Page 87 of A Breath of Life
I heard the woman and Diem exchange goodbyes, so I spun the computer around, ensured the notebook was out of sight, and resumed working.
Diem returned, and I felt the heat of his gaze as he rounded the desk and sat. I didn’t look up, feigning absorption in my task.
“Another job?” I asked, pleasant and innocent as can be.
“Care to wager a guess?”
“Oh, I know this one. Suspected infidelity.”
“Ding, ding, ding. Give the man a prize.”
I huffed a laugh. “Shocking.”
“I gave her an intake form. She’ll bring it back tomorrow. Did you find anything else on Janessa?”
“Not yet.”
Seemingly satisfied, Diem turned to his computer.
Once he was distracted, I opened my phone, pretending I’d received a text from Memphis. I sat back, keeping the device out of his line of sight as I located the picture I’d taken.
I blew it up so I could continue to read it.
Names. Descriptions. The vague impression of a room and its contents. A musty corridor? A concrete landing? A wooden door with carvings?
I had a niggling sense of what I held but read further to be sure. Lower on the page, Diem noted bits and pieces of conversation, and although it didn’t flow, I understood enough for the bottom to drop out of my stomach.
He’d been captured by these people. Kidnapped. Held prisoner. Echo too.
They’d tied him up. Beat him. Threatened him. How? Why?
From what I could tell by the bits and pieces he’d written, these people wanted Clarence and had kidnapped Diem to secure his help in finding him. But why Diem? He didn’t know Clarence. Before that night in the alley, we’d never met the guy. If they wanted a PI, why not contact us through the proper channels?
I was missing something.
No wonder Diem was out of sorts and jittery. No wonder he constantly checked the windows and the rearview mirror when he drove.
I stared at the card looped around his wrist and the deep worry lines marking his forehead. I stared at the bruises and swelling along his broken nose. They wanted Clarence. I understood how Clarence connected with the card, but how did these other people fit? Was it the card they were after? No. If so, Diem would have happily given it to them. But if the whole ordeal was unrelated to the card, then why did these people want Clarence? I was running in circles. No amount of straining made it make sense.
I considered the open tabs on Diem’s computer. His recent paranoia. The man who followed us the previous day. My boyfriend’s recent warnings that I was to go nowhere alone. The knife hidden under his pant leg. The gun under his pillow, and yes, I’d discovered that too when I woke up without him.
The Bishop. I’d met the Bishop. When was that?
After we’d come in contact with the card but before the kidnapping.
What other information did I have?
Detailed descriptions of a room, furniture, a hallway, and a wooden door. Subway maps. Old Toronto.
It hit me like a two-by-four to the face.
Diem was trying to figure out where he’d been held. Of course he fucking was. These people had hurt him. Threatened him. They wanted Clarence.
Why Clarence?
Fuck me. My brain hurt.
Before I could consider the consequences of my actions or deduce why Diem might be keeping any of this from me, I blurted, “I ran into the Bishop the other day. Literally. He popped up out of nowhere, and I almost spilled my coffee on him. Now I’m starting to think it was choreographed. He kidnapped you. Beat you. Who’s this Consigliere? Why do they want Clarence? How does the card fit into this? Why are you not telling me anything?”
