Cosmic Forces: Book Three in The Jake Helman Files Series

by Gregory Lamberson

  Laurel turned around in his hands. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she smiled. “Let’s make this easy. Last night was great—”

  “It was spectacular.”

  “Okay, spectacular. You needed it, I needed it, and it’s been brewing since we met. But we’re not meant to be together. I’m not looking for a relationship, and you’re already freaking out over the idea of being with someone who can read your mind during sex.”

  “It has its advantages and disadvantages.”

  She moved her hands onto his chest. “It’s okay. Believe me, I understand. You could pretend not to care that I have this ability, and I could pretend not to sense the things I do, but we’d both know the truth. How long could that last?”

  Jake didn’t realize his muscles had tensed until he felt them relaxing.

  “See? You’re already relieved. We both have bigger things on our minds than how to make this work.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “I’m sorry about Sheryl.”

  “Thanks. I was really grasping at straws there.”

  “You may not want to admit it to yourself, but you already have feelings for someone else.”

  Maria. He opened his mouth to speak.

  But Laurel touched his lips with one finger. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. Last night I wanted you as much as you wanted me. It was spectacular.”

  Jake resigned himself that the truth had come out. “I don’t think there’s any chance of me and Maria getting together.” He glanced at Edgar, who cawed. “Too much has happened.”

  “You never know. Sit down and eat your breakfast. For all we know, this could be your last meal, not counting whatever greasy food you pick up on your way to Albany.”

  Jake sat at the table and watched Edgar pace before him. “You and Edgar have developed quite a relationship.”

  Laurel served the food and sat down. “He’s a good listener.”

  “So you do confide in someone?”

  “Even a psychic needs to share what’s on her mind sometimes.”

  Jake sampled the eggs Benedict. “You can always talk to me. I mean it.”

  She studied him before answering. “Thank you. It’s best I not share my problems with anyone who can speak.”

  Jake chewed his food. “I want to help you with whatever your problem is.”

  “You have your hands full right now.”

  “Right now, yes. But in the future . . .”

  “Maybe someday. If we live that long.”

  They finished their breakfast in silence.

  Jake emerged from Laurel’s parlor in need of a shower. As she locked the door behind him, he glanced up at the cloudy sky.

  “Jake!” Carrie stood a dozen feet away at the door to his building. A Korean man with long dreadlocks hovered beside her.

  As Jake approached the couple, he registered the man’s dirty black jacket and button-down white shirt. Standing next to Carrie, he looked like a giant.

  Ripper, Jake thought.

  With her eyebrows raised, Carrie clucked her pierced tongue. She made no effort to conceal her surprise at seeing Jake exit the parlor so early in the morning. “You look like you had a late night.”

  “Good morning,” Jake said, waiting for an introduction.

  “Oh, this is Ripper. Ripper, Jake.”

  Jake held out his hand, but Ripper offered him a closed fist instead, so they bumped fists.

  “‘Sup?” Ripper said, revealing a gold tooth.

  “Nice to meet you at last,” Jake said. But it wasn’t. Ripper gave off an odor and a vibe that made the hair on the nape of Jake’s neck stand on end. He couldn’t believe Carrie would associate with such an obvious lowlife.

  “Ripper was just dropping me off,” Carrie said. She stood on her toes for a kiss, and Ripper hunched over and complied with an open mouth.

  Jake’s stomach constricted, and he feared he’d toss the breakfast Laurel had cooked for him.

  “Helman!”

  Now what?

  Detectives Storm and Verila joined the party, and Ripper melted into the background.

  “Looks like we caught you just in time,” Storm said.

  Jake regarded the detectives. “Not really. I’m coming, not going. Let me guess: Geoghegan wants to see me downtown again.”

  “You read my mind.” Storm glanced at Laurel’s parlor. “You must be psychic or something.”

  “I need to take a quick shower before I go anywhere. You want to wait in my office, or do you want me to meet you downtown?”

  Storm and Verila traded bemused looks, then said at the same time, “We’ll wait.”

  Great, Jake thought.

  When Jake entered the interview room for Major Crimes in One Police Plaza, he saw two men in black suits sitting beside Geoghegan, who wore his customary snarl.

  The men paid little attention to Jake. They appeared to be his age or younger, with short, professional hair that made them look like accountants.

  Feds, Jake thought. “Teddy, I’m disappointed. I thought it was going to be just you and me again.”

  “Not this time. These gentlemen would like to have a few words with you. Special agents Dilman and Richter, Jake Helman.”

  Neither of the agents offered Jake their hand, so he kept his to himself.

  “Why wasn’t I invited to the FBI? I could use a change of scenery.”

  “Because the NYPD and FBI are working together on Marla Madigan’s disappearance, and the task force is based here since we own the case. Have a seat.”

  Jake sat on the remaining chair and faced his inquisitors.

  “Wasn’t Buffalo enough of a change of scenery?” Geoghegan said.

  “Lily Dale,” Jake said. “It was lovely until Abby Fay took a bullet in her head.”

  “Meant for you,” Geoghegan said.

  “That would be my guess, but one never knows.”

  “Sheriff Gudgino seems certain of it.”

  Jake shrugged. “He’s the expert. Can I have some coffee?” He faced the feds. “You’ll have to forgive his manners. The job is tough on all of us.”

  Geoghegan rose with an uncharacteristic smile. “Tougher on some than others. How do you take it?”

  “Cream and sugar, unless the cream is that powdered shit.”

  Geoghegan exited the room, and Jake waited for the show to begin. He had grown tired of these interviews and promised himself he would endeavor to avoid them in the future.

  The feds shuffled some papers, then one looked up. “Mr. Helman, I’m Special Agent Richter. We’ve been going over your initial statement to Lieutenant Geoghegan, and we just have a few follow-up questions.”

  “Shoot. Unless you want to wait for Teddy.”

  “That’s all right. We can start without him.”

  I bet we can. Joint task forces between NYPD and the FBI yielded competition more than cooperation. In this case, NYPD shared its information, and the FBI hoped to crack the case.

  “You told Lieutenant Geoghegan that Mrs. Madigan hired you to prove her husband’s suspected infidelities, and yet you say you were on another case the night she disappeared. You refused to divulge the details of this other case.”

  Jake raised his hands. “Okay, you got me. I lied to Teddy. I was on the Madigan case—my Madigan case, not yours—on the night in question. Boy, you guys are tough.”

  Richter showed no sign of emotion. “Why did you lie to Lieutenant Geoghegan?”

  Jake leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret? I don’t like him.” He hoped Geoghegan was watching through the one-way mirror. “And it was just a white lie.”

  “So why are you speaking about it now?”

  “Because Marla may not be alive anymore, which would make this a homicide case, not a missing persons case.”

  “It’s a Major Crimes case,” Geoghegan said as he reentered the room with Jake’s coffee in a Styrofoam cup.

  “Oh, Teddy—we were just talking about you.”r />
  Geoghegan set the coffee before Jake. “You said black, right?”

  Jake smiled. “Right.”

  Teddy sat. “Now, where were we?”

  “Mr. Helman was telling us how he was working the case Mrs. Madigan hired him for the night she disappeared.”

  Geoghegan acted impressed. “You don’t say? That sort of contradicts your earlier statement, doesn’t it?”

  Jake shrugged again. “So arrest me.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Richter folded his hands. “Where did you go that night, Mr. Helman?”

  Jake glanced at Agent Dilman, then back at Richter. “Doesn’t he get to talk?”

  Richter offered a humorless smile. “We do things differently than NYPD. We’re not into that whole good cop, bad cop routine.”

  Jake nodded his approval. “I went out to Westchester that night to the estate of a gentleman named Karlin Reichard.”

  “Because . . . ?”

  “Marla told me that once a month the mayor spends a weekend at Reichard’s. According to her, Madigan said the weekends were political retreats, and Reichard was grooming his career. And on that weekend, our mayor was due for some career shaping. He wants to be president, you know.”

  “But Mrs. Madigan believed the mayor had other motives for visiting Mr. Reichard’s estate?”

  Smiling, Jake placed the tip of one finger on his nose.

  “Let the record show that Mr. Helman just touched his nose. Did your surveillance yield any results?”

  Jake looked around for a recorder or a camera but saw none. “I’m afraid not. You should see that place; Reichard has some spread. I couldn’t get anywhere near the mansion. Security was too tight.”

  “What time did you arrive at Reichard’s, and what time did you leave?”

  Jake exhaled. “I’d say I got there around 5:15 p.m., left around 10:00 or 10:30, and got back to my office by 11:45.”

  Geoghegan crossed his arms. “Prove it. Just so we know you were busy when Mrs. Madigan vanished.”

  Jake feigned hurt feelings. “You don’t trust me?”

  Geoghegan gave him a hard look.

  Jake rose and pulled a handful of receipts out of his pocket. “Here are my bridge and highway toll receipts for that night.” He tossed the receipts on the table. “They support everything I just said. You’ll need to make copies. I keep the originals for tax purposes.”

  Richter moved the receipts around the table with one finger, examining them. “Mrs. Madigan disappeared shortly before midnight. This doesn’t prove anything.”

  “I can provide you with digital security files that will show me entering my office building at a time very inconvenient for any theory you might have about me being involved with Marla’s disappearance.”

  Geoghegan fumed. “What the hell were you doing in Lily Dale, wise guy?”

  Jake turned to Richter. “Is he leading now?”

  Richter shrugged, then scooped up the receipts and handed them to Dilman, who exited the room.

  “Like I told you on the phone, I went to Lily Dale to find a psychic who might be able to help me locate Marla. Abby Fay helped on several police investigations in the past.”

  “Who do you think killed her?” Richter said.

  “I don’t have a list of suspects.”

  “Guess.”

  Not wanting to implicate the cabal, Jake glanced at his watch.

  “Are we keeping you from something?” Geoghegan said.

  Yeah, I’m supposed to whack the governor. “Hm? No, I just like to pace my day. I read in the papers that you boys are pursuing the theory that one of the mayor’s old Mafia enemies got revenge for Myron’s work as DA. That works for me.”

  “You think the Mafia followed you to Western New York and shot a psychic in the head with a sniper rifle?”

  “I admit it sounds far-fetched. Put me down for the mayor, then. I don’t trust that ugly little prick.”

  Geoghegan’s face reddened. “You think the mayor of this city sent a hit man to kill some psychic upstate?”

  “I don’t know who sent the hit man. You told me to guess so I guessed. I have no evidence or leads one way or the other. And I don’t think anyone sent this hit man to kill Abby; they sent him to kill me.”

  Richter said, “Where does your investigation stand now?”

  “With my client missing? Dead in the water. I’m looking for another assignment. Freelancing is brutal.”

  “I’m sure it is. Thank you for coming in. We have all we need. Special Agent Dilman will return your receipts on your way out.”

  Jake rose. “No problem. See how easy that was, Teddy? You could learn a lot from these guys.”

  Geoghegan glared at Jake.

  Contrary to Laurel’s speculation, Jake decided to eat lunch at the Cajun restaurant next door to his office. He considered grabbing takeout to share with her, but her last words to him had been good luck and he didn’t want to say good-bye all over again, so he took Carrie instead.

  “Administrative Professionals Day isn’t for two more weeks,” Carrie said as they sat in a booth in the back of the restaurant.

  “I thought it was Administrative Professionals Day,” Jake said.

  “Is that what I am? Whatever.”

  Jake took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Really, I just wanted to give you this and thank you for all your help this last year.”

  Carrie looked at the envelope with suspicion. “What is it?”

  “My will. It wasn’t drawn up by a lawyer. I did it myself. But it’s notarized.”

  She left the envelope in his hand. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”

  He didn’t want to upset her. “No. But one never knows. It’s best to plan ahead.”

  Carrie took a deep breath. “Why me?”

  “You run my business. You’ll know how to settle everything. It’s pretty simple: I’m leaving almost everything to Martin Hopkins. If anything happens to me, I want you to set up a college fund for him.”

  “Boss, you’re forgetting that I do your books. You don’t have anything to give away.”

  Jake smiled. “I have a few accounts you don’t know about yet. I’m making you my executor, so you’ll get all the dirty details, and there will be a little money in it for your labor. I’m also leaving you six weeks’ severance.”

  Carrie swallowed. “How serious is the trouble you’re in?”

  Jake made a noncommittal face. “Pretty serious.”

  “Then why don’t you just drop whatever you’re working on and get the hell out of Dodge?”

  “It’s not that easy. I owe it to someone—to two people—to see this through.” There are others who could be impacted as well.”

  Her voice warbled. “Sometimes you have to worry about yourself first.”

  “You’re right. But this isn’t something I can run from. And sometimes there is no hiding.” He shook the envelope. “Go on. Take it. There’s another copy in the office.”

  Carrie took the envelope and stared at it. “I really don’t like this.”

  “I’m touched. That being said, I don’t want you to worry. I hope to be around for a long time to come.”

  Carrie stuffed the envelope into her handbag. “I want to help you with whatever you’re working on.”

  “Thanks. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “I don’t believe that. I can be your lookout or your backup or your wheelman. Don’t let my size fool you. I can squeeze a trigger as well as the next person, maybe better.”

  “I learned to fly solo. There’s less chance of people I care about getting hurt that way.”

  Her eyes watered up. “You are so stubborn.”

  “I have to be me.”

  “All men are stubborn.”

  “Speaking of which . . .”

  Carrie’s expression turned defiant, as if daring him to speak his mind. “Yeah?”

  “I can’t help but wonder if Ripper is the right beau
for you.”

  “Oh, not you, too. I get enough of that from my parents and my girlfriends.”

  “Surrounded, huh?”

  “Let’s put it this way: if Ripper turns out to be as bad as everyone thinks, I’m becoming a nun so I don’t have to listen to all the ‘I told you so’s.”

  “Maybe these people are just looking out for your best interests. Maybe you should consider whatever they’re trying to warn you about.”

  “Like you? What are you trying to warn me about?”

  “I won’t pussyfoot around. I got a bad vibe from him right away. Call it cop’s intuition.”

  “Ripper’s a musician.”

  “Did you see the way he disappeared as soon as Storm and Verila joined us outside the building this morning? He knew right away they were cops. Call it criminal’s intuition.”

  “All right, look, Ripper doesn’t like cops, okay? He did some time at Rikers.”

  “Now there’s a surprise. What did he get pinched for?”

  Carrie sighed. “Burglary. But he only did six months, and that was before we even knew each other. He’s straight now. All he cares about are his music and me.”

  “You’re a smart girl. I’m not going to lecture you. What’s his real name, anyway?”

  “So you can run a check on him? Forget it.”

  Jake grunted. “Okay, I tried. At least I told you what I think.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Jake made a mental note to find a way to obtain Ripper’s fingerprints if he lived long enough.

  CHAPTER

  19

  Walking to the garage, Jake noted the heavy gray clouds that expanded overhead and wondered if Bianca had heeded his warning. Ordinarily, he would have doubted it, but the footage of Madigan slaying the prostitute was too shocking to rationalize. As his footsteps echoed in the garage, he scanned the parked vehicles and glanced over his shoulder. Shadows merged with oil spills on the cement. He stopped, waited, and listened. No movement except inside his chest. Was this how Marla had felt, dodging Madigan’s security detail goons?

  Using his remote, he unlocked the Maxima and got behind the wheel. With the doors locked and his shoulder strap pulled across the bulge of his Glock, he experienced momentary relief. Then he realized how ridiculous that was; strapped in, he was little more than a sitting duck if a White River Security assassin wanted to take him out.