for Shawna. And to tell me what happened on Saturday night, he said after a brief pause. He passed on Shawna’s version of the events at Junior’s house. So she’s hiding somewhere, he finished.

Any idea where? Or why she didn’t come to us? Gordon asked.

No. She wouldn’t tell me where she was staying. Which was true. No need to mention Andrea. And she just doesn’t trust the police right now. She thinks there’s some kind of complicated frame-up going on.

Gordon nodded. What time did she leave?

About four-thirty. She didn’t want to be seen here.

Faulkner broke in. Mr. Tremaine, what happened while she was here?

Owen looked at him. Mr. Faulkner, we talked. And anything else is frankly none of your business.

It’s an important question, Gordon said.

Any rough stuff, Mr. Tremaine? Faulkner asked.

What? Rough stuff? Are you guys crazy? No.

"You did have sex with her, though, didn’t you? Faulkner asked. He indicated the empty plastic cup and the bottle of Scotch sitting on the counter. You were drinking?"

This was crazy. Hey. Owen looked quizzically at Faulkner. She’s my girlfriend. We do that sometimes. What’s going on? Why are you asking that? Suddenly he wondered if something had happened to Shawna. Did they think he had done something to her? But…why?

He met Gordon’s eyes. "I’ve been honest with you. Now tell me what’s going on, or I guess I will have to call that lawyer."

Gordon closed his eyes for a moment. Owen felt gut-shot, absolutely certain he didn’t want to hear what Gordon would say next.

Mr. Tremaine, Faulkner said in his precise, polite voice, we are policemen. Sometimes, in the course of our duties, we are compelled to withhold information from people who have every right to know what we know. We have done this today, and I apologize.

Go ahead, Owen said dully. They wouldn’t have gone through all this buildup, unless…Just tell me.

Gordon spoke. Miss McPhee was found dead about five-thirty this morning, in a trash bin outside this hotel. She hadn’t been there long. He watched Owen carefully.

Owen was numb. It couldn’t have been too long, he said. She’d just left here an hour before that.

Gordon nodded. And I assume nobody but you saw her leave?

I don’t know. But that was sort of the point.

Right. And, forgive the question, but there was no violence here?

No! Owen almost shouted. There never was, he said more quietly.

Miss McPhee had what appeared to be skin under her fingernails, Faulkner said. Any ideas about that?

Oh. Owen stood up, turned away from them and lifted his shirt. Sometimes she scratched when…when we . . . He sank back into his chair and put his face in his hands. I guess I need that lawyer after all."

Not necessarily, Mr. Tremaine, Faulkner said. Any idea how she might have come to be bruised severely?

No. God, no. What happened to her?

We’re not quite sure, Gordon said. She was beaten, and her…ah, injuries indicated rape was a strong possibility. Skin under the fingernails is generally interpreted as a sign the victim fought back. Did you use a condom last night, Mr. Tremaine?

No. Privacy was no longer a concern. We didn’t have any, and we were pretty emotional, so…anyway, no, I didn’t. He’d been hoping—he thought they’d both been hoping—they wouldn’t have to worry about condoms anymore. They’d both wanted kids. Someday. Maybe now. It had been a thrilling kind of gamble.

Gordon nodded. So at least some of the semen is probably yours, and so is the skin under her fingernails, and she was found outside your hotel. And it already looked bad, with Junior Bentley found dead and Miss McPhee involved in that, and you with no alibi for any of it. Or for what happened to Leon Purvis on your boat either. He looked at Faulkner. Sounds like enough to convict right there.

Faulkner nodded. I’m sure it is. Especially if anyone involved at, say, the federal level, has an interest in shutting the investigation down.

What are you saying? Owen asked. Am I under arrest?

Gordon and Faulkner looked at each other in silence. Faulkner shrugged slightly. No, Gordon said after a moment. I guess you’re not. At least not by us, not right now. He met Owen’s eyes. Look, Tremaine, there’s a lot about this I don’t understand. But…this is all just too damned convenient for somebody. All the loose ends fray to nothing, and we’re left with a love triangle and an enraged boyfriend? He shook his head.

Implausible, Faulkner agreed. "And let’s not forget the