Reunited with the P.I.

by Anna J. Stewart

  Simone could count on one hand the number of times she’d ventured into this place. Eden had turned her office into her own private incident room for the past three years. Her friend’s obsession with bringing cold-case criminals to justice had manifested into this space dedicated to her hunt. Multiple computer screens and CPUs, laptops and printers, file cabinets overflowing with information that could—when applied properly—bring peace of mind to victims’ families and friends. The oversize desk in the center of the room had been reorganized to reflect the Denton case. Eden took the photos from Cole and tacked them onto one of the four magnetic whiteboards. The photos had been downloaded from Simone’s phone.

  “I know you’re probably wiped out.” Eden tucked her long hair into a knot, anchored with pencils, her feet bare as she paced the thick ornamental rug that gave the dank space some color. “We need to get things rolling if we’re going to avoid having to plan your funerals.”

  Simone swore even as her eyes drooped. She knew faking their deaths was the best way to reassure whoever was responsible for Mara’s, and now Cal Hobard’s, murder. With all of them, herself and Vince included, now “dead,” the DA would have no choice but to drop the charges against Denton and ease the minds of those he was covering for. If the bad guys thought they were in the clear, they’d be more likely to make mistakes. She’d bet Senator Wakeman and Alik Babin were about to make some life-changing ones. But her funeral? She tasted bile in the back of her throat. She hadn’t even thought of that. “Aren’t we waiting for Allie?”

  “She said she had an errand to run,” Cole said.

  “Looks like you’ve got just about everything we saw in that room.” Vince relinquished his hold on Simone to examine the pictures more closely. Simone followed, mainly to keep herself from falling asleep, and perched on the edge of the desk. “From what Hobard told us, Mara—”

  “Natalie,” Simone corrected.

  Vince nodded. “Sorry. She’s Mara in here.” He tapped a finger against his temple. “Mara believed there was a connection between Alik Babin and Senator Wakeman.” He pulled a key from his pocket. “Hopefully there’s something inside that lockbox that we’ve been missing, because I’m not seeing it here.”

  “I’ve met Senator Wakeman.” Simone thought back on their encounter earlier in the week at the DA’s office. “I might not have Allie’s nose for deduction, but she doesn’t come across as anything more than your typical superstar politician. She’s been a proponent for criminal justice her entire career.”

  “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.” Vince shook his head. “‘Politician’ says it all if you ask me. Most are capable of anything, especially when it comes to holding on to their jobs.”

  Simone’s spine stiffened. “Now hold on—”

  “A discussion for another time,” Cole cut her off. “Or maybe never. How about we open this thing and see what we’ve got before we go making assumptions that could destroy any one of our careers in a microsecond.”

  “That’s my cop.” Eden wrapped her arms around Cole, aiming a silly grin at Simone. “Always the peacemaker.”

  “It’s more like I’d prefer to stop lying to my boss and the DA sooner than later about these two being dead. Pass me the key.”

  Vince handed it over.

  Simone’s belly tightened as Cole opened the lockbox. Inside was a stack of files and scribbled-on sticky notes that reminded Simone so much of Eden’s system she felt a new pang of grief.

  “This file says Lance Wakeman.” Cole divided up the items. “Senator Wakeman’s only son. My, my. He’s certainly not the kind soul his mother’s claimed all these years. He’s what? Twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six.” Vince let out a low whistle. “Mara was good. She got hold of his sealed juvenile records. Busted for pot when he was twelve and went downhill from there. There are at least a dozen school transcripts, all of which end when he got booted.”

  “No wonder she can hold her own in Senate hearings,” Simone observed. “Look what she’s been having to deal with at home.”

  “I’ve got newspaper clippings from the society pages in Los Angeles and New York going back at least ten years.” Eden started tacking them up on another of her boards. “Parties, art gallery openings, nightclubbing. She dug up everything.”

  “Maybe one too many things.” Jack set his file down and held up a solitary piece of paper. “I’ve got a redacted arrest report from six years ago.” He held it up under a light. “This isn’t a copy. It’s the original document from the Los Angeles Police Department.”

  “This one’s a copy.” Simone lifted another report. “But it’s not about Lance Wakeman. This is about Tandi Crawford.” Simone frowned. Where had she heard that name before?

  “Hang on.” Eden snapped her fingers. “She’s that high school senior who went missing about eight years ago.” She dived toward one of her cabinets. “I have a file on her. Seventeen years old, went to a frat party on a nearby campus. They found her car abandoned in a parking lot a few days later, but never any trace of her. She just vanished.” Eden riffled through her records. “Her parents tried to keep the case in the public eye, but after a couple of days, no one would touch it. Her mother died a few years later. Father said it was from a broken heart.”

  “One of Eden’s cold cases,” Simone explained to Vince. “She has a bit of trouble letting go.”

  “Must run in the family.”

  “Yeah, well, my obsession is about to pay off for you big-time.” Eden slapped her inch-thick file onto the table. “Vince, check your papers. Eight years ago, what school did Lance Wakeman attend?”

  Vince looked through his notes, then at Eden’s. “The same college.” He pointed to the fraternity name. “The same frat house.”

  “This is it. This is what Mara found. We need to do some more research here.” Simone almost cheered. “It’s time we called—oh, no.” She covered her mouth, the horror of what she’d done—or hadn’t done—seeping through her. “Kyla.” She looked at Eden who seemed as dumbstruck as she felt. “We forgot to call Kyla.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Everyone spun toward the voice coming from the staircase. Kyla descended, her lithe form taut and tight, her arms wrapped around her torso as she pinned red-rimmed eyes on Simone. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Kyla.” Simone raced forward, catching her in a hug before she’d stepped off the last stair. “I am so sorry. I should have realized, should have remembered.” She’d never felt anyone so stone-stiff before. So unyielding. She held on, silently willing Kyla to forgive her. Finally, she felt the young woman shudder as she slipped her arms around Simone and held on. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Kyla whispered. “It’s been hours. Hour after hour and I couldn’t stop thinking there was something I could have done, something I should have known or found out that would have prevented...and then Allie showed up at the office—”

  “Shhhh.” Simone smoothed a hand over her curls, rocked her slightly. “This was our fault. I’m so sorry.” She leaned back, caught Kyla’s tear-stained face in her hands. “Never you. Not about you. I should have had someone contact you immediately. Please forgive me. Forgive us.”

  Kyla sniffled, quirked her head, stepped back and wiped her eyes. “Can I hold off on that until we find out who killed Mara and Cal?”

  Simone nodded, disappointment welling. “Of course we can. I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

  “Well.” Kyla set her bag down and tugged on the bright orange scarf in her hair. “I have been thinking about asking for a raise.” The teasing glint in her eye assured Simone that all would be forgiven. Eventually. “Did I hear you had some research that needs doing?” She approached the table, sending Vince a sly, accusing look as she slipped into the group.

  Simone caught A
llie’s arm when she passed into the basement. “Thank you.”

  Allie patted her hand. “That’s what friends are for. You and Eden with your tunnel vision.” She shook her head. “It’s like there’s no room in your brain except for what you see and what you want. Never what you need.” She angled a pointed look at Vince before joining Eden. “Work on that, would you?”

  “Okay, back to business,” Jack called out, bringing the room to attention. “Somehow we need to connect the dots between Senator Wakeman, her son and Alik Babin. Mara did it, or at least came close. What are we missing?”

  “You’ve all been busy.” Kyla glanced through the folders on the table then shifted her attention to the boards. “Who’s this Babin guy?”

  “Organized crime lord,” Eden said and earned a bit of a groan from her friends. “What? You have a better name for him?”

  “How about guilty?” Simone suggested. “Denton was the money man for someone. Now we know who and Babin’s pretty big if what Cal Hobard believed is true. But that doesn’t tell us who killed Mara or Hobard or even why. Kyla, can you pull up the name of that fraternity Lance Wakeman belonged to? Maybe we can talk to some other members and see what they might remember about any possible connections.”

  “Sure.” Kyla looked to Eden for guidance on which computer to use and a few seconds later was tapping on one. “Bad news,” she said. “That fraternity lost its charter seven years ago when Wakeman was still a member.”

  “After Tandi Crawford went missing,” Jack said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

  “Still doesn’t explain how he connects to Babin.” Vince ran his hands through his hair.

  “This might.” Kyla gestured at the screen. “There’s a fraternity archive behind this secured...” She scrunched her face, worked some of her computer magic. “Here we go. Photographs from the fraternity’s last year. The dates match. This was taken the night Tandi Crawford disappeared.” She clicked a picture on her screen, copied and opened it in a photography program, edited and printed. “Here.” She brought it to the table where everyone examined it. “This looks like Tandi. She had a small heart tattoo on her upper right shoulder, right? Purple dress, gold hoop earrings.”

  “Did you take up speed reading when I wasn’t looking?” Simone asked.

  “I don’t have a choice, working for you,” Kyla said. “And right in this corner over here, who does that look like to you?”

  “That’s Lance Wakeman,” Cole said.

  “And he’s talking to Alik Babin,” Simone said.

  “That’s not all.” Vince picked up the picture and brought it over to the whiteboard and aimed the light on it. “Kyla, can you blow up this section right here?” He circled the area in shadow behind Tandi Crawford.

  “Yes, but I might lose some resolution.”

  “I just want his arm.”

  “What do you see?” Simone rose up on her toes to peer at the photograph.

  “Not sure yet. Might be wrong.”

  “I doubt it,” Simone mumbled as Kyla popped the other photo onto the board.

  “How’s this?”

  “Cole?” Vince held out his hand. “You got that sketch of the shooter’s tattoo that I gave you?”

  “Right here.” Cole handed it over.

  “It’s the same shape. What is it? A coat of arms?” Simone asked.

  “Whatever it is, it’s distinctive enough to recognize even from a distance. Good catch, Kyla. General description works, too. We have a face to run through databases now.”

  Eden slapped her own papers on the desk and made everyone jump. “Kyla, I’ll double your salary if you come work for me.”

  “Wha-huh?” Kyla blinked.

  “Where are you going to get the money to pay her even a fraction of what I do?” Simone waved aside her friend’s pouting.

  “Maybe we should prove a United States senator complicit in at least two murders before we all make employment changes?” Cole suggested. “So you’ve connected Babin to Lance Wakeman. It’s circumstantial at best. Two young guys at a college frat party? Nothing about that is enough to file any charges on anyone let alone someone like Alik Babin. Or even Wakeman.”

  “Oh, come on,” Vince spat. “You’ve got a missing girl at a party with a known human trafficker and a spoiled rich kid who never met a crime he didn’t like. Add in a guy who looks like a classic thug standing only feet away from all of them and you say you can’t even bring them in for questioning?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Cole’s voice turned cool. “The law is the law, Vince. Doesn’t matter how much it smells, this doesn’t get us anywhere.”

  “Then your law really does smell.” Vince’s jaw tensed.

  “Cole’s right.” Simone smoothed a hand down Vince’s arm that was so tight she wondered how his bones didn’t break. She knew how personally he’d take a case like Tandi Crawford. Another young girl he couldn’t save. Another young girl he wanted to avenge. As much as she understood, she couldn’t let herself think the same way. “All of this is nothing more than coincidence. We know what it is, but until we can prove it—”

  “Or until we can get someone to admit it,” Allie interrupted. “All of you stop and step back. How did Mara approach this? She didn’t look at the top and work her way down. She started at the bottom.” She tapped Lance Wakeman’s picture. “We need to do the same. Denton might have been the main thread connecting everyone, but Lance Wakeman’s the common denominator. If he’s in this as deep as we all suspect, how far has his mother gone to protect him?”

  “So, a senator of the United States killed two FBI agents because she thought they were getting too close to her baby boy?” Jack asked. “Seems far-fetched and I’ve seen and heard plenty.”

  “Whatever else Senator Wakeman is, she’s your key to unlocking this entire case,” Allie said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years as a therapist, it’s that there is little on this earth more dangerous than a mother protecting her offspring. You want to break this case open? You start with her.”

  * * *

  “You all right?” Simone stepped into the backyard and slid the screen door closed behind her. “You’ve been out here a long time.”

  The sight of her intimidating ex-marine of an ex-husband sitting like a giant among the garden gnomes brought a small smile to her face.

  “Needed a break.” He tossed away the daisy he’d been plucking the petals off and crossed his arms over his chest. “Truthfully, I wanted a drink, but figured maybe silence would be as effective.”

  She crouched down beside him, rested her hands on his leg. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

  “What? Playing dead? Funnily enough it’s not that much different for me.” He reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I’d imagine it’s a lot more difficult for a social butterfly like yourself.”

  “The people I truly care about know the truth. The rest?” She shrugged. “We’re going to get them, Vince. All of them. Babin included.”

  She saw his jaw clench, as if resisting the urge to argue with her. He was such a solitary man, a man not prone to let anyone in. A few years ago she’d come close, but not nearly as close as she could get now. Not because the door was open any wider, but because she’d found a different way in.

  “Those phone records you found stashed in the toilet at the motel? They link one of the senator’s security officers to Babin. It’s evidence, Vince. Solid evidence. And now we’ve got a plan,” she assured him. “By this time tomorrow, it should all be over.”

  “And then what?” he asked. His sharp tone made her heart hurt.

  “And then we’ll see what comes next.” She slipped her hand up his chest, around to the back of his neck and drew his face to hers. His breath brushed across her cheeks as she anticipated what she�
��d been wanting ever since she’d walked back into his life. “But how about for tonight we do our best to forget?”

  He kissed her. A gentle brush of lips, contrary to the tough facade he displayed every moment of the day. “I’d prefer not to do so with an audience.”

  She smiled. “They’re gone. Cole and Jack needed to put in an appearance at the police station to keep matters rolling.” His chest felt firm under her seeking fingers. “Allie, Kyla and Eden have left, too.” She bit at his upper lip, caught it between her teeth and drew him to his feet. “Hours and hours and nothing to do.”

  “I can think of a few things,” he murmured and his hands plunged into her hair.

  He stared into her eyes, his determined, heated look erasing all that had come before, the years that stood between them. “Let’s go inside.” She slipped her fingers between his and drew him back to the house.

  He paused long enough to lock up then let her lead him through the living room to the stairs. “What’s this?” He plucked the small gift bag off the banister hook.

  “Good question.” Simone flipped the tiny name tag over, laughed and dipped her hand inside. She pulled out a box of condoms. “From Eden.”

  “Have I mentioned how much I like your friends?”

  How she loved the sound of his laughter. “I might have picked up on it. You can thank her tomorrow. Tonight, you’re all mine.” This time, when she kissed him, she held nothing back. She took what she wanted, demanded, devoured. Her lips moved over his in a way that gave him no choice other than to match her stroke for stroke, touch for touch. They stumbled up the stairs, her unwilling to relinquish his mouth, him sneaking his hands under the hem of her shirt, his fingers skimming her bare back as he guided her up and up. His tongue danced with hers as he angled his head and drew her deeper into him.

  For the second time that day, she could barely breathe. Her blood pounded in her ears, her thighs trembling, anticipating what would come next. She felt him hard and ready against her. She gasped as he drew her shirt up and over her head. She had the fleeting image of the white T-shirt floating down the stairs before he slid his palms flat down her sides.