Trent pointed to her with his finger. “That quick mind of yours is why I wanted you on my team.”
A strong surge of gratification coursed through her. She had to fight back a smile. Too unprofessional. She said simply, “Thank you, sir.”
“I want you to continue digging,” he said. “The more we know about Miguel Garcia, the better. I want everything. Start with these foster homes. Check his juvenile record more thoroughly. Anything you can find.”
“I’m on it.”
* * *
VIOLET WAS ON a call to the fourth foster home where Diego Lopez had lived in Zionsville, Indiana, when her doodling hand absentmindedly wrote Josh’s name.
“What...am I doing?”
The call was picked up.
“Hello,” Violet said. “This is Officer Violet Hawks of the Indian Lake Police Department. I wonder if I might speak to—” she checked her notes “—Mrs. Dupree?”
“This is she. What can I help with?” an elderly sounding voice asked.
“I’m calling to inquire about a foster child you had in your care about seventeen years ago.”
“That’s a long time ago.” She chuckled. “Lord, but I can’t remember how to make lasagna from one day to the next. I’ve had over eighty foster children in my years. Of course, I don’t have any now...since my husband passed away.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Dupree. This would be about Diego Lopez. He would have been about twelve at the time he lived with you. According to my records, he stayed with you a little over two years.”
“That one I remember. Not that I don’t remember them all. But he was a pistol. Always in trouble.”
“With the law?”
“I’m afraid so. He was only twelve, and he saw a fancy Harley-Davidson outside a diner where we’d taken the two boys after a baseball game.”
“The Indianapolis Indians? The Triple-A team?”
“Why, yes. You know them?”
“I used to watch the games when I was at the police academy in Bloomington.”
“Yes. My husband was a fan. So were Josh and Diego.”
Violet stopped rolling her pen on the desk. It fell to the floor. “Josh?”
“Yes. He was our other foster son during those years. Those two were like dark and light. I’d always hoped that Josh would have been a good influence on Diego, but if you’re calling about Diego, my guess is that he’s in trouble again.”
Like a jet that had missed takeoff, Violet’s mind had yet to jettison. “Josh Stevens?”
“Yes.”
“The race car driver?”
“Yes. I’m so proud of him. I always was proud.”
Violet closed her eyes and opened them. She heard Josh’s voice. Then Carmel. Then Zionsville. I stopped counting after twelve.
Her eyes popped open as reality struck like lightning. Her investigation into Miguel Garcia had unraveled a twisted path that took her straight back to Josh. “Mr. Stevens has become quite a celebrity,” she said.
“He certainly has. Though to tell the truth, I never saw that for him when he was young. It was Diego who played the guitar and made up songs. Diego wanted to be a famous singer.”
“He did? That’s interesting. Was he any good?”
“I got him to sing for our church choir and play the guitar at some of our church dinners, but he didn’t like our hymns.”
“What did he like?”
“Rap,” she said. “I never understood the words he made up. Always about fighting...” Mrs. Dupree paused. “Is Diego in jail?”
“No, he is not. I’m assigned to a drug task force here in Indian Lake. And I’m checking any kind of leads I can find to help us.”
“Drugs. I see.”
“May I ask? Did Diego do drugs or have an interest in them when he lived with you?”
“Not that I knew about. Josh didn’t like the older boys Diego hung around with after school, though. Josh was always going down to Minor’s Auto Service after school or playing baseball in the spring. Josh didn’t see Diego much on the weekends, either. That boy couldn’t get his head out from under a car hood for love, money or fireworks.” She chuckled.
Clearly, Mrs. Dupree had a soft spot for Josh. But not for Diego.
“Do I understand correctly, Mrs. Dupree, that you didn’t know where Diego went after school every day?”
“Oh, he would tell us he was going for a run. Or he was playing basketball with friends, but even the times when he didn’t come home right at suppertime, my husband would drive to the schoolyard or gym, and he was never there. Diego kept to his room on weekends, playing that guitar. One day, he left for school and never came back.”
“Interesting. How old was he then?”
“Fourteen. Almost fifteen. He was six feet by then and looked older.”
“And Josh?”
“Not long after that, my husband had his first heart attack. I had to take care of him and didn’t have time for parenting. The state placed Josh in a different home. It was in Bloomington.”
“Bloomington. Do you know the name of the foster parents?”
“Why, yes. The Killingsworths. Josh always sent me a Christmas card. So, I kept up with him. I still do.”
“And Diego?”
“I haven’t heard from him since the day he disappeared. We called the police and filed a missing person’s report. But apparently, he didn’t want to be found.”
“It happens a lot. Mrs. Dupree, I can’t thank you enough for all your help today. In the event I have more questions, do you mind if I call you again?”
“Of course, dear.”
Violet replaced the receiver in the cradle. Her fingers shook. She used her left hand to steady her right. One investigative phone interview had careened Violet’s perspective of the case around a hairpin curve.
Not only had Josh Stevens known Diego Lopez, but they’d bonded like brothers. A brother Josh had protected.
The bigger question was whether Josh had kept in contact with Diego, rather, Miguel. When she’d been on stakeout and seen Josh’s car, had he been looking for Miguel? Did he know Miguel was a drug dealer? Was he involved with Miguel?
And if Josh was involved, how would Violet get the truth from him?
She put her hand on her shoulder where Josh had last touched her. That moment, she’d been a tangle of apology and emotions that went past fondness. She’d wanted to touch his hand, hoping he would forgive her. It had been more than a mere touch. It had been a caress. Had he felt close to her? Attracted to her?
But in that second, when she’d reached for him, and as she’d looked into his eyes, she realized she wanted more than forgiveness. She’d wanted to hold his hand. Maybe walk with him. Get to know him better.
Then Katia and Austin had appeared. Shockingly, Violet had been jealous of their friendship and the closeness they shared. Violet had never been jealous of anyone. But something happened in those few magical and inexplicably important moments.
She swiped her palms against her slacks.
Being a part of their group isn’t enough. I’m already friends with Katia and Austin. It’s Josh I want.
Exhaling deeply, she slid her eyes around the station. Sal Paluzzi was typing a report. Trey darted through the hall with a clipboard. The dispatcher took a 9-1-1 call. This career was all she’d focused on for years. Graduating from the academy. Getting out on her own. Being the best of the best on the job. Her goals had been as precision-cut as diamond facets.
Since that moment with Josh, her vision had become hazy.
Violet’s future had always been logged into an Excel sheet. Predictable. Precise.
Now she felt as if she were looking through a kaleidoscope. She’d never thought of her future as disseminated. Or as colorful.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT PRECISELY 11:00 A.M. Eastern Standard Time, Violet fine-tuned the radio dial to the Speedway, Indiana, announcer explaining the “knockout qualifying” system to award the pole position for the Indianapolis race.
“The race is nearly two weeks away,” Violet said to Detective Trent Davis as they sat in the Taurus cruiser on stakeout.
“Yeah, but it’s the buildup that’s half the fun.”
“Like engines being revved.”
“Yeah.” He lifted binoculars to his eyes. “Turn it up a bit.”
“See anything?”
“Nah. That farmhouse is vacant. So far.”
“We’ve been surveilling it for weeks. Maybe our intel is inaccurate.”
“Not likely. I got this tip from Richard Schmitz.” He tried to stretch his long legs. Not an easy feat in the Taurus, Violet thought.
“He’s your friend on the Chicago PD.”
“Yes, and he’s good.” Trent cast her one of his “and that’s final” looks she’d come to know within hours of working for him.
The radio announcer stated that the cash prizes for front-row positions were increased.
Trent still had the binoculars leveled on the farmhouse as he commented, “That should be more money for Josh.”
Josh? Now her mentor was on a first-name basis with Josh? “Like he needs it.” She jotted down the time of day in her notebook and wrote there was no new activity. “You’re a fan?”
“I am,” he replied. “He mailed me an autographed poster for Danny and sent a replica of the Formula One car he drove in Dubai.” He smiled behind the lenses without looking at Violet.
The radio announcer rambled on about various races, but Violet’s head was filled with the report she’d yet to discuss with Trent.
“Sir, about Josh Stevens.”
He lowered the binoculars. “This sounds official.”
“It is. I’ve been doing some research, on my own.” Trent’s serious expression showed he’d picked up on her tone.
“Go on.”
“Our intel revealed that Josh Stevens knew Diego Lopez aka Miguel Garcia.”
Trent carefully placed the binoculars on the dashboard. “I know.” He faced her. “Continue.”
“My search led me to a Mrs. Dupree, who was a foster mother to both Josh Stevens and Diego Lopez when they were in middle school. She was quite forthcoming with information.”
“Now that is interesting.”
“She said the boys were close. Josh looked out for Diego during those years. Apparently, Josh was a pretty good kid. Diego disappeared after school every day, and neither she nor her husband knew where he went. It was Josh who usually brought him home to dinner. I got the feeling that Diego had a real chip on his shoulder.”
“An unredeemable one?”
“She wouldn’t go that far, but that was my conclusion.”
Trent drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, considering the information. “You think Josh might know where Miguel is now?”
“I think it’s worth asking him.”
“Interesting. Who would have guessed?”
“Going another step further, it’s my hunch that Miguel bought that Maserati of his to emulate Josh.”
“Possible. Or...”
“Josh is involved with Miguel?”
“As detectives, we have to go there, Hawks. Stevens spends his life in a very fast lane. It’s not out of the question that he uses illegal drugs.”
She nodded. “Always going for that adrenaline rush?”
“Exactly. And what do we know of Josh’s finances? What if his extravagant lifestyle is bogus? He could be broke. Owe money to dealers.”
Violet followed his lead as she offered, “Dealers like Miguel Garcia.”
“What better way to cover up the truth than to buy his drugs through a childhood friend? Few in Josh’s entourage would think anything of it. His own manager might not know. He could be living a double life.”
The possible fallout hit Violet harder than she’d expected. She wasn’t a Josh groupie, but she had to admit she liked him. More than liked him, she thought, remembering their private minutes together.
They’d only just met, and already she felt a closeness with him.
No, she didn’t get the feeling that Josh was an addict or a dealer. The idea just didn’t gel with her intuition. But the truth was clear.
Josh had known Miguel.
“I want you to continue this line of investigation, Hawks. I know you arrested the guy, but do you think you can get close to him?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Find some way to be buddy-buddy.”
Her mind whirled. “You want us to be friends?”
His neck jerked forward and his eyes were stern. “Yes, Hawks. That’s what an undercover cop does. Hook the perp. Reel him or her in. Wheedle information using guile, lies and persuasion. I want to know if Stevens is part of Garcia’s gang.”
Astonishment and ripples of guilt whirled through her. Though she held disdain for entitled people, he’d shown her that he’d worked hard to earn his success, that he was unique. Now she was being ordered to put that aside, and she didn’t like the thought of deceiving him.
“You think that?”
“I’m a detective, Hawks. I have to investigate all possibilities. Think about it. Two foster kids. No parents. No money. A great many criminals come from such backgrounds. Parents, older family members, even siblings—all teaching the youngest kid ‘how to navigate the real world.’ Except their world is dark. All of which perpetuates criminal behavior to the next generation.”
“I understand.”
“So, how are you going to do it?”
“Uh...”
“Given the fact that Stevens most likely considers you anything but his friend—after the court verdict.”
Immediately, Violet remembered her dinner with Mrs. Beabots, Maddie, Sarah and Liz. “Believe it or not, I have exactly the ‘in’ we need.”
Trent clenched his jaw as if holding back surprise. “Continue.”
“Mrs. Beabots is starting a fund-raiser to build a foster child care facility here in Indian Lake. She plans to endow it in the future. She’s asked me to approach Josh about being the celebrity host at Austin McCreary’s antique car museum.”
“Have you contacted Stevens about this?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“Do it.”
“What if he refuses, er, uh, because I’m the one asking?” Violet’s insecurity surfaced much too quickly.
He tapped his temple. “My intuition about you is that you’re the only one for this job.”
“I’ll do it.”
It was only a flicker of appreciation that crossed his eyes as he lifted the binoculars. “And Hawks.” He paused. “Get me everything you can on Stevens. However and whatever it takes. You must understand that he may be our fast track to nailing Miguel Garcia.”
Violet was impressed that as soon as her boss realized the possible criminal connection between Josh and Miguel, he dropped his fanboy attitude and went all-cop. “I do. Copy that.”
“And I want a report covering your conversation with Mrs. Dupree on my desk tomorrow.”
“It’s in your inbox.”
Trent focused the binoculars on the farmhouse. “Good.”
* * *
VIOLET FINISHED HER report about the stakeout that day, which rendered inconclusive results, and emailed it to Trent and copied Chief Williams.
She’d rehearsed what she planned to say when she phoned Josh and actually made notes in case she faltered. For positivity, she’d put his number on her speed dial, planning to receive many calls from him in the future.
She was on assignment. She had to convince him to help with the fund-raiser.
She lifted a very c
old, half full Styrofoam cup of coffee to her lips as she placed the call. She sipped the coffee. Josh answered on the first ring.
“Josh Stevens,” he said.
The sound of his voice and the fact that he’d answered so quickly caused her to choke on the coffee. “Ach! Josh? Ach!” She cleared her throat.
“Who is this?”
“Off-Officer Hawks. Er, Violet.”
“It doesn’t sound like you.”
“My coffee went down the wrong way.” She turned her head and coughed hard. “Sorry.”
“Are you okay? You want to call me back?”
“No! I mean, no. I’m fine now.”
So much for handling the situation professionally.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Violet heard the sound of other voices in the background.
“Sure,” he said to one of them. “I’ll do it in a sec.”
“Is this a bad time?”
“I’m always busy right after training. The post-position trials are a week away.”
“Yeah. I know. So, you’re really tied up, then?”
He paused for a long moment. “Officer Hawks...”
“Violet, remember?”
He spoke to someone in the background. “There was too much drag on the chassis. Increase the tire pressure, and then I’ll run it again.” There was a pause. “Sorry. Violet. So, let me take a stab here. This isn’t a professional call? Not something about the verdict or my community service?”
Violet cringed. Her call and all that she was about to do with Josh was most assuredly “professional,” but he couldn’t know that. “I want to ask you a favor.”
“A what?”
“Favor.”
“Just a minute. Let me go to another room where I can hear myself think.”
Violet waited and heard the background noise fall away.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice softening, sounding familiar and engaged. “Violet, I have to say, I find this—extraordinary, really. It’s not a joke? You don’t want photos of me behind bars for some PR for the Indian Lake cops?” He chuckled.
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