Roger leaned back, eyeing me. “Are you still in love with him?”
I frowned. “I’m not sure I ever was. I liked him—a lot actually. I suppose that goes without saying. It hurt when we decided to call it quits but it was what it was.”
“You trust him, though, despite that. You wouldn’t have come to him for help if you didn’t. What would you have done if he’d turned you down?”
“Run for the hills,” I replied sardonically. “It’s not like I’ve got anything to tie me here and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“No kidding. Like I said earlier, we’re going to get you out of this.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, getting up. “I’m going to leave you here since I’ve got a job I have to get to, setting up security for one of our new clients. Trent will let you know when the police are gone.”
After he left, I thought about what he’d asked me. Was I in love with Trent? Despite my denying it, had I been when we were together? In the end, when we decided to split up, neither of us fought it. It was, as we both knew, the result of our being so different. Could we have made it work if we’d put our hearts into it? Other people have. Would I be willing to try again, if I had the chance? Would he? Not that we’ll find out. As I’d told myself last night, if we were different back then, that was twice as true now. So, yeah, if we can prove I didn’t kill Pender I’ll walk away. If we can’t, it’ll be a moot point because I’ll either be in jail or on the run for the rest of my life.
* * * *
About twenty minutes after Roger had left me in his office there was a knock on the door. I opened it to see Trent standing there.
“They’re gone, so let’s go back to my office.”
“Did they give you the third degree about me?” I asked as we walked down the hallway.
“Not sure it was that, but they did ask a lot of questions, even though I told them I hadn’t seen you in over two years. They wanted to know your habits, who you used to hang out with, if I knew why you were homeless, the usual fact-finding foray on their part.” He chuckled. “They now know you drink your coffee black, you hate wearing anything fancier than jeans and work shirts, you’re an avid reader, and that there isn’t anything you can’t fix when it comes to plumbing.”
We’d barely sat down when a young man came into the office. I knew it was Ben from our earlier introductions. He handed Trent what looked like a printout, saying, “The expert strikes again. We’ve got a name to go with the man in the photo you sent me.”
“Good work,” Trent replied. He scanned the paper then told me, “His name is Floyd Seaver. He’s one of Norman Wilson’s personal bodyguards.”
“Who’s Wilson?” I asked.
“I guess you don’t follow the news,” Trent said. “He’s an up and coming politician who’s running for city council against the present incumbent.”
“Why would he need a bodyguard?”
“Because he’s a politician?” Ben replied with a sarcastic grin.
Trent shook his head, then told me, “He’s on the side of the high-density developers who want to put up multi-story apartment complexes in areas which are now family neighborhoods.”
“I can see why some people might be upset about that,” I replied. “But why would one of his bodyguards be in the photo with Pender? Was Wilson at the event?”
“Something we need to find out,” Trent said, going to the page where we’d found the photo. A moment later he said, “No, he wasn’t. Trust me, they’d have made sure to list him and photographed him if he had been. So why was Seaver there? I guess I know what our next step will be. Finding out if there’s a connection between Pender and Wilson.”
“Do you want me to get on it?” Ben asked.
“If you would.” When Ben left, Trent grumbled, “I swear, I need another ten hours in a day to get everything done I have to.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked. Not that I knew the first thing about what it took to run a detective agency, but I figured I’d offer.
“I wish,” Trent replied. “Unless…I know you know your way around online retail sites. You used to spend time on them back when.” He smiled, obviously remembering. “Looking for books. Anyway, I’ve got a list of items I need to order, to restock what we install for our customers who want or need security. How would you feel about placing an order for me?”
“No problem.” I had the feeling it was busy work, but it would free up some of his time and it might be interesting to see what they used. He gave me the list and set me up at his second computer, which was on a smaller desk in one corner of his office.
I was halfway through the list when Trent said he was leaving for lunch and asked if I wanted him to bring something back for me. I almost said I’d go with him, before realizing that wasn’t an option. “Sure. Where are you going?”
“To the sandwich shop down the street.”
“If they have corned beef, I’ll take one.”
“They do. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
He was. The sandwich was delicious, but then it had been a long time since I’d eaten anything that hadn’t come from a dumpster, other than cheap burgers, tacos, or hotdogs, so I might be exaggerating how good it was.
I’d finished placing his order before he returned, so all he needed to do was pay for it, which he did. Then, with nothing else he needed help with, I went back to reading the book on what it took to successfully go into hiding.
It was mid-afternoon when Ben came into the office. “I’m not certain it’s a connection,” he told Trent, handing him some printouts, “but it is interesting.”
“Verbal report, please. That way Charlie will know, too.”
“Okay. Part one. Pender has a daughter, or rather would have had one except the mother put her up for adoption right after she was born. This is a copy of the birth certificate.” He tapped one of the papers Trent had spread out on the desk.
“You said he wasn’t married,” I said to Trent.
Trent arched an eyebrow. “It is possible to have kids without a marriage license.”
“I know that. Damn. What I meant was, how could the mother put her up for adoption without his consent?”
“It happens more often than you might think. Maybe he wasn’t willing to acknowledge the child and the mother didn’t want to raise her on her own. Maybe his relationship with the mother was toxic and she was afraid for the child. It’s possible he didn’t know about her until after the adoption, although from what Ben said, I doubt that, unless the mother didn’t put his name on the birth certificate. Which she did,” Trent added, after checking.
“So where is the child now?” I asked Ben.
“It was a closed adoption. I’m still digging to see if I can find out. But, and this is where it gets interesting, Wilson and his wife adopted a girl at almost the same time Pender’s daughter was put up for adoption. That was eight years ago.”
“It’s a leap in logic to think it’s the same girl,” Trent said. “But you’re right, it is interesting, considering it’s Wilson’s bodyguard standing in the background in the group photo with Pender. Keep digging, Ben. See if you can get into her adoption records. Oh, and check to see if the adoption was through a legitimate agency or a private organization.”
“Will do.”
When Ben left, I said, “What if Pender found out that Wilson adopted his daughter and wanted her back?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. If it was private, not through an agency, there’s a possibility it wasn’t legitimate. Maybe the mother wanted to get rid of her, her birth name is Kailee by the way, without Pender knowing where she went.”
“That definitely makes it sound as if he might have been an abuser. Who was she? I mean the mother.”
Trent checked. “Darlene Marie Harrison.” He whistled softly. “DOB, 1984, meaning she was sixteen in 2000, when the baby was born.”
“Oh, boy.
So she would have been underage when Pender had sex with her.”
“Exactly. It makes me wonder if he pushed her into giving up Kailee, and then regretted it later and began searching for her.”
“Is Darlene still around somewhere?” I asked.
Trent turned to his computer, went online, and ran a search. Again, he whistled. “Presuming this is the same Darlene, and the full name and age matches, she was arrested more than once for soliciting and dealing drugs between twenty-oh-one and twenty-oh-five, when her body was found in an alley. She died from an overdose.”
“Poor kid.” I thought of some of the girls I’d been sort of friendly with on the streets. Too many of them ended up the way Darlene had. “All right, this is just supposition, but…She thinks he loves her, which is why she didn’t get an abortion. Or maybe he didn’t want her to at first. Then when it’s too late he forces her to put Kailee up for adoption and subsequently abandons her. I’m betting her family knew nothing about their affair, and she was too embarrassed or afraid to tell them what happened, so she left. Or she did tell them, without naming the father, and they kicked her out. Either way, she ended up homeless, trying to support herself the only way she knew how.”
“Definitely a possibility,” Trent agreed sourly. “If it is the case, Pender deserved what he got, even though the reason he was murdered wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, of course. Let’s presume that he started making a name for himself afterward, and then for some reason decided he wanted Kailee.”
I snorted. “Probably to enhance his image as the dedicated entrepreneur and all-around good guy. When he does find her, he lets Wilson know he’s going to fight for custody. Would he have stood a chance of winning?”
Trent went back online to find out. “According to this, he could have filed an objection to the adoption within a few weeks of Kailee’s birth, at which point he might have won parental rights.” He moved to another site. “Here it says he might be able to sue for custody and take the child away from the adoptive parents at any time. Of course, suing and actually gaining custody are two different things, but if he threatened to do that, and Wilson wasn’t willing to take the chance he’d win…” Trent spread his hands.
“Murder does seem pretty extreme.”
“It’s amazing what some people will resort to, to keep a child they love safe.”
“And what they’ll do to their kids to punish them for perceived sins, or because they think they’re disobedient,” I replied sourly. “The kids living on the streets are a testimony to that.”
“I know. It sucks. Right now, though, we have to wait and see what Ben finds out. We could be way off base about Wilson’s connection to Pender’s murder, especially if he wasn’t the one who adopted Kailee.”
“We know he’s connected somehow, for some reason. Seaver’s the one who hired me to deliver the message that didn’t exist, and he’s Wilson’s personal bodyguard.”
“He could have been working on his own, or for someone else,” Trent pointed out.
I nodded. “True, I guess.”
We left it at that and I went back to my reading until Trent said it was time to leave for the day.
Chapter 5
The story of Pender’s murder was still an item on the news, with my picture front and center as the killer. As a result, Trent insisted on moving me again. When he said that, I had the feeling he intended to take me to his place. Not an idea I was in favor of on several levels. First off, it would put him in danger—legally if the cops found out, and physically if Seaver and Wilson wanted me out of the picture before I could tell my story to the police. Unless they were very stupid, they had to figure I might be able to describe Seaver.
The other reason was personal. I didn’t want to find myself in a position where my old feelings for Trent blossomed again. Not, as I said, that I ever loved him—I don’t think. But damn, we were good in bed. Even thinking about it now made my cock start to harden. Not a good thing, since I doubted he felt the same.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to worry. There was an ex-client of his who had told him, after Trent and the agency had successfully taken care of his very difficult problem, that if Trent ever needed a place to get away for a few days or a week, to let him know. It seems he owned a one-bedroom condo in an exclusive high-rise close to downtown. He used it for business clients who came into town and preferred something other than a hotel room. If it wasn’t occupied, it was Trent’s for however long he needed it. Trent called him and found out it was available.
We left his office suite the same way we’d gotten to it—walking up two flights then taking the elevator down to the parking garage.
“Wait there,” Trent said when we got off the elevator, pointing to a recess which led to the door to the fire stairs.
I did, and watched as he checked his car for bugs, trackers, or any other additions he didn’t want, like a bomb of some sort, I suspected. Not a happy thought. Apparently everything was okay because he beckoned for me to join him. I huddled in the passenger seat, keeping my head down, as we drove to the high-rise. We ended up in another parking garage. This time we didn’t bother with any subterfuge involving stairs, but went straight up to the condo, which was a good thing since it was on the tenth floor.
“Damn,” I said when we walked in. “I’m going to feel so out of place here.”
There was a living room with windows that went up to the vaulted ceiling two stories above. Off it, separated by a dining counter, was a modern kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. A small dining room was on the other side of the kitchen. The bedroom was above the kitchen and dining area, in what was essentially a loft, with stairs beside the dining room leading to it. There was a railing where the fourth wall would have been in the bedroom, allowing me to look down into the living room when I got up there.
I dropped my backpack on the king-sized bed and went back downstairs to check out the exterior balcony, which was accessible from the living room by French doors. It had a great view of the city. I breathed deeply, telling Trent, “I can have fresh air without worrying that anyone will see me up here. I won’t be cooped up, like at the motel.”
“You’ll be a lot safer, too.” He took me back inside to show me where the security box was and give me the code. “You don’t let anyone in unless you know them,” he cautioned.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I know you’re not.” He smiled. “I’m good at stating the obvious sometimes.”
“I remember,” I replied with a small grin.
Our gazes met for a moment and it seemed as if he was going to say something more—something personal. Then he turned away. “I better get going. I’ll call you before I come to pick you up in the morning. There should be plenty of food. Feel free to eat what you want.”
“Does he always keep the kitchen stocked?”
Trent nodded. “Like I said, he uses it for out of town clients. Most of it will be fancy frozen dinners in the freezer, from what I remember, and pasta, canned goods, and what have you in the cupboards.”
“As long as there’s coffee, too, I’ll survive.”
“There is. You didn’t look, but there are two rooms off that hallway—” he pointed to it. “A small office and a laundry room. I think he’d got books in the office.”
“Then I’m set.” I paused. “Look, thanks for doing this. You didn’t have to. I would have been fine in another cheap motel.”
“Maybe, but you wouldn’t have been safe, which is more important.”
There was something in the tone of his voice that sounded as if he really cared. Something above and beyond his need to keep me protected on a professional level until we figured out who had killed Pender, and could prove it. Of course I was probably reading more into it than was there. I decided I undoubtedly was, fortunately—or unfortunately. I wasn’t certain which.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I said.
“Sometime around eight,
but as I told you, I’ll call first.”
I nodded, and when he left I set the security. Then, since I could, I gathered up all my clothes, including what I’d been wearing, and took them into the laundry room. I didn’t own much, but at least when I was finished everything would be clean. Not something that happened too often while I was on the streets, other than for the basics. Laundromats cost money which was better spent on food as far as I’d been concerned.
While everything was washing, I settled down with a novel I found on the office bookshelves, after I made coffee. When it was time to put the clothes in the dryer, I popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. It was cooked when I returned to the kitchen, so I ate it sitting at the counter, my nose buried in the book.
Half an hour later, I took my dry clothes into the bedroom, folded them, and put them in the dresser. They took up all of one drawer, with room to spare.
“Pretty pitiful,” I muttered. But it was what it was.
I showered, and like the previous night at the motel, I stood under the hot water until it began to cool before washing. The towels were so clean and white and soft I was almost afraid to use them to dry off—but I did, of course.
I got into bed, dreading the day when all this ended and I was back on the streets again. “Or in jail,” I said under my breath, “if things don’t work out the way we hope.” I chuckled. “If I do, I’ll have three meals a day and a bed.” Not that I wanted to end up there. Living on the streets wasn’t great by a long shot, but at least I had my freedom.
* * * *
Trent picked me up just before eight the following morning, as promised.
“Clean clothes,” he commented when I got into the car. “Even if they are well-worn.”
“There’s that ‘tell it like it is’ thing, again,” I replied, chuckling.
He shrugged and smiled as he pulled out of the parking space in the garage. We drove in silence on the way to his office. He was probably thinking about everything he had on his agenda for the day. I was wondering what I could do to keep busy and out of his hair. Probably nothing, I figured, glad I’d brought along the book I’d started last night.
Framed for Murder Page 4