Camels and Corpses

by G. K. Parks

  Arriving at home, I turned on my computer and scanned my e-mail inbox for our correspondence. I was a packrat, and even online, I still saved all my messages in properly labeled folders. After the Paris case, Ryan and I exchanged dozens of e-mails. The last time we corresponded was six months ago. He said he volunteered for a new undercover assignment to which I teased him about not expecting me to bail him out again. There hadn’t been a single reply, and I assumed he was working. I had been busy and didn’t give it a second thought. Maybe that was partially my fault.

  I sat staring at my computer screen, hoping answers would appear, but they didn’t. When I couldn’t take the questions my brain continued to pose, I dialed O’Connell. In the last twenty-four hours, he verified Donough’s story that he was working undercover to get close to Barlow, but the details regarding the goal were not relinquished. And since the DA’s office was claiming jurisdiction due to the number of crimes that occurred in our city and our police force being instrumental in putting an end to it, Ryan wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

  “We’re keeping his passport and papers,” O’Connell said. “Even though he’s not a criminal, something’s fishy. After all, it’s not like his documentation is even under his real name. It’s Ryan Hoyt’s.”

  “Is there a unit keeping tabs on him?”

  “Absolutely. The guy hasn’t left his hotel since we dropped him off.” O’Connell paused briefly. “You probably don’t want to talk about this, but did he really pull you out of that warehouse in Paris?” Obviously, Nick was reading through the old case file.

  “By the time the police rolled in, I pulled myself out, but he made sure I was okay and didn’t get arrested.”

  “I take it the irony isn’t lost on you.”

  “Not in the least.” I sighed. “I’ve been skimming our occasional correspondence. I have an e-mail from six months ago that corroborates the story he told you, at least in part.” Nick made a hmm sound but didn’t speak. “There are a handful of people I trust with my life,” I began, realizing this even as I was saying it, “and Ryan Donough is one of them. I need to hear him out and find out what is going on.”

  “Okay. No one’s ever doubted your instincts, Parker, but just be careful.” O’Connell provided the room number and hotel, and as soon as we hung up, I got back in my car.

  Before going up to Ryan’s room, I spoke to the officers on duty and informed them that Mr. Donough would be going for a ride and gave them my address. At least they wouldn’t get in trouble if they lost us in cross-city traffic. Then I took a deep breath and went up to Ryan’s room.

  “Room service,” I called from the hallway, and he opened the door.

  “Funny, I didn’t order room service.” He cracked a smile, seeming much more rested and in better spirits than he did at the precinct.

  “You do realize you’re supposed to inform me when you’re planning a visit instead of just showing up out of the blue. It’s proper etiquette. Do I have to sign you up for daily e-mail reminders on how to behave in civilized society?” I quipped.

  “Bloody hell, Alex.” He tried to hide his grin, but it wasn’t working. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek with the back of his hand and gestured to the chair next to the tiny table next to the bed in the tiny room. “I was convinced you had me pegged from that first night you showed up with that sports car.”

  “No.” I sat down and studied him. He took a seat on the unmade bed. “Didn’t I make myself clear about having to save your ass when it comes to these long-term assignments?”

  “I’m fine,” his demeanor shifted, “but you shouldn’t be here. You’re a civilian. None of this concerns you.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the last time you needed my help, I was a civilian then too.” His eyes darted around the room, and he took a deep breath, struggling to make up his mind about something. “What’s all of this really about, Ryan? The ICC wouldn’t send a cop across the Atlantic for a few car thieves.”

  He picked at the threadbare spread on the bed. “I’m not here for a car thief.”

  “Yeah, I figured that much out on my own. Are you even working for the International Criminal Court?”

  “Yes.” He pressed his lips together. “Well, maybe since I’m in North America, it’s Interpol now. It’s hard to keep track when dealing with joint task forces. You remember how bloody fantastic those can be.” I nodded. “We’re attempting to track someone else.”

  “Who?” He shook his head. “Well, they clearly aren’t in this room. Do they have ties to Barlow?”

  “That’s what the intel says.” Non-answers were annoying.

  “Did I blow your cover or your case?” His eyes darted to mine, and I saw the remorse. “Just tell me what you need, so I can fix it.”

  “No. I won’t ask anything else of you. Not on this.” I glared at him. “Do you still have a wicked right cross?”

  “I’m not sure. I broke my knuckles recently and haven’t hit anyone since. Are you volunteering to find out?” He chuckled. “Grab your stuff and let’s get out of here. This room is making me claustrophobic.” Before he could protest, I stood up. “We’re friends, and you’re in my neck of the woods. The least you can do is come over for dinner.”

  “What about my police escort?”

  “They can buy their own dinner. Plus, I already told them you’d be at my place if they’re looking for you.” I tossed his jacket to him. “Vite. Vite.” He rambled a response in French that I didn’t understand since it wasn’t something I practiced on a daily basis. “Have I mentioned I’m thankful English is your first language?”

  Seven

  Unlocking my door, I let Ryan inside my apartment. He slowly walked around, taking in the view from my fire escape and otherwise doing what trained investigators do. Snoop. I watched him, wondering what he was thinking as I took off my shoulder holster and laid it on the table, leaving my gun in the slot. He glanced at it, acknowledging that it was that simple gesture that spoke volumes about my level of trust for him.

  “Nice place,” he complimented. “Did you just move in? Or is this a safe house you keep for uninvited guests?”

  “It’s my apartment, jackass. I’ve lived here for almost seven years.” Guys always gave me grief about my apartment and office. Apparently, I lacked the ability to make a place seem lived in or homey. I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. As usual, it was basically empty. “Want something to drink? I can offer you water, beer, or whatever’s still stocked in my liquor cabinet. Unless you want some tea or coffee.” He shook his head, and I shut the fridge, pulling out the stack of menus for the local delivery joints.

  “Alexis,” he caught my eye as I spread the menus across the counter for his perusal, “why didn’t you tell me you stopped working for the OIO?”

  “It didn’t seem important. You and I rarely discuss the cases we’re working. I guess I just assumed you knew.”

  “The last I heard, you were working a bloody kidnapping,” he argued. “Isn’t that in your FBI’s jurisdiction?” I shrugged. “And let’s see, before that you mentioned a corruption case.”

  I put my hand up. “Okay, fine. Maybe you had reason to think I was still an agent.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “If I was, would you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Bollocks,” he muttered. “I’m already indebted to you. I’m not asking for anything else.”

  “You’re not. I’m offering.” He hesitated, and I turned up my powers of persuasion. “Look, at the moment, I’m unemployed. Do you want to see what I’m like when I go stir crazy? The only way I stay out of trouble is by having something to do. So let me focus on helping out a friend. I’m a consultant. How ‘bout I consult for you?” I gave him my dazzling smile.

  “Is this how you got the keys to that blue Ferrari?” he quipped.

  “Actually,” I laughed, “it kinda is.”

  “Only you.” He shook his head and sighed. “But there’s a hard line here. I’ll tell you what is going on, an
d you will point me in the right direction. If you have colleagues who might be of some assistance, I would appreciate that, but you are not becoming directly involved.”

  “How could I?” My innocent act could be very convincing at times. “I have zero authority when it comes to criminal matters. Now, if you’re chasing a cheating spouse or looking for photographic evidence of fraud being committed, that would be my area of expertise.”

  “Bullshit.” He rolled his eyes. Maybe I needed to polish my halo before trying the innocent act again. I stared up at him expectantly. “Fine, but we’re ordering dinner first. I’m famished. I haven’t had a decent meal since Friday afternoon.”

  “See, I’m already saving your ass.”

  After deciding on some hibachi and sushi, I phoned in our order. Since it was peak dinner hours for a Sunday, they were slightly backed up, but our food should be arriving within the hour. I found a notepad and pen and cleared everything else off the dining room table.

  “Where should I begin?” He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. It was rhetorical, and he attempted to organize his thoughts. Finally, he spoke. “Have you ever heard of the Camel?”

  “As in ‘careful, they spit’?” Maybe I should have taken Ryan for a head CT instead.

  “No. He’s a contract killer. He earned the nickname because of his disposal method.” He bit the inside of his lip, wondering where to go from here. “The International Criminal Court has a unit that monitors similar criminal activity across the EU. Needless to say, there were two murders in Paris almost seven months ago. We didn’t have any leads, but the ICC passes along the information and Interpol shows up.”

  “Don’t you hate it when uninvited guests thwart your investigation?”

  “I know. It’s so annoying.” He played along. “But it turns out this man means serious business. Interpol hasn’t determined his true identity. The ICC still wants to call dibs, and the Police Nationale are wondering when everyone will leave us the fuck alone. Excluding present company, we are capable of handling our own crime scenes.”

  “What did your captain say about all of this?”

  “He asked if I wanted to assist Interpol. I’m sure you must remember Agent Delacroix.” I rolled my eyes and grunted. “Needless to say, I was assigned to liaise between HQ and Interpol, except Delacroix passes me off to the ICC.”

  “That’s because you’re such a useful asset.”

  “Or because he doesn’t know how the bloody hell to conduct an operation.”

  “Which goes without saying,” I supplied. Agent Delacroix was a huge pain in the ass. On my bitchier days, I hoped he would get run over by every single biker in the Tour de France. Alas, no such luck. “Does the ICC know the Camel’s actual identity?”

  “No.” He went to the fridge, pulling out a beer. “The dates of the Camel’s murders correspond to Reginald Barlow’s travel itinerary. All the cities he visited turned up a corpse with the Camel’s M.O. It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Reggie’s the Camel?” I asked, knowing it couldn’t be this simple.

  “That’s what I thought. It’s why I was keeping tabs on him, why I infiltrated his inner circle, tracked his movements, and learned more than I ever wanted to know about disassembling cars.” I sensed the but coming. “And after all these months, he’s never done anything to prove he’s a contract killer.”

  I looked down at the notes I absently scribbled while Ryan spoke. The frustration in the room was apparent. “What about the other members of his team? I only know about the people he hired on this end, but if you were part of his inner circle, you must know who else is involved.”

  “The timeframe doesn’t fit for any of them. At least not that I’m aware.” He blew out a breath and returned to the table. “Some have gotten caught or arrested. Others have taken their cut and left for whatever the reason.” He shook his head. “The victims, the people the Camel targeted, I don’t know how Barlow would have managed to be in contact with any of them.”

  “Since you’re pursuing a contract killer, how does he collect his payment? How do his client’s get in touch with him?”

  “We don’t know.” His eyes pleaded with me. “I can’t stay here. I doubt Barlow is the Camel, and the longer your detective friend keeps me here, the less chance we have of finding the actual killer.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you tell O’Connell this?”

  “Because I can’t risk him questioning Barlow or the others about it. What if I’m wrong, and he is the Camel? Or maybe he’s in contact with him. It could tip him off. He might go into hiding, and we’d never find him.”

  “Now who doesn’t think a police force can conduct a proper investigation?” I growled. Putting myself in Ryan’s shoes, I understood his misplaced desire for secrecy. Getting a killer off the street was important, but this wasn’t the way to do anything. “How come the ICC and Interpol haven’t said anything to the local authorities? If there’s a killer loose in our city, don’t you think someone needs to know about this?”

  “Politics,” he suggested. “Or fear of botching the investigation,” he added more pointedly as reinforcement to his previous dumbass move.

  “And you weren’t planning to share any of this with me either?”

  “I was afraid of what you’d do.”

  “Right now, I’m going to call Nick and make sure they keep a close watch on the men in custody and every visitor who comes and goes. Then you and I will dig into everyone’s background and see what we can find. We’ll look for repeat numbers, possible dead drops or pick-ups, and anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Alex,” he protested, “you’re only consulting.”

  “No, I’m advising. Then I’m going to spend too many hours sitting behind the computer, helping you track leads. And,” I grabbed the phone and headed to my bedroom, “if you behave yourself, tomorrow, I’ll take you to the OIO offices, and you can speak with some people who can actually provide help.”

  “Thank you.”

  “De rien.” I smiled, recalling bits and pieces of my French.

  As Ryan attempted to make himself useful by locating flatware and plates, I paced the walkway in my bedroom, rattling off everything he just divulged. Nick wasn’t happy about having a potential contract killer in lockup. He was even less pleased that Ryan told me what was going on.

  “Parker,” O’Connell warned, “don’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re like a dog with a goddamn bone. Just because Mr. French is spouting out crazy tales of camels and corpses doesn’t mean you need to involve yourself. Why don’t you let those of us with badges do the heavy lifting?”

  “I am,” I insisted. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll introduce Ryan to Mark and Agent Farrell, and they can sort this all out.” I made a tsk sound. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a private investigator. We don’t track killers. Union rules.”

  “You don’t have a union.”

  “Are you sure? Someone came by to collect dues from my paycheck last week?”

  “You don’t get a regular paycheck either.” The doorbell rang.

  “See there’s my union representative right now, hopefully delivering dinner.” Ryan called that he’d get it while Nick continued to instill upon me his infinite wisdom on leaving well enough alone. Well enough should never be alone. If it was well enough, shouldn’t I share it with everyone else? I heard muffled voices coming from my living room. “I’ll talk to you later.” Hanging up the phone, I opened my bedroom door to find Martin standing at my front door.

  “I said she was in the bedroom,” Ryan retorted angrily. “Now who the hell are you?”

  “Is this the Saint Bernard?” Martin seethed, ignoring Ryan, who as of yet wouldn’t let him step foot inside my apartment.

  “No.” I slid into the space between the two men. I had never seen Martin in an actual fight. Sure, I’d seen him spar with Bruiser on occasion, but his posture was rigid and his muscles taut. Honestly, I wo
uldn’t be surprised if he started swinging. “This is my friend, Ryan. He’s a cop.” Forcing Martin to look at me, he relaxed slightly. Ryan stepped back, still watching Martin uncertainly. “Come inside. The neighbors already hate me enough as it is, and we don’t need to cause a commotion.”

  “Ryan?” Martin’s eyes narrowed, recalling the name.

  “From Paris,” I added quietly, pressing my lips together, fearing what he’d do next. His green eyes flashed rage, sorrow, and something I couldn’t place. Looking away from him, I found Ryan confused and on edge. “Ryan Donough meet James Martin.”

  “The CEO,” Ryan practically spat. Being stuck in a room with two overprotective alpha males was not the way I intended to spend my Sunday. Maybe I should just shoot both of them and then track down the Camel to ask for tips on body disposal. “It figures you’d keep the job protecting the man that almost got you killed.”

  “Ryan,” I snapped sharply, “don’t pretend to know what’s going on here.” Martin stepped forward, and I put my palms against his chest to stop him.

  “That’s rich, coming from the goddamn coward that sent my girlfriend into a trap. You left her there to die, you son of a bitch.” His chest was heaving as he sucked in ragged breaths. If I weren’t standing between them, Martin would rip Ryan to pieces.

  To his benefit, Ryan looked appropriately nauseous and guilty. “Alex,” he began, and I shook my head. Someone in the room needed to be the adult, and since it was my house, I guess that meant it should be me.

  “Take it easy,” I said to Martin. “Regardless of what you think, Ryan isn’t my enemy. He did what he could.” I turned to Ryan. “And you misinterpreted what I told you about my bodyguard work. Show some respect. Martin’s not my boss anymore. He’s my boyfriend.” That word always sounded so juvenile, but it was appropriate, especially with the way these two grown men were acting.