What Have You Done(52)

“She told me.”

“Come inside. We can all talk about this together.”

Liam shook his head. “No way. I don’t want her knowing I was following her. I feel like an ass as it is.”

Sean walked across the porch and gently grabbed his brother by the arm. “Come inside, and we can talk this all out.”

“No. I’m serious. I can’t.”

“Get in the house, Liam. You both need this.”

Liam yanked his arm away and pushed past Sean. “I said no. You go talk to her and be everyone’s hero like always. I don’t want to be part of your therapy session. Not today.”

“Is this about what I said yesterday? Look, I’m sorry. I was drinking, and I acted like an idiot.”

Liam hurried down the driveway and into the street. “You tell her I was here, and you’ll regret it. You got that?”

“Come back,” Sean pleaded. “We can talk. All of us.”

Without another word, Liam turned and ran from the house. Fear, anger, anxiety, and confusion balled in his stomach to the point he thought he might be sick. He got back into his car and drove away.





39

The bar was off the Walt Whitman Bridge on the outskirts of South Philadelphia. Liam didn’t know the name of it and didn’t much care. He sat in the corner next to a pool table that looked like it hadn’t been used in more than a decade. The felt was ripped, the pool sticks were missing, and only half the balls were scattered across the top. The rest of the place was in the same condition. A cluster of patrons sat around a dirty bar, and another small group of friends huddled around a table near the restrooms, which had curtains instead of doors. The wallpaper above the mounted television in the center of the dining area was torn and fell across half the screen. It was the perfect place to disappear and think. He had to think.

He’d left Sean’s house and driven down 295 with thoughts crashing in on themselves, one after the other. By the time he’d focused on where he was, he realized he’d driven halfway over the bridge into the city. He’d turned onto the first street he came upon after crossing into Philadelphia and had seen the half-lit sign for the bar he now sat in. Instead of turning back around to head home, he’d pulled into the bar’s parking lot and shut off the engine. The rest of the night had been spent looking down at the bottom of his mug.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d talk with Vanessa and then with Sean, and he’d try to set things straight again. That was the best he could do at this point. Perhaps he should’ve gone inside when his brother asked him to, but that ship had sailed. He’d missed his opportunity and could now only wait until tomorrow to start anew.

“I knooow you.”

Liam looked up to find a short, pudgy man swaying back and forth as he stood over his table, a drink in his fat hand, a stupid grin on his face. He looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

“I said I knooow you.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“You’re one of those cops from my hotel who came to clean up the girl from B11.”

Now Liam recognized him. It was the hotel owner. Guzio something or something Guzio. Aside from being more than a bit tipsy, the man looked about the same as when he’d seen him that night at the Tiger. Liam wondered if he slept in his clothes.

“I get my place back tomorrow,” Guzio slurred. “Get you friggin’ cops out of there so I can reopen. I got money to make. People in this city are relying on me. They need my hotel to open. They need me.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“You find the killer yet?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Sick bastard.” Every time Guzio spoke, he bumped into Liam’s table and splashed some of his drink onto the floor. “You see the way she was all carved up like that? Crazy.”

Liam pushed his mug to the side and leaned back in his chair. “I really can’t talk about an open investigation. You have yourself a nice night.”

“Hanging up there like a rag doll. Blood all over the place. You know, it cost me a pretty penny to scrub that blood off the carpet. Rug guy says I should replace the whole room, but screw that! Saved a ton of dough getting my boys to scrub it. Left a little stain, but no one would know what it is. We all have our secrets, right?”

Liam closed his eyes, and all he could see was the scene from the hotel again. Kerri, the blood, the paper flowers.

“Cops and detectives been back and forth a bunch of times. In and out. Always asking the same questions. I just want my place back. I gotta make some money! Been closed too long. Just ’cause that bitch gets cut up and hanged don’t mean I can keep losing money.”

Liam shot up from his seat and stood over the short, sweaty man. They were inches apart. “I told you I can’t talk about an open investigation,” he sneered. “I think it’s time for you to go away.”

Guzio’s face contorted and twisted as if he’d just sucked on a lemon. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. Go away.”

Guzio backed up a step, and more of his drink splashed onto the floor. “You don’t tell me what to do. Cop or no cop, you don’t tell me what to do.”