The Alex Shanahan Series

by Lynne Heitman

  “Not as of yet.”

  I tried to think of the other avenues we’d been pursuing. “I just gave Felix the website information yesterday. It’s too soon for anything there. What about that detective from Omaha? That woman’s murder. Did he ever call you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me?”

  “He said nothing, only that the case was solved, there were no loose ends, and he had no real interest in resurrecting a murder that was difficult enough the first time around.”

  “Difficult how?”

  “To have a young flight attendant beaten to death on a layover in Omaha was quite the civic black eye, as you can well imagine.”

  “Is it worth pursuing?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Then what do we have if I don’t find a way to get close to Angel?”

  He continued to move around, albeit more slowly and in a more confined area. “I do not like this. Not one bit. Why did you keep me in the dark about going to meet her?”

  “Did you check your messages? Because I left one on your home phone.”

  “I must have been on the computer.”

  “And your cell phone wasn’t on, as usual. I am reporting to you now, minutes after having left the woman. She’s still on the massage table.”

  He fumed around a little more. I checked my watch. I was due to meet Tristan at the range within the hour. He had not appreciated my last late arrival. “Do you want to quit now when we’re so close?”

  He did an abrupt change in course and ended up in front of my chair. “That is the same argument you have been using on me for the past week. It is a specious argument at best.”

  “What is specious about it?”

  “Every time we get close, the line moves. You keep moving it.”

  “Harvey, the case is not finished. I don’t want to quit when there is still work to be done and we have the time.”

  “If we use the time Mr. Wolff gave us and we come back with nothing, it could be disastrous.”

  “On the other hand, imagine walking into the briefing on Monday with a full list of all the hookers, a detailed description of how the scheduling works, and proof that these women are being paid for sex. We’d blow them away. That’s what we get if we get the Web master. If I pass this test, it puts me one step closer.”

  “You are sure she has one of those?”

  “A Web master? Positive. She told me she hates computers. They make her eyes glaze over. Machines aren’t her thing. People are her thing.”

  He made his way over to his bookcase, where he began touching each book on one of the shelves, running his index finger along the spine, top to bottom. Checking for dust? He held his free arm awkwardly at his side.

  “I can’t do this without you, Harvey.”

  “How will we know which flight you will be on?”

  “The call comes in advance.”

  “How far in advance?”

  “A day. They’ll arrange the date and set up the swaps to put me on the right flight. Then they’ll call me with the flight number and the code names for the client and me.”

  “Code names.” That elicited a humorless chuckle. “Like spies.”

  “Once I know the flight, we can pretty much narrow the options to men booked in first class. The date will be one of them.”

  He continued doggedly swiping spines until he had finished one row and begun the next. “I do not like it.”

  “You said that. What else, specifically?”

  “We are not prepared for an operation of this nature. It is too dangerous.”

  “I can appreciate your concern, but supposedly these clients are well vetted. I’ll be fine.”

  “You cannot know that.”

  “I also don’t know if the next plane I board will crash, but I get on it anyway.”

  “That is not a valid comparison.” He turned toward me and was suddenly fully engaged. “There is an infinitesimal risk that your airplane will crash, a conclusion based on millions upon millions of hours of data analyzed over—”

  “All right, then.” He did have the ability to drive me crazy. “Let’s make a decision based on the data. Depending on what you find out, we can decide at the time whether I go in or back off. That’s the ultimate out, right? I can be a no-show.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because no matter what I find, you won’t back off.”

  I twisted my watch around my wrist but managed not to look at it. “If you get me good information about this man that suggests I shouldn’t proceed, then I won’t. But you have to promise you’ll do the best you can to find the dirt, that you won’t rig the outcome. I have to be able to trust you.”

  “We will have to trust each other.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What is wrong with you?” Tristan held​ up the paper target so I could see. Except for a crescent-shaped nick on the right side of the upper border of the page, it was completely intact. I had taken fourteen shots at it. “Are you still hung over from the party?”

  “That party was two days ago.”

  “You were pretty wasted.”

  I wasn’t hung over. I was frazzled by the high-speed dash in late-afternoon traffic to get out to the range, and I was distracted by the details of the case. It might have been a mistake to turn down that massage.

  “Not my day, Tristan. I’m sorry. I can’t concentrate.”

  “That excuse will not fly when you take your test. What if that day is a bad day, too? You have to learn to push through it. I’ll help you. Come on.”

  “Can we take a break, please?” I didn’t leave him much choice. I set the weapon down and went to the picnic table to grab a seat. Eventually, he came and slipped onto the bench across from me.

  He gave me his stern face, which could be comical. But then he lightened up, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and unfolded it. “Maybe this will cheer you up.” He began to quote from the page.

  “‘Subject was alert and observant and treated each passenger as if he or she were the only one onboard. Highest rating.’”

  “What is that?”

  “This, my dear, is your sparkling report from yesterday’s ghost rider.”

  “Alert and observant?” I had to smile at that. “Imagine what I could have done if I hadn’t still been half in the bag. How do you have access to a report like that? I thought results were top secret.”

  “It pays not to burn your bridges. Here’s something else I know. If you had missed that trip, you’d be on the street right now.”

  “Did I tell you how much I appreciated all your help yesterday?”

  “Yes, you did, but it’s always good to hear it again. You need to pace yourself. Take it from me; the lifestyle gets really old really fast, and it’s not good for your skin.”

  Again with the skin.

  “Drinking too much and going on two hours of sleep. And then getting on a six-hour flight with all that recycled cabin air. Although I give you special dispensation because of what happened with your brother. I suppose that could drive anyone into a tequila embrace. Speaking of which, what have you done about him?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why not?”

  “I lost his number.” He gave me the look that lame excuse deserved. “I did. I had it in the pocket of my uniform out in LA. I was moving it from pocket to pocket, and then it was just gone. I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “You need to straighten this out, dear. I know it’s why you’re so spacey”

  “No. Jamie and I have been fighting for a long time.”

  “But you saw him. That had to do something.”

  “We’ve had fights before, and we’ve always made up. If this were about anything but my father… this feels different.”

  “Because it is. It’s big. I’m sure the idea of Jamie reaching out to him like that really hurts.”

  “I’m not hurt. I’m angry.”

&nb
sp; “You’re lying, sweetie. I’m sorry, but you just are.”

  He looked one way. I looked the other.

  “You know what?” He turned sideways on the bench, pulled one of his long legs up, and folded it like a coat hanger. “I don’t usually talk about nine-eleven, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He inhaled deeply and, as he let go of the breath, seemed to age ten years in front of my eyes.

  “On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in Fort Myers at the airport getting ready to work a flight home. We heard something had happened, something bad. We all went up and crowded into this bar to watch TV. It was one of those rare moments in life when you feel completely accepted, totally on equal footing with everyone around you. There were passengers there, first class and coach. Pilots. Ramp rats. CEOs. Janitors. We all had our arms around each other, and anyone who wasn’t completely struck dumb by what we were seeing was crying or trying to get through to someone on a cell phone. I was one of the ones crying.

  “The next day, I picked up the phone and called Barry, and I told him yes, I would move in with him. He’d been asking me for months. Then I rented a car with a couple of the gals from the crew, and we drove back to Boston, and two weeks later, Barry and I were cohabitating like an old married couple, and now here I am participating in a ‘committed relationship,’ something I said I would never do because even the term itself makes me retch, and I’ve never been happier. Next thing you know, we’ll be having babies, God help us, and in case my point is not obvious enough for you—”

  “It is.”

  “I’ll say it anyway, because I love hearing myself give sage advice. You could get up to go to work tomorrow, Alexandra, board your flight, and never come back.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “One minute, you’re serving up orange juice and seltzer on a tray, and the next, you’ve become part of some dreadful historical event, and you disappear from the face of the earth. Poof! You’re gone. I mean gone gone. Vanished. Not even so much as a molar left—”

  “Tristan, I get it.”

  He tipped his head and looked at me. “Think about it this way. If you had to make that last call on your cell phone, who would you call? If it’s your brother, don’t you think you should know his phone number?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  On my way back into the city, I called​ information on my cell phone and asked for the number of Jamie’s firm in Manhattan. Then I paid the outrageous fee to have them connect me, because I was afraid if I did it myself, I would crash my car.

  After one ring, a woman with a soft voice and a prim tone answered.

  “Mr. Shanahan’s office. Can I help you?”

  Mr. Shanahan. How could that kid who used to leave his coat on the floor be Mr. Shanahan? I wondered if he still did that, if he waltzed into his office, walked out of his cashmere overcoat, and left it lying in a heap where it fell. Did his assistant come in behind him and hang it up for him?

  “Is he in, please?”

  “May I say who’s calling?”

  “I’m his sister.”

  I saw him through the window, and it stopped me. Jamie sat on a stool at the street-facing counter, bathed in that mellow, hip-and-happening-but-not-adequate-for-reading Starbucks lighting. It was dark out, so he couldn’t see me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had made room for the possibility that he wouldn’t show, that he would leave me waiting for him, watching the clock with a sick feeling in my stomach. But here he was, and he was waiting for me.

  I walked through the door behind a large man who took up a lot of space. Jamie didn’t see me, so I surprised him when I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Hi, Jamie.”

  He did a pirouette on the stool and stood up, all in one graceful motion. “How did you… I didn’t see you come in.”

  Unlike when we’d met on the plane, I felt like hugging him, so I did. He was only a little taller, so neither one of us had to bend down. It felt comfortable, the way it used to, but when he started to pull away, so did I, making the parting seem as mutual as the embrace.

  I started but not well. “Um, I wanted to apologize for—”

  “Watch out.” He took my arm and guided me away from the door. It kept opening and closing with each new latte-starved customer. He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Can I get you something? Do you want tea?”

  “I’ll get it. Do you need a refill?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just…” He reached around for his wallet. “But let me get this.”

  “Don’t be silly. Tea costs all of a dollar here. I’ll be right back.”

  I didn’t have to go far to join an ordering line that snaked almost to the back of the store, and it didn’t take long to figure out that waiting for a cup of hot tea behind the venti caramel soy macchiattos and grande decaf nonfat with whip white chocolate mochas was a bad idea. Given the sound level, it also occurred to me that I had not picked the best place for a reconciliation discussion, not if we actually wanted to hear each other.

  I bailed out of the line and walked back. “Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go for a walk?”

  “Let’s go.” He was off his stool before I had even finished the question, which reminded me of how much Jamie liked being in motion. Not in the hypercompulsive way Dan did but because he had always thought he was better at doing than thinking.

  We stepped out onto the sidewalk, which was crowded with workers who had fled the surrounding office towers when the white-collar whistle had blown. I directed us toward the Common and, as we walked, practiced in my head all the things I had thought of to say. Jamie, I’m sorry about what happened on the flight to LA, and I’m really sorry about last Christmas. If what I did hurt you or Gina—

  Wait. If I hurt you? I sounded like every rap star, movie star, sports star, or ex-president who ever offered a conditional apology, one designed to shift responsibility to the victim for having the audacity to feel hurt. What I mean is… what I meant was… damn, this was hard.

  “Jamie.”

  “What?”

  “On the flight to LA the other day, I wasn’t nice to you. I was surprised, and I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

  “I was sorry not to spend the time together.”

  “Yeah, well… of course. That, too. Me, too.”

  We walked for a ways without saying much and ended up at the traffic light in front of the State House. I looked up at the dome. It was beautiful, especially at night when it was all lit up. It looked as if it had been covered in gold tin foil.

  “That’s nice,” he said.

  I turned to see that he was looking also, gazing at it the way he used to peer into the sky at the fireworks on the Fourth of July. He was always trying to see them before they exploded.

  “Jamie, I want to talk about last Christmas. I’ve been thinking about things… everything… and I’m sorry about the way I reacted.”

  The light changed, and I followed him across the street, over the sidewalk, and down the steps into the Common, trying to talk the whole way. “I was wrong. What I did was wrong and… I was… I think I was angry about being out of work for so long and not having any money and… none of which matters, because the end result was I took it out on you, I guess, and I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.” It was getting harder to keep up with him, and not because I was slowing down. “Do you mind if we stop?”

  We did, but I should have asked for us to stop and look at each other, because all he did was stare over my right shoulder at one of the dozens of memorial statues scattered about the park

  “I’m sorry I backed out on you. I should have explained myself better or maybe come after Walter had left. I missed seeing you. I missed being with you guys. I screwed up, and I’m sorry.”

  I felt myself saying the word sorry a lot, and I wanted him to look at me, to give me some sense of how this was going, but he seemed to be enduring me, which really pissed me off, since I was the one who h
ad broken radio silence and called this meeting. And then he took off again. I didn’t.

  “Jamie.”

  He turned and doubled back “You’re sorry. I got that. What else do you need to hear?”

  “It’s generally good to acknowledge an apology when one is offered. That way, I know that I wasn’t talking to myself.”

  “What good is an apology if you don’t mean it?”

  That was totally out of the blue. “Why would you say that?”

  “If we had the same set of circumstances today, would you make a different decision?”

  I had to stop and consider that, and when I did, for about two seconds, the answer was no. “I still wouldn’t come, but I would try to see your side of things, and I wouldn’t get so angry and bitter and emotional and reactionary and…” I needed to stop, because I was getting angry and bitter and emotional and reactionary.

  “I knew it.”

  “You knew what? That I didn’t want to sit across the Christmas turkey from Walter? You knew that before you ever invited him, and yet you did it anyway. Just because you’ve decided to go all buddy-buddy with him doesn’t mean I have to. Things don’t change just because you want them to, Jamie. People don’t change.”

  “So you would.”

  “Would what?

  “You would do the exact same thing again. You would bail on me, because that’s what you do, Alex. If the situation is not perfect for you, you bail.”

  “I have never bailed on you, Jamie. Never. You bailed on me when you invited him. Did you think for one second about how I might feel? I hope you two had a great time together and I hope—”

  I could feel myself getting pulled back onto the grooved tracks of attack and defend and attack and defend, and all I had wanted to do, goddammit, was apologize, and now I couldn’t even keep my voice steady. I stared at the ground, at a cluster of rocks alongside the walking path, and I tried to will the conversation in a different direction. “I called you because I miss you, Jamie. I miss you, and I thought there should be a way for us to get through this. Someone had to make the first move, and—”