“Why do you think that Mrs. Parker?”
“I don’t want to get into it. Just trust me that I know my husband, and that I know something is wrong.”
“All right,” Jimmy agreed, knowing the dirty details right now weren’t important, he would find out soon enough. “Did you bring his picture and a list of the locations he frequents during the day?”
“Yes, here they are,” she said, pushing a photo and a neatly typed schedule complete with addresses, toward him. “I require photographs and the name, or names, of any woman he’s with. If he is guilty, like I believe, I want indisputable evidence that will stand up in court.”
Jimmy looked at the woman, studying her more closely. Her face was flushed and her fingers, although weighed down with several carats, shook slightly. She wasn’t as cold and calm as her words portrayed. With a flash of insight, he realized she cared for her husband. Coming here was difficult for her.
Keeping his tone quiet and soothing, he murmured, “Are you sure you want to do this? Once you find out, you can never go back to not knowing.”
She bit her lip and straightened more in her chair. “I wouldn’t be here, if I didn’t.”
Jimmy paused briefly, giving her time to change her mind. When she didn’t he said, his tone all business, “I charge a hundred dollars an hour, and twenty-five dollars each day from start to finish. The hourly rate is whether I’m on the phone, or on surveillance.”
She nodded, agreeing, she must have found it reasonable. He wondered then if he should have charged more.
“How long do you estimate this will take?”
“A minimum of ten hours and maybe a week. I require half down.”
She reached into her teal designer brand purse and pulled out a checkbook. As her trembling fingers were writing out the check, she said, “Levy is out of town right now. He’s not due back until Thursday or Friday night.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Then I will begin when he returns.”
They shook hands again before she left, her demeanor now calm and determined. Jimmy felt a twinge of sympathy for the woman; knowing his assumptions about her were correct. Right or wrong, this was something she felt she had to know. He hoped she was wrong; he didn’t want to be the one to break her heart. But that wasn’t quite correct. It wouldn’t be him doing the breaking; it would be her husband.
He looked at the check he held in his hands. Six hundred dollars was a good start to the week. A few more of these and he wouldn’t have to worry so much about the rent.
***
Tuesday morning was one of those mornings that songwriters and songbirds love. Sunny, warm, even the air seemed to sparkle, as it blithely raised the spirits of even the most negative person. Jimmy whistled as he tap-danced his way up the walk that led from the building’s parking lot to the front door. He grinned, embarrassed with himself as he looked around; he hadn’t done that in years. Fortunately, no one was watching.
After bounding up the stairs, he whipped out his key, but was dismayed to find his
office unlocked. Cautiously pushing the door open, he stopped, shocked, as his eyes took in the mess. His desk had been rifled, with papers scattered on top and strewn helter-skelter across the floor. The file cabinet stood in the corner, violated, its drawers open, its files askew. Even the refrigerator door was ajar. Quick examination showed the only things it had held - two cans of beer, were missing.
Jimmy was exasperated and his good mood quickly dissolved. First, his electric use had been increased with the valiantly struggling appliance running constantly for a minimum of several hours. That meant his bill would be higher. Now, to make it worse, the two measly cans of beer he’d been saving were gone, too. It was too much. He brought his hand up and ran his fingers through, ruffling his hair, as he wondered what kind of creep would do something like this. The files searched and scattered all over was bewildering, also irritating. But, honestly! his beer?
He looked around at the mess, debating whether to call the police. There wasn’t much to clean up. He moved over to the file cabinet to see if he could tell if anything was missing.
Why would somebody go through his files? What were they looking for? He could think of nothing that anyone would want. The only ones that were current were the Parker, Hilton, and Wurtsmith files. And he couldn’t imagine why those would be important enough to risk breaking in. Both the latter cases were nearly finished and, on his end, soon to be closed. The other had only been opened yesterday, actually wouldn’t be on the clock until Thursday or Friday. The file was empty, with no reports inside. All he’d done was to give it a label, and had taken it with the address sheet and timetable home with him the evening before.
Of course, also stored in the cabinet were about a dozen old cases, some still open, that he’d worked on when he’d previously lived in the city, back when he’d been on the force. It wasn’t uncommon for detectives to take their work home with them. He had, and he knew several others that did. It kept the information close to you, ready if you had an epiphany, making it easier to stay current. Jimmy wondered if one of these made somebody nervous, since word was getting out that he was back in town. Possibly this person thought he was too close and had wanted to remove that one piece of evidence that could complicate their lives. Or, this was more likely, somebody just wanted to play a game and he was tapped as it.
Stumped over the lack of results, he shifted his focus to the floor. As he picked up each piece of paper he sorted and laid it on top of one of several piles he soon had on the desk. Although it had looked like a tornado had gone through the room, there were only a dozen sheets to sort through. The papers on the desk were even easier to organize. Mostly, they were bills, paid or not, stamps, stationery and envelopes, with a few fast-food coupons thrown in. The only file information he kept in the desk was a few phone numbers and some scribblings he’d done during recent conversations concerning the current cases. It looked like everything was there also.
Jimmy was baffled over the break-in. It seemed to fit right in with the events of the past weeks where he’d been shot at, threatened, and even beaten up. If this was what being a private investigator was about, he wondered whether he was cut out for it. He didn’t remember ever having so much trouble as a homicide detective. Still, it had its moments. And one thing was for sure; he rarely had to worry about being bored.
It suddenly dawned on him what he’d done and he laughed out loud. He wouldn’t be calling the cops. He’d put everything neatly away as he pondered why and who would have done such a thing. There remained nothing for the police to look at or take pictures of. If there had been fingerprints, which he doubted, he’d covered them with his own. This neat fetish had been stupid of him.
But, maybe not. He didn’t feel stupid, only relieved. He’d seen enough cops lately and he wasn’t on their good side. If the perpetrator were going to be caught, he’d have to do it himself. Wasn’t that what PI’s did?
Still, it would be a lot easier if there were something to go on.
Chapter 36
Janet Hilton’s remains were released on Thursday and the memorial was held Saturday afternoon. When Jimmy pulled up to the funeral home, he was forced to take a spot way at the back of the second parking lot. It seemed everybody who was anybody was there. He wondered again why he was, and why he was putting himself through this. Although tempted, he fought the urge to get back in his car and drive away. He rationalized that the memorial would go on without him and a new case was waiting for his attention. But he didn’t leave. He couldn’t. Because he owed it to Janet’s memory.
Waiting in the long line at the building’s covered entry, surrounded by people he didn’t know, made the sneaking away idea even more appealing. Why did he punish himself this way? When he finally made it inside, he was surprised to see Edward Hilton and his wife personally greeting each guest. They were taking the time to speak wit
h and to accept the condolences given by everyone that entered. That explained the long, slow-moving line.
“Jimmy, I’m so happy you could come,” Edward Hilton said, as he clasped Jimmy’s hand firmly. “This is my wife, Robin.”
A pretty woman with sad eyes greeted him. From the photos Jimmy had seen of Janet, he now understood where she had gotten her looks. She had been the image of her mother. Robin Hilton was small and slim, with curly hair cut short in a natural, bouncy style that was meant to exude liveliness and a good-natured vitality. The heavy silver streaks through the brown locks now seemed to subdue any stray trace of happiness, leaving her with a disconsolate, beaten-down appearance. The last five years had been unkind to a woman who hadn’t deserved what life had dished out.
Jimmy took her hand gently, “My condolences, Mrs. Hilton. Robin. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
She blinked back tears. “Me, too.”
The next person in line shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other. Jimmy used this as his signal to move on.
“Edward,” he said, turning back to Mr. Hilton and patting his arm. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Away from the line and the grieving parents, Jimmy looked around at the ornately decorated room he found himself in. Formal, with high ceilings and richly carved trim, it was filled to overflowing with flowers. Not just potted plants, but huge displays of several colors and varieties completely lined the perimeter of the room. The interior was jammed with well-heeled business people, common laborers, television personalities, and politicians. Quite an eclectic group. Already uncomfortable, Jimmy found the tightly crowded room made it worse. The air conditioner wasn’t able to keep up and he fought the urge to loosen his tie; he was unpleasantly warm. Looking over and around people, no easy task as he wasn’t known for his height, he spied several doors leading to rooms that were carbon copies of this one. Taking his time, acknowledging people he knew, he weaved his way through to a room on the left, where, once inside, he found he was in the company of several cops from differing precincts. They were as nervous as he was, which he found reassuring. Most, like him, weren’t happy rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. As he stood there, one conversation caught his attention.
“There hasn’t been even one hit on Mason,” a redhead said quietly, in a tone that showed he was sensitive to his surroundings. Jimmy remembered him from the next precinct over. “You’d think he would’ve made one little mistake in the last five years, wouldn’t you? You know what I think? I think he’s in Mexico.”
A couple of the uniformed officers nodded their heads. More simply stared, a quizzical expression on their faces. One disagreed however, and he wasn’t shy about voicing it.
“Let’s not go into that again, Allen,” he said, as he rolled his eyes. Apparently, this was a sore spot between the two, and one he was tired of arguing over. “Mason doesn’t have enough guts to hide in another country. The man’s second-class, all big talk and no action. He just wouldn’t have moved there all alone, not without having some friend we don’t know about.”
“Well, he had guts enough to murder three women,” Allen said defensively. “So I think he could have moved to another country.”
“Yeah, well, I bet those were accidents. I just don’t see him doing it.”
Jimmy found himself agreeing. He’d wondered those exact things. Mason was small-time. He didn’t have the balls to run to another country to hide out. He didn’t even know Spanish. If, by rare chance, he had gone to Mexico, odds were he was dead. Jimmy hoped not. Not that he was a humanitarian, or cared at all for the guy, but if he was deceased and his body never found, there would never be complete closure for the Hilton’s. And Paul would never write ‘closed’ on the file.
Paul. Thinking of the man brought to mind the resemblance he showed to the police sketch. That was certainly odd. Worse, why did it bug him so much? Jimmy wasn’t sure at this point. It was too much to think about right now and he forced it from of his mind.
With the amount of people surrounding him, he wasn’t aware that Paul was standing at the back of the room. Taller than most, he’d seen Jimmy as he entered, and his face still carried the scowl that had appeared.
“What’s the matter?” Abby asked. She hated when Paul was upset; she didn’t know what she’d done. She couldn’t remember doing anything, so she tried not to jump to conclusions and blame herself, but it was hard. Old habits are hard to break.
***
Daisy Wilson and her fiancé, Roland Trimble, stood in line. She’d been deeply distressed when she’d heard that the remains were positively identified as Janet’s. She and Janet had run around together for years, through high school and college. Since then, with careers and different goals, they had lost touch. Janet had run with a smaller circle, had planned to marry, help her husband with his career, and raise kids. Daisy had wanted none of that, until lately, that is. Since she and Roland had gotten closer, she understood Janet better. It still surprised her that she was actually in love; she hadn’t thought it possible, had thought herself destined to live by head alone, and not by her heart.
After speaking with Edward and Robin Hilton, their ‘hadn’t seen each other in years and don’t be a stranger’ still ringing in her ears, she and Roland moved toward the back of the room. The crowd blocked the way and was nearly impassable. Approaching the first door they came to, one on the left, they took it. This room was almost as full, but the air wasn’t quite as stuffy.
She looked around at the suits and uniforms that surrounded her, knowing she was fast becoming the center of attention. She flashed a smile at a politician she knew and continued inching her way toward the back. When she was almost midpoint of the room, she caught sight of a young woman farther back who looked familiar. Abby. That was Abby! They had known each other back in high school. She grabbed Roland’s arm, he was talking to the police chief, and motioned where she was going. She headed that direction alone.
***
Paul had been aware of Daisy’s entrance from the time she entered the room. Although his heart skipped a beat, he didn’t exhibit one trace of the nervousness he felt. Cool as a cucumber, he glanced around and found an exit door located directly behind where he stood with Abby. With a show of aggravation, he pulled out his cell and pretended to listen to a nonexistent conversation. Abby watched him unsuspectingly.
Playing his part well, he leaned down and whispered apologetically in her ear, “I’ve got to leave. There’s a dead body downtown and homicide’s been called out.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll catch a ride, or call a cab if I have to,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he added softly, agreeing with the taxi idea, already moving toward the door. “Duty calls. I’ll make it up to you. How about supper out tonight?” He exited the door before she could reply.
***
Daisy saw the tall man whispering in Abby’s ear, but couldn’t get a good look at his face. She saw him turn and quickly slide out the door. There was something about him, his posture, his size or coloring, something that looked familiar. She frowned as she realized her hands were trembling. Now what was this about? Frustrated, thinking this was no way for a future CEO to act; she fought to bring herself under control. As her hands stilled, she shrugged off her discomfort to the size and closeness of the crowd, and then weaved through the throng toward Abby.
“Abby,” she exclaimed when she reached her. “Haven’t seen you in years.”
“Daisy! It’s so good to see you.” Abby reached out and gave her a hug.
“You, too. I just wish it was under better circumstances.” Daisy pulled back, leaving her hands on the arms of the other woman, as she looked her up and down. “You’re looking great. I heard you’d gotten married out of high school.”
Abby’s face changed. She couldn’t face her old friend with the fact that her husband was responsible for Janet�
�s death, for the very memorial they were attending. She glanced around, needing to hide. She had to get away.
“That was the biggest mistake ever made.” It was Izzy who said this, as she straightened her posture and her voice became louder. “Grant was a real s.o.b. He’s the one the cops have pegged for Janet’s murder. I think they’re right.” She stared straight at Daisy, defiant, daring a response.
Daisy drew in a sharp breath. She remembered that a man named Grant Mason was the suspect, but hadn’t realized this was the man Abby married. Crap! Now what should she say? The subject was beyond awkward.
“Lordy, girl. You’ve gotten yourself into some shit since I last saw you.”
Izzy smiled, the comment to her liking. She’d been afraid Daisy would pucker up in sympathy or make some excuse to take off and quickly abandon her, not wanting to be guilty by association. She looked at Daisy with new appreciation. Why hadn’t they been closer friends? She had misjudged her, thinking of her as merely a spoiled little rich girl.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Izzy replied, rolling her eyes at the understatement.
At that moment Jimmy wandered up. Izzy greeted him and then introduced him to Daisy as a friend. Daisy took in the plain suit with pant legs wrinkled and in need of hemming, unruly hair with what appeared to be a perpetual cowlick, and the man’s friendly eyes and instantly decided that she liked him. It was plain to her that the other woman did, too, since her hand now rested on his arm possessively. Daisy knew there was more here than the introduction had implied and it aroused her curiosity.
“Jimmy is a private investigator,” Izzy said, with what appeared to be pride. “He’s the one that tracked down where Janet was.”
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