Killer On The Train

by Bruce Alan Jensen

  Before Alicia could say more, Bernie interrupted, “How old is this guy if he’s retired?”

  “He’s about forty, took early retirement from the police force. There’s too much to tell on the phone. All I’ll say is he is intelligent and handsome.”

  “Is this serious?”

  “For cryin’ out loud, Bernie. I don't know. We've only known each other a few days.”

  “Known, as in?”

  “Oh, God, no. You are so bad, Bernie! He's helping us with a case, oh, forget it. It’s way too complicated to get into now.”

  “You like him, though, right?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s got a lot going on.”

  “Anything going on?” Persisted Bernie.

  “No. He's kind of shy. Reserved is more like it. But how would I know? Maybe it's been too long since I was around a man.”

  “You? Interested in a shy guy?”

  “Maybe he’s gun shy,” Alicia laughed, “afraid to get into another relationship. He's divorced. I can tell by his facial expression he feels bad about it. Last evening, while we were having drinks, I drilled him, and he answered my questions. After I’ve spent more time with him, I’ll know more about him and see if we connect.”

  “What about you and Dean? Is that over?”

  “You know Dean is in D.C. Three thousand miles away for two years is not the way to maintain a relationship. I felt when he left this would happen, and I couldn't leave my career and start over in the most inhospitable city in the country.” Tears welled up, but she fought them back.

  “Is he going to be there permanently?”

  “I don’t know. In the last few months, we’ve only spoken twice. He loves the job, and the congressman got reelected to another term. This job gives Dean more seniority so more work. Did I tell you he wanted me to quit my job and move with him? He says he loves me and even suggested marriage. I understand why he took this job. How could he pass up this opportunity? Our plans to take turns flying back and forth never happened. Either he's too busy, or I'm too busy. And the phone calls? Our conversations are more email or voice message, and those have become fewer and fewer. Honestly, I think we have moved on, but neither of us will say it.”

  “I know your job, and career means as much to you as he does to him. But marriage might be good for you. What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing, yet. It looks like it's over without a fight or anger. We just fizzled. I don't want to move there and give up everything I've worked for. If he were here, things would be different. We would have found the time to be together. Plus, he had plenty of great opportunities here. Each of us values our independence and careers. He made the choice that suited him. And I'm happy being free to do as I please. Where would I be if we married. I don’t mind living alone. It's just that I'm lonely.”

  “And horny, too, I bet.” Bernie quipped.

  “Bernie!” Alicia laughed out loud. “You know me so well. Yes, sometimes I'm horny. But, I’m not sure about Hank. Working together could be difficult. At least he’s not with the Bureau. He's here as a spectator and adviser. I like having him around. He’s nice looking, six foot, average build, and we seem to fit. I have to tell you, though I like those radiant steel-blue eyes of his.”

  “When I get back we'll take off for a weekend and have girl talk the whole time. Hell’s bells, why not go for it? See what happens. Open up, Alicia. It’s good for you. Maybe what you want is what he wants.”

  “I’ll think about, but I've got to get back to work. I'm so happy your interview went well, and sure you'll get the job. Won’t it be great to be living close together again? Let me know when you’re coming to town. Say hi to your parents for me.”

  “Okay, will do. Keep me posted about this guy, eh, Hank?”

  “Bye, Bernie. I hope to see you soon.”

  “Bye, Sweetie.”

  ELEVEN

  At the vacant desk, Hank heard bits and pieces of Alicia’s conversation. When he heard her end the call, he rose and knocked on her open door, to let her know he was there. He entered without waiting for her to offer an invitation. Deep in thought, she looked up, “Oh, Hank, what's up?”

  “I'm not productive unless you have something for me to do.”

  “Sorry, nothing that isn't internal Bureau business.”

  “That's okay. You asked Bridge to call Stan Klein. Since he's so busy, I could call the kid and find out how he is doing. He was extremely nervous at the scene.”

  “That's a good idea. Check with Bridge first. I expect he will allow you to call Klein. Be sure to ask if he has any other information or ideas about suspects.

  “I'll do that.”

  Hank found Bridge at his desk. He was pleased to give Hank the go-ahead to call Klein.

  Since it was two in the afternoon, Klein could be at work and wouldn't answer his cell phone. But in two rings, Stan answered, sounding annoyed as if he hated being interrupted.

  “Stan, this is Hank Carson. I'm calling to find out how you are doing. Are you at work?”

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Carson. No, I called in sick. I'm still upset about finding the dead guy. Is there a problem?”

  “Not really. If you’re disturbed, you may want to talk with a therapist.”

  “Nah, I'll get over it. I'm taking the weekend off and will relax with my buddies. That should help, you know talk and play a little. Anything you need from me?” His voice was pleasant sounding.

  “Not unless you have any suspects in mind.”

  “Oh, no, sir. I'm no cop, so I wouldn't know what a suspect would be like. I'll call you if I come up with something. Anything else?” Stan asked.

  “No. Take care.” They disconnected.

  Hank returned to Alicia's office to share his conversation with Klein. “I doubt he knows a suspect. He sounded a little nervous but not shook-up.”

  “Considering his slight build, I doubt he should be considered a suspect.”

  “I agree. He's upset about finding a bloody body. If there's nothing else, do you mind if I leave? I’ve got to finish the article, and research to do for my next assignment.”

  “Not at all. I understand you have to submit the wine article. When are you leaving town?”

  “Not for a few weeks. Why? Do you want me to leave?” Hank asked, putting his hands on her desk and leaning closer.

  Alicia looked up at him, their faces almost touching. She leaned back in her chair. “No, I don’t want you to leave! You have been an asset that I appreciate. Stay as long as you want.”

  “How about joining me for dinner tonight about seven? You can fill me in.”

  “Sorry, I’d like that but, I need to wash my hair, do laundry and repack my overnight case.” Hank’s heart sank until she added, “But maybe we can get together this weekend.”

  “Sounds great. Let’s see how things go, and hopefully, there will be time for dinner together. Incidentally, I'd like to be here when you get this guy. I don't need to be in San Diego until sometime in March. That’s still excellent whale watching time,” Hank said.

  Laughing, Alicia replied, “That’s your other assignment? Whales?”

  Before he could explain his next writing gig, Agent Smith interrupted by knocking on the door frame.

  “What’s up, Cordero?” Alicia asked looking at Agent Smith.

  “Miss Loccisano started to give Caswell an alibi, but I mentioned that her boss saw her leave the kitchen just before noon,” Agent Smith paused, wanting Alicia to digest the import of his report. “When I called her attention to the fact I knew her information wasn’t true, she hung her head, went teary-eyed and admitted she had left her post to visit the employee restroom. When she arrived back at her station, Caswell was returning to the kitchen. He asked her to vouch for him, explaining he was out making a call about a car for sale, saying the boss would be mad if he knew what Caswell was doing. At about a quarter to twelve, she saw Matt Henn, the busboy, entering the men’s restroom. So that probably clears Loccisano and Henn. Henn confi
rmed this when we got his statement this morning.”

  “Not Caswell, though,” Alicia said, nodding her head. “Stay on top of the interviews.”

  “I’m going to call Ted Baxter for his follow-up interview, and a couple more names Bridge has for me.”

  “Great. Keep me posted, Cordero,” Alicia said, waving him out of the office as her phone rang. “Tomlinson, hold on a sec.” She looked at Hank and whispered, “I've got to take this.”

  “Please feel free to call me if you want my help,” he whispered back.

  She nodded, smiled, and continued with the call.

  Hank waved goodbye, wondering what her lips would feel like if he got the opportunity to kiss her.

  TWELVE Saturday, November 23

  At eight the following morning the walk with Molly was in full sunshine, while their breath was like exhaust from a steam engine. When they got back to the motorhome, Hank fed Molly before making his breakfast. He read the newspaper as Molly napped with her head on his foot. Unable to concentrate on the paper, his thoughts drifted to Alicia and her SIT agents. Bridge was meticulous, a straight-arrow man with uncanny instincts, and obsessed about doing a good job. Because he was protective of Alicia, Bridge probably distrusted Hank. Each of the agents had their high points. Austin Dugan and Paulette Murphy, the office support person, were the most friendly and helpful to him.

  At ten o’clock, Hank called Alicia.

  “Good morning, Hank. Sorry, I haven't called. We don't have any hot leads yet.”

  “How did the interviews go yesterday afternoon?” he asked.

  “Let's see,” she said. Hank heard the sound of papers shuffling. “Jason Brisbane told us he left the lounge car and talked with Beth, a wine steward. Bridge called her, and she confirmed talking with him. Another one eliminated. Robert Taylor, a wine rep for Mondavi, spent most of the midday in the Vista Dome car talking to the dining guests. A few calls verified his alibi. Fred Royals didn't show, but he returned our call saying he had a problem at one of his restaurants, promising to come in on Monday.”

  “Isn't he the restaurant district manager?”

  “Yes, he is someone of interest. If he doesn't come in, we’ll have a warrant issued for his arrest. Then there's Bernard Rossman. He arrived thirty minutes late but provided a verified alibi during the time of the murder. That's it. What are you up to?”

  “I'm getting close to finishing the Beaujolais wine article. Do you want me to give you a hard copy or email it to you?”

  “Email, please.” She gave Hank her email address. Surprised by her formal response, Hank wondered if he had misread her signals. Maybe she wasn't interested in him.

  “You'll get the email early tomorrow.” Hank tried another opening. “Is the team still following up on the interviews?”

  “I let most of them go for the day, including Chris. Michaels is working this weekend and making follow-up calls. I'm here to complete paperwork and answer the phones. I hope to leave before three. What else are you doing?”

  “Not much,” Hank answered. “Maybe I’ll watch football. I may take Molly for a drive, but I'd rather convince you to join me for dinner.” I can’t believe I had the courage to ask her out.

  Silence on the line. As Hank was about to tell her to forget it, she said, “That's nice.” Before he thought of a way to respond, she said, "Sure, why not?” Wow, she said yes! Cudos old man!

  They decided to meet at Wasabi BBQ for an early dinner. Seeing her again made him happy, but he wanted more than a brief encounter.

  The hours dragged by until it was time to shower and dress. A dark blue blazer, oxford shirt, black slacks, and loafers completed his outfit. At five minutes to five, he walked into the restaurant located across the street from the Cal Expo Fairgrounds, four blocks from the RV park. The bar area was compact with dark stained wood walls, with a copper-topped bar which took up most of the room, a few small glass-topped tables, and a stamped tin ceiling. The dining room was much larger but less intimate. Hank preferred the bar area.

  Alicia walked in before he ordered a drink. “Good evening. You look great. Okay if we sit in the bar?” Hank asked.

  “That’s fine with me.” She removed her coat and sat at the table. Her red silk blouse, with the top three buttons open, turned Hank on. He’d noticed the gray slacks and the two-inch heels that accented her shapely ankles when she sat down.

  “Would you care for a couple of appetizers before dinner,” he asked.

  “Good idea, you pick them,” Alicia said, not looking at the menu.

  Hank ordered pot stickers, along with Sashimi Won Ton Tacos and Sapporo beer.

  “How did you get this lead job with the Bureau,” Hank asked.

  “I was the senior agent two years ago when our lead agent retired. When the position was offered to me, I accepted. We have a good group, and I feel fortunate to lead this team,” she said.

  “I can see that the team works well together. Bridge is a strong second in charge. He sure respects you. Seeing you in action, you deserve to be in charge.”

  “Thanks. That's kind of you to say that. We try our best,” Alicia said.

  The waiter served the appetizers, naming them. He asked if he could get them more beers. They said “Yes,” in umison.

  “These are delicious. Why don’t we have a couple more appetizers instead of dinner?” Alicia asked.

  “Sounds good to me.” They ordered a Spicy Tuna Rolls to share and continued their conversation until the rolls arrived.

  “My turn now. How did you go from being a detective to being a writer?”

  “I wrote several short articles on investigative procedures and the use of advanced data analysis for the Chief's Newsletter and the Police blog. When I left LAPD, I was uncertain what I wanted to do next. So I took the opportunity to see some of the world? I got a cheap fare to Rome, packed a bag and traveled for nearly two years.”

  “That sounds exciting,” Alicia said, a dreamy look on her face. Giving her attention back to Hank, she asked, “What did you do during all that time? Write?”

  “Yes and no. Before I left for Italy, I was writing about what I saw and did in L.A., so in Italy, I continued to write about my experiences. I loved the places I visited, and the different culture and food snapped me out of my melancholia. I regained appreciation for art and life.”

  “That's daring to get up and leave. Sounds like you were journaling. How did that become a profession?”

  “I was sending emails to a few friends and my daughter about the places I visited and the food I sampled which evolved into a blog. A high school classmate of mine, living in Arizona, shared my stories with a friend who is an agent for freelance writers. She contacted me and asked if I was interested in selling my stories. To make a long story short, I said thanks, but no thanks. But we stayed in contact, and I included her in my emails. When I returned to the States, I wanted to see more of the U.S., so I bought the motorhome, adopted Molly and traveled around the country. The agent, Alexis, persuaded me to let her place one of my stories in the Good Sam, or another RV publication. Eventually, she got me to accept an assignment to write about a particular locale for RVer Magazine. It was about my travels along the old Route 66.”

  “That's quite an adventure. I'd like to hear more.”

  “Would you like to see my home, and meet Molly?”

  “Sure.”

  Hank paid for their drinks and appetizers before walking to the parking lot. He followed her to her car.

  “Where's your car?” she asked.

  “At the motorhome. I walked here, and it's not far.”

  “Hop in,” she said. After Alicia had parked, he guided her inside the motorhome and introduced her to Molly. Molly sniffed her and wagged her tail in approval of their guest.

  “I didn't expect this. It's larger than I imagined, very nice,” Alicia remarked. As she walked to the center of the cabin, she removed her coat.

  Hank draped her coat over the desk chair. “The coach is
forty-one feet long, with slide-out sides make the living area more spacious. The stateroom has a slide out too, which allows for a queen-sized bed, and there’s enough closet space.” He gave her a tour, which only took a few minutes. “Please have a seat. Would you like a drink or coffee?”

  “A gimlet would be excellent.”

  “One gimlet coming right up.”

  “This is comfortable but don't you get claustrophobic?” She asked from the couch.

  “No,” he said, happy to explain. “First, it's bigger than a typical motel room. Second, Molly and I take it with us when we travel.” From the kitchen, Hank continued, “Another plus is that it is self-contained so no need for hookups.” Walking to the couch, he handed the drink to her, “Here you go, a vodka Gimlet on the rocks with a lemon wedge.”

  “Thank you. What are hookups? I'm clueless. This is my first time in a motorhome. Ooh. This is a perfect gimlet.”

  “Thanks, glad you like it. The hookups are the utility connections. I've installed four solar panels that charge a set of batteries and an inverter that produces fifteen hundred watts that run the TV, air conditioner, music system, and other one-ten volt outlet needs.”

  “Why is that necessary?”

  Hank grinned as he explained, “To get away from civilization. It’s called boon-docking, where you can exist in the wilderness without any utilities available. I’ve done it many times. Many National, State, and local parks don't have services available, so this makes it comfortable.”

  “I bet you enjoy the solitude, too.”

  “Yes, I do. But sometimes I miss having someone to share the beauty with.”

  Hank turned the stereo to soft orchestral music as he watched Molly let Alicia pet her. When she had enough attention, Molly left Alicia and settled in her bed. “It appears that Molly has accepted you.”

  “Does she always go to bed this early?”

  “She knows to leave me alone when I have guests, which is seldom. She's an excellent companion.”

  “Women guests, I assume,” she teased.

  “Not socially. You are the only woman to visit since I bought the rig.”