Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set

by James Kipling

  “Will the boy on the bicycle receive a reward?”

  Jimmy paused in mock interest. “I want to hear this.” He was smiling.

  “Move your skinny ass,” Davis said. “I can still think up a few things to charge you with.”

  ***

  Ferguson saw Davis’s gesture and felt his stomach churn. He knew what he was doing – what local cops always accused the FBI of doing – glory hogging. Davis had done the work.

  Ferguson was talking the credit.

  He shut down the news conference and went back to his room.

  Alisa was waiting.

  “Hail, the conquering hero cometh,” she said.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s been too long, lover,” she said. “I figured you could use a little stress relief, so I took the train from DC this morning. A very nice bellhop let me in.” She kissed him – a long, wet, deep kiss carrying the promise of more – and anything else – he wanted.

  Alisa opened her blouse to disclose her deep cleavage, rubbed Scott’s crotch, and sunk to her knees. “Time for your reward, hero,” she said.

  Scott’s eyes closed – then opened. He straightened and stepped back. Alisa tumbled forward, barely catching herself.

  “What the hell, Scott?”

  “Alisa, what are we doing?” he asked.

  Her puzzled glance hardened. “I thought we were going to have a little fun after your moment of glory. What do you mean?”

  “I mean – what is this? Are we having an affair? Are you in love with me?”

  “No one ever said anything about love, baby.” She was suddenly distant.

  Scott straightened his tie and smoothed the front of his suit pants. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “Are you involved with anyone else?”

  “We’re all adults here, Scott,” she said trying to regain some sultry momentum. “Let’s not ruin the moment with a lot of questions.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend … a husband?”

  Alisa didn’t say a word. She stared at Scott like he had grown a third eye. She began to button her blouse. She looked down at her chest. “You really want to pass on this?” she asked.

  Scott headed for the door. “I just spent the afternoon taking something from someone else who deserved it more than I do,” he said. “I’m not making the same mistake with you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means – try to find some self-respect, Alisa. God knows, I don’t have any left.”

  -20-

  Outside of the FBI Building, Davis shook Jimmy’s hand. “I appreciate your help, Jimmy,” he said. “I want you to know, I intend to put your name in for a civilian citation of merit.”

  “Thanks, Detective,” Jimmy said. “I only wish we’d have figured things out sooner.”

  “We did fine, Jimmy. We got there in time.”

  Jimmy hooked a thumb towards the building. “Ferguson did a number on you in there. Sounds like he did it all alone.”

  “Feebs,” Davis said and spat on the ground. “They always take the credit. But you and I know the truth. All that matters is that Katrina is safe.”

  “True that,” Jimmy said.

  They chatted for a while, recounting the case.

  Davis reached into his back pocket. “Almost forgot,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.:

  It was a magazine.

  “Thanks, Detective, but I don’t read Sports Illustrated.”

  “Good thing I didn’t get it, then,” Davis said. “That’s a mock-up of the new Fashion for Today.”

  “No way,” Jimmy said. “It’s not due out until next week.”

  “I have a few friends here and there. Look at it.”

  Jimmy unrolled the mag and stared at the cover in disbelief.

  “That’s Katrina,” he said.

  “Yes,” Davis said. “More to the point, that’s your picture of Katrina.”

  “How’d this happen?”

  Jimmy looked up. Davis was beaming.

  “I don’t know. Someone who had a copy of the picture might have given it to someone at the magazine who owed him a favor.”

  “What kind of favor.”

  “Won’t speculate on that, Jimmy. Let’s just say that lots of people owe detectives favors regarding things they don’t want their wives to know.”

  Jimmy laughed – loudly. “Remind me to thank that someone if I ever meet him.”

  “I will, Jimmy. But you have to promise me something.”

  Jimmy bounced on the balls of his feet. “Anything, Detective.”

  Davis put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Look me in the eye and promise me you will never … ever … try to play detective again.”

  Jimmy nodded. He looked Davis squarely in the eye. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I promise. No more Jimmy Nolan, kid detective – from now on, it’s Jimmy Nolan, fashion photographer.”

  Davis gripped the young man’s hand.

  “I like the sound of that, Jimmy,” he said. “I like the sound of that a lot.”

  ***

  Hassan Radha concluded his speech. “Today marks the beginning of new era. Gone are the belligerence and rhetoric … gone are the malice and hatred … gone are the suspicions and accusations. With the signing of this Declaration of Intent, the historic enemies of India and Pakistan step boldly into a bright future of mutual cooperation and trust. We have pledged to dismantle our weapons of global destruction … we have laid out ironclad procedures for verification … we are determined to lead the rest of the developed world into the brightness not of a nuclear blast but of the sunshine of peace and prosperity! As citizens of the planet, loved by God, we pledge on the lives of our grandchildren to trust … to love … and to live!

  Thunderous applause echoed throughout the hall. Delegates, usually staid and reserved, cheered and stomped their feet. The chant began at the back and soon bounced off every wall – Radha … Radha … Radha!

  Hassan walked off the stage with a smile on his face – a smile born, not from the accolades he was receiving or even from a sense of accomplishment, but one stemming from the sight of his daughter standing in the wing.

  “You were so very brave,” he said. “But once I get over my relief, I am going to be very angry.”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” Katrina said. “I have learned my lesson. I will never disobey you again.”

  Hassan turned to Mahmoud. “Give me something to write with. I want her signature on that statement.”

  Father and daughter held one another and wept for joy and the cheer continued – Radha … Radha … Radha.

  -Epilogue-

  Three months later …

  … Kashmir: Hassan Radha walked out onto the terrace. The sun blazed – the day sparkled.

  I will spend more time here now, he thought. After the incident in America, family is the most important thing.

  The conference had gone well. India and Pakistan were meeting – this time seriously. Something good and lasting would come of the talks. There was Noble Prize buzz around Hassan’s name – not an altogether unwelcomed accolade, but not something on which he was going to focus.

  Family – just family.

  The FBI had returned the ransom money. Radhi had immediately donated half to a children’s hospital in India and the other half to an educational program in Pakistan. The money meant nothing to him. Peace meant security – security for his family.

  Family – just family.

  Tango Cash’s accomplices would stand trial – and would go to jail. They were falling all over themselves to turn state’s evidence. Some would do time for the kidnapping – some would go away for the ATM heist – some would hit the lottery and be sentenced for both crimes. Only one of them would get a deal – the others would spend the next twenty years trying not to be raped in a prison shower.

  The line of citizens eager to testify ag
ainst Cash’s gang grew every day as more and more people learned there would be no reprisals. The entire thuggish mob was going to The Big House.

  Detective Clyde Davis was promoted the Lieutenant and took Markovic’s place. The former squad commander moved to Internal Affairs – he’d love the chance to screw fellow officers over every day. Hassan had tried to slip Davis an envelope. Davis had refused.

  “Give it to some charity,” he said.

  St. Jude Children’s Hospital in Memphis received a donation for $500,000 “In honor of Detective Clyde Davis, NYPD.”

  Despite Radha’s disdain for him, Special Agent Ferguson was feted again for his “intrepid and dogged pursuit of justice in the case of Katrina Radha.” Citing “honor among law enforcement officers,” Davis never said anything about Ferguson’s bogus claims of being present at the gunfight on the pier. No one ever mentioned how his stubbornness had extended the search and almost cost Katrina her life.

  Undercover officer Jordan Stewart was killed by friendly fire in a drug raid gone bad two weeks after his instrumental part in freeing Katrina Radha.

  Hassan gazed into the garden and smiled as he watched his daughter. She was posing for a photographer in the garden. Now, the beautiful girl was a beautiful woman – beautiful and famous. Her face had already graced the cover of three, international fashion magazines. He was the hottest thing since the young Christy Brinkley. Hassan waved down at his daughter. She waved back, then turned her attention to the photographer …

  … Jimmy Nolan. The photo on the magazine had catapulted his career. Now, every publication in the world wanted “a Nolan” on its cover. The young man was talented – and confident.

  “Katrina, look to the right, please,” Jimmy said. Katrina’s actions synced perfectly with the instructions. This was their fourth shoot together – they could almost read each other’s thoughts.

  “Not too long ago, you and I were nobodies,” she said.

  An assistant handed Jimmy another camera.

  “Less talk – more focus,” Jimmy said with a wide grin.

  She moved her head down and to the left. “You’re the boss,” she said.

  Jimmy snapped away. “And, we were never nobodies,” he said. “They just hadn’t found us yet.”

  They both laughed. At the same time, they both said, “And all of that because of you.”

  They took a break.

  “You have an idea for the name of this session?” she asked.

  “That’s easy. There’s only one name that’ll work,” Jimmy said.

  “What?”

  “Finding Katrina.”

  End

  Book 4: Secrets

  1

  Nicholas Clarke saw “Yvonne” on the cell’s screen and smiled.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he said.

  “Hello yourself, handsome.” Yvonne’s voice poured through the speaker like honey. “When will you be done tonight?”

  “The performance lasts an hour.”

  “Your fiddle all tuned?”

  Nicholas shook his head. “Charlie Daniels plays a fiddle, sweetie; I play a violin.”

  The giggle sounded like the jangle of tiny bells. “I know, Nicholas,” she said. “I just love getting you riled up.”

  “What time is your shift over?”

  “Same time as always,” she said. “Nine. If the nurses on the night shift are on time, I’ll be out the door at 9:01.”

  “Excellent, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

  She was more deliberate. “I love you, too.”

  Nicholas clicked off, turned off his Bluetooth headset and walked over to the other orchestra members. He stretched, trying to shake the odd feeling he’d had for several days. Without thinking about it, he swiveled his head 360 degrees as if searching for someone.

  No one out of the ordinary.

  He shrugged. You’re getting paranoid in your old age, he thought.

  His thoughts turned to home…to Yvonne…to their bed…to Yvonne in their bed. Damn, he was ready to get home.

  The audience was growing. Nicholas slid the curtain closed and looked around again. The Maestro did not like the orchestra members peering out from backstage. “You look like a high school student looking for your mommy,” he always said.

  Nicholas popped a piece of Eclipse gum into his mouth – helped with the nerves. But, he’d have to ditch it before the concert. Can’t keep the fiddle still when I’m smacking gum. He grinned at his own “fiddle” reference.

  “Nervous?”

  Nicolas turned. “No more than usual, Sam,” he said. “You got your ax ready?”

  Sam held up his silver, Yamaha YTR-8335RS Xeno Series trumpet. “Best $3000 I ever spent.”

  Nicholas laughed. “You know three-grand won’t get a decent violin at a yard sale, right?”

  It was their little ritual. This time, Nicholas decided not to mention his Scott Cao violin - $25,000.

  “I’d kill for a smoke,” Sam said.

  Nicholas smacked a little louder. “I know, right?”

  “Got anything planned when we finish?”

  Nicholas nodded. “Haven’t had any time with Yvonne lately. Straight home after this.”

  Sam patted Nicholas on the head. “Who’s a good boy? Good puppy,” he said.

  “You’re just pissed because you don’t have anyone,” Nicholas said.”

  Sam spread his arms wide. “I don’t have anyone? Hell, man – I have everyone. Got women all over the place.”

  Nicholas smiled. “Seriously, man. You need to start thinking about settling down. Yvonne’s talking about having a kid.”

  “Oh, I’ve got kids,” Sam said. “Two…three…I can’t remember.”

  “I bet the lawyers remember. And I bet you have really good memory every time you look at your bank account.”

  Sam flicked his hair to the side. “Good point. Speaking of which, can you let me hold twenty?”

  Nicholas fished into his pocket and handed over a crumpled bill. “I think you owe me about five hundred by now.”

  “Probably,” Sam said. “I plan to…”

  They were interrupted by the members of the orchestra filing past them onto the stage.

  “Show time, buddy,” Sam said. “Catch you on the flip side.”

  As he settled into his chair, Nicholas thought about his father – the man who wanted Nicholas to be a doctor. The day the acceptance letter came from med school, Dad had said, “Now, you can put aside that silly instrument and make something of yourself.”

  Twenty-four months later – it seemed like twenty-four years – Nicolas had withdrawn from college, taken a job selling cell phones, rented the cheapest place he could find, and spent every free moment practicing his violin until he’d made the orchestra. Now the third chair, first-violin, and he was determined to make Concert Master within two years.

  The butterflies slammed into the sides of his stomach like they were trying to escape. Then, the Maestro gave the downbeat and the only thing in Nicholas’s world – was the music. He handled his instrument with the precision of a practiced lover – every touch intentional – every movement designed to elicit a certain response. He felt the music possess him…every cell…every synapse…every thought.

  The measures flew past, the phrases soaring from his violin as he blended together with the others in the section to form – perfection. He had never played better.

  And then, the Maestro was taking a bow encouraging the orchestra members to stand in acknowledgement of a thunderous ovation.

  Damn, that’s better than sex.

  Yvonne answered on the second ring. “Hi, baby,” he said.

  “Hi yourself,” she said. “I’m in the car and headed home.”

  “Okay, I’ll stop for some wine. Why don’t you order pizza?”

  “You always want pizza after you play,” she said.

  “Well,” he said. “You always want sex after piz
za.”

  He loved her laugh.

  “Well played, sir,” she said. “Very well played.” She hung up.

  Sam yelled at Nicholas across the parking lot. “Be careful about the babies!”

  “Thanks, man,” Nicholas said. As if I need to take relationship advice from you.

  He pulled his jacket up over his neck as he walked towards his aging Mazda. The feeling stopped him in his tracks again and he looked left and right – quickly – absolutely sure someone was close. No one.

  The car sputtered to life. He jumped when someone knocked on the window.

  Nicholas rolled down the window. “Lance, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry, sir,” the Maintenance Supervisor said. He smiled through nicotine-stained teeth. “Just wondered if you wanted my help. Last time, you dented the Maestro’s Beemer.”

  Lance enjoyed his work as self-appointed parking lot coordinator.

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Nicholas said. “Thanks.”

  Lance yelled and guided and instructed until Nicholas was clear to turn out into traffic. Nicholas honked and waved. Lance bobbed his head and waved goodbye.

  Nicholas’s stop at Vince’s Wine Emporium yielded a bottle of $8 Cocoban red. Cheap, but at least it doesn’t taste like battery acid.

  He pulled to the curb outside the apartment – a space – unusually good luck. He reached to grab the wine he’d placed on the back seat. When he couldn’t locate it, he turned around.

  The doll was strapped into the rear seat belt. It was about twelve-inches tall…female…button eyes…tiny nurse uniform. Black yarn cascaded down either side of the stuffed head and a tiny stethoscope hung around its neck.

  “Damn!” Nicholas realized he’d shrieked. That’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  Still, he pushed the belt release and grasped the figure. A 1.5” ring protruded from the doll’s back. Nicholas pulled it.

  The whispering voice sounded like a nail file dragging across a chalk board.

  “Yvonne belongs to me.”

  He pulled the ring again.

  “Yvonne belongs to me.”

  Once more.

  “Yvonne belongs…”