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Tallus

D iem was half right. They cuffed us, took us to the station, and questioned us for hours about Abercrombie, the books, and our suspicion that Loyal was responsible for murdering Weston. Then, they let me go.

Diem, on the other hand, was given a cell for the night since Hercules had found a handful of reasons to detain him, including verbally assaulting a police officer, fleeing from a police officer, reckless driving causing an accident, fleeing the scene of an accident, suspected arson, automobile theft, and vandalism.

Despite being guilty of almost all the same things, they let me walk out of the station at close to midnight, warning me that I should stay close because they weren’t done with me. Since I couldn’t return to Ivory Lace B&B—supposedly, we’d been banned from the establishment after she discovered the mountain of smashed clocks—I had nowhere to go.

With no vehicle, no appropriate clothing, and a blizzard surrounding me—it had started to snow while we were being questioned—I considered who I might call for a rescue.

I didn’t have Delaney’s number—Diem did—and showing up at her house in the middle of the night might piss off her husband. He’d been less than cordial through the entire case.

My mother was out of the question. She would crucify me if she found out what happened this past week.

Kitty didn’t own a vehicle, and Memphis was a dramatic bitch on a good day. Asking him to drive to Port Hope in a snowstorm when he drove a compact car with no snow tires was never going to fly.

Sighing, I hit connect on the number of the only person who might be understanding enough and not give me hell.

He answered on the third ring. “Whoever this is, you’re going to die. It’s fucking midnight, and I’m sleeping. What do you want?”

“Hey, Costa. It’s Tallus. I need help.”

***

The drive to Port Hope from Toronto was about an hour and a half on a good day. In a snowstorm, it took my cousin shy of three to arrive.

The receptionist at the police station let me wait in the lobby, where I’d struggled to keep my eyes open, but the second Costa showed up, I was out the door.

“Here.” He handed me a steaming cup of takeout coffee the second I landed in his car. “Burnt gas station coffee. It’s probably yesterday’s leftovers, and I can’t promise the milk wasn’t sour, but it’s hot.”

“Thank you.”

He kept the car running and turned down the radio. The police station building was lit up, even at that early hour.

Costa bumped my shoulder. “All right. I’m here. Fill me the fuck in. All of it.”

Over the phone, I’d kept it brief, telling my cousin that Diem and I had gotten in an accident while chasing down a killer. Because of it, we’d wound up tangled in red tape and Diem had been arrested for a number of reasons. When he heard I had no vehicle and no place to go for the night, he told me to shut up and find somewhere warm, and he was on his way.

So, I owed him the full story.

I told him about Delaney hiring us and her request that we prove someone tried to kill her son. I told him about the secret murder club, the writing cabin in the woods, the man and his dog, the tree branch that fell on Diem and the Jeep, the B&B and its calamity of clocks, my nighttime venture back to the cabin, and the fire that had melted my glasses and almost killed me. Then, even though it wasn’t relevant, I told him about Diem’s declaration of love, his broken knuckles, and our trip to the emergency room the next town over.

I told him about the books written by Ambrose Whitaker, how they were true stories made to look like fiction, about the bodies discovered by the Port Hope police, and how at least one of them matched a victim from a novel. I told him about the English teacher, Mr. Abercrombie, about his wife and how we realized the woman in The Crimson Veil was her.

I told him about our encounter with the police, our escape to prove our theory, about Loyal running us off the road, and about finding Hugh at the cemetery, ready to cover up the crime he’d committed years ago.

Then, I told him about the arrest and subsequent interview.

“Jesus fucking Christ. You guys don’t do things by halves, do you?”

“No. There’s a pair of homicide detectives here from Toronto. They’re the ones who questioned us. Doyle had already filled them in, so hopefully, they can blow this thing wide open. Abercrombie killed at least eight people. Maybe more.”

“And the kid? What did you call him? Loyal?”

“Yeah. He knew about his mother’s body. Must have, since he was aiding his father to cover it up. I don’t know if he was part of it or just knows his father’s sick secrets. He would have only been twelve or thirteen when she died.

“We believe Weston figured out the truth and might have confronted his girlfriend. He was dating Loyal’s twin sister. If Loyal knew his dad was a killer, it’s not hard to believe Londyn did too. And if Londyn discovered her boyfriend knew something incriminating, she would have likely told her brother. The fact that Loyal killed him in the same fashion as was described in a story they were perfecting in their club doesn’t shock me. Like father like son.”

“Christ.”

I sipped my coffee. It was truly disgusting. “But here’s the kicker. When the police were busy chasing Diem and me to the cemetery, no one was watching Loyal. He vanished. They haven’t been able to locate him or his sister all night.”

“So they’re at large?”

“Yep. Apparently, they have units looking for them, but they could be long gone by now. The SUV was left at the scene of the accident, so they don’t know what they might be driving. The other kids in the club were accounted for, so it seems the twins are on their own.”

“There’s some fucking disturbed people in this town.”

“Tell me about it. I still have a hundred questions that need to be answered, but I’m too tired to think.”

“In my experience, it will all come out before this is over.”

I tried the coffee again but cringed. “I can’t drink this.”

Costa chuckled and took it back, putting it in a cup holder. “Why don’t you recline your seat and rest. I’m going to hang out here and see if we can’t bust Krause out of jail in the morning. Who are the detectives from homicide?”

“Jenkins and Piggott.”

“Good people.”

“I don’t know them.”

“You’ll be all right.”

Costa and I sat in silence for a while, watching the snow fall as I tried to sleep. It was impossible. My head spun with information and questions, and I tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable.

“So,” my cousin said after a time, “The big guy lost his head for you, huh?”

I smiled. “Seems like.”

“Think he’ll let me sign his cast?”

“I think if you ask, he might clock you with it.”

Costa chuckled. “Fair enough. We’ll pretend it doesn’t exist. I’m happy for you. Oddly enough, you guys seemed to work together.”

“We do.”

I thought of Diem sitting in a cold jail cell, and my heart ached.

The detectives arrived at the station around seven. They didn’t notice us in the parking lot and headed inside.

At eight, Delaney Mandel pulled in with her husband in the passenger seat. Costa and I got out and met them as they exited their vehicle.

“We got a call asking us to come in,” Delaney said, eyeing Costa. “They said it was about Weston.”

I didn’t have answers, but after introducing them to my cousin and explaining why Diem wasn’t with me, we followed them inside.

Delaney was enraged. Before she and her husband were escorted away, she promised to get Diem out of jail.

Two hours later, while warming a bench in the lobby, Lisa Jenkins, one of the homicide detectives I’d spoken to the previous day, appeared. She did a double take when she saw my cousin, her mouth quirking into a smile.

“What are you doing here?”

Costa swung an arm around my shoulder, tugging me against his side. “Moral support. I hear you’ve got my cousin’s partner in lockup. That’s not cool, Lisa.”

The detective huffed and glanced over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “We didn’t do that. Local police have their panties in a twist, but a lot more has come to light. He’s in an interview room,” Lisa said to me. “We’re going to chat again. Care to join us?”

I eagerly nodded.

“I’ll wait here,” Costa said.

I followed Lisa Jenkins to a different room than we’d used the previous day. Inside were Constable Hercules—looking like he’d been up all night—a police officer I didn’t know, Isaac Piggot—Lisa’s partner—and Diem. Delaney and Irvin were not present, so I assumed they were in a different interview room.

Diem looked worn out, face pinched in pain and exhaustion. He needed meds, and I was sure no one had bothered offering him so much as a single Tylenol. His eyes brightened when he saw me, and I chose the chair beside him.

“Are you okay?” he mumbled.

“Yeah. Costa rescued me.”

He grunted and moved his injured hand to my thigh. I found the tips of his fingers where they poked out of the cast and held them.

Isaac Piggott dropped Weston’s library copy of The Crimson Veil onto the middle of the table, pages still marked. “This was mind-bending,” the detective said. “I’m not a fast reader, but I downloaded the audiobook and spent all night listening and taking notes.”

His gaze landed on Diem and me. “Impressive discovery. We got a tip yesterday afternoon from Doyle back home saying you two suspected the books were related to real murders. We’ve connected the three bodies found in the Port Hope area to three books in this series. This one”—he tapped the cover of the hardback in question—“makes four, and it’s the most eye-opening.”

Isaac consulted a notepad. “I didn’t finish the book, but here are some interesting details that bind our fictional killer with our person of interest. First off, he calls himself a family man. He describes how easy it is to blend into normal life when people see you as a loving father. He talks about his two children and how he wants to teach them everything he knows. He talks about the woman who birthed his children, how he thought she could be part of the plan, and how on their wedding day, he gave her the gift of honesty and told her about the life they could live together. How she rejected him. How he killed her. How he used her death as a stepping stone to teach his children family values. He talks about giving her body to god since she believed in him so fervently. Hence, the churchyard. We did not find the victim holding a ring, but he didn’t always detail everything exactly. The dress was white, not crimson, but she did wear a veil. Crimson could represent her death.

“In the book, the killer invents a story of having been left at the altar. His wife ran away, leaving him to raise his children alone.”

Piggott looked up from his notepad and scanned the people around the table. “Considering we found Hugh Abercrombie in the cemetery with his dead wife, a conviction seems inevitable. Anything in the cabin that might have connected him to these books was destroyed, but—” He pinned Constable Hercules with a look.

Hercules shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “But we’ve had continuous reports over the past two years from a man in town who raved about a killer in a cabin. He told us repeatedly he was out there writing his books and getting away with it. We looked into it a few times early on but decided it was the ravings of a drunken—”

“Old man McConaughy,” I interrupted. “He was in those woods. He pointed a rifle at us. His dog tried to eat me. He knew?”

Diem squeezed my fingers.

Piggott, Jenkins, and Hercules shared a look. It was the constable who spoke. “We think he might have suspected something.”

“The books are published under Publishaven. McConaughy used to work for them,” Diem said.

“And we believe he was familiar with Ambrose Whitaker’s work,” Jenkins said. “He might not have originally known who was behind the pseudonym, but we figure he put it together and tried to warn us.”

“Except you don’t listen to raving drunks, do you?” Diem’s question was more of a statement, and it was aimed at Hercules.

“We’re bringing McConaughy in for questioning,” Jenkins said.

“Weston marked several pages in that novel.” I gestured to The Crimson Veil . “We think he also put it together and told Londyn. Londyn told Loyal, and—”

“We’re working on that too,” Piggott said. “The twins have yet to be located, but their involvement isn’t in question. We know enough from these books that Hugh was teaching both children his trade. It alone suggests Weston’s fall into the river was not an accident. Abercrombie isn’t talking. He’s waiting for his lawyer, who is coming up from Toronto once the storm passes. The kids can’t have gone far. Not in this weather. We have an APB out on them. They’ll be searching every rest stop in both directions along the highway. We’ll find them.”

“In the meantime,” Jenkins added, “we’d like to combine our notes with everything you discovered. The pictures you took at the cabin would be helpful, and we’d like you to make a report about the fire,” she said to me.

I didn’t have to think and blurted, “I’ll do anything you want, but you need to drop the charges against Diem.”

“No,” Hercules said. “Impossible.”

Jenkins glanced at her partner, who gave her a subtle nod. To me, she said, “We’ll sort something out.”

Hercules spat curses as we were escorted to the front of the building. Diem had to fill out paperwork, but they let him go. Costa took us for breakfast and ensured we had lodging at a standard motel before heading back to Toronto.

***

Two days later, Diem and I found ourselves on the Mandels’ couch. The complex layers of the case were slowly unfolding, and Weston’s attempted murder was no longer in question. The Port Hope police in conjunction with Toronto homicide were finding answers.

With a lawyer, Hugh was more cooperative. The evidence against him was strong, and the best he could hope for was a lighter sentence if he played nice.

The twins had been located that morning and were being brought in for questioning, both under suspicion for Weston’s murder.

“The police say that Loyal will definitely be arrested, if not for killing Weston then for aiding and abetting his father. They’re confident they can get a confession, if not from him then from his sister.” Delaney abandoned her untouched coffee and wrung her hands. “It’s… It’s so hard to wrap my head around such violence, and to think…” She trailed off as new tears glistened in her eyes.

Diem stared at the floor, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was an emotional meeting, and the poor guy was clearly struggling to know how to proceed.

In a show of silent support, I moved my knee against his, hopefully calming his jitters. “I hope knowing the truth helps you move on. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Delaney blew her nose. “We’ll be… saying our goodbyes once I hear back from the police. Weston would thank you too.” She glanced at her husband.

Irvin cried silently from a lone chair at the side of the room, his face buried in his hands. He had not wanted to believe his son was murdered. I hoped the couple could forgive each other and move forward. They had suffered enough.

“Mr. Krause?”

Diem lifted his head, meeting Delaney’s sad gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You took a mighty big chance on me. I’m sure I sounded like a raving lunatic on the phone, but you came, and you didn’t give up. You have my gratitude.”

“Mine too,” said a choked-up Irvin. “I’m so sorry I was an ass. Forgive me.”

Diem nodded, ducking his head. “I’m glad we could… give you… closure.”

Delaney held out a folded piece of paper to Diem. He glanced at it skeptically. She shook it. “Please. Take it.”

It was a check, and when he unfolded it and read the number, his lips parted. “I…” Shaking his head, he offered it back. “This is too much. I can’t accept this.”

“You can, and you will. It’s the least I can do, Mr. Krause. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”