Simply Lies

Chapter 14

“Where the hell have you been?” said Gibson, clearly irked at the lapse of time. “I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“I do have another life, Mickey.”

“What are you going by today? Still fake Arlene?”

“Clarisse will do.”

“Is that your real name?”

“What do you think?”

“Okay, Clarisse.”

“Have you made progress?”

“I’m not taking orders from you and I’m not working for you. Actually, I don’t want to be involved in this at all.”

“I’m sorry if I implied that you were working for me. But I thought we were working together.”

Gibson decided to cut to the chase. “Harry Langhorne?”

“Yes, Mickey, that is excellent.”

“You could have saved me the trouble and just told me his real name.”

“But you feel far better having discovered it yourself, right? And even if I had told you, you would have had to verify it, correct?”

Gibson grimaced, because she knew the woman was right. “The cops will have that information by now, too.”

“Oh, I’m sure. What will you do with it?”

“He was a mob bookkeeper who turned state’s evidence back in New Jersey. Did you know that?”

“That all sounds quite intimidating.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I have since learned of his relationships with other unsavory types.”

Now if that wasn’t a bullshit word salad answer, I don’t know what is. “If they were the ones to take him out, then they have long memories. And they all would be old guys by now.”

“Or it could be their descendants. They would be younger men. And women.”

Gibson drew in a breath. Was that last reference important?

“Could be. I wonder how they found him.”

“I have no idea. But if the motivation is strong enough, people can accomplish anything.”

“You sound like you know that very well.”

“I’ve lived life, just like you have. Are you scared?”

“Should I be?” asked Gibson.

“I am. But I think I’m several degrees removed from where you are. They might know you’ve been out to the mansion. They’ll know you discovered the body and alerted the police.”

“You actually discovered the body.”

“Yes, but no one knows that.”

“I do.”

“And who are you going to tell?” Clarisse asked.

“I’ve recorded our calls. I can share them with the police.”

“Do you really want to do that?”

“I may not have a choice,” noted Gibson.

“Well, that would be unfortunate.”

“Is that a threat?” demanded Gibson.

“No, Mickey, it’s just me thinking out loud. What did your father say?”

“How do you know I talked to my father?”

“I just assumed you had. He was a cop in Jersey right around the time that Langhorne turned on the mob.”

“So you know all that?”

“I told you I had educated myself. So what did he say?”

“He gave me some useful info and told me to keep the hell away from all of this.”

“Okay. So what will you do now?”

“I’m not sure I’m going to do anything. The police are handling this. And it could be dangerous.”

“You were a cop. Danger was part of the job. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

Gibson thought she could detect a bit of resentment in Clarisse’s tone and wondered where that might be coming from.

“I didn’t have two little kids back then.”

“But you want to be part of that investigation, surely?”

“Why?” said Gibson.

“Because sitting behind a computer looking for assets to seize has gotten boring and you miss your old life.”

“Nice guess.”

“I never guess. And I don’t deduce, either. I gather evidence, develop theories, and draw conclusions, like Sherlock Holmes. I hate that Conan Doyle got deduction and induction mixed up, don’t you?”

“Never really thought about it.” Gibson rubbed her temples. She could feel one helluva migraine coming on.

“And you were a good cop and detective, right?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“But then you switched careers. Threw all that away.”

“I didn’t throw anything away,” Gibson snapped. “I had kids. And I’m a single mom! Not that I have to justify anything to you about my life decisions.”

“Okay, fine. How is ProEye treating you? I hear they’re good to work for.”

“Things are fine,” said Gibson in a calmer tone. Do not let her wind you up, because that is clearly what she wants.

“Really?” she said incredulously.

The way she said it, Gibson was sure she knew all about her call with Zeb Brown.

One or both of our phone lines have been breached.

“Yes, really.”

“So you are backing off this?”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” asked Gibson.

“Can I be frank?”

“Oh, go right ahead,” replied Gibson, girding herself for what she felt was coming.

“Aside from any personal connection I have in this matter, I thought it would give you something interesting to do. I can’t imagine how bored you’ve become. The detective in you must be champing at the bit over this sort of case. You solve this and you could start your own investigation firm.”

“How many times do I have to say this? I have little kids. I’m not going to be some sort of modern-day gumshoe trying to build an empire from scratch.”

“One can buy excellent day care if one has enough money. That goes for children and parents. And when your kids are old enough to go to pre-K, which is right around the corner, what then? How will you spend your days?”

Sleeping, thought Gibson, but she said, “My days are plenty full, thank you very much. And why pick me in the first place? I know what you said before, but I didn’t believe it.”

“There simply aren’t that many female detectives. It’s still very much a male-dominated space. I just thought you would do a great job. And I like working with women more than men. But if you’re not interested, so be it. Have a nice life, Mommy.”

Before Gibson could respond, the line went silent.

She slowly put down the phone.

Shit. What a manipulative piece of crap. And yet, she still got to me. She really did.

But the woman had said something important without it seeming important at all.

And maybe Gibson had her first real clue.

But you can’t go there, Mick. You just told that woman three times that you have little kids. And you promised your dad. And if something happened to them because of your decision to pursue this?

She sat back and closed her eyes.

God help me.