Derek was doctoring his coffee in front of a vending machine when his cell rang. He hadn’t provided the number to the press, but Tracy had nosed it out, and he recognized her ID.
“What can I do for you?” he asked after they exchanged greetings.
“I understand Allen Jennings got a ticket yesterday on Arches Avenue.” Jennings, who starred in a hit TV show, occasionally made the hour drive from Hollywood to visit his mother in Villazon.
“So I hear.” Derek had spotted the item in the morning report, in which the night watch commander summarized occurrences to alert the day staff.
“He’s raising a fuss. Says nobody gets ticketed on Arches because it’s such a busy street with little cross traffic. Claims the cop singled him out because he drives a Ferrari.”
“Yeah, our guys hate Ferraris,” Derek shot back. “Drive an expensive car in Villazon and you’re fair game.” Quickly he added, “I meant that facetiously. Don’t quote me.”
“I do understand sarcasm,” Tracy retorted. “Is the department standing by the ticket?”
As Derek recalled, patrolman Bill Norton had clocked the Ferrari at fifteen mph over the speed limit. In addition, the driver had become verbally abusive after being pulled over and initially refused to sign the ticket. Norton had decided against arresting the jerk, which was lucky, since that would have brought in a flock of paparazzi.
Treat celebrities with care or they’ll make your life miserable. That had been one of Derek’s points in last week’s media-training session. However, fame didn’t excuse lawbreaking.
“In my opinion, the officer behaved appropriately under the circumstances. Mr. Jennings is no different from any other motorist when he endangers lives.” Derek heard the click of computer keys as Tracy transcribed his words. “Are you telling me the guy called you to beef?”
She hesitated. Then: “No. I heard it appeared in the morning report, so I called Jennings’s public relations agency for his response.”
“Who told you about it?” The morning report was supposed to remain confidential.
“I have my sources. Thanks for your help.” She rang off fast.
Derek gritted his teeth at this unsatisfactory response. Their local newshound had an annoying ability to uncover controversial items involving the Villazon PD. The woman claimed she had a wide circle of acquaintances who kept their ears open, but this had to be an insider.
At various times in the past, suspicion had fallen on a records clerk, an Explorer Scout and a garrulous patrolman. All had been exonerated. With half an hour to spare, Derek decided to canvass the most likely pigeon in this instance.
He strolled into Joel’s office. Feet still on the desk, the guy sat staring through a glass wall in the direction of the lobby.
The newspaper tossed onto a chair indicated he had scanned today’s articles. Derek had recommended doing so. Keep abreast of stories that concern your cases. It’s the best way to learn about the media’s angles and assumptions.
Joel glanced up. “What can I do for you?”
Derek leaned in the doorway. “Tracy didn’t happen to call today, did she? Pump you for information on the morning report?”
“She knows better than to try to manipulate me again,” Joel groused. “I treat her the same as any other reporter, period. On the job, anyway.”
This last remark caught Derek’s attention. “You two are seeing each other again?”
“She called last week with tickets to a Lakers game. I couldn’t let them go to waste, could I? We went and had a great time—they won, so of course I had to take her out for a late dinner.” Flippantly, Joel added, “She signed a nondisclosure statement first. Not one word in the paper.”
The relationship still seemed risky to Derek. “Did you talk to her this morning?”
“No. Why?”
“Minor leak,” Derek said.
“Didn’t come from me.” Joel sounded irritated. “Anything else on your mind? Some of us have real work to do.”
Derek swallowed a sharp response about the tough labor involved in staring out the window. Although he resented the slur about his position, he’d never corrected his friend’s assumption that he’d requested it as a stepping-stone into administration.
“Yeah, I got nothing better to do. Guess I’ll go impress the nurses,” he replied dryly. “Catch you later.”
Before departing for the Mesa View Medical Center across the street, Derek stopped in to see the desk officer and the traffic sergeant. Neither of them had spoken with Tracy, either. So where the heck did she get her information? Derek mulled the subject as he gathered his notes on today’s topic—elder abuse—and exited the building.
He wished he could devise a more proactive means of ferreting out Tracy’s source. As public information officer, he considered the matter his responsibility. And nipping this problem would go a long way toward helping resolve the PD’s image problems.
He cared deeply about his fellow officers. They put their lives on the line on a regular basis, and deserved better than to catch flak for some tiny misstep, real or imagined. He also felt a strong personal loyalty to Will Lyons.
A veteran of the Whittier and Los Angeles police forces, the chief had arrived a year and a half ago with a mission to restore the community’s confidence in its men and women in blue. Although his reserved manner made him appear aloof, he often sought ways to support his troops.
In a recent performance review, Will had written that Derek was extremely valuable to the bureau, had praised the PIO’s initiative and contended that he’d improved morale. More important, the guy had handled the Parkinson’s diagnosis with discretion and tact.
Perhaps, Derek mused, the key to finding the leak lay in using his skills as an investigator. Now he had to figure out where to start snooping.
*
As Marta adjusted the Thanksgiving decorations she’d posted around the boutique, she mentally reviewed the items she’d culled to amuse Derek. Chief among them was a funny anecdote from the Internet about a pair of burglars who’d hit a convenience store and left a trail of snack wrappers leading to their apartment next door.
Next semester, when she was enrolled in two courses, she doubted she’d have time to prepare for his visits. But for now, she relished bringing a smile to his lips. It was one way to hold his interest.
On a purely platonic level, of course.
There he was now, pausing at the hospital entrance as an elderly couple preceded him through the automatic door. Bathed in sunlight, Derek’s tall frame stirred memories of tumbled bed sheets and a steamy bathroom.
A perky college-age volunteer intercepted his course as he strode across the lobby. Marta couldn’t hear their conversation, but the young woman sparkled.
How wonderful to be so free-spirited, so…unmarred and open to adventure. To still have the illusion that all things were possible. How could a man resist?
Yet Derek gazed past her and signaled Marta with a slight nod. Just a hint of recognition that indicated they shared a special understanding.
An understanding of which kind of candy bar he preferred, she chided herself. Nothing more.
The young woman, whose name tag read Celia, walked with him toward the gift shop. “That’s a fascinating subject,” she remarked as they came within earshot. “I mean, fascinating in a horrible way. Like, who would abuse the elderly?”
Apparently she’d asked him about today’s topic. Although Marta doubted the girl harbored a strong desire to rescue senior citizens, Celia appeared to listen raptly as Derek explained that problems arose both in institutions and in private homes.
He didn’t flirt or crack jokes. Then he turned to Marta. “New sweater?” He indicated her cobalt-blue top. “Great color.”
She smiled and smoothed her hands over the knit. Oops—she’d just emphasized the way it clung to her breasts. Darn.
“It sure is,” Celia chimed in. “You know, if you got plastic surgery for those scars, you’d be very pretty.
”
The thoughtless remark left Marta speechless.
Derek replied for her. “Some of us consider her very pretty now.”
Marta could have hugged him. “Thanks.”
Celia’s mouth flew open as she recognized her error. “I meant…Gee, I’m sorry.”
Marta took pity on her. “That’s okay. If I weren’t saving my money for tuition, maybe I’d consider it.”
“Gosh, I’m such a dolt! Anyway, I’m neglecting my duties.” The volunteer indicated the refrigerated glass case. “Do you have flowers for a Mr. Lopez in room 330B? I’m supposed to deliver them.”
Marta produced the bouquet and vase, which had been ordered and paid for by phone. “Keep the card turned so it’s visible, okay?”
“I’ll be careful.” Still flustered, the young woman hurried off with the gift.
Derek folded his arms. “You were too kind. You should stick up for yourself.”
Marta had no desire to discuss Celia. “Maybe I should keep you around to stick up for me.”
“Maybe you should.” The serious tone took her aback. Before she could consider its significance, however, he switched subjects. “Listen, you might be able to help me with a problem.”
“Sure. What?” Providing assistance beat the heck out of trying to entertain him with a silly anecdote.
Derek rested one arm on the counter. “You must hear a lot of gossip—scratch that—valuable information. At Villa Corazon, in the hospital, or simply with friends.”
“I suppose so.” Marta attracted confidences, probably because she listened sympathetically.
“Someone’s sneaking Tracy Johnson inside tips about the department,” he went on. “I’d like to find out who, because this is hurting us. I’d appreciate your letting me know if you hear anything relevant.”
The request startled Marta. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate. What if it turned out to be Hale or Rachel? Not that I consider it likely. I couldn’t rat on them.”
His gaze softened. “Of course not. You’re the most loyal person I know.”
“No one admires the police more than I do,” she persisted, despite the temptation to please him by agreeing. “But if officers are doing stuff they shouldn’t, Tracy ought to hear about it.”
“Agreed. I have no quarrel with Ms. Johnson on that score.” To her relief, Derek continued making his case without apparent rancor at her demurral. “Only, I believe whoever’s leaking information carries a grudge. This isn’t a matter of doing one’s civic duty, it’s about stabbing fellow officers in the back.”
Unwillingly, Marta thought of Elise. Although a few officers had supported her grievance against Vince Borrego, a large segment of the force had treated her like dirt. The cold shoulders and snide remarks, although now consigned to the past, still rankled.
“I’d like to help,” Marta said. “But, Derek, I can’t. I’d be violating my friends’ trust.”
Tears stung her eyes. No matter how much she longed to win his approval, she couldn’t abandon her principles.
“I didn’t think of it in that light.” He spoke gently. “It’s okay, Marta. I don’t intend to strong-arm my friends into spying for me.”
She swallowed. “You’re not mad?”
“Not even a little.”
Another point occurred to her. “There is one thing I can tell you because it isn’t a secret.”
Derek studied her keenly. “I’d be grateful.”
“Vince signed up to tutor at the center.” Elise was furious, especially since he’d chosen Saturday afternoons. Sure, the center needed volunteers for that busy day, but their schedules overlapped and she loathed having to face him on a regular basis.
“Did he say why?” Derek checked the wall clock. He still had ten minutes, Marta noted. “The man never struck me as the altruistic type.”
“He mentioned being a grandfather and also wanting to repay the community for the damage he caused.” Vince had seemed sincere, according to Yolanda. Connie and Rachel, also, were giving him the benefit of the doubt. But Marta’s sympathies lay with Elise.
“Has he started already?”
“He’s begun orientation. His first tutoring session is this weekend, I believe.” Another aspect occurred to her, concerning the chief’s son. “Ben Lyons seems to spend Saturdays doing chores for the center. He hangs around with Vince a lot. Of course, they are neighbors at Yolanda’s fourplex.”
Derek selected a couple of chocolate bars. “If Borrego is trying to undermine his successor, he’s on the right track. Things are touchy enough between Will and his son already.”
“You believe Vince is that much of a snake?” Marta asked.
Her choice of words brought a smile. “A snake. Yes, that’s exactly the term I’d use. I keep hoping the guy’s genuinely reformed. Unlikely, though.”
“What are you going to do about it?” she asked. “Since I won’t carry tales, I mean.”
“Haven’t decided.” He winked. “You’ll be the first person I confide in.”
“Promises, promises!” Marta stopped. The phrase summoned tantalizing details of the evening when she’d thrown the same challenge at him for quite different reasons. Remembering the way he’d powered into the bathroom, almost too large for the enclosed space, and pressed her against the wall brought a rush of desire.
He was recalling it, too, she gathered from Derek’s sudden intake of breath. His mouth angled toward hers as he moved nearer.
Abruptly, he reached over her head and plucked a helium balloon from its tether. “I’ll take this, please.”
The balloon read, Kiss Me, I’m a Nurse.
“Who’s the lucky girl?” The words stuck in Marta’s throat.
“What?” He glanced at the thing. Apparently he hadn’t noticed the inscription. He must have grabbed it to cover their near embrace. Otherwise, it would have been obvious to Russ, who’d just walked in.
“Give it to Nora Dellums,” she suggested. The ultrasound technician had recently broken up with her boyfriend. “She could use a lift.”
“Done.” He paid, and greeted Rachel’s husband. After they exchanged pleasantries, Derek headed for the elevator.
Russ held out change for a roll of breath mints. “I didn’t see a thing.”
“There was nothing to see,” Marta corrected.
“And I saw none of it,” the pediatrician confirmed with a twinkle.
“Good.” She took his payment and then, after his departure, bought herself a roll of mints as well. She hoped they’d help settle her stomach, which had been bothering her for several days.
A group of mothers-to-be, arriving for a prenatal tour, flocked into the concession. Amid their exclamations over the stuffed animals and baby gifts, Marta was able to cool the lingering heat of her encounter with Derek.
She’d better watch herself. If they kept tempting each other, she reflected dryly, she’d have to start stocking balloons that said, Kiss Me, I’m an Idiot.
Chapter Nine
“This is stupid.” The skinny boy, whose age Derek guessed to be about ten, folded his arms and tilted back his chair. The young woman sitting across the table from him fingered the math book in frustration.
Around them, the auditorium of Villa Corazon hummed with the conversations of students and tutors, some in small groups, others in pairs. Derek had stopped by the office in search of Yolanda Rios, and been directed to the central room. As might be expected on a Saturday afternoon, a sizable group was assembled.
Despite the noise level, the intensity of most participants struck him at once. With few exceptions, the several dozen students appeared determined to master their material.
The exceptions included this boy. To the young woman’s comment that math formed the basis of many careers as well as daily activities, he replied, “So what? I won’t need it.”
The situation was none of his business, Derek supposed. But while speaking at schools on safety and crime prevention, he’d encountered his share
of wise guys, and this kid needed an attitude adjustment.
He introduced himself and, after obtaining the volunteer’s permission, addressed the student. “Any idea what you expect to do with your life?”
“Yeah.” The boy’s lip curled. “I’m going to be a drug dealer like my big brother.”
The woman gasped. “Tom!”
The response was a smug grin. Although surely the boy didn’t understand all the implications of his remark, he’d be old enough in only a few years to fall under the influence of a drug-dealing gang. Even at this age, he might be recruited to serve as a lookout.
“How many pounds in a kilo?” Derek demanded.
Blank expression.
“Two-point-two,” he said. “Drugs are weighed in grams and kilograms, in case you didn’t know.”
Tom shrugged.
“Here’s another problem,” Derek continued. “Your supplier suggests a three hundred percent markup. What does that mean?”
The boy cleared his throat. No words emerged.
“You’d make a lousy drug dealer.” Derek thumped the book. “Better learn this stuff.” He started to turn away, then swung around. “If you do start dealing, I’ll drop by and arrest you. Ever seen the inside of a prison?”
“I visited my brother once,” Tom admitted.
Derek reined in a sarcastic remark about the sibling, since that would only put Tom on the defensive. “He loves it there, does he?”
“Well, no.”
“And you’re planning to follow his example for what brilliant reason?” Enough said, he hoped. “Give school your best shot. Sitting in class may feel like prison now, but believe me, it’s nothing like it.”
Derek set off toward the stage, where Yolanda was conferring with a couple of people. En route, he scanned the room.
Elise, reviewing a paper with a girl, cast uneasy glances toward the table where Vince sat reading aloud to a couple of youngsters. In his present toned condition, Borrego bore only a vague resemblance to the heavy-drinking, heavy-smoking, overweight chief under whom Derek had once served. In his late fifties, the guy had changed for the better physically, if not in other respects.
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