Blind Vigil by Matt Coyle

Author:Matt Coyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Oceanview Publishing
Published: 2020-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I CALLED TURK after I got off the phone with Kris. She was worried about him and so was I. But I also wanted to talk to him about the tie the police found outside Shay’s apartment and about Shay having dinner with Keenan Powell at Nine-Ten. Respecting his grief and not saying anything negative about Shay was the decent thing to do. But LJPD was possibly only days away from knocking on his door with a warrant. I couldn’t worry about grief and decency. I needed to find the truth. It was the only way to keep Turk out of jail.

He didn’t answer so I left him a message to call me, then texted him. Silence. I gave him an hour then contacted Uber through the app on my phone. The driver dropped me in front of Turk’s house around 10:45 a.m. The sun had been visible, even to my eyes, while I waited to be picked up in front of my house, but was hidden behind the morning haze when I got down to La Jolla. The smell of jasmine reminded me that it flowed down from the pergola above Turk’s front porch.

I knocked on the front door and felt a slight tremor below my feet, then saw a shadow cross by the window in the door. But no answer. I knocked again. This time on one of the windowpanes in the door. Five or six annoying raps. The shadow reemerged and a creak and the whir of air signaled the door whipping open.

“I didn’t return your calls or texts for a reason.” Turk’s baritone voice edged with annoyance. “Just like I ignored everyone else’s. I want to be left alone for a while. You of all people should understand that.”

“I do and I’m sorry to intrude.” I felt as much as saw his hulking presence in front of me blocking entrance to his house. His only remaining sanctuary. His mass was still large and intimidating, but seemed to be less than when I last saw him. Maybe it was just that my improved vision now better defined his outline. Or, maybe he hadn’t eaten since he found Shay’s dead body last week. “But I might not have time to take your feelings into consideration. Let me inside so we can talk.”

“What do you mean you might not have time?” His bulk still blocked entry.

“Let me inside and we can talk about it.”

He moved away and the door squeaked all the way open. I tapped inside with my cane to a dark interior. I didn’t need perfect vision to know that all the curtains were drawn and the lights were off.

I made it over to the sofa and sat down. The stench of whiskey mixed with sweat I’d smelled last week had distilled down to a desperate stink, hanging in the air like invisible fog. No cooking smells or even rotting food. Just desperation, embedded into every texture in the room.

Turk, backlit from gray light coming through the window in the front door, three-legged over to me.

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