Risky Alliance

by N. C. Anderson

  “Runs perfectly,” he said. “Because I drive it to the store once a week.” Patience, he told himself, trying not to show his disappointment. She seemed more relaxed than he had expected, and she hadn't reacted negatively when they touched.

  And, she'd made a deal to talk.

  He lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry grin, yearning to really feel like smiling. Hope springs eternal. He grabbed the other box, balancing it against his waist. “Ready?”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 16

  Though it really wasn't very far, and delighted that she didn't have to drive to Sanger alone Thursday morning, Sue enjoyed listening to Mike and Andee teasing each other and reminiscing about the Delaney kids. When she pulled onto the driveway at Dottie's mother's residence, Dottie, looking like nearly anyone's next-door neighbor with her round face, shoulder-length Sienna-brown hair, and wearing a flowered blouse and pink knee-length shorts, was sitting on the front step with two of her three children. Bonnie was ten and Robert jr. fourteen. J.T. had said that their oldest, Dana, was on a conference trip to L.A., hoping to choose which college she would attend in the following year.

  Almost before she had the key out of the ignition, Mike and Andee were out of the car, dodging around the garden boarding the drive and running across the lawn. They hugged Dottie, then the four youngsters disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Sue scooped her notebook from the car's satiny-leather seat and walked up the sidewalk built of red and white brick. Her friend's usual peaches-and-cream complexion had a chalkiness that frightened Sue. “Where are they off to?” Sue asked as she approached. Hugging Dottie, she added, “They're all growing too fast to keep up with.”

  “I can't begin to tell you how much I needed to see you,” Dottie whispered. She cleared her throat. “Mom let them set up the Volley Ball net. It's in the shade, so they shouldn't get too hot.” She motioned in the direction the children had gone. “Let's follow them. There's a cool place to sit on the patio.

  Dottie pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at tears forming in her eyes. “Robert could hardly wait for the kids to become teenagers. He always talked about all the things he wanted to do with them—memories he could cherish."

  Sue placed her hand on her shoulder, understanding, but unable to say anything around the knot in her own throat, and wishing for a way to ease her friend's pain.

  “I'll be okay.” Dottie smiled through her tears.

  Sue had to applaud her courage as she swallowed away the tightness so she could speak. Tears stung her eyes, but she batted them back. “I know you will. We are all here for you and the kids, Dottie. When things feel like they're closing in, you holler loud and clear.”

  “Where's J.T. this morning?” Dottie asked as they approached the redbrick patio.

  Purple and white Wisteria climbed a redwood trellis, and pink and red Azaleas lined the walkway. The air smelled of flowers and fresh cut grass. A complete contradiction to the gloom surrounding her friend, and the reason for it.

  “He's at home, going through Robert's files. Something about one of the agents who pestered you guys has him all excited."

  “I hope he finds something important.” Dottie appeared to tremble from head to toe. “They gave me the creeps, Sue. I've never met anyone to equal them in the loathsome department. They were contemptuous every time we had to talk to them. Nothing we had to say meant anything. It was as if they weren't really human beings at all."

  When they reached the glass-topped wrought iron table and chairs, Dottie's mother appeared at the back, slider door. “Would you girls like some coffee or iced tea?"

  “Coffee sounds wonderful to me, Mrs. Felton.” The same devastated chalkiness wasn't visible on her, and a weight seemed to lift from Sue as she realized Dottie's mom was a strong shoulder for the Delaney family.

  “Water for me. And thanks, Mom."

  Mrs. Felton started to leave, then stopped. “Oh, Dottie, I almost forgot to tell you. Maggie called and she's coming this morning, too.” She looked at Sue. “You used to call me Linda, Sue. Time needn't change that."

  Sue nodded, feeling a warm relief at the thought. And Maggie's coming would be good for Dottie. The always rational Maggie Rand had a way of stabilizing nerve-wracking situations. It would also be fun to hear from her exactly what she saw and heard when someone was breaking into the house. Tim had recounted what she'd said about her dogs barking and all. But Sue never cared for second-hand info—about anything.

  After pulling out a chair and sitting down, Dottie asked, “Have you heard much from Maggie lately?"

  “Come to think of it, no. She used to write me at least once a month, but I haven't gotten anything for probably three months."

  “About four months’ ago, Joshua took his clothes and walked out on her and the boys."

  Sue couldn't even imagine that happening. Maggie and Joshua worked together, played together. “Another woman?” She felt certain that couldn't be the problem the moment the words left her lips.

  Dottie shook her head. “Maggie says not. He's got problems with life in general, I guess. And, bless her, she still does paperwork for him and the Remley office. I just thought I'd alert you to the situation.” Suddenly new tears formed in her eyes. “I'm so lucky to have you both as friends. I know Maggie is coming because she wants to help. And I don't know what I'd have done without J.T."

  After placing her notebook on the table and sitting down beside her, Sue touched Dottie's hand. “I should have come sooner,” she said. “But I'm glad J.T was here for you."

  The sliders opened. Linda Felton came through them carrying a tray with cups, glasses, and a wide bowl full of sliced cheese and fruit. “Look who I found at the front door,” she said, glancing behind her. “Maggie just arrived.” She placed the tray in the middle of the table, smoothed the fabric of her skirt-like romper outfit, and then walked out into the yard toward the children playing ball. “Think I'll see if these youngsters need a referee,” she said over her shoulder.

  Maggie stepped onto the patio. Sue stood, and Maggie hugged her instantly. “You look great, Sue.” She whispered in her ear. “I'm so glad you came."

  Sue muttered a similar praise about the way Maggie looked, but it wasn't true. Maggie might be wearing a pale-green silk blouse and neat dark-green slacks, but she looked sapped, drained, weakened, compared to the ball-of-energy Sue expected to see. Retaking her seat, Sue studied her two friends. “I wished our reunion wasn't at such a tragic time.” She glanced at Dottie. “I have to tell you I'm getting really worried about the things J.T. and Tim Benson are finding."

  Maggie reached for a glass filled with ice and walked around the table. “Dottie and I talked last night. The whole nightmare seems to get more and more confusing. If anyone can fix the confusion, it'll be J.T."

  “Did you bring the photos again?” Dottie asked Sue, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Maggie might be some help if she saw them. She knows I don't have anything that even resembles those dresses."

  While Dottie poured tea and coffee, Sue opened her shoulder bag and removed the pictures as Maggie pulled up a chair beside her. “These were found in the garbage in Dottie's garage.” She laid the prints on the glass table. “And these were three we found in Dottie's closet. Blood and paint stained the ones from the garage, and someone cut the tags out of all of them."

  “I don't understand,” Maggie began as she studied the images, running her fingers thoughtfully through her auburn hair, “have the police started an investigation?"

  “I begged J.T. to look into it, and he recruited Tim,” Dottie informed her. “Robert wouldn't have killed himself. I don't care what the world says, he just wouldn't have done such a thing.” She sighed; her frown was one of frustration, pain. “Now the police might think I would have had something to do with his death."

  Sue put her hands together, steepling her fingers. “They don't think anything at all yet. Tim hasn't collected enough info to s
atisfy his chief.” She shook her head. “Maybe the blood on that blouse will convince him to open an official investigation. I don't know."

  Sue opened her notebook. “I made these notes last night.” She had divided the page with a line down the middle. At the top she had written Robert's name. “Dottie asked J.T. to investigate Robert's death,” she began. “But J.T had already done some investigating with the tax problems you were having, Dottie.” She took a sip of coffee. After telling Maggie and Dottie everything that happened in Iowa, and why she'd come with the children, she placed her hand on the left column, and then moved her finger back and forth between columns as she spoke. “Before we came, someone trashed our house and set fire to Dottie's. J.T. found both houses bugged with high-tech stuff. When we arrived, Abby's dead cat was a warning for him to stick to divorce work—with no indication of who sent the warning. Though, J.T. has never done much in the divorce work category. Someone had to go into Abby's house to get the cat. There's the bloody clothing in Dottie's garage and the strange tag-less ones in her closet. There's an array of notes in Robert's files about the agents who were driving him crazy. Poor J.T. keeps trying to make the connection of all this, but he doesn't know if he's working on one case, or two.” She took a slice of apple and wedge of cheese from the bowl. “We need to find out about this clothing.” She remembered the paint smear, the paint can. “Dottie, who was painting the wood trim in the den?"

  “Robert."

  Dottie's eyes looked as if talking about it made the pain cut deeply and sharply so Sue couldn't make herself continue the subject and ask what clothing Robert was wearing when he died. She made a note to have J.T. ask Tim.

  She thought about the fire in relationship to the clothing Tim had found in the garage. The charred outer wall had been several feet from the trash, but if it had gotten going really good, it would have wiped out the clothing along with the house. She jotted a note on her paper to bring this up with Jacob.

  “The boys and I have to go to Oakland tomorrow,” Maggie said, her hazel eyes serious. “I'm doing research for Joshua's firm. Sort of court-house hopping.” She tapped her finger on one of the photos. “I've seen quality like this at my favorite boutique near San Mateo. Nearly bought one that looked very much like this one.” She lifted a photo showing one of the dresses found in the closet. “Can I take these with me?"

  Sue nodded, scooping the remainder of the pictures from the table glass and handing them to Maggie. “We have several copies. I forgot about your expertise in research."

  “I'll do anything to help you, Dottie,” Maggie said turning toward their friend. “You know that.” She hesitated. “I have to ask, is there any doubt that someone killed Robert?"

  “I'll answer that one, Maggie,” Sue cut in. “You and I know what kind of man Robert was, what kind of father he was. He would never do that to his family.” She prayed her words were correct. Joshua walked out on Maggie and the kids, and Sue never would have expected it of him.

  Maggie nodded, but she paled visibly. “You're right. Robert would never have done anything to hurt his family.” She lifted her iced tea in a salute. “Like I said, I would do anything to help. I'm in."

  “Thanks, Maggie, for helping Abby with work at the house.” Sue squeezed Maggie's hand, then returned her salute with her coffee cup.

  Maggie brushed the air with her other hand. “It wasn't much, Sue. We didn't dare do too much until Jacob could see what might be missing.” She turned to Dottie. “Keep your chin high, Dottie. We'll stay on this till something is resolved."

  For the first time Sue noticed color return to Dottie's pale cheeks as she smiled, lifting her water glass in return to both of them. “Have some cheese and fruit,” she offered them, looking at Maggie. “Then you can tell us if there's any research we can do."

  * * * *

  Bits and pieces, fragmented notes scattered through Robert's three tax files were beginning to give Jacob heartburn. “The bitch,” the note began, “was here screaming at Dottie this morning. Never comes when I'm here. Told Dottie never to go to the door. Bitch yelled so loud she had all the neighbors leaning over fences.” This one would come in handy, Jacob thought, since when he was helping Robert with the auditing problem, there hadn't been any mention of a woman agent.

  He had three piles of odd-sized pieces of paper on the glowing surface of his black, leather-trimmed desk. He had them mentally labeled: stack One, definite possibility of credible information; Two, could switch to stack One if Dottie could clarify them; Three, were so damned short they had no meaning except, perhaps, to the one who wrote them. But, he would have Dottie go over them anyway.

  He glanced around his office, most of the mess gone except for some not-at-all-decorative four-letter-words that still graced the wall. Painters worked diligently at the other end of the house, and would get to his office last. The most puzzling thing about the room was his camera. It wasn't broken.

  He'd reviewed the film from the outside camera and this one. The intruders managed to elude both until blacking them out. A hot sounding car was all he got. Who would not break a camera? What kind of person would go to the trouble of first painting the lens, then covering it with a paper towel held on with a rubber band? The answer seemed simple: a camera lover. None of the people he first suspected of wanting to get even with him was a camera lover. He sighed. It was time to have both cameras mounted completely out of sight.

  The phone beside him rang, and he picked it up to hear Tim's excited greeting. “I've been reviewing all the reports on Robert's case. I missed the one written by the first officer on the scene. Seems it was misplaced—or at least not in place when I read the file the first time. They didn't have an autopsy, but I think you'll find some of this report really interesting. The gun Robert supposedly used on himself was a .22. The lead officer on the scene wrote ‘cadaveric spasm,’ gun in hand. However, I talked to his partner and the officer states that the gun fell onto the desk when the coroner's people moved Tim's body and then he collected the gun."

  “That's crazy,” Jacob interrupted. “First of all when there's cadaveric spasm nothing falls out of the death grip until pried out, and secondly Robert wouldn't have a gun in the house that small.” Robert considered anything smaller than a .45 a cap pistol, and his collection didn't include cap pistols. But, the .22 was a hit weapon—a damned hit weapon. He couldn't make himself say it out loud, and suspected Tim was having the same problem.

  “You know that, and I know that, but no one bothered to question it. Dottie never asked.” Silence for a moment. “What bother's the hell out of me is, I didn't bother to find out."

  “Well, don't let it bother you, Tim. I didn't think about it either. We were to busy mourning out loss and comforting his family to think about the intimate details. My buddy had just killed himself and I can say I didn't want to hear the gory details. Trying to understand why was hard enough without knowing which one of his collection he'd used."

  “The gun is in the evidence room. Among the smudges, a partial fingerprint on the butt was Robert's—and a partial of Dottie's pinky on the barrel. They had been about to return it to Dottie. Since she hadn't claimed it, they had forgotten about it. They had fingerprinted it already because it went to the lab when it came in. We know about that only because I got the Chief to let me look into the possibility of homicide and the lab still had the record."

  “Was it registered?” Jacob leaned back and put his feet on the desk's edge, crossing his ankles.

  “No. It's an old gun."

  Jacob thought about that. “Where was the entry wound, Tim?"

  “Left temple, J.T. I know what you're going to say. Not an easy position for a right-handed man."

  “Yeah,” Jacob responded, “my exact thoughts. And I suppose Dottie touched it when she found him.” He paused, running his fingers through his hair. “About the gun. You'll have to talk to Dottie about it."

  “I know. Can't say I'm looking forward to it."

  Jacob u
nderstood exactly what he meant. “You want me to go with you?” Things kept looking worse for Dottie. He would have to work faster.

  “I'll handle it. Wouldn't do for both of us to question her about this. She's worried enough as it is.” He hesitated. “I gotta get going, J.T. I'm replacing Charley at Abby's in about twenty minutes."

  After hanging up the phone, Jacob thought about the .22. Usually a non-lethal weapon—unless used by someone quite versed in the method of killing. Dottie was nearly as expert in guns as Robert had been. They had gone to the firing range and hunting together since before they married. But Robert hadn't taught Dottie about the killing methods of his military training. Robert never discussed his Special Forces jobs ... not with anyone. So, Robert could have killed himself; he had the knowledge. But, he never would have used a gun he'd always refused to own. Most significantly, he never, by his own design, would have caused Dottie and his kids this immeasurable pain. He could hear Tim's boss saying that people say that about every suicide victim. It didn't matter. Robert would not have gone down alone. He would have taken his tormentors with him.

  * * * *

  After starting her bread machine on its whole-wheat setting, Abby walked to her coffee maker and poured herself a steaming cupful. She was using her favorite china to give herself a lift. With the children off with Sue, Abby found the silence, which was usually comforting, annoying. To offset the glum mood she was heading for, she took to the kitchen, baking sugar cookies and cranking up the bread machine. She sipped her coffee, her spirits raised considerably by the smell of fresh coffee, fresh cookies, yeast activating in the machine, and the exercise it took getting it all finished.