The Trigger

by Jacqueline Diamond

  NORA DIDN’T MISS the warning signs emanating from Sam’s bristling figure. Heck, a person five counties over couldn’t have missed his displeasure at her tactics.

  But she knew Fran was lying and she had a good idea why. The woman must be guilt-ridden at the possibility that she’d nearly killed her husband, not to mention petrified about going to prison.

  What was the use of forcing her into a lineup? She’d demand a lawyer and their ability to get to the bottom of this would hit a roadblock. Better to persuade her to talk voluntarily, even if that meant taking a calculated risk by disclosing confidential information.

  Ideally, Nora should have discussed the tactic with her partner ahead of time. Still, if he hadn’t threatened the woman and nearly gotten them kicked out, it might not have been necessary.

  “You can’t repeat what I’ve just told you to anyone,” Nora added. “If word gets out, it could help whoever’s behind these attacks. And that’s the person who tried to kill Carl.”

  “I won’t say a word.” Fran dropped back onto the couch. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  Sam stopped fidgeting. Nora hoped that meant he’d decided to give her credit for having some sense.

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” she said in her most sympathetic tone.

  A tear slid down the woman’s cheek. “I suspected Carl was having an affair with his secretary. Her name’s Bethany Peters and she’s got long dark hair, like you described.”

  Nora took notes, although the tape recorder ought to be capturing this. Better to get something down twice than risk missing it.

  “How did you know they were at the motel?” she asked.

  “Carl called yesterday to say he was flying to San Francisco and he’d be back later that night,” she said. “The motel’s right by the airfield. I’d heard that pilots use it to make assignations. I just—I couldn’t stand it anymore. I told myself that I wanted to prove his innocence, so I drove over there, hoping I wouldn’t see his car in front of a cabin. But I did.”

  “Do you always carry gasoline and rags in your car?” Sam asked.

  From the way Fran’s face tightened, Nora feared she might clam up again. However, finally, she answered. “Sometimes I forget to fill the tank, so I keep a couple of gallons in a container in the trunk. The rags are for cleaning the windshield.”

  “When you approached the cabin, did you see or hear anything unusual?” Nora probed.

  Fran shook her head. “No.”

  “Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your husband?” Sam put in.

  Another negative response.

  “What about his cell phone?” Nora asked. “Who had access to it other than him and you?”

  “He carries it in his jacket, but he probably takes it off at work, so anyone at Esmee could have gotten to it,” Fran said.

  “Does he ever leave it in the car?”

  “I suppose he might.”

  “Does he keep his vehicle locked?” Sam asked.

  “Usually, unless he’s only going to be gone for a few minutes.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. Even Sam seemed satisfied, so Nora let him continue with the questioning.

  “Might he have left it in his car at work?”

  “It’s possible,” Fran said.

  After a few more questions failed to elicit any additional information, Nora thanked the witness. “You’ve been a big help,” she said. “There’s one more thing. I’d like to run a few names by you and see if any of them ring a bell.”

  “Okay.”

  She read off the list of the Trigger’s victims. Only one netted a nod: Lance Corker, a lab technician at Esmee.

  “My husband supervised him,” Fran said. “I think he performed some kind of tests on engine parts. A parking garage collapsed on top of him during the earthquake. Carl got terribly upset when he heard.”

  Initially, the death had been attributed to the quake. But Nora’s investigation, in conjunction with the coroner, had placed Corker’s death a day earlier and attributed it to a cell phone exploding in his car. That, however, remained confidential information. “We’re looking into it.”

  The woman regarded them fearfully. “I’ve told you everything I know. I’ve admitted setting the fire. What happens now?”

  “If our investigation bears out your story, it should work in your favor.” Sam’s gentleness surprised Nora.

  Fran blinked back tears. “Does that mean I won’t go to prison?”

  “We can’t make promises,” Nora said, “but you do have a clean record.” She had run a background check earlier. “It’s up to the district attorney whether he decides to file charges.”

  “The worst thing I ever got was a speeding ticket.” Another tear broke free. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation. If you think of anything else, please give us a call.” She handed over her business card. “And I hope your husband recovers quickly.”

  “So do I,” Fran said. “I’m angry about what he did, but I never meant to hurt him. If he’s truly sorry, maybe…well, we’ll see. I’m going to the hospital in a little while, like I said. I hope he wakes up.”

  “If he does, maybe we can find out who did this and save someone else’s life,” Nora responded. Before they left, Nora obtained Fran’s written consent for them to search the airplane.

  Outside, she made a point of not meeting Sam’s gaze until they were both in the car. “Well?” she said as they pulled out of the driveway. “Are you going to read me the riot act?”

  “That was a dicey tactic.” The noncommittal tone masked his true reaction.

  “It paid off,” she said stubbornly.

  “I grant you that.” When his gray eyes swept over Nora, she saw a reluctant approval in them. “You’re quite a risk-taker.”

  “Taking chances gives me an adrenaline rush,” she admitted. “Don’t worry, I’m not foolhardy. I grew up in a family of demolition experts. They impressed on me early that having courage doesn’t mean acting stupid. Anyway, you must be something of a daredevil too.”

  “Why do you say that?” He steered around some broken pavement left from February’s earthquake.

  “You’re a firefighter. That’s not a job that appeals to desk jockeys.”

  “My dad was a firefighter. It’s a family tradition.” Sam slanted her a grin that warmed his face. “Besides, I like getting physical. Lifting heavy objects, throwing equipment around, spraying a zillion gallons of water all over the neighborhood. That’s fun stuff.”

  “You don’t get a chance to do much of that as an arson investigator,” she pointed out.

  “I’ve mellowed with age.”

  That statement invited a crack. “You coulda fooled me.”

  “Maybe I have.”

  Nora could have sworn she saw a twinkle in his eye. Most likely it was sunlight or insanity.

  Yet apparently he had an easygoing side, after all. Elaine had been surprised to learn about Sam’s temper, and although he’d come on too strong for her taste with Fran, when he smiled, he looked quite…human.

  He’d said he liked getting physical. Nora had to acknowledge that he projected a powerful physical presence, from the subtle male scent that permeated his car to the calm confidence with which he handled the wheel.

  He might have appealed to her when she was younger, when she’d sometimes fantasized about curling inside a man’s arms and letting him help shoulder her burdens for a while. If she were the type of woman who had a weakness for strong, take-charge men, she’d be susceptible.

  But Len had cured her of that weakness. Besides, look what had happened to Elaine. When she’d tried to lean on Sam, he’d folded.

  Nora snapped back to the present as they turned off the road that ran toward town. “Where are we going?”

  “Esmee Engines,” Sam told her. “I figure that’s the obvious next step. You want to call ahead?”

  Her brain sifted quickly through possible scenarios. “No. Let’s
not give Bethany Peters a chance to get her guard up.”

  “Another thing,” he said. “We ought to make sure the plane’s secured. If Carl Garcola was using it for illicit activities, someone might decide to destroy the evidence.”

  “Agreed.” She placed a call to Grant Corbin. When she explained what they’d learned and that they had Mrs. Garcola’s permission, he offered to take the forensics team and conduct the search himself.

  “Max explained about you and Sam heading the investigation, but you can’t handle everything yourself,” the detective pointed out. “If we have a serial bomber on our hands, we need to hit this one hard.”

  “Go for it,” Nora said. “Thanks, Grant.”

  “He’s right,” Sam commented after she repeated the conversation. “There are advantages to making a team effort.”

  “Does that apply to you and me, too?”

  “I suppose we got further with Mrs. Garcola together than either of us would have separately.” He switched onto Washington Avenue.

  “True.” Mischievously, she added, “Don’t tell me you’re going to propose we make this arrangement permanent!”

  “You like that idea?”

  “I might slit my throat.”

  “We can’t have that.” Abruptly, he sobered. “About this secretary. We should take her down to the police station for interrogation.”

  Nora shifted mental gears to keep up with him. “Bad idea. It’ll freak her out. At best, she turns hostile. At worst, she’ll call a lawyer and the trail goes cold while he plays legal games.”

  “She’s either our key witness or a suspect,” Sam insisted. “She must have been in the room with the victim, she fled the scene, and she’s made no attempt to offer testimony. I’d say she was pretty hostile already.”

  “Maybe she’s just scared,” Nora countered. “Look at it from her perspective. She’s having an affair with her boss, which might get her fired, depending on the company’s policies. Then a bomb goes off and he’s nearly killed. She’s way over her head. I think if we reassure her, she might open up.”

  “I disagree.” His fingers tapped the steering wheel. “She might be protecting someone. Say, a jealous boyfriend that she figures is behind it.”

  “All the more reason to handle her with kid gloves,” Nora said. “Remember how Fran Garcola reacted when she realized she hadn’t caused her husband’s injuries? She was so relieved, she spilled everything.”

  Sam considered for a moment. “We’ll give it a try,” he said finally. “But frankly, I think she needs to be scared.”

  Nora supposed he had a point, but decided to go with her instincts. Still, she could see that this team approach had advantages. It was Sam who’d thought of securing the airplane immediately. Although that would have occurred to Nora as soon as she read over her notes, it might have been too late to prevent damage.

  Okay, so two heads might sometimes be better than one. But two tempers were definitely more combustible.

  They found Esmee Engines in a light-industrial area, identified by a small sign in front. In the middle of a large parking lot sprawled a low white building nearly identical to the offices of practically every other high-tech company in the area.

  “Fran said they make race-car engines,” she noted as they got out. “I wonder where they keep the sports cars.”

  “I doubt they test them here.” A pucker formed between his eyebrows. “Come to think of it, there’s a test track over at the Speedman Company, a couple of miles south. Maybe they use that.”

  “Didn’t you say one of your victims worked for Speedman?”

  He gave a slow nod. “That’s right.”

  Excitement quickened Nora’s step at the possible link among the cases. Computer chips…automotive engines…a test track. Either a grudge or professional sabotage loomed large as possibilities.

  Maybe she and Sam would find the key faster than she’d anticipated. If they did, they might put this thing together before anyone else got hurt.

  But first they had to bypass Bethany Peters’ defenses. And Nora had a feeling that wasn’t going to be easy.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  NORA LOOKED AS IF she were enjoying the thrill of the chase, Sam thought as they entered the gray-carpeted lobby and showed the security guard their badges. While the man placed a phone call to announce their arrival, Sam wished her presence didn’t keep making him lose focus.

  Although discussing matters with Nora had been productive, he preferred the clarity of solitude, not to mention the absence of a sensuously rounded figure and glowingly alive face. Men didn’t function at their best when a woman aroused their hormones. At least, he didn’t.

  At last a middle-aged Hispanic man emerged from an interior hallway. “I’m Ramon Nunez, president of Esmee Engines.” He shook hands as they introduced themselves. “We’re very upset about Carl’s injuries. What can I do to help?”

  “We’d like to talk to his secretary,” Nora said. “We thought she might have some insights.”

  “Of course.” Nunez escorted them along a corridor. “Any idea who might have done this?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” They entered a plush conference room. “Mr. Nunez, is there anyone who might hold a grudge against Carl personally or against your company?”

  “Against Esmee?” the president asked in surprise. “There are always a few disgruntled former employees, I suppose, but no one I’m aware of. As for Carl, he never mentioned any problems.”

  “The company hasn’t received any threats?” Nora asked.

  He shook his head.

  “What about lawsuits?”

  “Not currently,” Nunez said. “I’ve only been working here about a year, though, so I could check with our lawyers.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Nora told him.

  Checking out lawsuits was only one of many possible avenues, Sam reflected. You never knew which one might turn out to be useful.

  “I’ll send Mrs. Peters in,” Nunez added. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

  After he left, Nora said, “I noticed he called her Mrs. Peters. That means there’s a potentially jealous husband lurking around.”

  “She could be widowed or divorced.”

  “I’d say it’s unlikely,” Nora countered. “If she had a private place, why would they use a motel?”

  Trumped again, Sam reflected grouchily. “Unless there are nosy neighbors,” he added to be contrary. “Or a roommate.”

  While he set up the tape recorder, Nora wandered around the room, inspecting the fax machine and other business-related equipment. Her restless movements kept her slim figure and wind-tossed mahogany hair in the forefront of Sam’s awareness.

  The woman’s vibrant energy made him wonder, unwillingly, how she would feel pressed against him. Images of Nora had troubled him since the first time they met, four years ago, but until now they’d had the decency to appear only on rare occasions. Riding in her car yesterday had stirred up longings that were wreaking havoc with his resistance.

  Well, he could hardly demand that Chief Egan break up the team because he found Nora too sexy. He had to get past this temporary resurgence of adolescent lust, and the best way to do that was to work as hard as possible, Sam reflected.

  A moment later, the door opened to admit a woman who matched the description of the second escapee, except that today she wore her dark hair in a twist. Tall and athletic, Bethany Peters appeared to be in her late thirties, younger than Fran Garcola. She wore a long-sleeved blouse and slacks a bit heavy for the summer weather.

  She fidgeted as she studied them. “Am I—is there some kind of problem? I haven’t done anything wrong. I mean, anything criminal.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Sam suggested.

  Bethany edged onto a chair. “Carl and I—well, we didn’t mean to get involved.” She averted her eyes. “It started a couple of months ago. We’d been flirting for a while, but neither of us meant anything by i
t. At least I didn’t think so.”

  The story that unfolded had a familiar ring. Boss and secretary, both married, stayed after hours one night, ate dinner together and, afterward, yielded to their urges. Then came a series of lunchtime trysts and excuses to work late.

  Yesterday, they’d decided to meet before Carl took off for a work-related conference in San Francisco. “I parked down the street from the motel so no one would see our cars together,” Bethany said.

  “Do you think someone might have followed you?” Although Fran had claimed she’d cruised the motel lot on a whim, Sam had to consider the possibility that she’d been stalking the pair.

  “Carl was paranoid about that kind of thing,” Bethany said. “I’m pretty sure no one saw us.”

  “Did you notice whether he wore his jacket when you left Esmee?” Nora asked. “Or did he leave it in the car?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “His wife says he usually kept his cell phone in the pocket,” Sam put in. “It’s important to know if someone else might have had access to it.”

  The secretary frowned. “I don’t remember about the coat, but he did make some comment as we left the office about hoping he hadn’t missed any calls.”

  Bethany seemed less intimidated by him than Fran, Sam noted. Perhaps she was more accustomed to dealing with men, or maybe he’d absorbed some of Nora’s less confrontational approach. “Did he always lock his car?” he asked.

  “As far as I know,” came the response.

  “Is anyone around here good at breaking into cars?” Nora put in.

  Bethany managed a weak smile. “Are you kidding? This place is full of tech types. Anytime someone leaves his keys inside, he doesn’t have to bother calling the auto club.”

  So much for that line of questioning, Sam reflected. In this environment, clearly they weren’t going to identify a suspect by his lock-jimmying skills.

  Nora steered the witness back to her narrative. “Tell me about you and Carl at the motel. What happened after you got inside?”