Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  Now he was forced to cover a kidnapping, and that was much worse than a little fraud.

  “What did you hope to achieve with this kidnapping, anyway?” he asked. “Didn’t you realize that another DOI investigator would just replace the one you took?”

  There was a long pause. “Yeah, but it would have bought me time to cover things up.”

  “What it’s done is shine the spotlight on all her investigations. Now we’re in more danger of getting caught than we ever were. Thanks to you. We’ve got to figure out what to do with the girl.”

  “Well, you can stop worrying because I haven’t killed her yet,” the panicked voice said. “My plan got all thrown off when you told me I had the wrong person.”

  “Don’t do anything. I can still pull our asses out of the fire; I have a plan. You said you took the real investigator’s computer?”

  “Yeah—bag, laptop, the folders on her desk. I’m going to burn it all.”

  He shook his head at his partner’s lack of foresight. “Don’t do that, dumbass.”

  “I can’t have it lying around here.”

  “Bring it to me. If I’m right, something in there will help us pin this whole thing on someone else.”

  “Fine. Where should we meet?”

  They agreed to convene at a drive-in burger joint, and in his excitement to get things over with, he arrived before his partner and parked in one of the carhop slots.

  Yes, this was a good choice of venue. The place was full of loiterers; no one would notice two more.

  Besides, he was hungry.

  He pressed the button on the call box, a carhop arrived, and he ordered quickly. When he ate, in his heightened mental state, the food seemed to taste better than it ever had before. Even the simple hamburger seemed to explode in a symphony of flavor in his mouth, and he was tempted to call back the carhop and order the same meal just so he could savor it all over again.

  He really should commit crimes more often if this kind of heightened awareness was a result. It was delightful.

  But his partner’s car pulled up beside him, so he popped the last of the burger into his mouth and crumpled up the wrapper, tossing it aside.

  He lowered the passenger window. “You weren’t followed, were you?” he asked in a low voice.

  “No.”

  Then another thought struck him. “The girl. She’s not…with you, is she?” He had a horrible vision of the intern tied up in the trunk of his partner’s car, screaming while they tried to discuss business. He couldn’t have her alerting anyone to what was going on.

  His partner waved his hand in a frantic quieting motion. “Shhh. For God’s sake. I’m not an idiot. She’s safe and secure in my—”

  “—I don’t want to know where she is. I don’t care to know. She’s your problem. I’m just trying to keep us both from getting caught. Now get in my car and bring the bag.” He watched as his partner clambered in. “You want dessert?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  He rolled his eyes, wondering again at his partner’s lack of interest. Wasn’t he experiencing a new crime-based acuity?

  He supposed not. His partner looked a bit lost, and he seemed more than willing to hand over the investigator’s paraphernalia.

  In the vacant space between the front seats, he emptied the contents of the tote bag and took inventory of his assets: a stack of file folders containing information from Southeastern Insurance, a file labeled Roger McKade, a laptop computer, a digital camera with pictures from a burned building dated today, a leather-bound planner, and a house key.

  He smiled when he saw the house key.

  If it were always this easy, why were criminals ever caught?

  The DOI investigator had all but handed him access to her and provided a scapegoat to boot.

  He held up the key. “This is going to be easier than I thought.”

  His partner looked hopeful. “Is that her house key?”

  He nodded, smiling bigger. “All you have to do is get the investigator. The real investigator. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  His partner looked at the key. “You got her address?”

  He sighed. “Can’t you find that for yourself?”

  “Geez, I was just asking.”

  “Check her planner. I can’t do everything.”

  “The way I see it, I’ve done everything so far.” But his partner complied and began to flip through pages of the datebook. Soon he paused and jotted something on a piece of notepaper taken from the back of the planner.

  “You may have done everything so far, but you’ve done it wrong. Just do it my way, and we can have the whole mess sorted out by tomorrow.” He jammed the key into his partner’s hand. “Go get Julia Jackson tonight.”

  I shifted in my chair and tried to squelch the discomfort that rose inside me at the realization that I was in enough danger to need to carry my weapon at all times. Sure, I was comfortable with a gun, but I was not quite as comfortable with the idea of my life being imperiled to such a high degree that I should not go anywhere unarmed.

  I did a poor job of hiding my unease because I suddenly felt panicked.

  “My key,” I said, as I pulled a key ring from my purse.

  The men’s heads snapped in my direction. Apparently, this was not the expected response to Vincent’s news about my need to carry a weapon.

  “Explain,” Vincent said as I flipped through the keys on the ring, looking for one in particular.

  “I took my house key off my ring this weekend when I went bicycling. It’s easier to carry that way. I’m pretty sure I put it in my work bag on the way out the door this morning.” The realization hit me. “He’s got my house key.”

  The abductor might not know exactly what I looked like, but he obviously knew where I was working, knew my name. It wouldn’t be hard for him to get my address, especially since it was written in my planner. But any idiot with a computer could do that. Heck, he could just use a phone book.

  He had access to my house. He could have trashed the place by now.

  Or he could be sitting in my kitchen, having a Coke and waiting for me with gun in hand.

  He could have murdered my cat.

  Oh God!

  Tears leapt to my eyes as I thought of another innocent creature in jeopardy because of me. First Amber and now my cat, Maxwell, at the mercy of a criminal.

  I jumped up. I wasn’t going to let some scumbag get away with endangering any other innocent victims. He would not have free rein in my house, and I was definitely not going to let him ambush me.

  “I’ve got to get home. I need a locksmith.”

  I sat back down with a thunk. I had no way home. “I need a ride to my car. It’s still at the Stop ’n’ Shoppe.”

  “I’ll give you a ride if that works for you,” Vincent said.

  I glanced at him, surprised. Beyond being a little suspicious of his motives, I saw no reason to reject his offer, especially given the fact that it was really my only option.

  “Fine.” I stood again and pulled my purse strap over my shoulder. Then I thought the better of just dashing off. “But before we go, I need to make a few phone calls, and I’ll need to borrow a computer. Mine was taken in the abduction, and the loaner from Matilda isn’t set up yet.”

  “Here, use mine.” Ted stood, giving me access to the laptop neatly centered on his desk, and brushed the wrinkles from his wrinkle-free slacks.

  Vincent also stood. “Fifteen minutes enough?”

  I nodded, and the men disappeared down the hall.

  The first thing I did was call Tripp on my cell phone. I paced the room as I waited for him to answer.

  “I forgot all about your car,” he said by way of greeting.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got a ride. I’m calling for something else.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need you to send some uniforms to check my house. My house key was in the bag the abductor took. I didn’t realize it until now.”


  “Damn! I’ll send someone out immediately. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” He paused. “A neighbor?” He knew better than to suggest my mother’s house.

  I shook my head even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I’ve got a locksmith on the way tonight. Once I change the locks, I’ll be fine.”

  “Jules…”

  “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. Anything new on Amber?”

  “We’re impounding the vehicle, and we’ve found prints.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “We also found out that the abductor asked an intern—Carl West, I think—where your office was. Carl was on his way through the lobby for a smoke break, and he was in the middle of typing a text message. Barely looked up at the perpetrator when he told him your office number. We’ve got a sketch artist with him now, but I don’t think he’ll be much help.”

  I wished Carl would prove to be more helpful than Tripp anticipated, but I’d seen how those interns were. You could drop a nuclear bomb in front of them and they wouldn’t notice if they were texting at the time.

  “We’re going to canvass the strip mall again tomorrow morning when the stores reopen,” Tripp continued, “and we’ve got people looking into Amber’s boyfriend.”

  “The insurance angle?”

  “We’re still pursuing that.”

  “So are we. The DOI sent another agent to help speed my inquiries along.”

  “You’re not an official part of the abduction investigation, Jules. We’re going to interview the fraud-related suspects too.”

  “I know, but getting to the bottom of the fraud cases might reveal something that could help.”

  Tripp was quiet. I knew he disapproved.

  “I’m going to keep investigating no matter what you say. You know that, right? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, Jules. Just be careful, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I had no intention of not being careful.

  After disconnecting with Tripp, I sat behind Ted’s desk to get to work on the computer. Even his chair was too perfect to make that squeaky spring sound most office furniture seems to make.

  Typical.

  His laptop was dark, so I tapped the touchpad, and the screen came to life. Even Ted’s computer desktop was neat. Just a plain blue background with a few files off to the left-hand side.

  I clicked on his web browser and looked up a certified and bonded locksmith. I chose the first on the list, creatively named AAA Locks. I checked my watch.

  It was after six.

  Great, I’d be paying an after-hours fee to the locksmith for sure.

  My pocketbook would hurt, but at least my home would be secure.

  I made the call, during which I balked at and then agreed to their exorbitant fees. I didn’t have time to shop around. He said he’d arrive in an hour, which I took to mean sometime before midnight.

  Exasperated, I hung up and got busy gathering my case files. The information was all preliminary, and there was nothing official from Southeastern, the wastewater treatment plant, or Gerwalt Insurance—the independent agency who wrote the policy. At the moment, all I had were progress reports to Ted, but I did find a copy of the file on Roger McKade, the owner of the building that had recently burned. I printed two copies of each report and then stored digital versions of everything on the flash drive I carried on my keychain.

  Mark Vincent leaned against the doorjamb. “Ready?”

  “Yup. I printed some reading material for you.” I handed him the files as we headed out of Ted’s office and down the narrow hall to the exit.

  Vincent flipped through the papers, glancing briefly at each one. “Thanks. I’ll have this read by tomorrow morning.”

  He was in for some entertaining bedtime reading, that’s for sure.

  He didn’t say anything else as we walked to his vehicle, so I didn’t either.

  It was still early evening, and the temperature hovered somewhere near the boiling point. Sweat began to form on the small of my back before we made it halfway across the parking lot.

  Vincent pointed me toward an old GMC pickup parked at the curb. It looked like a 1970s model to my untrained eye, and it was painted olive drab. He opened the passenger door, and I hoisted myself in.

  I was relieved to find that the interior of the cab was clean. Only the floor mats had an accumulation of dirt, which was actually kind of comforting. I don’t know why.

  Vincent opened the driver’s door and slid behind the wheel. “Where to?”

  I told him how to get to the Stop ’n’ Shoppe, and off we went.

  We remained silent. My mother—before she lost it—had always taught me the importance of the comforts of idle conversation. She said that it was only polite to make small talk. It eased tension.

  As anxious as I was, I was in no position to ease tension, and obviously Vincent hadn’t been taught manners by my mother. The quiet offered too much temptation for me to think of Amber and the potential criminal at my house.

  By the time we thumped into the parking lot of the Stop ’n’ Shoppe, I was keyed up and ready to get home. I turned to Vincent. “Thanks for the ride,” I told him. “Since you’ll be working with me from here on out, why don’t you meet me at the field office at eight tomorrow and we’ll discuss where to start.”

  “Sounds fine.”

  “Great,” I said as I opened the truck door, intending to make a quick getaway.

  But before I could flee, he spoke. “Any objection to me coming home with you?” He said it totally deadpan.

  I stopped, suspended halfway out of the truck—one foot on the ground, one on the floor mat—and turned shocked eyes on him. At first glance, his face seemed expressionless, but then I saw that hint of amusement behind his eyes again.

  “Boy, do you need to work on your pickup lines,” I said, also deadpan.

  He surprised me by laughing, and the sound seemed incongruous with his military bearing.

  His next words were serious, however. “For protection. You are unarmed.”

  Of course, I realized sheepishly, he was offering his services in case there actually was some thug digging through my house or waiting for me with a loaded gun.

  “I’ve called the MPD. They’ve sent a car to my house.”

  “Still,” he said, “I’d feel more comfortable if I followed you home.”

  “There’s no need, really.” I saw that Vincent’s jaw was set and knew there was no point in arguing with him. Besides, my key was in the hands of a criminal who had kidnapped an innocent college kid when he’d intended to take me. One more cop wouldn’t hurt, but I didn’t particularly want Mark Vincent. “You’re going to follow me no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why bother asking?”

  “I was trying to be polite.”

  In no mood to continue the discussion, I didn’t bother to respond. I just hoisted my left leg out of the truck and shut the door. Let him follow me if he wanted. Nothing was going to happen on the way home.

  When I got into my Explorer, my eyes were drawn immediately to the bag from Beanfield’s Bakery on the passenger seat, a reminder that I had more vital matters to worry about than my annoyance at Vincent’s presence. A girl was missing. This was serious business and not the time for petty bouts of ego.

  However, it turns out I was right. Nothing happened on the way home, and Vincent did follow me at a discreet distance all the way into my driveway.

  An MPD car was idling at the curb when we pulled up. I’d seen these cops around, but I didn’t know them personally. Jones was a short, wide man with skin the color of espresso, and Tolt was even shorter, even wider, and his skin was as white as cream. An interesting pair. Sort of like multicultural Weebles. They sure looked like they’d wobble but not fall down. It was a question of weight distribution.

  “Jones, Tolt,” I said as I disposed of the bakery bag in a nearby trashcan. �
��Find anything?”

  “Negative, ma’am. We checked the perimeter and saw no signs of a break-in, but Detective Carver said to wait and check the inside.”

  “I appreciate it,” I said as I felt Vincent’s presence behind me. I was required to introduce him. “This is Special Agent Mark Vincent, also with the DOI.”

  Vincent flashed his credentials and shook hands.

  “I’m going across the street to get my extra key so you don’t have to break down the door.” I’d given my spare to Helena St. John for safe keeping. It was what people did in the South. Probably not the safest thing in the world, but that’s how things were done.

  And I knew I could trust Helena. She was one of my closest friends, even though we’d only met a year and a half ago when I’d finally been able to move out of my ratty apartment and into my little Tudor house.

  I dashed across the street and tried to put on a calm face. If Helena hadn’t heard about my supposed kidnapping, then I saw no need to go into it.

  I checked my watch. It was smack in the middle of dinner time.

  As I suspected, Helena came to the door looking harried and smelling vaguely of baby food. Some kind of liquefied meat, I thought, based on the fact that it smelled a little like cat food. But as usual Helena looked like an exotic fairy, with her chocolaty smooth skin and almond eyes. Her hair was cropped short, somewhere between a pixie cut and shaved, and it suited her.

  She always made me feel a bit like an uncouth Amazon. I envied her.

  But it wasn’t her looks or her prestigious career as a lawyer that caused me such feelings. It was the fact that she was living the exact life she wanted. Heck, I was envious that she actually knew exactly what she wanted.

  Because other than catching Tricia’s rapist and not being abducted, I had no idea what I wanted out of life.

  Helena smiled at me and swung the door wide, motioning me inside with a baby spoon. “Hey, Julia, come on in if you dare. It’s mealtime.”

  I stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind me to keep in the cool air and prevent her from seeing the police car parked in front of my house. No need to worry her if I didn’t have to. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I need my spare key. I…uh…managed to leave mine at work.”