Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“ W hat do you mean I shouldn’t be working with someone else? You can’t be the only one I depend on.”
Jake snorted and linked his fingers over his head. “For a police officer, you’re not as careful as you should be.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Jake sat up and stretched his legs out in front of him. “It means you’re getting played. The PI’s son is probably working for Eric.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jake shrugged and lifted his gaze to Ian’s. “No, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? Think about it. If you were Eric, wouldn’t you want to stay one step ahead of everyone else?”
Ian paused. “Yeah, but then why would he contact me?”
“To find out what you know and throw you off Eric’s scent,” Jake replied without preamble. “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. When was the last time you heard from Bryce?”
Ian opened his mouth to respond and slammed it shut.
Was Jake right?
It had been weeks of silence on Bryce’s end. Every phone call and every message went unanswered. The longer he stood there, entertaining Jake’s theory, the more sense it made. Not only was Bryce not doing himself any favors by not answering, but Ian had already checked for Bryce in the system.
Nothing came up on him.
He was clean as a bell, and it only made Ian more frustrated.
How was he meant to get answers from a ghost?
“Don’t feel bad, Railings.” Jake stood and stretched his arms over his head. “It could happen to anyone. If I were you, I’d suggest you pay a visit to the original PI.”
Ian blinked. “He’s in an old people’s home, and he’s got Alzheimer’s.”
“Even people with Alzheimer’s have moments of clarity. Anyway, what do I know? I’m just the guy who’s been giving you information.”
With that, Jake sat back down on his mattress and stretched himself out across it. Then he lifted both arms over his head and began to whistle. “I gotta tell you, the only good thing to come out of the stabbing is being allowed to stay in the hospital. It’s much better than prison.”
“You do realize that since your injury wasn’t serious, you’ll be sent back soon, right?”
Jake waved his comment away. “Let me milk it while I can, then.”
For a while, Ian stood across from the bed, back pressed against the wall and hands shoved into his pockets, nails digging deep into the insides of his palms.
Finally, he pushed himself off the wall and made his way out.
Jake’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks. “Officer Railings, I’d be really careful if I were you. Just because Eric couldn’t get me once doesn’t mean he won’t do it again. And at this point, he probably knows you’re involved. He’ll probably go after you too.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder, fear clawing its way through his tight chest as his heart thumped and raced inside his rib cage. “Is that a threat?”
“Why would I threaten you? We’re on the same side, remember?”
Ian grunted and didn’t respond.
He couldn’t risk allowing Jake to bait him and derail the entire investigation.
Or whatever the henchman was trying to do.
Either way, it couldn’t possibly be anything good.
When he stepped back into the main part of the hospital, bustling with doctors and nurses who ran past him on either side, Ian had no idea what to do with himself. He lowered his head, stepped into the frigid early afternoon air, and exhaled. Then he hurried to where his car was parked across the street and covered in a thin layer of mist.
As soon as he got into the car, he turned up the heat and the music.
It did nothing to ward off the headache in the back of his skull.
The uneasy feeling stayed with him on his drive back to Falmouth till he looked up and realized he wasn’t headed home at all. Instead, he was on his way to the old folk’s home Bryce Rolland mentioned.
With an exhale, he settled back into his seat and set the coordinates on his phone for Barnstable.
Music rose and fell around him.
It wasn’t long before the town materialized in the distance, glistening underneath the bright light of the sun. He drove past the town sign and eased to a crawl, glancing down both sides of the street as he did. Ian earned more than his fair share of curious looks till he pulled up into a side street and found himself outside a pair of wrought iron gates, where a large brick house resided in the center of a clearing, lush foliage on either side.
Quietly, he pulled up outside the parking lot on the opposite side of the street.
Ian lingered in the car, playing with the knob and wondering if this was the right thing to do. His phone buzzed, indicating an incoming text from Marissa. He ignored it, reached for his scarf, and pushed the door open. His breath crystallized in front of him as he glanced down both sides of the empty, freshly paved street, and his pulse quickened.
At the gate, two uniformed security guards stopped him.
“I’m here to see Clifford Roland,” Ian told them, plastering an easy smile on his face. “His son told me I could find him here.”
The bald-headed security guard turned his ID over. Then he whispered something into his friend’s ear, and the shorter guard ducked into a small guardhouse, where Ian spotted a few monitors and some swivel chairs. Through the glass window, Ian saw the guard skim through a stack of papers, muttering to himself the entire time.
Ian glanced back at the security guard in front of him and caught the tight set of his shoulders and the way his eyes kept darting down, then back and forth. He gave the man his most unintimidating smile and shifted from one foot to the other. The radio fastened to the guard’s belt crackled to life, and the guard’s gaze didn’t leave Ian’s face. He took a few steps back and held the radio up to his pursed lips.
A few moments later, the gates shuddered to life, and Ian was waved through. He felt their eyes on the back of his head as he wandered up the manicured lawn and a flight of stairs, two marble columns on either side of him. When he pushed the door open, he was met with a blast of hot air and the smell of incense. While he waited for his eyes to adjust, Ian studied the reception area.
It had hardwood floors, a large desk where several uniformed staff members sat, and a small TV mounted to the wall, set on mute. After writing his name down on the visitor sheet, Ian was shown through another set of doors and into a courtyard, where many of the patients huddled in circles, whispering amongst themselves. A few orderlies, distinguished by their white scrubs, were scattered throughout the courtyard at various points, eyes wide and watchful.
A shiver raced up Ian’s spine as one of them gestured to a frail-looking man, bundled up in a large coat and a blanket, who sat hunched over in his wheelchair, wisps of thin, silver hair clinging to his face. He didn’t react when Ian took a seat on the bench beside him, overlooking a large oak tree.
“Mr. Rolland, I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I need your help. I don’t know if your son has mentioned me at all, but I’m Kelly Wilson’s son. My name is Ian Railings. I live in Falmouth.”
Clifford didn’t react or give any kind of acknowledgment.
“I know you were helping her investigate her ex, and I know you helped her find something good, but I haven’t had any luck finding out what it was, and your son has disappeared off the face of the planet.”
Silence stretched between them.
Ian sat up straighter and folded his hands in his lap. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but I feel like I owe it to my mom to uncover the truth. It’s been long enough, and if Eric was involved… I can’t let him hurt anyone else I love.”
Several long moments passed, and Clifford’s vacant stare remained fixed ahead.
Ian blew out a deep breath, stood up, and placed a hand on Clifford’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you ended up here. Let me know if there’s anything you ever need.”
Once he loosened his grip, Clifford’s hand darted out and gripped his. The man with a weathered face and glazed eyes looked up at Ian, and his stomach dipped in response. Heart hammering unsteadily against his chest, Ian inched closer and waited.
“I remember your mother,” Clifford whispered in a scratchy voice. “There’s a case file in my office. They’re all alphabetized.”
Ian’s heart missed a beat. “Are you sure? Where is your office?”
Clifford patted his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a yellowed business card. Ian took it from him and squinted, barely able to make out the address. “And you’re sure I’ll be able to find something there?”
Clifford nodded, and his hand went slack.
Ian waved a hand in front of his face, and Clifford turned away from him and looked back at the unmarked spot in the distance. Try as he might to get Clifford to acknowledge him again, the PI spent the rest of the visit with his arms by his side and a blank look on his face.
If it weren’t for the card burning a hole in his pocket, Ian would’ve convinced himself he’d dreamt the whole thing.
On his way outside, he felt several pairs of eyes follow him to the reception area and out the wrought iron gates. In the car, he fished his phone out of his pocket.
It rang a few times before Jeff picked up.
A few hours later, Ian was leaning against the hood of the car and staring up at the dark clouds gathered on the horizon when a silver sedan pulled up. It ambled to a stop next to his car, and Jonathan came out first, with Dean close on his heels. Jeff switched off the engine, pulled the cap low over his ears, and greeted Ian with a wave.
Ian frowned. “What are you doing here?”
Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m here to help.”
Ian’s chest tightened. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay down here, can I?”
Dean squared his shoulders and shook his head. “Not a chance.”
“Fine. Then, stay close, be careful, and do exactly as I say,” Ian told Dean, shaking his head. “We’re not exactly making any friends by doing this.”
In silence, the three of them formed a half-circle around Ian. When they crossed the street, Ian knocked on the front door of an old brick building and waited. The door buzzed open, and the four of them ducked in, moving as quietly as possible. On the second floor, Ian was about to knock when the glass door with Clifford’s name engraved into it creaked open.
Everything in the room was covered in sheets and a thin layer of dust.
“Look for any files labeled Wilson or Taylor. Or anything that looks related,” Ian instructed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Before long, he was knee-deep in files, with several scattered around him and impatience coursing through him.
He turned to Dean, and the words died on his lips.
Bryce Rolland stood in the doorway to his father’s office, his face half-obscured in the shadows. “What are you doing?”
Ian stepped in front of his son and stood up straighter. “I went to visit your dad, and he told me I could find the file here. Please, I was just looking for some answers.”
Bryce stepped forward, and Ian saw the tightness around the man’s eyes and the way his hands curled into tight fists. “You have no right to be here. This is my father’s old office, and you’re trespassing.”
“I wouldn’t need to if you were answering the phone.” Ian took a few steps forward, his hands held up on either side of him. “You’d want answers too. We weren’t going to take anything except for my mom’s file.”
Bryce’s nostrils flared, and his entire body was shaking. “Get out before I call the cops.”
Jeff ushered Dean away, and Jonathan sank his nails into Ian’s arm. In spite of his reluctance, Ian allowed himself to be led away, but he felt Bryce’s eyes on them the entire time. He didn’t breathe until he and Dean were in his car, with Jeff and Jonathan following closely behind.
Ian kept checking his mirrors and muttering. “That was too close.”
Dean released a deep, shaky breath. “What now?”
Ian exhaled and gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I honestly have no idea.”