Arrow's Rest by Joel Scott (best way to read books txt) 📕

The detective had been sitting in the boardroom for half an hour. He suspected the wait was deliberate, but wasn’t about to complain. He was being paid a thousand dollars a month for an occasional report about what was happening in the department, and he couldn’t risk losing the money. Child support for his second divorce was killing him.

There were five TV screens placed on the end wall, all tuned to different programs with the sound muted, and not a remote in sight. He wasn’t sure he had the balls to switch channels anyway. One screen showed the stock market, one CNN, one NBC, and another an Asian tickertape channel. The fifth TV was tuned to the wrestling network. It was showing an old Earthquake versus Loch Ness Monster match at the moment, and the ring announcer proudly declared there was over eleven hundred pounds of mayhem in the ring. The detective had heard that Ivery’s assistant was an ex-wrestler, and given the size of the man, he was inclined to believe it. How anyone could watch that crap was beyond him. A hot lady with a sweet mouth was reviewing stock prices on the Asian channel, and he gazed at her and daydreamed.

He heard a noise behind him and turned around to see Ivery and his keeper at the conference table. He hadn’t heard them enter the room. They must have been in one of the suites adjacent to the boardroom.

“You told Thomas over the phone that the department has no leads on the hospital murders?”

The soft-spoken man with the long grey hair and steel-rimmed glasses seated in the wheelchair at the head of the table looked up from the folder open in front of him and fastened his gaze on the detective.

“Nothing that I’ve heard about anyway. I’m almost sure.”

“Almost is not what you’re paid for,” the man murmured. He had long ago learned the benefit of having listeners strain to hear what you said. It put them at a disadvantage; they unconsciously lowered their heads and leaned forward in an attitude that was inherently submissive. And that made a difference in the social dynamics. When you were a shade over five feet five inches, a hundred and forty-five pounds soaking wet, and physically handicapped, you needed every advantage you could get. In case this ploy wasn’t sufficient, there was Thomas, the personal attendant who never left his side and looked like he could lift a truck off the ground by its front bumper and was fretting for the chance to do so. The big man winked at the detective. It didn’t comfort him.

“What I mean, Mr. Ivery, is that the department is at a standstill on the case. We have nothing but a video that shows two men in hoodies who are possible suspects, but we don’t have enough to identify them. We can put them on the right floor at the right time, and they didn’t visit any of the other patients, so chances are they’re the guys. We think there were two persons involved as the men were strangled, and it probably had to have been done simultaneously as both men had regained consciousness and would likely have been awake at that hour. Either one of them could have yelled out for help, but no one heard anything.” The detective shrugged and spread his hands. “If you ask me, we’re likely never going to find out who the killers were unless we get a tip. We’re still looking for Newcombe, but that’s no longer a priority. The feeling is that we’re not going to find him, he’s either dead or long gone. Detective Clarke is like a dog with a bone on the case, but even he is beginning to slow down a bit. He’s been taking a lot of time off lately. I heard he’s working on a boat that belongs to some old chick he’s hooked up with.”

“That old chick would be Merlynn Saunders, Q.C.,” Ivery said mildly. “A very sharp lady back in the day. I’m guessing she likely still is.”

“Okay. If you say so. Anything else?”

“No. Keep me posted. I want to know immediately if there is any new information on the park bench assaults or the hospital murders. You can leave.” The detective went to the open elevator, entered it, and left.

The little man took off his glasses and slowly polished them with a soft green cloth as he stared off into space. He often did this for extended periods of time when he was concentrating on a problem. Thomas stood by in silence, his thick arms folded across his chest. His face was impassive, expressionless. He gave the impression he could remain motionless for hours.

“What do you think, Thomas?”

“I think the past may be intruding on the present, sir,” the big man replied in a surprisingly soft voice that came from his long years of service to the man in the wheelchair. “It would be naive to assume that the disappearance of Newcombe and the lawyer aren’t connected to the murders in the hospital. I think perhaps I should reach out to some of our old acquaintances and make some inquiries.”

Ronald Ivery nodded in agreement. “Once again, Thomas, you foreshadow me. Thank you. And now I think I’ll retire to my apartments. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course, sir.”

The big man reached down and took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it out into a smaller second room with a collection of modern art mounted on panels spaced out along the walls. He pressed a button recessed into the wall and one of the panels slid sideways and they entered the hidden elevator. The panel moved back in place behind them as the door closed and they moved silently upwards. They came to a stop and moved out into a large open room. Thomas threw the switch that disconnected the power from the elevator and they were secure in their private world.

The late afternoon daylight poured in