by LS Sygnet
"I'm sure it checks out," I said. "What about other private detectives in the city?"
"There are a few. Probably more than our fair share for a city this size. Does this relate to Gwen Foster?"
"I'm not sure." I bit into the fleshy mound of my lower lip. Somebody trustworthy needed to know what was going on. Ordinarily, at least in the business realm, that person would've been David Levine. My mind saw an impenetrable steel door slam shut and lock for eternity. David was out. I didn't know whether or not I could trust Haverston with sensitive information.
Roll the dice, Helen. You've got to turn to somebody here. At least until you can talk to George Hardy. I cleared my throat but the words still came out like gravel and shards of glass. "It has come to my attention that a couple of private investigators might've been following me before I left Washington D.C. The suggestion was that these men are in business in Darkwater Bay."
"Suggested by whom?" I heard the concern ratchet up in Haverston's tone.
"I can't tell you that. Now my room has been broken into, and while I didn't see the men responsible, the voices sounded familiar."
"Jesus Christ. I'm sending a unit over right away. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't touch anything. Don't leave the room."
"Haverston –" he already hung up.
Don't touch anything. Ha. I strode to the closet and flung open the accordion door. My eyes fluttered shut. I hated the clothes that comprised my wardrobe now. Nothing black. Nothing with a classic, clean cut. Nothing that remotely resembled me. The ruse to disguise my appearance had been an overwhelming failure if Orion was to be believed.
I tore out a pair of jeans and a lightweight dark blue sweater. Pacing commenced until a light knock on my door nearly startled me out of my skin. No weapon. I glanced at my Rolex. Six ten. I wondered how soon Hardy would be in his office, how soon we could ink a temporary arrangement that might give me some authority – and a sidearm.
"Stupid gun control laws," I muttered under my breath. A quick peek through the door and Haverston's face came into view with two other officers. I flung it open. "Whoever was here is long gone, and I'm certain they didn't leave prints behind."
No, something about their methodology screamed that they had done enough breaking, entering and abduction at the behest of a mastermind to know better than to leave clues behind. I stepped aside before Haverston could push me out of the way.
"How long did you wait to call me after they left?"
"Not even five minutes."
He depressed the call button on the walkie-talkie on his shoulder and muttered police code into it. "Talk to the desk clerks, the doorman, anybody in the hotel coffee shop and get back to me."
"May I ask what good it will do if you don't know what these men look like?"
His eyes narrowed. "Let me take a stab at it. Neither one is a prime example of physical fitness, but one is so big, it looks like his fat head is sitting on top of his shoulders instead of a neck."
My jaw dropped.
"The other, while he has a neck, has a distinct odor of a man who neither bathes frequently or has much concern for the amount of tobacco he smokes."
I hadn't noticed that part in D.C., but now that Haverston mentioned it, there was an unusual bouquet in my hotel room. "How can you possibly know who these men are?"
"When you mentioned private detectives breaking in and stealing, they were the first two that popped into my mind. Your report wouldn't be the first one made against them."
I shuddered. "Who would hire them?"
"You'd be surprised how much use for unethical people there is in this city. And before you ask, Orion wouldn't have either one of them on staff at his business."
"You're an Orion fan," I said dully.
"Personally, I think the guy's a prick, but he's not a thief."
That didn't explain why Orion was following me. What was his interest in meeting me before I came to Darkwater Bay? Only George Hardy could answer that question. Or Rodney Martin. "Go ahead and have them process my room," I said after a moment of reflection and a snap decision.
"Where are you going?"
I tugged one boot on and reached for the other. "It might be too early for me to pay a visit to George Hardy, but it's not too early for me to wake Rodney Martin."
Haverston shuffled his feet and stared at the floor.
"What?"
"You're going to Captain Martin's home?"
"I need answers that won't wait until police admin drags its sorry ass into the office for the day."
"But …" He censored himself.
"But what, Haverston? What aren't you telling me?"
He jerked his head toward the doorway and left the room. When we were in the relative privacy of the hallway, Haverston continued.
"Dr. Eriksson, the last people on earth who can give you answers are George Hardy, Donald Weber and Rodney Martin. The only guy who knows what's really going on at Central Division is Jerry Lowe."
"The chief of detectives."
Haverston nodded.
"How many people knew George Hardy asked me to come to Darkwater Bay, Charlie?" I read his name off the tag on his chest. Officer Charlie Haverston.
"As far as I know, nobody."
"Meaning what exactly?"
He shrugged.
"This is no time to be reticent." I amended at his confused gaze. "Don't hold back. Do you have a better explanation for how private detectives from Darkwater Bay tried to forcefully remove me from my home in Washington? Somebody knew George called me. They didn't want me coming here."
"That seems to make sense." Still, reluctance radiated from every pore.
"What you say to me is absolutely confidential. It goes no further, Charlie. I need to know what I walked into here, all right?"
"I really shouldn't say anything, doctor. I mean, I don't have anything more than rumors and innuendo."
"Which are what exactly? Please. Perhaps I didn't express clearly enough what happened to me at the hands of these private investigators in D.C. I believe it was their intention to abduct me. They tried to remove me to an unknown location. This is serious, Charlie."
He nodded. "I'm sure it's more serious than either one of us knows."
"Tell me about these rumors."
Haverston cleared his throat and stared at the floor. "My personal opinion is that Chief Lowe is a paranoid control freak."
"All right."
He stared up at me with hard eyes. "He wouldn't take news that Hardy and Weber were bringing in somebody from the outside lying down, Dr. Eriksson."
"Meaning … ?"
Another head shake, this one conveying utter disgust. "Never mind."
"Are you implying that a high ranking official in the Darkwater Bay police department would be inclined to break the law to keep me out of Darkwater Bay?"
"Maybe not break it. Bend it for sure. Chief Lowe has a rather fluid interpretation of the law."
I saw that clearly. "So perhaps the intention wasn't to hurt me, but to scare me off."
The time line didn't jibe. Hardy called sometime while I was at Rick's funeral, between ten and eleven eastern time. That would've been between seven and eight pacific time. It was shortly after six when the two goons from Darkwater Bay accosted me in the lobby of the Ritz. Not enough time to fly to D.C. Unless …
"Charlie," I reached out and gripped his hand. "This is important. You said you didn't think George would've told anyone that he wanted to bring me to Darkwater Bay to consult on a few cases."
"That's right."
"When I spoke to the commissioner, I got the impression that he had a specific case in mind that he wanted my insight on. Of all you know about this city, do you have any idea what case would bother him enough to ask for help from the outside, one that perhaps is a sore spot with Chief Lowe?"
"It could be any number of them," he said slowly. "We haven't got a very good reputation around here."
"Think carefully."
"It
seems too ironic to me that you showed up the same night as another dismemberment."
I agreed but kept my thoughts buried under a concerned façade. "Anything else?"
Haverston's eyes darted past me, took a detour over his left shoulder only to return and settle on my face. "Only one that seems a little too obvious."
"Tell me."
His lips moved. Sound did not happen. I read the message just the same. Danny Datello.
That made sense. My head and heart were in complete agreement that Uncle Sully might reach out to a vast network of resources in his attempt to find out what I knew, what I had done about it and how the feds were responding. It had to be part of the solution to the puzzling shadow that had lurked its way into my world.
Something still didn't add up. How in the world could Datello possibly know that I might end up in Darkwater Bay? There was no way he could've learned about Rick's last confession, that he would suspect that he was next on my list.
"Do you understand?" Haverston cut into my thoughts softly.
I nodded. "I think so."
"It might bear consideration, exactly what the chief knew and who he might have shared that information with before you got here, Dr. Eriksson."
My eyes snapped into focus. "Yes. That's an interesting observation, Charlie. Thank you for sharing it with me."
Problem was, it was a twist I understood all too well from my father's history. Not all men in law enforcement are incorruptible. Question was, did Jerry Lowe fall into that category or not? If he was morally flexible, he might be exactly the man I needed.
Chapter 10
The key to assessing any situation most effectively is to keep everyone involved off guard. When people's expectations aren't met, they don't read subtle signals as well. In fact, they're so off kilter, it gives me a better chance to see motives. It's basic psychology.
With that in mind, I refocused on what Rodney Martin probably remembered about me from university. I tend to favor the stereotypical look of the environment. It's part of what Wendell taught me about blending into the environment. The chameleon survives because he can fade into oblivion. He can see danger before it arrives, Sprout. It makes him much more difficult to catch.
Today, I needed to abandon that rule. My goal was to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb, to defy every expectation Rodney might've shared with his superiors when I walked into Central Division.
A cream suit with gold jewelry set the stage for a socialite attending a brunch with her philanthropic planning committee. I looked less like a psychologist and more like an heiress. And there was certainly no trace of federal law enforcement clinging to my aura when I climbed into the tiny hybrid and engaged the GPS that would guide me to central Darkwater Bay.
The last time Rodney saw me, I was gangly, in a tweed jacket with hair in a tight bun and a pair of bookish glasses perched on the end of my nose.
Today, I could've been a Hollywood starlet on the way to a photo shoot or an awards luncheon. I clutched the tiny handbag under my arm and walked up the stone stairs to the home of central's law enforcement nexus.
Heads turned. In part, it might've been due to the oversized sunglasses I wore and left in place after entering the building. Darkwater Bay was just as foggy in the morning as it had been when my flight landed at midnight.
"Could you direct me to the administrative offices?" A desk officer stared up at me when I asked for assistance. I glanced at my Rolex. "I have an appointment with Commissioner Hardy this morning at eight."
"Uh. Elevator," he stammered. "Eighth floor. When you get off the elevator, George's receptionist will meet you."
I turned to leave.
"Excuse me," the voice called after me. "Are you Dr. Eriksson?"
A smile lit up the room, designed to disarm and dazzle. "Yes. I wasn't aware that anyone knew I was coming."
"It's all anyone has talked about since that murder last night."
Ah yes. Poor dead Gwen Foster. If Lowe had been ignorant of my arrival and not behind the PI's following me, he certainly had heard I was here by now.
Rickety elevator doors jerked shut. So far, Central Division looked like it might be on the cusp of becoming a condemned building. Layers of grime had been buffed away from the spacious lobby floor but had left deep scratches in the tiles. Once white stone was stained yellow. The wood railings and information desk were chipped, the finish faded and worn.
A hand shot between the doors. "Hold the elevator!"
I pressed the "open" button on the wall panel. And almost gasped.
Perfectly pressed in dark blue Armani, a statuesque man stepped into the small deathtrap box that would deliver me to the eighth floor. Dark hair highlighted his olive skin. His cheeks dented when he flashed a white, perfectly straight smile.
"Thank you."
Blue gray eyes twinkled down at me. Another towering specimen in Darkwater Bay. This one was much less muscular than Johnny Orion, and possibly older too. Threads of gray streaked his temples.
"We're going to the same floor," another flashy smile. Disarming.
I reinforced my goal, to be the one who stunned others into showing their tells. I returned it at 100 megawatts. "I'm meeting some people this morning."
"Me too." His hand thrust forward. "Jerry Lowe. And you are?"
"Helen Eriksson. Dr. Helen Eriksson."
His eyes widened. Mission accomplished.
"Special Agent Helen Eriksson?"
"I'm not what you expected, am I?"
"Frankly, no. This is a pleasant surprise, doctor." But the twinkle vanished in an instant, and the brilliant smile came off more than a little bit forced.
"The way I burst onto that crime scene last night had to have left a very poor impression with your detectives, Chief Lowe. I apologize for that. This consultation could've been handled better."
Color suffused his neck above the crisp collar. "I hope that my detectives weren't entirely rude."
Got to him again. They had only been partially rude. "They were very gracious under the circumstances. I'm sure you realize that in my line of work, I'm the last person that local authorities like to see at their fresh crime scenes."
"I suppose so."
Lowe looked sufficiently discomfited by the time the elevator doors opened. I pushed the envelope a little harder.
"I would so appreciate a formal introduction to the commissioner, Chief Lowe." Super dazzler between the lips, demure glance down, but not before I caught a glimpse of the lines creasing Lowe's forehead. "I've only spoken to Commissioner Hardy on the telephone, so you see, you're really the first person in authority that I've met in Darkwater Bay."
Let him choke on reality when Rodney saw me. He could interpret it as a bald faced lie, or disrespect of Rodney's authority. Either way, it kept him unbalanced with me, and that's exactly what I wanted.
"Of course, doctor. After you." His hand swept the open space in front of us, and I stepped into a different universe. At least as it related to the main lobby of the police headquarters.
Plush carpeting swallowed my low heels. Cream and deep burgundy office furniture populated the spacious reception area. Hardy's girl sat behind a mahogany desk reminiscent of a judge's bench. Her telephone chimed rather than rang. She held up one perfectly sculpted nail at Lowe and me and answered.
"Commissioner Hardy's office, how may I direct your call?" Her pause whispered confidentiality across the space separating us. "Yes, Commander. I'll let him know you're running ten minutes late. Chief Lowe and Dr. Eriksson just arrived now."
A grinding squeak was muffled behind Lowe's clenching jaw.
"May I ask who is joining us?"
He glanced down at me and pasted on another smile. I felt the phantom pat on my head that his eyes conveyed. Don't you worry your pretty little head, ma'am. "Allow me to make the introductions," he said.
"Tracy, we'll head into George's conference room."
"He actually requested that you wait for him in there, Chi
ef Lowe, until Commander Darnell arrives. He and Chief Weber would like to meet with Dr. Eriksson privately in his office for a few minutes first."
His charm took a decided turn toward a slither. "Then I won't have the pleasure of making the introductions, Dr. Eriksson. I believe I'll check in with my detectives downstairs before we chat. Pleasure meeting you."
"This way, doctor."
I followed her down a wide hallway, past several closed doors, all matching the mahogany of her desk, until we reached one slightly ajar. Tracy knocked lightly and pushed the door open. "Commissioner George Hardy, Chief Donald Weber, this is Dr. Helen Eriksson."
Hardy looked very much like I had imagined when he fell into bumpkin vernacular on the phone with me. Portly polar bear. A shock of white hair was coiffed neatly. His suit was a little too tight in the belly. His jowls hung from a round, shiny face.
Weber's external appearance, I soon learned, was a perfect match to his affectation. He glided from one of the wingback chairs in front of Hardy's desk and clasped my hand for a sandwich shake. "Dr. Eriksson, we are absolutely delighted to meet you. May I have Tracy bring you anything? Coffee? Tea?"
"Coffee, black, thank you."
He wore a police uniform, bedecked with his rank in bars on the collar and a finely polished badge that designated his rank as police chief around the city seal.
"Won't you sit down, Dr. Eriksson?"
"Please, call me Helen," I sat in the other wingback and stared at Hardy. "Let's not mince words, gentlemen. Was Jerry Lowe aware that you requested I consult on a few cases for Darkwater Bay prior to my arrival at a crime scene last night?"
Hardy's jowls sagged. "We're not entirely sure, Helen. May I ask why that's important?"
"I met him in the elevator on the way up to your office. The warmth he exuded after I introduced myself was about two degrees shy of arctic."
Weber crossed his legs, folded his hands in his lap. "It is entirely possible that Jerry heard rumors that we wanted to bring someone in from the outside. There were only three people aware of the identity of the one we wanted, Helen. George, me and someone you haven't met yet, Commander Chris Darnell from the state police. Well, four if you consider that Rodney Martin brought you to our attention in the first place."