Simply Lies

Chapter 37

Gibson pocketed her phone and walked out of her home office. She headed to her kids’ room, where she opened the door and peered in.

Dead asleep. Both of them.

No, don’t use that phrase, ever. Not with them.

She used her phone to take a picture of the pair that she would no doubt look at when she was an elderly woman and wanted to relive the good old days.

Gibson went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea. She drank it while staring out the picture window at her scraggly front yard. She’d planned to redo the flower beds and fill up some pots with colorful plants for the porch.

Yeah. Until she came into my life. Do I do everything someone tells me to do? You don’t know a fucking thing about me, even though you think you know everything.

The picture window seemed a nice viewpoint to run the frames of her life — past, present, and whatever future was hanging out there for her, bleak or shiny.

And my kids’ future, because they are the biggest factor in all of this.

And then she saw the darkness out there that seemed more than just what it was supposed to be. There was a solid shape to it. She ducked out of sight and then came back over to the window and peered out. Just across the street, behind a parked car. There was someone there. Someone staring at her house.

She looked down when her phone buzzed. Her father had just texted her with a name and phone number.

Art Collin is going to call you right now. Answer it. Dad

She looked back up and gasped. Whoever had been there was now gone. She rushed to the door and opened it, leapt out onto the porch, and gazed up and down the street. Breathing heavily, she shut and locked the door.

That was not my imagination. Someone was there.

A few seconds later her phone buzzed again. She saw on the screen that it was the phone number her father had just texted her.

“Hello, Mr. Collin?”

“Just make it Art,” said a loud, gruff voice. “Knew your old man from way back. Says you’re interested in Harry Langhorne. When Rick Rogers needs a favor I step up. He’s a good guy. So here I am.”

Well, Art doesn’t waste any time.

As if in answer to her thoughts he said, “I gotta make this snappy. I live in Florida. Got plans. Cards, cocktails, and then me and my lady friend are going out to have a little fun.”

Gibson checked her watch and saw that it was nearly nine o’clock. And he had cards, cocktails, and a lady friend still to come? He obviously stayed up way past her bedtime. This blew her whole image of Florida retirees eating the blue plate special for dinner at five p.m. and going beddy-bye at eight.

“Okay, I’ll try to make it snappy. How did you know about Langhorne?”

“I was a detective in Newark. I worked the case. Slimeballs all around. Langhorne maybe the slimiest of all. But he walked; the others got iron bars and strip searches till kingdom come.”

“Did you know Langhorne?”

“I was actually the one who turned him to our side.”

Gibson tensed. “You did? How?”

“With my natural grace and charm, can’t you tell? Seriously, my old man was a bean counter, too. I knew how those guys ticked, so I started watching Harry, taking pictures, recording phone calls, the works. Oh, I had warrants for everything. I’m not getting tripped up over that penny-ante shit. It wasn’t easy, but we finally got the goods on him. Then we had him tied up in a neat little basket and he would be going up the river for a long time. And he probably wouldn’t make it back down if he wouldn’t agree to come over to our side. They eat dorks like Harry for breakfast, lunch, and dinner inside prison. So I met up with him one fine morning, showed him my hand, and gave him a choice. And he decided to save his own ass. What a shock.”

“But he was never arrested, or charged. And he didn’t testify at the trials.”

“That was part of the deal. He pointed us to where all the goods were, got us the docs, signed, sealed, and delivered. He was one detail-oriented prick. He even had this substitution cipher or code or whatever you want to call it for the accounting books he kept. Without him we never could have figured out what was really going on. Based on that we got a bunch of the low-hanging fruit dead to rights and they all turned on the higher-ups, just like those scared little shits always do. It was their testimony, along with all the docs, that put the nails in the coffins. And three of those suckers ended up dead for their troubles, but it was Harry who put it all in motion. He didn’t want to appear in court and say one word under oath because there would have been twenty hits out on the guy before he got down off the stand.”

“But regardless of that the mob had to figure out that he had crossed them. Otherwise, he would have been indicted, too. Or called as a witness.”

“Oh, they did. That was why all the man wanted to do was disappear.”

“With his family, you mean.”

Collin chortled. “If Harry Langhorne could have figured out a way he would have left his wife and two kiddies high and dry. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Heard they went into WITSEC.”

“Harry Langhorne was found murdered recently at an old estate in Virginia. He was using the alias Daniel Pottinger.”

“So your father told me. Well, it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. What goes around comes around. And shit stinks forever, especially shit like him. Sure, he was the bean counter, but he knew what was going on. Where all the bodies were buried, and I mean literally. He was like Robert Duvall playing the consigliere in The Godfather, only Duvall’s character had some principles. Harry Langhorne had zip. Now, that don’t sit well with me. But you got to take your shots where you can, and Harry was my one shot at taking the kingpins down. So you let scum go to get bigger and more dangerous scum.”

“Any theories on who might have killed him?”

“The guys he helped put away are either dead or still in prison with long gray beards.”

“Their children?” suggested Gibson.

“Could be. But my experience is that the stuff you see in the mob movies about family loyalty is mostly horseshit. The young bulls probably were thrilled to see their fathers go down. Now they were the capos and they all had their own problems rebuilding the family empires. I don’t see them going out on a limb avenging anybody. Too much trouble and risk.”

“Now, that’s very interesting and it does make sense. So the question becomes, who did benefit from Harry going down all these years later?” asked Gibson.

“Was Geraldine with him when he got deep-sixed?”

“No. Harry walked away from WITSEC about two decades ago. His wife disappeared shortly thereafter, but we don’t know if they hooked up later by plan, or whether she disappeared on her own, or—”

“—or whether someone popped her,” Collin interjected. “Which I think is more likely. I always had the distinct feeling Harry hated his wife. And she didn’t make it easy to love her. I had limited interaction with Geraldine, but back then she was always drunk and/or doped up.”

“I understand that Langhorne might have made off with a mountain of mob money.”

“That was definitely a rumor.”

“You didn’t run that down?” asked Gibson.

“Wasn’t my job. My job was to nail and then turn Harry to get the big boys, which I did.”

“The place where he was killed? He paid five mill in cash for it.”

Collin whistled. “So the rumor just went to fact. He did take the cash.”

“I’m thinking there’s a lot more than five mill lying around after all this time.”

“Any idea where it could be?”

“No, but I think people are looking for it,” replied Gibson.

Like Clarisse.

“And what happened to the kids?” Collin asked.

“As soon as Francine hit eighteen they both voluntarily left WITSEC.”

“They were only little kids when I knew them, but they were an odd pair even then.”

“One of the WITSEC marshals told me that Doug was totally hamstrung by his father, never allowed to play any sports, and he sat in the garage lifting weights and brooding.”

“And the girl?” said Collin.

“Had her own run-ins with her father. Maybe even more bitter and lasting. The marshal said that Doug basically took orders from his sister.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“What do you mean it makes sense?” said Gibson.

“As I mentioned, even back then they were an odd pair. I didn’t get to really know them all that well. They were kids and my business was with Harry. Now, I’m no shrink, but my opinion is that whole household was royally screwed up. Harry was the king and taskmaster, and he relished that role. Geraldine drank and popped pills, and when it came to Harry she had a spine like jelly. The kids were silent and staring and maybe thinking shit I don’t even want to contemplate. You ever see that flick Children of the Corn? It’s based on a Stephen King story.”

“No.”

“Hell, it probably came out before you were born. Anyway, it was this perverted religious cult of kids from the cornfields who murdered all the adults to ensure a good harvest. Bloody and sadistic as hell, at least by the standards back then. But the kids in that movie? The ringleaders Malachai and Isaac? Well, let’s just say Francine and Dougie would’ve fit right in. Hell, she’d be ruling the roost, handing out death sentences, and Dougie would be her enforcer. And I got that impression when they were little kids!”

“So a formidable pair, then?” said Gibson.

“Let’s just say that I wouldn’t want to run into them now in a well-lighted shopping center with a million people around. And, shit, I worked undercover for five years in the human garbage dumps of Trenton. I was with the Newark police force, you understand, but they recruited me for an undercover post in Trenton because I wasn’t known in the area as a cop. Now, some people are just born evil and some people are made evil by a shitty life. I’ve seen both types. And my opinion is Francine and Dougie aren’t one or the other, they’re both.”

“So maybe Geraldine didn’t vanish voluntarily.”

“Maybe not. And you think the kids finally caught up with the old man?” said Collin.

“I’m thinking that’s likelier than not.”

“One more thing.”

“Yeah?” said Gibson.

“I know I just laid out my thoughts on the kids, you know, born evil?”

“Right.”

“But there was something else. And I might walk back the born-evil spiel I just gave you. I could never prove anything, but I got the definite cop gut feeling.”

“About what?” said Gibson.

“Harry Langhorne was one sick son of a bitch. He was the furthest thing from a mild-mannered accountant as you could get.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Despite her sullen nature Francine was a real cute girl.”

“Can you just spit it out, Art?”

“I saw how Harry was around the girl. Let’s just say he acted in ways toward Francine that no father should ever act around his daughter.”

“Wait, are you saying he sexually abused her?”

“I have no proof, but if you want a veteran cop’s take, yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Jesus.”

“Some maggots like them that age. And no telling what sort of shit he did to his son. So maybe they weren’t born evil. Maybe Harry made them that way.”

Gibson’s thoughts went to her own kids. If anyone ever so much as—

“So is your job to track them down?” asked Collin.

Gibson refocused. “It might come to that.”

“Well, let me give you a piece of advice.”

“Okay.”

“Shoot first and don’t ask questions later. Now I got to go, my lady friend is giving me the evil eye. Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks, Art. I really appreciate the info,” she said as her heart settled into her feet.

She clicked off, drank her tea, and looked out the picture window again.

People watching the place.

Francine and Doug Langhorne, apparently sociopaths on another level.

But Francine and Doug perhaps abused by their father in horrific ways. That would shatter any level of trust a person could have. It could make you into something less than human.

Am I already in the well-lighted shopping mall with twin monsters?

Gibson saw one terrifying scenario after another march across the breadth of that picture window. She finally looked up to the room where her kids were sleeping peacefully, oblivious to all the danger their mother might have exposed them to.

She closed her eyes as the panic rose in her.

What the hell have I done?