In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9]

by Betty Sullivan La Pierre

  “Mr. Casey, this is Rita Rawlings. I need to talk to you. I might have some information of interest."

  Hawkman jotted down the number on a paper pad, then put on the coffee pot. After settling in his chair, he picked up the receiver and tapped in the digits.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hawkman's gut told him this woman had something important to tell him and he needed to reach her as soon as possible. When her answering machine responded, he left a message, banged the receiver back on the cradle, then crumpled the top sheet on his memo pad and threw it into the waste basket.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee, then strolled to the window while sipping the hot brew. Glancing out over the parking lot, his shoulders stiffened when he spotted a bronze colored Buick at the far end. He placed the cup on the filing cabinet, grabbed his binoculars and focused on the person in the driver's seat. Immediately, he realized the man also had a pair of glasses trained on him, and actually waved before driving off.

  “Who are you?” Hawkman mumbled, as he stepped back and returned the binoculars to their resting place.

  He sat down at his desk, and called Jennifer. “I want you to be extremely watchful in about an hour. The idiot knows I'm in my office and may come out there to terrorize you."

  “I have my gun. Everything's locked up and the alarm set. I'll keep a watchful eye."

  “Look for the bronze colored Buick I told you about. I doubt he'd have time to change cars before getting there."

  “Okay, I'll give you a call if I spot him."

  Hawkman hung up and punched in Bill Broadwell's number. When he reached his office, he gave a special code, which routed the call through a different channel. A man's voice soon answered.

  “Bill, Tom Casey. Have you had a chance to look through the files on the situation I told you about?"

  “Yeah, I was going to call you today. This is a strange circumstance to arise after all these years. But I've come up with three possible names. These guys are no longer with the Agency. They've either retired,quit or we've lost track of them. They may even be dead."

  “Give me the names and a little history. I'll check them out."

  “Bob Hudson got passed over for promotion several times and the honor usually went to you. He left the group shortly after you disappeared."

  “I remember him,” Hawkman said. “A real whiner, but good at what he did."

  “Then there was Jack Hargrove. Carried a chip on his shoulder and spoke out more than once to his colleagues on how he hated Jim Anderson. No one really knew why, because at the time he came into the Agency here, you were already gone and presumed dead. But he did make a threat once, that one of these days he'd find you. He didn't think you were really deceased."

  “That's odd."

  “And another strange thing is he didn't even work around your department, he was in a completely different field, so his threats are a mystery."

  “Then the last name I have is Hal Brokers. He had a mean streak and at one time or the other mentioned your name when he and colleagues spoke about people they'd like to see dead. He had it in for anyone who pushed ahead of him on the totem pole and you were one of them."

  “I vaguely remember him. Tall blond guy, right?"

  “Yeah, he never smiled. Always had a frown on his face."

  “What does Jack Hargrove look like?"

  “Hold on a minute, let me grab his file. I don't ever remember meeting him myself."

  Hawkman could hear the rustle of paper and Bill grumbling.

  “That's strange. There's no description or picture in his file. Looks like someone has removed it. This isn't good. Let me get back to you."

  “Okay, but before you go. Dirk Henderson is still incarcerated isn't he?

  “Oh, yeah. He'll never get out from behind bars. In fact, that's the first thing I checked when I got your call."

  “Thanks, Bill, appreciate your help."

  Hawkman studied the three names. He could pretty well mark off Bob Hudson. Not the type of man to hold a vendetta, even though he did a lot of complaining. Jack Hargrove he couldn't place. He didn't recall ever hearing the name. Hal Brokers was a mean devil, but he couldn't see him going after an associate. He was the kind of guy who would always defend anyone in the Agency, regardless of how much he hated the person. He had lots of honor. And neither of these two men had green eyes. Of course, with colored contact lens now, one couldn't even go by eye color anymore.

  He circled the name Jack Hargrove and put a question mark beside it. This one bothered him. And for Bill to find the file incomplete made him suspect Hargrove either removed the identification or had someone do it. Something about the name kept jogging the recesses of his mind, but wouldn't come forward. He wondered what the guy had to hide. He'd be anxious to hear from Bill when he found out. Leaning back in the chair, he tapped the piece of paper with his pencil eraser. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He reached inside his jacket and lifted the flap on his holster. “Come in."

  Rita Rawlings poked her head around the door jamb. “I'm glad you're here."

  Standing, Hawkman motioned toward the chair. “I've been waiting for your call, but much happier to see you in person."

  “It's very hard to catch me at home. I'm all over the place and I also play bridge several afternoons during the week. But I do check my answering machine throughout the day, and caught your return call."

  “Cup of coffee?"

  “Yes, please,” she said, taking the seat. “Oh, while you're up, you might check out the window and see if the brown colored Buick is parked out front."

  Hawkman glanced outside while carrying the two cups of coffee. “Yes, it's there.” He frowned, as he turned toward her. “What's going on? He just left here a little while ago. Don't tell me he's following you?"

  “I've caught him a couple of times in my rearview mirror."

  Hawkman placed the steaming brew in front of her. “You take it black, right?"

  “Yes, thank you."

  “This is very curious. Why would he tail you?"

  “It all started last week, after we had our meeting. Of course, I didn't pay any attention whether he was around when I left your office. But that evening I stopped for a beer at Lonnie's off Main Street."

  Hawkman nodded. “Yes, I know the place."

  “The bartender and I go way back. We were chatting when our friend in the Buick came in the door. I asked Bud if he knew him. He told me he was a newcomer and had visited his place several times in the past couple of weeks. When I asked his name, he said he really didn't know, but he'd heard a couple of customers call him J.J. and one had called him Judd."

  Hawkman grinned. “Say, can I hire you as my assistant?"

  Rita grinned. “I don't think I have the time. But it sounds exciting."

  “And sometimes dangerous. This man could be threatening. I've come to the conclusion, he's not stable."

  She reached into her purse and placed an item on his desk. “Well, he better not get too close. I'll take care of him rather rapidly."

  Hawkman reared back his head and guffawed. “I can't believe a lovely woman like you carries a stun gun."

  A sly smile formed at the corner of her lips. “Fortunately, I've never had to use it, and I'm not even sure I'm legal. I've had it for years, but I've carried it in my hand numerous times and make sure it's fully charged. My job takes me into dangerous areas and I need some sort of protection."

  He shook his head. “You are something else. My wife tells me you even marry people in jail."

  “Oh, yes. I don't carry the gun in there. I'd never get by the metal detector and I'm sure the guards could protect me. Strange as it may sound, most of my marriage services are performed in the prison."

  “That's amazing. Why would anyone want to marry someone who's behind bars?"

  She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Because they're ‘in love'. Many times I've tried to talk these young women out o
f it, but it's like talking to a stone wall. They tell me they're going to change him. Shows how naive women can be. Men are similar, but not nearly as bad."

  “You've obviously been doing this for several years; you don't need me to warn you to be careful."

  “I'm very business like, especially when in the jail environment."

  “Getting back to our friend in the Buick. I want to thank you for giving me his name."

  “I wish I could figure out why he's following me, unless my dear bartender friend told him I'd been asking questions. He might have thought I had a personal interest."

  “That's possible. You're a lovely woman, and he might be impressed with your attention. However, his knowing you're in here now could be risky. As he's really out to get me. I want you to be extremely careful. We sure don't want him to construe your visit here to the point he thinks you've become his enemy. So if he ever confronts you, you tell him you've hired me to find a long lost cousin or whatever story you want to concoct, and I'll go along with it."

  “Good idea.” She stood and checked her watch. “I've got to be going. Glad I caught you in and hope the information helps."

  “Yes, I appreciate it. Promise me you'll keep in touch, especially if our mutual friend approaches you in any way."

  “I'll certainly keep you informed."

  “By the way, do you have a cell phone?"

  “Yes."

  He wrote his number down on the back of one of his business cards and gave it to her. “Keep this handy. I can always be reached through my cell."

  After Rita left, Hawkman went to the window and observed the Buick following her out of the lot. He didn't like it one bit.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hawkman couldn't do much about the guy stalking Ms. Rawlings, but figured she could probably handle herself. He stared into space in deep thought for several minutes, then shook himself free of the abstraction, picked up the phone, and contacted the glass shop. He gave the measurements of the broken window and asked how soon they could do the work. They assured him they'd get out to Copco Lake first thing in the morning.

  Next, he called the pet shop, asked about Marie, the cat breeder, and how he could get in touch with her. They gave her name as Marie Paulson, but only provided a phone number and explained he'd have to set up an appointment. When he dialed the number and the answering machine came on, he groaned. This didn't appear to be his day for getting in touch with real people on the first try. He left a message and asked his call be returned as soon as possible.

  Checking his watch, he assumed school had let out and Ms. Paulson was probably carting her daughters to some sort of lessons. But to his surprise, she rang back within fifteen minutes.

  “Mr. Casey, is everything all right with the kitten?"

  “Oh, yes. She's just fine."

  “Thank goodness. It scared me when I got your call."

  “Jennifer has her hands full, but she's having fun."

  Marie laughed. “Ragdolls make lovely pets, tell her she'll settle down real soon. You want another?"

  “Oh, no! One is all we can manage."

  “So what is it you needed to talk to me about?"

  “He cleared his throat, feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I wondered if I could drop by your place in a few minutes. I'd like to talk to you about an important matter."

  “Sure,” she said, a question in her voice. “I'll be here the rest of the afternoon."

  Hawkman took down her address. “I'll be there inside the hour.” Before leaving the office, he glanced out the window to see if the Buick happened to be parked in the lot. Not seeing any sign of the vehicle, he locked up the office and left.

  Driving toward the Paulson residence, he kept an eye on the rearview and side mirrors to make sure no one tailed him. He felt responsible for Rita's dilemma and didn't want to involve Marie in a similar situation. She had children and he didn't want to put any of them at risk.

  He drove through a tract neighborhood with nice lawns and trimmed bushes. When he came to the address, he parked at the curb in front of a white house with pale brown trim. Two little girls, turning cartwheels on the lawn, ran giggling to the side yard as he approached the front entry.

  A woman in her early forties, wearing jeans, tennis shoes,and a long-tailed denim shirt with rolled up sleeves, answered the door. Raking loose strands of her short brown hair behind her ears with her fingers, she smiled. “Hello, Mr. Casey. I'm Marie. Please come in.” She led him into a small living room, cleverly furnished so it appeared much bigger. A large Ragdoll cat scurried from under the couch and headed down the hallway.

  “I'm sure you're wondering what I want to talk to you about,” Hawkman said, as he sat on the edge of an overstuffed chair.

  She chuckled. “Yes, I must say, you've certainly aroused my curiosity. Can I get you something to drink?"

  “No, I'm fine, thank you."

  Marie made herself comfortable on the couch, where another cat sauntered in, hopped upon the cushion, and snuggled against her side. “I'm very pleased Jennifer likes her new pet. Has she named the kitten yet?"

  “No, but she's thinking about it."

  “I should have known,” she said, smiling. “So like a mystery writer to concentrate on picking out the right name."

  Hawkman shifted in his seat. “I don't want to take up your time, so I'll get right to my question. This may sound frightening, but I don't mean to scare you. It's hard to describe the information I need without causing you a bit of apprehension."

  Marie knitted her brow. “Please go on."

  “Jennifer and I are being harassed, and I'm in the process of trying to find the man who's doing it."

  “I don't know how I can help, but I'll try."

  “This person knew you were giving Jennifer the kitten."

  Her mouth dropped open. “How?"

  He shrugged. “I'm hoping you can tell me. Before you gave her the cat, did you have other customers looking at the litter, and by any chance tell them you were saving a certain one for my wife?"

  Marie looked thoughtful for a moment. “I took Misty, the mother of Jennifer's feline,” she pointed at the cat beside her, “to a show at the hotel downtown. I'd kept her litter about a month after they were weaned because of the upcoming show. I normally sell them shortly after they're off the mother's milk. That's why Jennifer's kitten is close to six months old.” She threw up her hands. “Sorry, I got off on a tangent. But do tell Jennifer the cat has already been spayed and her shots are up to date. Anyway, the place was packed and several people were interested in the Ragdolls."

  “Do you recall a man with brown hair, gray at the temples, a nose that appeared to have been broken at one time, and intense green eyes, asking questions?"

  She snapped her fingers, causing the cat beside her to stand up for a moment, then she settled back down against Marie's thigh. “Yes, I do remember a man of that description. He had a strange twitch to his mouth when he spoke. And yes, he had very intense green eyes. Sort of spooked me. He asked about the kitten I gave to Jennifer. I told him she was saved for someone very special. And he asked me who in the world could be so lucky. I remember just laughing, and said a mystery writer married to a private investigator. I wouldn't have told him her name. But I didn't dream such a little bit of information could cause any harm."

  Hawkman raised a hand. “Don't worry, Marie, you did what any normal person would do. But you have verified information very important in this case.” He rose from the chair. “And I want to add, Jennifer is going to be thrilled when I tell her I met the beautiful mother of her little panther."

  She laughed as she stroked the cat's back. “Yes, she's the prettiest one I have. And has an excellent disposition. I think you'll both be happy with her offspring."

  “Thank you for seeing me. And if you should ever spot this man again, please give me a call.” He handed her his card.

  “I certainly will."

  “I'll tell Jennifer the
information on the cat, as she's mentioned several times she needed to get in touch with you."

  Hawkman left the residence, and as he drove out of the area, checked all the side streets to make sure the Buick hadn't followed. Then he headed home. When he walked in the door after deactivating the alarm, he stepped into the living room and found Jennifer on her knees, raking a long wooden yard stick back and forth under the couch. “What the heck are you doing?"

  “Oh, Miss Marple batted one of her toys under here and she can't reach it. I'm trying to get it out."

  He scratched his sideburn. “Pardon me. Who's Miss Marple?"

  She got up from the floor with a small furry ball in her hand and tossed it toward the corner. “There you go.” Then she faced Hawkman with a grin. “I've named the kitten, Miss Marple."

  “I see. Could you let me in on how you came up with such a handle. It's quite a mouthful."

  She waltzed into the kitchen. “Remember Agatha Christie's books? She created a character named Miss Marple. When her stories became movies, an excellent actress who played the role was Joan Hickson. She appeared quiet, nosey, seemed innocuous, but solved many crimes.” Jennifer pointed a finger at him. “And she had intense blue eyes. I thought the description fit our new little pet to a tee."

  Hawkman rubbed a hand across his mouth to suppress a smile. “Sounds like you've hit the nail on the head. Miss Marple it is."

  Jennifer glanced up at the clock and frowned. “Why are you home so early? Has something happened?"

  “There's been an incident that's left me concerned.” He told her about Rita Rawlings coming to see him. “I don't like this guy following her. It could be dangerous. He's a loony and might think she knows something."

  “Well, if he ever approaches her, he'll go down, since she carries a stun gun."

  He wrinkled his forehead. “How'd you know that?"

  She grinned. “We had a wonderful conversation after the wedding."

  “I obviously didn't attend, as I remember nothing about it. When did this event occur?"

  “Several months ago. You were out of town. You didn't know the young couple anyway. They were Sam's friends from high school."