Simply Lies

Chapter 49

The next day Clarisse made the call.

“Long time, no hear,” answered Gibson.

“Been busy. As I’m sure you have.”

“I’ve been making some inquiries, as I said.”

“And?”

“Heard of The Plains, Virginia?” Gibson asked.

“Tell me.”

And Gibson did. Daryl Oxblood’s being murdered. The phrase on the wall. But she didn’t mention that someone had tried to rub it off. She didn’t talk about Julia Frazier. She said nothing of a comic book with initials inside a heart.

“What do you take that to mean?” Clarisse asked.

“The murders are connected. Or else it’s a copycat. But I don’t see it that way.”

“So who was Daryl Oxblood, really?”

“Cops are running his prints right now,” replied Gibson.

Okay, then they’ll know. The noose is tightening, and not in a good way for me.

“So that’s why I was picked by you? So you can piggyback on ProEye resources?”

“It’s a good reason, don’t you think?” replied Clarisse.

“Francine and Douglas Langhorne?”

“What about them?” asked Clarisse.

“Know where they are?”

“I think we covered this already. I don’t.”

“When the fingerprint results on Oxblood come back, that will provide quite a few leads.”

“Good.” Shit, I know it will.

“Geraldine Langhorne?” asked Gibson.

“Again, no clue. Before my time. I dealt with Pottinger, not aka Langhorne.”

“You like comic books?”

She felt an anxiety attack coming on. “Excuse me?”

“Comic books. Superman, Batman?” said Gibson.

“We don’t have time to waste.”

Gibson stared up at her computer screen where she had her own voice analysis program running. She used it when she was interviewing people on the phone in her search for assets. The indicators on the screen were often truer than the words spoken. And after she had preliminarily concluded that Julia Frazier and Clarisse were probably one and the same, she had decided to deploy the analyzer to help gauge whether this conclusion was right or not by asking Clarisse some unsettling questions.

And Clarisse’s stress indicators had just spiked.

Clarisse, who was running a similar program on her computer, watched in dismay as she saw the arrow shoot north on her answer.

“Okay,” said Gibson. “Just checking.”

Clarisse looked at her Gibson notebook and decided to fire off her own salvo. “Are you worried that your father will do something stupid and endanger you and the kids?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

Now Clarisse watched the screen in satisfaction as Gibson’s own stress level spiked.

“I know you told him about visiting Sam Trask because you’re both former cops and have a tight bond. He obviously knows who Nathan Trask is. He’s scared for you. What if he does something rash? I’m not doing this to pull your chain, Mickey. This is business with me. And I’m not claiming to have a big heart, but I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. Especially little kids.”

Gibson didn’t say anything for a few moments and Clarisse had no intention of breaking the silence. Nathan Trask was a real threat to Gibson, to them both really. And she wanted the woman to understand that.

Plus, it might make her forget about the damn comic book.

“My father is not stupid,” Gibson said finally. “He’s not going to start a war with Nathan Trask.”

“I just thought I’d mention it. Now, where do things stand with your and Sullivan’s investigation?”

“Sullivan doesn’t think the woman who was at Oxblood’s home is important. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“What woman?”

“The survey taker. She called herself Julia Frazier. Mean anything to you?”

“No. What sort of survey was she taking?”

Clarisse now kept watch on her stress level on the screen. She needed to keep it at an even level and she did so by taking silent, deep belly breaths and chewing the gum she had just popped into her mouth.

“Some BS. I think she was there for another reason. Sullivan didn’t agree.”

“What makes you think that she’s important?”

“Call it my cop instinct.”

“Sullivan’s a cop, too,” Clarisse pointed out.

“And we all have different instincts.”

“I found out something, too.”

“What?” asked Gibson.

“Langhorne had a visitor very close to the time he died. A man. Tall, thin, blond hair, green eyes.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Proprietary source,” replied Clarisse.

“Any idea who this visitor was?”

“That’s for you to find out. Work your ProEye magic. And my source also told me that there was a woman waiting out in a car for the man.”

“What did they want with Langhorne?” asked Gibson.

“My source didn’t know. But when the visitor was leaving he told the person that she should look for another job. My source took that to mean that Langhorne was selling the place to the man. But it also could mean that the man knew Langhorne would not be alive much longer. Which turned out to be spot-on.”

“So your proprietary source was a member of Langhorne’s household staff?”

“I just can’t keep anything from you, can I?” chided Clarisse.

“Okay, I’ll share that with Sullivan.”

“He already knows. He spoke to my source previously and they told him everything I just told you.” She paused and added, “Didn’t he share that with you?”

Clarisse watched the screen to see if Gibson’s stress markers spiked. But she was disappointed because they remained level.

“Thanks for the info,” said Gibson.

“You’re welcome. Be careful out there.”

Clarisse clicked off.

Gibson sat back in her chair. The stress levels told her that she had struck gold with the reference to the comic book. And Julia Frazier and Clarisse were almost certainly one and the same. Now that she had a fingerhold, she could perhaps track her down.

She was not unduly put out by Sullivan’s withholding information from her, because she was doing the same to him. And he was official police and she was not. But it raised some interesting questions.

A tall man visiting Pottinger, and a woman in the car.

Doug and Francine Langhorne?

But if so, who the hell is Clarisse?