Simply Lies

Chapter 77

“I’m pretty busy,” said Wilson Sullivan as he stood in front of Gibson in the waiting area at police headquarters.

“Just wanted to catch up again and see how things are going. I thought we were working this together.”

“Well, things change. I got a dressing-down from the top. They don’t want collaborations with civilians.”

“Damn, that’s too bad. And just when I thought our working relationship was really hitting its stride.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

“No, that’s about it.”

Sullivan turned to leave.

“Hey, Mark!”

He whirled around to see Francine Langhorne standing there.

“I think it’s time we talked,” she said.

Sullivan sipped his coffee and looked down at the table. They were in the police cafeteria, which was empty at this time of the morning.

“How’d you do it?” he asked.

“Just connected the dots,” noted Gibson. “Principally, your career trail matched Beckett’s.”

“That doesn’t tell me how you got my real identity.”

“I took your prints off the pen you were using when I visited you last time. We suspected you weren’t who you said you were. Past twenty years ago, Wilson Sullivan didn’t really exist.”

He eyed Francine. “And you’re really Harry Langhorne’s daughter?”

“In the flesh. Sorry to use an old WITSEC tactic to out you by using your real given name, but we had to make a move on the chessboard.”

“And where do we go from here?”

Francine tapped the table. “Earl Beckett. I know what he did to me and others. And we suspect what he did to your sister.”

“He raped her and when she threatened to tell, he murdered her.”

“But it was never proven?” said Gibson.

“Obviously not, since he’s a free man.”

Gibson glanced at his neck. “I checked your record. You were never wounded as a cop like you told me. So where’d you get that scar?”

Sullivan pulled his shirt collar up to cover the mark. “Let’s just say in my despondency over the death of my sister I attempted something very foolish. Luckily, I didn’t succeed.”

Francine and Gibson exchanged a glance.

“Okay,” said Francine. “We need to make sure we nail him now.”

“On what charge?” asked Sullivan.

“Murdering Harry Langhorne,” answered Gibson.

Sullivan looked at them both. “Can you prove it?”

“Maybe. With your help.”

He leaned forward. “How?”

“You’re working with him on this case. We think he’s taking advantage of that relationship to find the treasure that Langhorne left behind.” Gibson paused. “A treasure that you seem interested in, too.”

“My sister had a little girl, my niece. My parents raised her after Helen died. She’s now a grown woman and she has some intellectual disabilities. I was hoping if there was any money...”

“Well, we think there is money. And we believe we can use that as bait to reel Beckett in.”

“Okay, I’ll help you however I can.”

“Exactly what we wanted to hear,” said Francine.