by Cara Putman
“No, not with what happened to Gerard. But I know what I’m doing.” Just concerned about something she couldn’t explain, even when the lack of explanation made her look crazy. “Just bring the original file back when you’ve copied it.”
“You’ll tell me why when you can?” At Hayden’s nod, Leigh took the file. “I’ll drop the copy at your house.”
An hour later Hayden left the original file in a locked drawer, and sat in a small conference room with Detective Grearson and his sidekick. The detective had the salt-and-pepper hair to go with the ring of doughnuts around his middle. Officer Nanci Tucker took a backseat role, noting every word on a pad of paper.
Detective Grearson shifted in the chair. “Did the file have what you needed?”
Hayden set her hands in her lap, determined not to use them. “Yes.”
“All right. Tell us about Mr. Campbell.”
Hayden filled them in on her working relationship with the partner, and then told them about seeing him before lunch. “He was focused as he pushed me on the case, but nothing unusual. Then he called an hour before he died. Told me he needed to see me when he returned.”
The detective simply sat there watching her as the silence stretched between them. The officer kept her attention on the notepad. Hayden wondered what more they wanted her to say. She couldn’t walk into her office, hand them a file, and say here’s the killer. Even if she thought Gerard’s death might be tied to the Rodriguez case, she had no proof.
“Gerard was in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?”
Detective Grearson tapped the table with his thumbs as if drumming a beat of music. “We’re exploring all options.”
“The partners’ e-mail said he intervened in a robbery.”
“Maybe, but usually the victim stays until police arrive.”
“The victim left?”
“As soon as Mr. Campbell was shot, both the shooter and the victim took off. Different directions, according to witnesses, but both gone. Makes me wonder.”
“He’s a curious man.” Officer Tucker looked up and met Hayden’s eyes. “He likes to explore all the options.”
“Often our first thought isn’t right.” Detective Grearson studied her intently, as if he could look directly into her mind. “If there’s anything else you know or suspect, tell me.”
Hayden closed her eyes, deciding how much to share. There was the man who’d come in to meet with Gerard about the Rodriguez case, and the argument when a couple partners urged him to kill the case. Hayden opened her eyes and met Detective Grearson’s skeptical gaze. “Gerard accused me of going through his office over the weekend. It was completely trashed, but I don’t know why. Mine was rummaged through as well.”
Detective Grearson sat forward as Officer Tucker made a note. “Did you trash it?”
“No! I didn’t even come in this weekend.” She shrugged. “I can’t tell you it’s related to a specific case. His paralegal, Carmen, would be the best person to ask about all of his cases. But we have worked together on one case that has unusual pressure on it.”
“What kind of pressure?”
“It’s a case involving a young immigrant murdered while detained. The partners have been back and forth about whether to keep or kill it. I think a drug boss may be the actual client, but I’m not sure.”
“Interesting. Which one?”
“Gerard hadn’t told me. The young man’s name was Miguel Rodriguez. His mother, Maricel, was beaten severely Saturday.”
“You think these events are linked?”
“I don’t know.” How she wished she did. “Miguel’s father’s name is Daniel Rodriguez.”
Detective Grearson studied her a moment and then nodded. “All right. If you think of anything related, give me a call. I’d also like to see your file on Rodriguez.” He slid a card across the table to her.
“I need permission from the partners first.”
“Get it.”
She stared at him. “The request would be better coming from you.”
He smirked. “I’ll get it. To get to the bottom of this, I need everything you have. Everything.” He paused, his gaze intent. “Even if you think it’s unimportant, call me.”
Hayden took the card, then tipped her chin. “I will.”
She pushed back from the table, stood, and walked from the conference room as calmly as she could while the thought that Gerard’s death hadn’t been an accident echoed in her head.
CHAPTER 28
The sun cut through the late afternoon clouds as Andrew watched his kids run around in a field along George Washington Parkway. Zeus chased the group as they played a pick-up game of flag football that looked more like rugby or soccer. What mattered to him was the laughter that surrounded the kids as they ran.
One of the larger kids tackled Jorge aggressively, more than was called for by the game. Andrew stood back, waiting to see how Jorge would respond. Would he erupt or let it go? The kid still seemed shell-shocked and didn’t say anything unless he was asked a question directly. Andrew had taken him to visit his mom again the day before and again this morning, but while Maricel assured her son she was fine, the stitches running along her hairline and her obvious headache belied her words.
Where the other kids tended to feel safe and open up, the assault held Jorge in reserve. Manhood was around the corner, but he shouldn’t stride into it today.
Jorge stared at the kid who had tackled him and started to say something, then glanced Andrew’s direction. When he caught Andrew watching, he clamped his mouth shut and pushed to his feet. He didn’t go far, just to the cluster of picnic tables, but far enough to remove himself from the game.
Andrew looked at his watch.
Four thirty.
A good time to return to New Beginnings and make sure the kids had a solid snack before they left.
“All right, everyone. Head to the van.” Zeus seemed most disappointed as the kids collected the sweatshirts and backpacks they’d abandoned. The big dog danced from one to another, as if begging to play a few more minutes. With as much energy as he had expended, he’d sleep well tonight.
Andrew counted noses as the kids climbed aboard the van. When he was one short, he looked at the picnic tables. Jorge still sat, his back to the van, his face turned to the breeze blowing off the Potomac.
“Can we leave him, Andrew?” The kid who’d body-checked Jorge sneered. “It will help him man up.”
“Not how we roll, Domingo, and you know it.” Andrew looked around the rest of the eager faces in the van. “Everyone stay here.”
The kids knew he’d take the time Jorge needed. Coming into a new country. Struggling to learn a new language. Trying to find a group who understood and accepted you. Each of the young men had experienced what Jorge was living right now. They all understood.
Andrew prayed as he approached the kid. Slouched over as he was on the bench, he looked even younger than his thirteen years. He looked like Atlas’s burden rested on his back . . . a burden much too heavy for a young man.
As Andrew neared, he shuffled his feet through a pile of leaves. Jorge’s head jerked up. “You okay?” Andrew plopped next to him and kept his face toward the river, mirroring Jorge’s posture.
“Sí.” But the word conveyed something very different.
Andrew laced his fingers and placed his hands lightly on his knees, staying open and relaxed. “It’s okay to admit things are hard.”
Silence was the only reply.
“Is there anything you need?”
“Nothing you can give.”
“Maybe not, but God can meet any need.”
Jorge flinched, but still didn’t turn toward him.
“I know it’s true, Jorge. It’s not just words.” Andrew thought a moment, then decided that was enough for now. He’d learned the best exchanges came when the kids came to him rather than cramming it down their throats. “Ready to join the others?”
“Sure, Señor Andrew.” Jorge stoo
d, pushed his shoulders back, and grew an inch in the process.
There was so much potential in this young man, but one misstep could derail him. As he drove the kids back to the clubhouse and then corralled them through their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cleanup, Andrew said a prayer for Jorge.
It was close to seven when Andrew, Jorge, and Zeus made it back to the condo, a Chinese takeout bag in Andrew’s hand. Zeus danced behind him, snuffling the bag and begging for a bite.
“When we get upstairs, boy.” His words did nothing to calm the dog’s exuberant display. Jorge laughed and rubbed Zeus’s ears while Andrew got the door unlocked.
Andrew had been distracted over the weekend getting Jorge settled, but as soon as he entered his condo, the tension of the e-mails returned. He sighed as Zeus pressed against his leg.
“It’s okay, boy.”
Once Zeus and Jorge were eating sweet and sour chicken, and his plate was loaded with egg rolls and General Tso’s, Andrew punched buttons and checked his voice mail. The first message was a telemarketer. Time to get back on the no-call list. The second recording sounded muffled and distorted. Andrew forked a round of spiciness into his mouth and chewed slowly as he listened.
“Wesley, you disappoint me. So much time, and you haven’t found me. Your father’s enemies would be interested to learn what the illustrious Congressman Wesley’s son does at night.”
The beep sounded the end of the message, and Andrew realized he was clutching his fork like a weapon.
What was he supposed to do with this crazy person and his allegations?
Appetite demolished, Andrew pushed the plate away and replayed the message. As with the e-mails, there was nothing to indicate who the person was. The voice was too distorted.
Jorge looked at him with wide eyes. “Everything okay, Señor Andrew?”
“Yeah. I’ll be upstairs for a bit.” He stalked upstairs to his studio.
As he studied the mock-up sketches he’d worked on for this week’s cartoon, he knew he couldn’t work on them while angry.
He turned to his computer and moused over to his e-mail. He opened a message from his editor.
Strange woman here today asking for you. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said you needed to talk. She was way too pushy and aggressive to know you—and of course, if she did, she wouldn’t have to go through me. Anyway, here’s a number to call her at. Don’t forget I need that extra cartoon from you this week. Fitting for you to provide the illustration for the local profile on your dad. Wouldn’t be surprised if it gets picked up for syndication.
Andrew clicked the e-mail shut with a groan. The last thing he wanted to do was a cartoon specifically of his dad. Sure, he could sketch his father’s image, but for it to be true cartooning, it’d have to include the element of parody. He’d done hundreds of those sketches of his father over the years. Now his sketches mirrored those and made his dad look like a caricature.
If he didn’t do it, someone else would. He could imagine the caricature they’d draw.
The more pressing problem was identifying the who behind the e-mails and phone call before he was exposed. Odd a woman had gone to the paper looking for him. Could it be this stalker? But why would she go to his office to see him when she already had his number?
Boxing shadows was exhausting and fruitless.
He picked up his cell and dialed the number. Might as well confront this shadow, but the call didn’t go through. He frowned and redialed, but got the same message: the number was disconnected. Another dead end.
The next e-mail was from Emilie, with a checklist of things he needed to do before the community fair. The detailed agenda included who needed to be contacted each day, vendors to talk to, and a list of everyone she’d already contacted. He shook his head at his easygoing cousin’s attention to detail. If the event was a success, it would be due to her efforts.
His phone rang and he hesitated to answer. What if it was another call about his alter identity?
He sighed and picked up the phone.
CHAPTER 29
Hayden paced her home office. The review of the file hadn’t revealed anything. Gerard had left as much unsaid as he’d written down, and she’d need his help to decipher what he had written. She sank onto her chair and brushed a tear from her cheek.
Gerard had been a good man and mentor, one who pushed hard. Now he was gone.
Should she tell Andrew about his death and the questions surrounding it? Even if she was wrong about it being connected to the Rodriguez case, better to warn him and be wrong than omit important information he might need in helping Jorge. She reached for her cell phone, but nervous energy had her hands trembling.
She rubbed her neck where the muscles had tightened to rocks. First she needed to clear her head.
After throwing on a light jacket and tennis shoes, Hayden headed outside. She’d never been much of a runner, but when she needed to clear her mind nothing was better than getting outside and moving. As she walked she prayed for Gerard’s family, whoever they were. Although she had worked with the man for several years, she didn’t know much about his private life beyond the photo on his desk.
The burden she felt for them didn’t ease, so she kept walking and praying. As she passed a store window, she noticed a man behind her in the reflection. A few stores later, he was still there. She crossed the street and continued, yet he remained behind her, always keeping a few people between them.
She broke into a jog and hurried toward the park. If he followed, there would be no doubt he was tailing her. Why hadn’t she grabbed her cell phone?
Before she reached the park, she ducked into the Torpedo Factory. The former weapons facility had been transformed into a home for more than eighty artists’ studios and seven galleries. Its multiple outside doors and nooks and crannies provided a place to hide.
As she hurried across the first floor, she glanced over her shoulder. The man had followed her, but she bet she knew the facility better than he did. She brushed past a mom and kids and hurried upstairs to the second floor. Then she raced along the walkway and down the stairs to a door on the opposite side of the building. She burst out the doors and raced across the patio toward DC. She hoped he would expect her to go toward Old Town. When her lungs were on fire from the sprint, she stopped and looked behind her, gasping for breath. No sign of him.
She tried to form a picture of the stalker in her mind, but nothing stuck. It was as if his image had disappeared along with him. Once she could breathe again, she rubbed the stitch in her side and started moving. She could run parallel to where she needed to go along the Potomac.
Twenty minutes later she crept back into the town house like a cat burglar and grabbed her phone.
Emilie stared at her from her position curled in a chair with Denise Hunter’s latest romance. “What on earth?”
“Don’t ask.” Hayden hurried to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. After she gulped it down, she plopped into one of the chairs at the small table. “Gerard Campbell is dead.”
Emilie startled and uncurled. “Oh my goodness. Are you okay?”
“Yes. No.” She huffed out a hysterical laugh. “I don’t know. I think it could be tied to Rodriguez, and then as I went for a walk to clear my head, a man followed me. But maybe I imagined it. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him now other than he wore a ball cap and followed me through Old Town and the Torpedo Factory.”
“You should call the police.”
“And tell them what? That some man I can’t describe was after me?” She thought of Detective Grearson’s card, but shook her head. “They wouldn’t believe me. Nor should they.” She rubbed her fingers along the phone. “I need to warn Andrew, but he’ll think I’m a kook.”
“Hayden, no one says ‘kook’ anymore.” Emilie’s eyes were wide and she looked paler than usual.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. Taking a break from my article. I’ve got good stuff brewing. My edito
r says it’s my best yet.”
“That’s high praise.”
“Yep.” Emilie’s lips curled in a stiff smile. “So are you going to warn Andrew?”
“Yeah.” She needed to, especially after her race through Old Town. “I want him aware.” It was the right thing to do, even if the man would think she’d lost her sense. “I’ll call him from upstairs.”
She needed to do it before she lost her nerve. When Andrew’s phone went to voice mail she felt a pang of disappointment. She’d sound even odder leaving a message, but she needed to close this loop.
“Andrew, this is Hayden. Gerard Campbell was killed today. It might have something to do with the Rodriguez case. I’m not sure, but am trying to find out. I wanted you to be aware since Jorge is with you. Also, someone followed me around Old Town earlier this evening. Let me know if you have any questions.”
She hung up with a sigh. That was definitely the last time she’d hear from Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor. She squared her shoulders and reminded herself it was okay. She had Gerard’s notes to decipher and a deposition to prep for . . . not to mention a mentor to grieve.
Tuesday passed in a flurry of meetings as the partners divided Gerard’s cases among them. Angela wasn’t in any of the meetings, but Hayden couldn’t check on her because Randolph somehow snagged Rodriguez.
“We’ll discuss how to fire the client first thing Thursday morning.”
“Sir, I won’t be here.”
“If you want your job you will be.”
A twisted-up feeling settled in Hayden’s gut, and she didn’t bother telling him she’d be in Texas. Better to confront that later when she had everything she’d learned from the deposition. “What would you like me to prepare?”
“A letter firing the client.”
As she left the conference room, she collided with Seth. “Have you seen Angela?”
“Not since yesterday afternoon.” Seth shoved his hands in his pockets. “So you’re working with Randolph now?”
“Doesn’t make any sense, since he doesn’t like litigation.”
“Not much makes sense.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if to confirm no one was near. “I think he got Angela canned.”