The Witness

by Dee Henderson

  “What are you doing?” She turned to watch him as he circled the car.

  “Getting my bullhorn. If you want to attract a crowd of kids, just call, ‘Free food.’ It works every time, and I don’t feel like shouting.”

  “You’d actually do it.”

  He smiled.

  “We need cash.”

  “Daniel floated you a loan for the day; it’s in your purse.”

  “What? And you didn’t tell me?”

  She retrieved her purse and spotted the envelope. “There’s … oh my—” she turned an odd color of pale—“at least five thousand dollars in here. And it sat in the car with the doors unlocked most of the afternoon while we fed the ducks.”

  “Not many people think to steal from a squad car, at least not on this side of town.”

  “You really should have said something.”

  “Holding that much money makes you go kind of yellow pale; I don’t think you’re entirely sure it belongs in your hands yet. It was easier not to tell you than to see the reaction.”

  “I know it’s just money, but it’s not just money, you know?”

  He came around to lean against the car beside her, and the teasing disappeared. “I know.”

  “What am I supposed to do with being rich? Leave it sit in a bank account when so many could use a helping hand? Give it away, and in a few years find I’ve done nothing but give it away? Spend it all on things I enjoy?”

  “There’s no right answer. God might be wise enough to judge the intents of your heart and what you choose to do over the next years, but the rest of the chorus of voices you’ll be hearing saying do this with it or that will just be random noise. Follow your heart. It’s your money, not someone else’s, and uniquely your task to sort out.”

  “I wish the situation was reversed and you had inherited the money.”

  “I don’t.” He smiled at her. “You’re a thinker; your gallery reflects that, your love of painting. Major money takes thinking to figure out what to do with it. I’d rather be out chasing car thieves and answering old ladies who hear cats and think prowlers have come by.”

  “And occasionally working murder scenes.”

  “Marsh and I take what comes with the days. You want to go get those french fries, or have you changed your mind?”

  “The intent is good, but there’s probably a better way to pass out free food to kids than hollering at them with a bullhorn. Maybe I’ll sponsor a kids’ night at the ballpark and give away hot dogs.”

  “With mustard.”

  She smiled. “With mustard.”

  He opened the passenger door for her. “You’re going to do fine being rich, Marie. You’ll see.”

  Connor had been to the chief’s house a few dozen times in his life, but it had never become comfortable ground, and coming by in the evening hadn’t changed that. The barbeque pit out back was fine, but the private office tucked at the back of the house—the inner sanctum of the chief’s territory—it was the place sheriffs from the surrounding area came to put up their feet and privately compare notes on crimes and cops and who was cutting it and who was not. It was not the place mere cops wanted to be, and he’d be sitting in that office soon.

  Connor waited by the kitchen door while the chief opened the refrigerator and found cold drinks. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat? I’ve got a few steaks set back and the grill is still hot; or there are sandwich fixings that can quickly pile together.”

  “I’m fine, Chief.”

  Luke found himself a soda and passed another one over. Connor studied the man he worked for as he opened the soda. The man had come up through the force from a rookie walking the streets to end up as chief of police. Connor respected the work and focus that journey had demanded, and he knew it had come with experiences Connor wasn’t sure he would want to ever face himself. Granger looked tired tonight, like he hadn’t slept much in the last twenty-four hours, and Connor wondered just what it really was he’d stepped into. The chief’s call late last night had answered some of the questions, and the request that he help cover Marie today while they worked on the security picture—that had been no hardship. But what he was seeing tonight said there was more to it than that.

  “Sam will be here shortly.”

  “It’s no problem. There are few places I need to be tonight.”

  It was personal for the chief—that was the only thing that made sense, the fact this was being worked late at night, quietly on the side, said the case was not only sensitive but also personally important. To the best of his knowledge, the chief had met Amanda Griffin only once or twice and briefly at that three years before. It made him wonder. But he also understood some of it. If the oldest sister was anything like Marie in personality, it didn’t take much time to form an impression that mattered.

  “What’s your opinion of Marie after today?”

  Connor smiled. “Tiger shark wearing a lei.”

  Luke chuckled. “You had a good afternoon.”

  “She’s roughly my age, remembers high school as I do, gets nervous in an endearing kind of way, and has a laugh that makes a guy want to dive into it. She’s still pretty real for a rich lady—lots of layers, but not the hard-shell, polite kind of layers.” He stopped talking, for he was trying to fit a whirlwind of reality into something that could be conveyed to another cop, and it just wasn’t coming out right. “I like her.”

  “Can she handle the fact her sister is alive?”

  “Alive, yes. That Amy’s spent the last eight years running for her life—I don’t think Marie has had anything in her life to prepare her for that kind of reality arriving.”

  “What about Tracey?”

  “Marsh would have a better read. I don’t know. I think it’s all around going to be one incredible shock.”

  Connor felt a nudge and looked down to see Wilks looking for some attention. He reached down to rub the dog’s head. Chester had met him earlier only to disappear out through the dog door to explore outside.

  “Silver Security was covering Marie when you left her?”

  “He put two of the best on her—James Anthem and Michael Tate. They were outside Daniel’s place, and they’ll stay on her back to the gallery apartment. The security improvements seem to have done the job for tightening the place up. Marie will be fine upstairs.”

  “You introduced her to the man who will be the visible security around the building and gallery?”

  Connor nodded. “Jonathan tapped Tom Bryce for the job; he put her at ease pretty quick with that smile of his. She seemed satisfied that his presence around the gallery will be enough to keep the reporters and thrill seekers in check. The fact he could also take down a professional hit man we just kind of glossed over.”

  “Better that way, I think.”

  “The sisters can’t stay in that cocoon for long; they’ll slip coverage not even realizing why it’s so important to have around.”

  “I know. This is at best a stopgap arrangement for a few days while we sort things out.”

  “Daniel knows?”

  “No. You, me, Marsh, Sam, Jonathan—the world that knows Amy is alive is staying under a handful until I’m sure we understand the risks. Word gets out she’s alive before we’ve found her again—you can be sure it will make the search we’ve made so far be like child’s play compared to the effort it would take then.”

  Lights crossed the window. “There’s Sam now.”

  The chief went to meet him and Connor waited. Sam Chapel was the kind of man a cop could respect and admire but also want to stay an uneasy step away from. Sam did the type of investigations that weren’t illegal, just often distasteful. He found out facts that could form—if not a case which could hold up in a court of law—a slate of truth about a matter. When you had to know something, you called Sam. And one way or another he figured out what the answer was. The fact the chief had made the call to Sam on this case told Connor more than he probably should know. The chief didn’t work off
the books from his own pocket unless the information was both highly charged and extremely dangerous to know.

  The men came in. Sam was still very much the broad-shouldered, thick-chested, powerful defensive tackle who could control his environment without much effort. Connor had to stop himself from stepping back to give the man more room.

  “Connor.”

  He nodded a greeting in return rather than shake hands. “Sam.” The investigator had come into his profession after a side trip through the navy, and his hands still had the strength of a man accustomed to wrestling ships into line.

  Connor followed Sam and the chief back to the office. He was involved even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to be, and about the only thing he knew for certain was the next few days were going to be a challenge.

  Connor knew the reason Amy Griffin had run, the reason Richard Wise wanted her dead, but listening to the two men who had carried the knowledge of Amy’s flight around with them for years made him feel like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation. He stood inside the door to the chief’s office, one hand resting on the bookshelf and the other holding the cold soda, and he listened and he learned. This was now his problem too. Not only because his partner, Marsh, dated Tracey, but because he personally liked Marie.

  Sam flipped back through his notebook and then simply closed it. “Amy’s last known location was Minnesota, twenty months ago. There’s no need to be more specific than that—you can safely be sure I’ve turned that lead upside down without results. She’s been cold since then. Nothing passed to the federal officers she works with. No contacts or attempts to make contact that I can discover. No inquiries by third parties that would raise the concern. She just for reasons of her own dropped out of sight.”

  “Again,” the chief added with a grimace.

  “She does like to run solo.” Sam shifted in his chair. “I do know she monitors what is going on in this town and with her sisters. The news conference this morning—odds are good she knows about it now or will know about it in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “And if Amy is watching for news—Richard Wise and his crew will be watching too,” the chief said. “Maybe not quite as closely, but the fact Amy has two sisters is known to them. The fact those two sisters just came into a chunk of money—it’s not if Richard Wise will act but when and where and how. He wants money out of this family; he’ll take it from Amy first, but he’ll go after the sisters if that’s the only way to get it.”

  “Amy’s going to be worried for her sisters’ safety and with reason. She’s going to be heading to this town; it’s the only reasonable conclusion,” Sam said.

  “She’ll contact you surely?” Connor asked.

  Sam looked his way. “Maybe. Amy knows I’ll already be doing what can be done to watch out for her sisters. She’ll assume Richard either has my office bugged or has someone following me.”

  “Will he?”

  Sam shrugged. “Years back he sent someone to break into my office in order to pilfer through the file after I’d been in New York, probably on the assumption I had a lead written down regarding where Amy might have gone. I used that fact to feed back some false information that may have bought her some time. I’ll be hoping they use the same tactics again this time. Whoever arrives will have to get information from somewhere. You can be certain they’ll have someone following the sisters, expecting Amy to make contact there. You can also assume they’ll be paying for inside tips from anyone even remotely close to the family, their friends, the reporters around them. They’ll be wanting to know movement times and places and who is important to them. Consider what is coming to be a case of information warfare. But if they locate Amy before we do—she’s going to be dead.”

  “Assuming she’s not already dead,” the chief said quietly. “We don’t know why she went silent. What was the longest silence before this?”

  “Six months.”

  Connor winced.

  The chief just absorbed the bad news and nodded. “Do you know how much of the money she had turned in? All of the accounts, some of them?”

  “She still had one final batch of accounts and the oldest of the logbooks to deliver when she went cold. My guess, she’s still holding something between five and ten million. The feds are hoping against hope she’ll still make contact and turn them in.”

  “The oldest log—it’s likely the one with information about what got the boyfriend’s father in the sights of Richard Wise to begin with.” The chief leaned forward in his chair. “We need to know a great deal more than we do at present about Richard Wise and his current organization. How much control he still exerts from jail, who in New York might be at the top of the list to see disappear from there and show up here.”

  “I know the New York cop to ask; I’ll be flying out and back tomorrow.”

  “And if they don’t send anyone?” Connor asked.

  Sam looked back at him. “Then they already know Amy’s dead. But even then I think they’d still send someone to come after the sisters for the money.” He got to his feet. “I know Amy well enough to know it’s not that easy a thing to get a jump on her. I believe she’s still alive and she’s going to be heading to town to watch out for her sisters. Jonathan’s guys are in place for the security, so I’ll put my focus on Richard Wise and getting the latest out of New York on who might be coming this way to cause that trouble.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  “I can find my way out—you two need to talk some more.” Sam left the office.

  Connor took the seat Sam had vacated. “What are you thinking, Chief?”

  “If Amy’s going to make contact, it’s going to be in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “What’s the plan if she does?”

  “That I haven’t figured yet.” The chief tapped his pen on the pad of notes he was working from. “The Silver Security guys can cover Marie and Tracey for the most part—the gallery, their basic routines. The problem is if Amy contacts one of the sisters rather than Sam. If we’ve got one or both of the sisters trying to slip away for a private meeting with Amy and if Amy is the one giving them a list of steps to take to shake any tails—I don’t think there will be enough Silver Security guys around the sisters, at least not in close enough, to be able to stop it.”

  “Tracey isn’t going to keep a secret like that from Marsh. I have to believe that.”

  “Probably not, but Amy calling Marie is the more likely first contact. And if she stresses the danger—Marie may get convinced to go alone.”

  Marie didn’t strike Connor as particularly foolish or suicidally brave, but her sister calling—Marie would go alone and never hesitate on it. The thought didn’t sit well with him either. “We need to tell the sisters that Amy is alive.”

  “I know. But I’m not willing to raise hope only to have to tell them Amy spent years running and died twenty months ago. At least not for the next couple days. After that there may be no choice but to tell them.”

  Connor understood that. “Marsh and I can keep in pretty tight with them for the next forty-eight hours. The weekend makes that pretty easy to handle, and the number of reporters around does at least contain where the sisters are going to want to go. Daniel can help too. The sisters will be spending time with him at places where we’ve already got security established. The gallery and their apartment flat is covered. Is it enough?”

  “The sisters have got money, and Richard Wise is going to want it; so how does the trouble come?” the chief replied.

  “A kidnapping or threat of one,” Connor finally said, dreading the very thought of it.

  “That’s what I think too. Forty-eight hours and we’ll have to tell the sisters why the security bubble has to stay tight and close. I just hope Amy comes in before then.” The chief pushed aside the pad of paper. “Are you okay with this, Connor? I realize it’s turned into a pretty personal thing from the initial favor you were asked to do for Daniel.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Marsh dating
Tracey would have had me in the middle of this anyway, and I find I like Marie a great deal too. It’s no hardship.” Connor got to his feet. “Marsh and Tracey are due back tomorrow midday. I’ll touch base after I’ve talked with him. Chief—” He hesitated to ask the question.

  “Ask.”

  “You and Amy—it sounds very personal.”

  “She wrote an ‘if I die’ letter; my name’s on the envelope. And I’m wondering if I’m about to get it in the mail.”

  Chapter Seven

  LUKE WAS WAITING for the mail to arrive, lingering around the house before starting his Saturday errands until he flipped through what was delivered, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. He finished his coffee and walked through to his workshop to open the gun safe. Amy had disappeared twenty months ago, but the news of her disappearance was fresh, as was the real fear she was dead. He would be dreading the mail now until he knew one way or another where she was.

  He tugged out a box of gear he’d stored years before.

  That “if I die” letter had been written. Amy had hated the idea of disrupting his life by putting his name on the letter. She had asked him to think about it and then never got back to him to see what he thought—but the news she had sisters in his town had removed any question from his mind. Amy had written the letter, put his name and his title on it, and given it to someone she trusted to mail if it became necessary. She would have hoped by doing so she was providing him with enough ammunition to help him keep her sisters safe. If something happened to her she would have wanted him to understand why she was appealing from the grave for his help. The fact Sam had mentioned Amy had made an odd request for Luke’s home address and Sam had passed it on just suggested the letter might be coming here rather than the office.

  Luke listened for the vehicle with the rough exhaust to rumble by delivering mail into the street-side boxes while he cleaned and repacked gear he had rarely had cause to use since he had been promoted to deputy chief and then police chief. When he’d been down in the trenches he had headed vice, robbery, and then major cases, working when needed on the SWAT team, and while he didn’t have the reflexes to be doing that SWAT job again, he figured the equipment and knowledge were going to be useful if this got ugly. If she was alive Amy had to have the news about her sisters by now; she was going to be on her way here.