by Robin Mahle
If an alarm had sounded, it no longer did and since no cops had roared into the parking lot, she figured they weren’t going to now. Allison needed proof and a lot of it. Proof as to what in the hell she’d stepped into. At the very least, Boyce’s home address was probably in this place somewhere. She could go to his home and tell him what had happened. All of this was under the assumption Boyce was still alive. And despite her current surroundings, she refused to allow any other option to enter her mind. Since she was making assumptions, she assumed Boyce was smart enough to know if someone might have been after him. He was a private investigator and had probably helped to put away some bad guys. Maybe one had come back. Or maybe this was all tied to Harlan Goodfellow.
She used the light on her phone to guide her through the small office. It had been turned upside down. Papers were strewn around, chairs overturned, computers broken on the floor. The perpetrators had been thorough. If they wanted to scare Boyce, this would send a fairly compelling message.
Allison came across a row of filing cabinets in the back that appeared untouched, which made her think this incident was more of a warning than a search for something Boyce might have in his possession. Her first thought was to look for the corporate papers. They would most likely contain Boyce’s home address.
She opened the drawers and discovered mostly closed case files. “Come on. Where’s your address.” Her fingers worked fast to thumb through the tabs, but nothing. She was onto the next drawer.
The entire parking lot of the strip mall was empty except for her blue Honda. It needed to stay that way. Evidence could mount against her considering she fled the scene of a crime and entered a place that had been ransacked. It was damning enough to raise the eyebrows of overzealous detectives. And coupled with the shooting, it would firmly put her in the number one spot for suspect of the day.
“Got it!” She ripped the file from the drawer and eyed the papers. “This is it.” Allison took a picture of Boyce’s address and returned the file.
The first rule of being a good investigator was to leave nothing behind. Allison walked to a kitchenette and yanked several paper towels from a holder. With meticulous steps, she wiped down everything she had touched until working her way back toward the entrance.
A final wipe down of the door frame and Allison was back outside heading to her car. Next stop—Tommy Boyce’s house.
It was well beyond Allison’s bedtime to be sure. She was exhausted from the adrenaline that had exploded in her veins and the life-altering decision she had made to leave Channelside. Now, as she arrived at the home of the man who had given her this assignment, she second-guessed herself. What if his family was there and she scared the pants off them by showing up so late at night? “I’ll try again.” She called his number and hoped for the best. The line rang while she peered at the front door of the house. When the voicemail message began again, Allison hung up. “Well, this can’t wait any longer.” She tugged on the car door handle ready to open it when her phone rang. The screen lit up and she immediately answered. “Shane? Oh my God, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear from you. Listen…”
He cut her off. “Allison, where are you?”
She hesitated. “Um, in New Tampa.”
“You need to come down to the station.”
This didn’t sound like the same man who joked about staring at her ass only a day ago. “Shane, what’s wrong?” As if she didn’t already know the answer.
“Where were you around 9 pm tonight?” He asked.
Her heart skipped. “Are you asking because you don’t know or are you asking for confirmation?”
“This is serious, Allison. Where were you earlier tonight?”
She unleashed a deep sigh. “I was in Channelside. Can you please tell me what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“I should be asking you the same thing. They traced the 911 call back to you, Allison.”
The 911 call she made in front of Goodfellow’s apartment building. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would trace it back to her phone. It put her at the scene and identified her as the one to alert the authorities before anyone else.
“You need to come in. Now. I need to know everything before you talk to the detective in charge.”
“Are they both dead?” She asked.
“They’re dead. The sooner I know what happened the better I can help you.” Shane ended the call.
Allison couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. How had this all gone so horribly wrong? And now she was sitting in front of the home of the man who sent her to that apartment in Channelside. His office had been ransacked. He wasn’t answering his phone. She had no other way to reach him except to knock on that door right now. Tommy Boyce might be the only person who could clear up all of this.
Her mouth was dry and the rest of her was drenched in sweat from the muggy night air. Allison stepped out of her car and approached the home. No porch light burned. No lights were on inside. She would awaken everyone in that house, but the hope that Boyce could help and especially now with Shane demanding she go to the station, Allison needed information.
Allison rapped gently on the door. A moment later she tried again, a little louder this time. Finally, a faint light shone from behind the closed blinds in the front window. Locks on the door were being unlatched. It opened a fraction of an inch.
“Yes?”
Allison spotted the face of a young woman, a teenager maybe. “My name is Allison Hart. I’m looking for Mr. Boyce. I work for him.”
“My dad’s not here,” the girl said.
“Do you know where he’s at? I tried his phone but he’s not answering.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. He said he was working late tonight.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry to bother you. If you see him, could you tell him I stopped by? It’s important I speak to him as soon as possible.”
“What was your name again?” The girl asked.
“Allison Hart.” She reached into her bag and grabbed an old business card and with a pen, she scribbled on it. “Here’s my number.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.” She slowly closed the door.
Allison stood on the porch as though Boyce would somehow open the door and reveal answers to all her questions. But that wasn’t going to happen. She had no choice except to go to the station and see Shane. How he knew about any of this she had no idea but then he was chummy with the other detectives as he tried to work his way up the ranks. Regardless, Allison needed help and Shane was offering.
The lights of the downtown Tampa Police Station shone brightly against the skyline. Most of the high-rise office buildings were nearer to the bay and channel. This was only one of several stations dotted throughout the city and was nearest to the courthouse. That was how Allison met Shane “Sully” Sullivan. The fraud cases she exposed sometimes required her to attend court hearings for the offenders. Shane was still a beat cop the day Allison met him.
It was about a year after her divorce when she had really buried herself in her work. It kept her mind occupied and her dedication brought promotions quicker than others in her field.
A case was due to be heard in front of a judge and Allison walked in dressed in a knee-length skirt and black stilettos, donning one of her now-signature sleeveless button-down blouses. She was about to enter the courtroom when a younger man approached in his uniform.
“Excuse me, Miss.”
She had stopped and turned to see this young cop and at first glance felt a bolt of electricity. “Yes?” She noticed he held in his hand a folded piece of paper.
“Is this yours?” He had asked.
She glanced at it and recognized the handwriting on the paper to be hers. “Yes, it is. Thank you.” It was a good thing he’d picked it up. The paper had written on it a sum of money the claimant had defrauded from the state as well as personal information on the individual.
“Any time.” He offered his hand. “I’m Officer Shane Sulli
van.”
“Allison Hart. Nice to meet you.” She returned the greeting.
And they became fast friends after that. The spark of electricity she had felt that day was fleeting. Allison had come off a painful divorce and was in no mood to date again regardless of the fact that he had asked her several times. Eventually, he realized she would always reject him and he gave up. Their friendship was important to her and over the past few years they’d helped each other out with various cases. She now regarded Shane as a close friend. And if he was telling her she needed to get with him so he could help, then this was probably more serious than she knew.
Allison walked inside the station and spotted Shane at the front desk. He appeared stone-faced and as though he’d been waiting for her arrival. “Hi.”
Shane took her by the arm not forcefully but not gently either. “Let’s go to one of the interview rooms. We don’t have long to talk.” He turned on his heel and started back.
“Are you going to record me or something?” Allison knew where they were going. The interrogation rooms had cameras and recorded everything.
“No. I just need someplace private. Unless you want to talk about this at my desk in the bullpen?”
Several officers and detectives scurried around the bullpen. It was the last place she would want to have this conversation. “No.”
Shane opened a metal door. “Get inside.”
Allison walked in and waited for Shane to turn on the lights and close the door. “Please tell me what’s happening. Things transpired tonight and I don’t know what to do.”
“No shit.” He sat down at the table. “Tell me everything.”
Allison filled him in on nearly all of it. But she left out the one detail that could get her into real trouble. And she would leave out that part until she learned more about what happened to Tommy Boyce and where he was right now.
“Well, the good news is that you didn’t kill those people,” he said dryly.
“Not this time.” Her need to deliver a sardonic retort was what Shane would’ve come to expect but it surprised Allison. “Shane, am I in trouble here?”
“I don’t know. I assume you have pictures. Where’s your camera?”
“Right here.” Allison reached into her carrier bag. “I haven’t looked at the images. I don’t know what I captured yet.”
“That’s probably what’s going to save your ass. But we need to find Boyce so he can back you up. You mentioned you saw a car race out of the parking garage of the building. Do you happen to remember the make and model? And if you got a plate…”
“It was dark and I’ll be honest, I was scared out of my mind. I did have sense enough to get pictures of it until it started coming toward me. Then I pushed into my seat and prayed whoever was driving hadn’t seen me,” she replied.
“Probably the smartest thing you did all night. You might not be here if the driver saw you.”
“Whatever I captured; you’ll find on here.” Allison turned on the digital screen of her camera and opened the files of the pictures from earlier tonight. “Start from here.”
Shane reviewed the images. “It’s a sedan. Silver. Looks like…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. You must’ve been shaking. I can’t tell exactly but it could be a Mercedes.” He looked at her. “We’ll need to have our forensics team see if they can get any better detail.”
“How did you find out about this?” She asked. “Homicide isn’t your department.”
“I was finishing up a report, a detective returned and started talking about the incident, and how 911 traced the cell phone to you.”
“He knew my name?”
“Oh yeah. As soon as I heard ‘Allison Hart,’ my ears perked up. That’s when I figured I needed to get to you first and get the whole story. Those Homicide guys will do what it takes to get answers and they won’t be nice about it. They don’t like private investigators.”
“None of this should’ve happened, Shane. I was there to catch a cheater. Nothing more.”
“And now you’re knee-deep in it, Allison. Look, I’m here for you, okay? This will all be sorted out and you’ll be able to go home soon.”
“What about Tommy Boyce?”
“He’ll have to worry about himself right now.”
6
Detective Francisco Montoya was in charge of the investigation into the murder of Harlan Goodfellow and Mrs. Tracy Diaz. She was the wife of Carlos Diaz, one of Tampa’s wealthiest real estate investors and CEO of a development firm. According to Montoya, Goodfellow was the CFO at that same firm. It was clear to Allison now how the two lovebirds had met.
Her story checked out. Allison handed over her camera’s SD card as well as the file Boyce had given her on Goodfellow. The obvious suspect appeared to be Carlos Diaz. They always suspected the husband. Nevertheless, Allison had been dismissed. She was not going to be a part of this investigation.
“So I can leave now?” It was almost two in the morning and Allison was worn-out.
“Yes, ma’am. You can go. I hope we can count on your continued cooperation should we need anything further,” Montoya said.
“Of course. Anything you need. You have my details.”
Montoya nodded to Shane. “Thanks for your help on this, man.”
“You got it. I’m going to show out Ms. Hart.” Shane pushed off the corner of the desk. “You ready to go?” He eyed her.
“Yes.” Allison stood and retrieved her bag. “Goodbye, Detective Montoya.” And as she started to follow Shane, Montoya called on her again.
“Ms. Hart?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe next time, leave the detective work to the professionals.”
Shane stopped cold as Allison turned deadpan. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” He led her out into the lobby. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just stressed because he’s got a double homicide on his plate. You were doing your job. Nothing more.”
“Sure. My job.” Allison followed him through the doors. The air had grown cool in the early hours and the black sky was clear enough to see a few stars. She reached her car. “What happens now?”
He freed an exhaustive breath. “Nothing. You’ve done your part. It’s up to those guys now.” He thumbed back toward the building.
“What about Boyce? I have to talk to him.” She pressed the remote to open her car door. “I don’t care what that detective has to say, I’m going to find him. He wouldn’t have sent me there last night if he had any inclination...”
“You have a point. Two people are dead. Look Allison, I know what you’re like. You’re very good at what you do but Montoya’s right.”
“You think I should let the professionals do their jobs too?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
She folded her arms. “Then please, enlighten me.”
“Whatever is happening here is obviously dangerous. I think it’s more than you might’ve bargained for. If Boyce did something, the cops will find out about it.”
“Since when do you shy away from anything?” she asked.
“I’m not shying away. Besides, this isn’t my case. I’m trying to protect you.”
Allison pulled open her car door. “I appreciate what you’ve done but I don’t need protecting.” She stepped inside and turned the engine. “You wanna help, great. Otherwise, I’ll do what I need to do.” She pressed her foot on the gas pedal while the car was still in park, making the engine roar, as much as the four-cylinder engine could. It was enough to give him the hint to take a step back.
Shane stepped away and Allison zipped out of the parking lot.
Dawn was only a couple of hours away and Allison stood on her front porch, fumbling for the key to the house. The door opened before she could insert it. Nolan stood on the other side.
“What are you still doing up?” she asked.
“I could ask the same thing about you.” He stepped aside to let her in. “I was about to call the cops, you know.”
&n
bsp; “It wouldn’t have mattered. I was already with them.” Allison walked in and dropped her bag and keys on the side table.
“What do you mean you were with the cops?” Nolan trailed her to the living room. “Mom, what happened? Are you okay?”
She sat down on the couch and raised her hands. “I’m fine. Some stuff happened tonight. Things I wasn’t expecting, and I got caught up in something.”
“Things, stuff, something. What are you talking about? Mom, please, tell me what happened.”
“You know I was given a job by a P.I.”
“Yeah.” He sat down next to her.
“I was doing my thing. Taking pictures, whatever. Then… You know, honey, I don’t need to burden you with this.”
“I’m all grown up now, Mom. You can tell me the truth. Please don’t lie thinking you’re protecting me,” Nolan replied.
“You really aren’t a kid anymore. Okay. The job was for me to catch a guy cheating on his wife.”
Nolan glanced away. He’d discovered all on his own what his father had done that destroyed their family. He overheard something his father had said and that was how he knew. And it looked as though the wound hadn’t healed.
“Anyway.” She tried to brush away the moment. “I was doing my thing and well, there were gunshots.”
“What?”
“Let me finish.” She took in a breath. “The people I was watching were murdered. I didn’t see who did it, only the flashes of light from behind a curtain in the apartment I was watching. Then a car squealed out of the parking garage and I tried to get pictures of it. The cops are handling it now, that’s the important part. I was with them giving a statement.”
“And that’s it? You’re out of it now, right? Not your problem?” Nolan asked.