Hush Hush by Erik Carter (best short novels of all time .TXT) 📗

Jonah stole another cautious look around them, inched closer to Silence. “Gavin Stokes. Carlton’s brother, Amber’s uncle. Moved away eight years ago. Lost touch with Amber, but not by choice.”

Silence cocked his head.

“See, Carlton never liked Gavin’s influence. Amber and Gavin had been close while she grew up, but Carlton thought he was a loser who was dragging Amber down. When Gavin moved to Texas for a teaching gig, Amber was about sixteen, seventeen, getting close to college age, leave-the-house-and-take-on-life age, so Carlton took the opportunity to tell his brother to stop contacting Amber.”

Silence studied Gavin Stokes. The wind tussled his auburn hair, white at the temples. His face remained down-turned, wan with melancholy. He shifted in place, hands plunged into the pockets of a short pea jacket. Gavin Stokes didn’t strike Silence as the bad influence type. More of a warm avuncular type, which was evidently exactly what he had been to Amber.

Silence felt eyes upon him. Turned.

A figure. By the parapet but standing back, far enough out of line with the other individuals that it caught Silence’s attention. And as soon as he turned, the figured disappeared back into the crowd.

He thought of the Honda Accord.

Twenty minutes earlier when he and Jonah had crossed the parking lot of the luxury apartment complex, there had been a silver Accord, idling, at the back corner of the lot nestled among a few other cars as inconspicuously as possible. But idling vehicles always grabbed Silence’s attention.

Especially when they end up tailing you.

The Accord had followed Jonah’s Fiero here to the press conference. The driver had done a damn good job—hovering a suitable distance back, keeping several cars between them—but not good enough. Silence had monitored the Accord in the passenger mirror for the entire journey.

Below, Carlton Stokes spoke.

“Thank you all for joining us here today. As you know, this is an incredibly difficult time for the Stokes family.”

His amplified voice boomed off the surrounding walls, off the gray columns holding I-4 in the air.

“My daughter, Amber, has been missing now for two months. Whatever was going through her head in that early morning on State Road 50, we can only guess. What I do know is that her car was found near a bus station, tickets were purchased that evening in cash, and she had just married a man everyone felt was beneath her, a man who violated her trust. And it’s this very man who’s keeping the story in the press.”

Silence sensed Jonah tense beside him. From his peripheral, he saw the younger man pull in tighter under his jacket.

“That’s why my family is tormented at a time when we’re already suffering enough.”

Stokes’ voice grew louder, cracking in an echo throughout the parking garage.

“That’s why I’ve gathered you here for this press conference, here among the people who have been so good to the Stokes family for so many years.”

With a broad swing of his arm, he gestured to the grand campus of buildings surrounding him, the power and venerability of the police department poured in concrete, chiseled from stone.

“What Mr. Lund implies is that the sordid past of District C11, the district I used to work for as a police officer, is somehow a factor in Amber’s disappearance, that the enemies of the district have somehow taken their revenge, done something horrible to my daughter. Can you imagine? At a time like this, he’s not only implying that something has happened to Amber, his wife, but also tarnishing my honorable service record.”

He paused, and the microphones picked up his deep breath, slow release.

“My daughter is a bride who waited two weeks too long to run away from the altar. My daughter is alive. Amber, if you’re listening … if you’re listening, sweetheart, there are people who love you. We don’t know why you’ve stayed away so long. Everyone just wants to know you’re safe. Come home to us.”

Another pause.

“My daughter is alive. Thank you for your time.”

Stokes stepped back, head lowering, hand going to his eyes. His brother went to him, put his arm around him. The lawyers, too, approached, and the group headed for the tower behind them. The reporters erupted with questions and camera flashes, but the uniformed officers kept them at a distance. The citizens dispersed, heading away from the headquarters, crossing the street.

At the doors of the tower, Gavin Stokes said a few final words to his brother, then turned and headed toward the garage, head lowered, hands in his pockets.

This could be an opportunity.

Silence got Jonah’s attention, pointed over the parapet at Gavin. “We find him. You make introduction.”

The crowd on the top floor parking garage, too, was disbanding, most funneling toward the bulkhead, some finding their vehicles.

And as Silence turned around, he saw the figure, just a shadowy silhouette in the bulkhead’s doorway, looking in his direction before quickly turning and disappearing into the crowd.

On the first floor, people were getting into their cars, engines firing up, a line of traffic slowly snaking to the exit.

A few feet away was Gavin, getting into a dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee. Closer to him, Silence noted more details—thick hair on a mature hairline, very much full of its youthful color—medium brown, almost reddish—until about halfway down his head, at which point it rapidly whitened, especially in the sideburns where it met with the white of his beard.

Jonah called out to him. “Gavin!”

Gavin stopped, looked, keys in hand. His mouth opened when he spotted Jonah.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, looking at the people around them getting into their cars as Silence and Jonah stopped beside him.

Jonah motioned toward Silence. “My, um … associate, Brett, here is helping me.”

Gavin looked at Silence with his sad eyes.

“Nice to meet ya,” he said halfheartedly.

Silence nodded. “Pleasure.”

Gavin gave the standard shocked reaction to Silence’s grotesque voice, followed by the standard attempt at covering up his rudeness. He cleared his throat. “Are you a private dick?”

“Of a sort.”

Usually he would have answered that question with