The Hanged Man (The Braddock & Gray Case Files Book 6) Page 6

  Dez shrugged. “Didn’t. Got canned.”

  Pip’s brows shot up. Impressed. “Oh? Why?”

  “My life was a mess at the time. I was drinking heavy, and I punched out a fellow cop.”

  This time, there was no question of Pip’s smile. “Well done.” His eyes next shifted to Sully. “Know your story. Everyone knows your story.”

  His eyes flitted between the two of them. “I read the papers every day. Habit I picked up in prison. I followed your uncle’s trial. Bitch of a thing he did to the little fella.”

  The little fella being Dez’s five-year-old brother, Aiden. Dez nodded, saying nothing more than, “Yeah.”

  Pip’s gaze shifted, moving toward the row of windows looking out onto the grounds. “Lost a few people myself. Changes a person. Makes them feel things they didn’t know they could. Me, I got angry. Very angry. Ended up in here because of it. Got myself a seventeen-year bit for second-degree murder. Bastard I killed raped and murdered my sister.” A grin formed, free of light. “Things I did to that piece of shit weren’t pretty. Do it all again too.”

  An image formed next to Pip, an attractive young woman with chestnut hair and a blood-stained dress.

  “Do you ever feel her around you?” Sully asked.

  Pip’s eyes shot back to Sully. “You see her?”

  Hoping he wouldn’t find himself staring at the whirling blade of the circular saw, Sully nodded.

  A sheen formed in Pip’s eyes but disappeared just as quickly. A man who’d learned the hard way to control his emotions. Sully guessed showing emotion inside a prison could be dangerous.

  “See her sometimes,” Pip said. “Outta the corner of my eye.” He butted his chin toward Sully. A challenge. “What’s she look like?”

  “Close to your height, maybe an inch or two shorter. Thin. Brown hair cut long and straight. She’s pretty and isn’t wearing a lot of makeup; she doesn’t need to. She’s in a light blue dress, and it’s covered in blood down the front. Someone stabbed her, more than once. You were close. She’s giving me that impression.”

  “Something else,” Pip said. “Something about her face you haven’t told me.”

  Sully met the young woman’s eyes. “Can I come closer to you?”

  She nodded, so Sully approached. He had to get close before he saw it.

  “She’s got a scar, just below the hairline,” he said. “Couple of inches long but not very wide or deep.”

  Pip’s heavy, grief-filled sigh surprised Sully. “Ask her how she got it.”

  “I can’t hear ghosts, only see them.”

  “But they can communicate with you, even so,” Pip said. “I read the papers, remember?”

  Sully forced a smile, returning his gaze to the young woman. “You can show me things if you touch me. Can you show me what your brother’s asking?”

  A slow nod, so Sully put out his hand, palm up. Almost within the same moment, she slid her hand over his.

  8

  The vision hit immediately, transporting him out of the shop and onto a quiet residential street. He recognized the feeling of being a spirit inside a child’s mind and body, surrounded by an energy and excitement he no longer knew.

  Her name was Grace. He knew that much already. Grace was seven and rode a brand-new cherry-red bicycle her mom and dad had bought her for her birthday a few days ago. With this bike, she knew she’d be able to keep up with Charlie.

  Charlie, he was called then, not Pip. Charlie—a wiry kid of ten with a blond crewcut and wearing a horizontally striped T-shirt—was her favourite person in the world, even more than Mom and Dad. She looked up to him, and she wanted him to like her just as much.

  In her house, they had a cat, Butters. She adored Butters and carried him everywhere. Dad hated Butters and put up with him only because Grace and her mom loved the cat. Yet Butters would spend as much, if not more, time rubbing against Dad’s leg and trying to crawl into his lap, only to be pushed away.

  Sometimes with Charlie, Grace felt like Butters.

  Charlie was in the driveway, on his five-speed bike—the kind Grace wanted someday, only in red instead of blue. Grace pushed her bike out behind him, but Charlie rolled his eyes at her and told her to stay home. He pushed away from the driveway, straddled the bike and rode off. Two of his friends, Grace could see, were waiting for him behind Mr. Guenther’s big delivery truck. Those boys always stayed there to wait for Charlie. They knew Mom didn’t like them. They smoked and threw water balloons at the crabby lady down the street. Grace didn’t think Charlie joined in, but she wasn’t sure.

  Late Saturday morning, cartoons over. Grace could think of nothing better to do than to be with Charlie.

  She pushed away from the house, wobbled a little, then found her balance. By the time she came around the side of the big truck, Charlie and his friends were nearly at the end of the block.

  She called out for him to wait. He turned, shaking his head at her. His voice carried on the breeze, telling her to go home. His friends laughed their ugly laughs, goading Charlie on. The boys pushed off and rode through the intersection, toward the next one.

  Grace’s old bike hadn’t been very good, but this one was. She pedalled hard, skinny legs pumping to go faster. Perhaps seeing her, the boys pedalled faster too.

  She called out again for Charlie to wait for her, but he was getting farther ahead.

  She needed to catch up.

  After passing the intersection, she zoomed onto the next block. Vehicles blurred past. Wind pushed through her pigtails and sent the ribbons on her handlebars straight back.

  She was flying. No way she couldn’t catch him now.

  The big road was ahead, the one with all the traffic. Charlie and his friends were there already, and they ignored her as they turned onto it, leaving her behind.

  They were going to the ice cream parlour. She knew it.

  She didn’t let off the pedals, didn’t slow. She knew she was supposed to. Mom had said for her to always check for traffic. But this was more important.

  She couldn’t lose Charlie.

  She reached the intersection. Didn’t slow as she passed the stop sign.

  The last thing she remembered was the heart-stopping screech of brakes.

  Sully’s eyes flashed open. The street was gone, and he was back in the shop, Dez hovering close as he always did during these visions.

  But it was to Pip that Sully’s attention went.

  “Grace,” he said. “That was her name. She was seven; you were ten. She’d just gotten a new bike and she wanted to ride with you. You were with some friends your mom and Grace didn’t like very much. You didn’t want to hang out with her, but she wasn’t giving up. She followed you, and she went past a stop sign without checking for traffic first. She doesn’t remember the actual impact, only heard the brakes.”

  This time, a couple of tears trickled down Pip’s face before he could fight them back. He swiped at his face as if angry at his body’s betrayal. “The scar’s my fault. I was going too fast for her to keep up, and that was the way I wanted it. I wasn’t looking out for her like I shoulda been. Until then, she’d been my annoying little sister. That day changed everything, and we were best friends ever since.”

  He pressed his eyes shut and squeezed at their corners. Sully guessed he was forcing back more tears.

  “She broke a couple’a bones, but the head injury was the scariest part,” Pip said. “I remember all the blood and how she wouldn’t wake up when I went back to her. She was just lying there, so still. I thought she was dead. People kept telling me to go get Mom and Dad, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t leave her.

  “From then on, I always watched out for her. Until that day. The day I wasn’t there.”

  She hadn’t shown Sully that part, and he was happy to go without the image if at all possible.

  “I didn’t ask about it, and I’d rather not see it,” Sully said.

  “No need,” Pip said. “I believe you. You’re right. I feel
her with me, as if she’s not at peace. I feel like she needs something from me, but I can’t help because I can’t hear. Can you ask her?”

  Grace faced Sully and gave him a slow shake of the head along with a smile. He knew without having to ask further. “She’s not here because she needs anything from you, Pip. She’s here because she thinks you need her. You looked out for her, you protected her. When you couldn’t, you killed for her. She’s trying to look out for you now.” He eyed her for confirmation and was rewarded with a nod. Yes, he’d gotten it right.

  A sob escaped Pip. “Oh, God, no, Gracie. You don’t have to stay for me. It was never your job to look out for me.”

  Sully smiled at Pip. “Speaking as a younger sibling, I’m going to have to disagree with you there. It’s not a one-way street.”

  Dez clapped Sully on the back as he addressed Pip. “Yeah, this jerk’s saved my ass more than once.”

  Sully peered at Grace. “Are you unhappy here, with the way things are? You know you can go if you want to. You can still watch over him from the other side.”

  She shook her head. No, she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Sully shrugged as he turned to Pip with a grin. “Guess things haven’t changed much since you were kids. You’re stuck with her. Hope you’re okay with that.”

  Even Pip’s whiskers weren’t enough to hide the grin. “Hell, yeah, I’m okay with that. She’s far better company than what I’ve got to deal with in there.” He blanched suddenly. “The others. Can they see her, interact with her? I don’t want her hurt or scared.”

  Good question. Sully turned to her and received another head shake.

  “She’s telling me no,” Sully said. “I don’t know why it works this way. Maybe it’s about the time people died in or location. Maybe it’s about who or what they’re attached to. But ghosts aren’t always aware of each other, the same way living people aren’t always aware of ghosts. She’s not in any danger.”

  Pip formed an O-shape with his mouth and blew out a breath. “Thank God.” For a moment Sully thought Pip intended to hug him. Instead, he reached out and patted Sully’s cheek. “You got no idea what you’ve done for me, the load you’ve lifted. Thank you. You’re a good kid.”

  “Anytime. And if you ever need any other answers down the road, give me a call.”

  “I appreciate that very much.” Pip cleared his throat, and his face reformed into something closer to his former gruff appearance. “You’ve done me a favour. Now I’m happy to do you one. You’re wondering about this place and the ghosts trapped here.”

  “We’ve got a hell of a lot to get through—especially since we only have a few days,” Dez said. “We’re hoping you might be able to help us narrow things down.”

  “You’re talking about whatever attacked Ed in that cell up on death row?”

  Dez nodded. “It attacked Sully, too, right before we came here.”

  Ed raised a brow. “Did it now? Rather it had gone after one of those stupid TV people.”

  “You’re no fan of theirs either, huh?”

  “Watched a couple’a the shows online after I heard they were coming. Don’t like the way they do things. They treat the dead like something to play with. No respect for any of them. Tell you one thing. Men who lived and died here, they were no angels. Some were real assholes who deserved to die ugly. But they’re stuck here, make no mistake. For better or for worse, this place is their home now. You don’t go into people’s homes and screw with them. You do it to the living, you go to prison for it. Yet somehow, doing the same to the dead is what they call ‘entertainment.’”

  The whiskers formed a frown, and Pip’s eyes darkened beneath lowering brows. “Tell you one thing. Those pricks do anything to upset Gracie, I’ll make them suffer.”

  Sully glanced at Dez, then back at Pip. “Uh, probably a very good idea for you to stay well out of their way when they come here then—although I’d love it if you let Dez and I in if we need to talk to you.”

  “Or escape the TV people ourselves,” Dez added.

  Pip nodded. “Two of you need anything, I’ll be in here—with the doors locked and lights off so they can’t find me or Gracie.”

  Dez smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Can I ask you something? Lots of people taking the tours will be in it for the ghost stories. But you’ve agreed to run those tours.”

  Pip jabbed a thumb toward his own chest. “Right. See, I can run those on my terms. I want people to know the history of the place—the real history, not the fluff the corrections bigwigs trot out. People were hurt here. They died here. And, yeah, as I said, they were no angels. But they were also someone’s son, brother, father, husband. You get what I’m saying?”

  Sully nodded. “We get the picture. Can I ask a little more about the Hell’s Gate ghost?”

  Pip nodded, so Sully continued.

  “Have you ever noticed anything in that cell before?”

  Pip didn’t answer immediately, leaving Sully to wonder. When no answer came immediately, Sully gave him a gentle prod. “Pip?”

  “I don’t often go near those cells. When I do, it’s quick. In and out. Things those cells seen, I don’t want a part of.”

  “Did you know anyone who was executed?”

  Pip shook his head. “By the time I came around here, the executions were over. Last one was back in the sixties. I didn’t come in here until seventy-seven.”

  “Were they still using the cells?” Dez asked.

  “Sure, they were. Overcrowding like we had, they used every space they could get. Usually reserved Hell’s Gate for the scummiest inmates, though—almost like punishment. No one wanted to stay on the old death row, and sure as hell no one wanted Hell’s Gate. Ghosts or no ghosts, the place had a bad vibe.”

  “Did anyone get strangled in there by something unexplainable?”

  “Not that I ever heard. And something like that, we woulda heard. Prisons are small towns. People talk, word spreads. Sometimes nothing more than rumour, but we shoulda heard about it one way or the other. Tell you one thing. Place like that, all steel and concrete, sound travels. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the sounds coming from, but you know what you’re hearing. Screams—let me tell ya, those sounds travel like nothing else you’ll ever hear.”

  “What if the person in the cell couldn’t scream?” Dez said. “When it happened to Sully, the only sound he made was gasps for air.”

  Pip shook his head. “We had our share of suicides here in my day. You might not hear the man die, but you sure hear it from whoever it is finds him. No one dies in a prison in silence.”

  “So what you’re telling us is there’s no way to figure out who’s haunting that cell,” Dez said.

  “Not exactly. It might not be easy, is all. I remember reading you only see homicide victims. I can tell you I’ve heard of a couple of inmates who topped themselves in Hell’s Gate before they were due to be hanged. Dying on their own terms, guess you could say. Could be one of them stayed behind. But if that’s the case, you wouldn’t see him, would you?”

  Sully stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No, I wouldn’t. How about any wrongful convictions in which the person was hanged? Are you aware of any of those?”

  “Haven’t heard of any. Not saying it isn’t possible—it sure is—just wasn’t common knowledge to anyone in here if it happened. One thing you learn fast about prison population: no one ever did nuthin’. Least that was the story eighty-five per cent of those jerks liked to tell.”

  “Not you though.”

  Pip lifted his head. “Had no reason to deny it. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. Truth be told, I wore it like a badge of honour.” He frowned. “I know nothing I’m telling you is providing a lot of help.”

  “At this point in an investigation, every piece of information we can get our hands on helps,” Dez said. “What if we look outside the cell or even death row? How many murders happened here?”

  Pip crossed his arms. “A lot. You cram pe
ople with poor social skills and a propensity for violence into a small space, something’s gonna give. We had gangs in here were at each other all the time. We had tough guys wanting to prove their toughness. We had little guys wanting back at the tough guys who hurt them. We had damn near everyone wanting at the scum sitting on Skinner Alley.”

  “The sex offenders,” Dez said.

  “Mainly the kiddie diddlers, but no one liked the ones who went after women either. I can tell you a few of those bastards died hard.”

  Sully thought back to what he’d seen in the cell. “How did all of those people die?”

  “Lots of stabbings, lots of beatings.”

  “Strangulation?”

  Pip frowned, eyes going back and to the right as if trying to recall. After a few seconds, he returned his gaze to Sully. “I can’t think of nuthin’ like that—and I wouldn’t expect it neither. You strangle a guy, it’s long and it’s hard. Guy’s fighting you the first while. Fighting hard. Then you gotta make sure you don’t let up too soon. If you do, maybe he starts breathing again, else someone happens by and starts him breathing. Read somewhere it takes the brain around six minutes to die without oxygen. You really want to take someone out that way, you’re committing to six minutes. Doesn’t seem like much to most people, but when you got guards coming, it’s not practical.”

  Sully tried not to shudder at the clinical way Pip talked about death. He knew as a former inmate, he’d seen it a lot, enough to have become desensitized to it. But the idea was nonetheless sickening, that people could lose the feeling of horror when faced with homicide.

  “Is that what you did to the man who killed your sister?” Dez asked.

  The truth lay in the darkening of Pip’s eyes. “Wasn’t the only thing.”

  Faced with this bleak and disturbing truth, Sully could think of no way to easily revert to their earlier topic.

  Thankfully, Pip did it for him. “I told you most murders here were bloody ones. Maybe not all, though. Could be there were some matching the sort of thing you’re talking about.”