by Peg Herring
“I’m sorry.”
She sniffed dismissively. “The old gray mare just ain’t what she used to be.”
What had it been like to fight crime in Chicago or Detroit in the last millennium? Had Em actually met J. Edgar Hoover? Had she tucked a spare gun in her bra or strapped it to her ankle? “At least you’re out of the nine to five grind.”
Em made a derisive sound. “Let me tell you something, Chickie. You spend the last third of your life trying to find something to do with all that time you saved rushing through the first two-thirds.” Her needles clicked faster. “Ever wonder why so many old people work so hard for a church or a charity? It gives them a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” Pressing her elbows into the chair arms, she shifted her hips to a more comfortable position. “I used to do things that mattered, and if I had my way, that’s what I’d be doing now.”
Robin wanted to say she was sorry but knew her neighbor wouldn’t appreciate pity from her—or anyone.
Em abruptly shifted topics. “Cam says he’s pretty sure you’re going ahead with your new plan.”
Scrambling for a kernel of truth, Robin said, “It isn’t decided. I mean, there’s someone who needs a lesson, but I’m not sure we’re equipped to handle it.”
“What would this lesson entail?” Robin hesitated and Em said, “A burden shared is half the weight.”
Haltingly at first but gaining confidence as she spoke, Robin described the “dishonest governmental official” they’d zeroed in on and outlined the plan they were considering.
“Sounds pretty good,” Em said when she’d finished. “I’d add a few touches to make it run smoother, but I think you’re onto something with this kidnapping thing.”
“So I’m a pretty good criminal mastermind. Should I be pleased or horrified?”
Em ignored her little joke. “You’re getting a new identity. Can you use it so no one looks at you twice?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well first, you and Cam should travel as husband and wife, so you blend in with all the other couples on the road every day. When you get your new documents, you need to learn to be casual about using them. When you get nervous, you explain way too much.” She made a huff of derision. “That first day you babbled on about meeting your brother in Atlanta and staying at the Hampton Inn. That kind of thing can give you away.”
“I don’t see—”
“If a clerk says, ‘How was your trip?’ and you say, ‘Traffic on I-85 is really bad,’ you reveal the direction you came from. Get it?” Receiving a doubtful nod, Em gave the table two little pats to emphasize the differences in her next statement. “You have to be alert all the time, but you can’t look like you are.”
Robin had begun to understand she’d have to give up things she’d always been—honest, open, and law-abiding—to become someone who lied as a matter of course, kept secrets from those she loved, and broke laws, big and small, every single day. It wasn’t lost on her that her father had done those same things. At times she felt ashamed of herself for dragging Cam into her schemes. Still, their cause wasn’t selfish, as Mark’s had been, and Cam was enthusiastically gung-ho. Their new life was scary, but scary exciting too.
When the Buckram KNP was over, could she become the old Robin Parsons again? Would there even be a way to do that? Asked that question, Em would probably quote Wolfe: “You can’t go home again.”
Em seemed to read her mind. Spreading the piece she was knitting on her lap and smoothing it with her hands she asked, “Where will you go once you’ve pulled off this Richmond caper?”
He even blabbed the location!
“If we do it, we’ll stay mobile for a while afterward,” she replied. “To muddy the trail.”
“A complete break is probably wise.” Despite the words, Robin saw disappointment in Em’s eyes. She’d been getting a vicarious thrill from hearing their plans and giving advice, and the prospect that it would soon end saddened her. “You’re going to need a base of operations eventually.”
Robin blinked. “Base of operations?”
“A safe spot to go between jobs.”
“Em, this isn’t a long-term plan. I—”
“Honey,” Em interrupted, setting her knitting in her lap, “The world is full of wicked people who never get caught. Anything you do to stop one of them is good.”
“I’m not sure we can convince this target to confess to anything.”
Cam spoke without looking up from his game. “What if we follow the senator and get a shot of him buying drugs? If we have a photo, he’ll have to admit what he did.”
Em’s eyes lit with interest. “A senator, eh? Quite a step up from a county commissioner.”
“We’re 95 percent sure he’s crooked,” Robin said defensively.
Possibly as incentive for more sharing of information, Em said, “That private detective showed up again. I sent him off on a tangent.”
“He was here again?”
“Told you he was an eager beaver.” She wriggled her brows comically. “I said I heard in the elevator that Carter Halkias was living in Denver with a girl he met at the laundromat.”
Robin relaxed a little. “Thanks, Em.”
The older woman smiled. “By the time he chases that dead trail, you’ll be packed and out of here.”
“Robin,” Cam said, “Maybe Em could go to Richmond with us. She could—”
She cut him off. “Cam, we can’t ask Em to do more than she’s already done.”
“Why not?” Em demanded. “You’ll need a driver. I can do that in spite of this stupid hip.”
“No.”
A third person would be helpful.
The plan—if they proceeded with it—was to grab Buckram during his evening walk, but Robin worried that seeing a man Cam’s size coming at him would put the senator on guard. Since he was likely to be armed, things could easily escalate. Cam was no Jason Bourne, Robin wasn’t Lara Croft, and neither of them wanted to hurt Buckram. She’d been trying to figure out a distraction that would make the grab easy and quick. If Em helped, Robin and Cam’s chance for success would increase exponentially.
Not that I’m sure we’re going to do this. It’s a scenario, not a plan.
Em watched Robin, her eyes eager. “At the very least I could go with you—in case the poo hits the fan.”
“If you came, it would be to provide a diversion. You might walk by and say something to the guy to turn his attention away from Cam and me. Then you’d keep walking, no matter what happened.”
“Sure.” Em’s analytical mind almost ticked aloud as she considered. “We need a dog.”
“A dog?”
“People can’t resist them. They stop. They pet it. They ask questions.” She grinned knowingly. “And even if your senator isn’t an animal lover, dogs are known for being curious.”
“Where would we get a dog?” Robin asked.
“There’s a stray that hangs out by the trash bins. I’ll see if I can make friends.”
“No pets in the apartments,” Cam reminded Em soberly.
That brought a sarcastic salute. “Breaking the building rules is the least of our worries, Handsome.” She turned to Robin. “When is this going down?”
Glancing at the calendar, she licked her lips. “The legislature is taking a recess on Friday. I was going to go to Richmond on Tuesday and meet with—a person who could help us confirm that Buckram is taking bribes.”
“It would be best if we travel together. Then we can make a decision after you meet with your source.”
Robin felt control slipping from her hands. “I haven’t even—”
Em paid no attention to her objection. “What do we know about this senator’s evening walks?”
“Every night around seven he leaves by an alley at the back of his building. Satellite view shows we could pick him up before he reaches the street, where there’s probably video surveillance.” In consideration of Cam’s suggestion she added, “I guess it w
ould work if I followed him to see what he’s up to on his walk. We could still catch him in the alley on his way home.”
“Too bad we don’t have a computer whiz to help out.” Robin wondered when Em had become part of we.
“Yeah,” Cam said from the couch. “Like controlling the traffic lights so we can get away from the cops.”
“That isn’t as easy as it looks in movies.” Em kneaded her elbow. “But a guy who knows his way around a computer would be good.”
Robin raised a hand. More people meant more risk, another person she had to trust not to slip up. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Yeah,” Em agreed. “Where would we get a geek willing to risk life in prison for thrills and chills?”
Though Robin continued to tell herself the KNP was tentative, Cam acted as if they were going ahead with it, and now Em seemed just as certain. Though she wanted to proceed, Robin wrestled with the questions Mink had raised, most importantly, what would they do if things went wrong?
Get arrested, probably.
She realized she was chewing her thumbnail and reminded herself she didn’t bite her nails anymore. It was chilling to think she might have to go on the run, even leave the country. She’d never see her brother or best friend again. They were all she had, but that was a lot.
Don’t think about that right now. Think about polar bear cubs playing with a beach ball. Anything but pursuit, harassment, and prison time.
Chapter Eight
Senator Charles “Buck” Buckram tried to sit still as the chairwoman droned on about states’ rights and the president’s inexcusable habit of tromping on them. Though Buck was feeling agitated, he made a conscious effort to keep his hands still, to stop his right cheek from twitching, and to avoid sniffing back the moisture that gathered in his sinuses and dripped out his nose or down the back of his throat. As a member of the majority party, he had to at least maintain the illusion he cared what others on his side said—over and over and over.
He needed a little something.
Disguising his hyperactivity as necessary movement, he reached for a pad of paper and a pen and pretended to take notes.
Jeez Louise, does she ever shut up?
“We must work to protect the people of this great state from government overreach,” the chairwoman was saying. “We will not allow our constituents’ rights to be ignored and abused.”
Except by us! Buckram laughed aloud at his own joke but covered it with a cough.
A few people glanced at him briefly, but he arranged his features into an expression of interest and stared at the speaker as if enthralled by her words.
I need a little something. Just a little help to get me through today.
Buck often promised himself he’d get off the stuff. He could; he was absolutely certain of that.
I can quit anytime I want to.
It was just that he was so much better with a little jolt of coke in his system. His enthusiasm for the job returned. He was able to concentrate better. It was great.
He worried sometimes about the chances he took, but the benefits were so worth it. And he really could quit whenever he chose.
Just not today, he admitted as the speaker droned on. Today I need a little something.
***
Robin, Cam, and Em began their trip to Richmond in Em’s 2006 Buick (which Cam referred to as a “grocery-getter”) with the stray dog Em had befriended in the back seat with her. The creature wasn’t well-bred, literally or figuratively, but he was docile as long as Em was near. In fact, he looked at her as if she were Mother Teresa.
On the way they bought a gray panel van Cam spotted when they stopped for gas. Since he wasn’t comfortable dealing with strangers, Robin did the talking, which made the process odd, to say the least. The owner kept directing his comments to Cam, only to have Robin reply. In the end, Cam examined the vehicle thoroughly, took it for a spin, and said, “He didn’t take very good care of it, but I can work on it.” When she was done blushing, Robin went inside to seal the deal, and Cam followed them in what she thought of as “the Kidnap-mobile” the rest of the way.
They chose a motel on the outskirts of Richmond, a small, non-franchise operation. It had a large parking area out back where the owner said Cam could work on the van as long he did it during daylight hours and didn’t leave a mess behind. Once Em and Cam were settled in separate rooms (Robin registered as Cam’s wife but shared with Em), it was almost five thirty. Taking Em’s car, Robin drove downtown to meet Jessica Quern, Senator Buckram’s public relations manager.
At the agreed-upon restaurant, Robin asked for a table facing the entrance, wanting a chance to examine the woman before she put on whatever game face she might employ at their meeting. Quern had once been willing to tell Chris the senator’s secrets, so his illicit activities must bother her. Something had happened to change her mind, and Robin guessed it had been something frightening.
When Quern entered, Robin recognized her from online photos of Buckram’s staff. Everything about Jessica Quern was “done,” from nails to hair to face. Her clothes were expensive and stylish, her body toned and tan. Still, as Ms. Quern stopped to speak to the hostess, Robin thought she detected an air of defeat. A flat look in her eyes hinted Quern no longer believed things always work out well in the end.
Robin had called posing as a writer planning a magazine article about Senator Buckram’s good works. Though Quern sounded surprised by that, she’d agreed to meet her at a restaurant along the Bottom, Richmond’s trendy riverside area. The “reporter” had said she’d be wearing a green headband.
When Robin waved discreetly, Quern strode toward her. The defeated look was replaced by professional confidence she wrapped around herself like a shawl. A waiter trotted behind, and before she sat down in the chair opposite Robin, Quern ordered a glass of brut white wine, the go-to choice for dieting drinkers. The young man hurried off as if he were afraid she’d swat him if he tarried. Quern’s smile had a hint of satisfaction. Someone was eager to do her bidding, even if it was in hopes of a generous tip.
“I’m so happy you agreed to this interview,” Robin began after they’d introduced themselves. “We plan to spotlight leaders who work to improve the lives of their constituents, starting with Senator Buckram.”
The waiter brought Quern’s wine and set it before her like an offering. She thanked him without looking up, raised the glass to her bright red lips, and took a long drink. “Why him?”
Robin played dumb. “To be honest, I didn’t choose the subjects. I guess my boss is impressed with his grasp of the needs of our state.”
Quern had taken a second drink, and she seemed to have trouble swallowing it. Setting her glass on the mosaic table surface with a clink, she examined Robin closely. Finally she said, “You look like him.”
“What?”
“Chris Parsons. He mentioned he had a sister somewhere in the South.” She smiled at her own cleverness. “When you speak, you move your mouth the same way he does.”
Robin hadn’t considered the physical resemblance between her and Chris would give her away.
Quern’s smile wasn’t a sneer, but it wasn’t happy, either. “I can’t believe he told you about me.”
Knowing it sounded defensive Robin said, “Chris wants to stop men like Buckram.”
Quern’s mouth curled sardonically. “Me too, once upon a time.”
“He scared you into keeping quiet.”
At first she shook her head, but Robin waited expectantly. Quern seemed torn; she wanted to tell someone. “Are you taping this?”
“No.”
“No recording of any kind?”
“None.”
“Legally, if I ask, you have to tell me the truth.”
“I am telling the truth.”
Quern nodded as if reassuring herself. “I won’t testify or even speak to the police. If you repeat anything I say, I’ll insist you made it up. And I can’t give you documents.” She glanced ar
ound the room. “Snooping in someone’s files looks easy in the movies, but it’s scary when you actually try it.” She pulled her lips over her teeth before adding, “I probably telegraphed guilt all over the place.”
“You tried to get the evidence Chris wanted.”
“I did, and Buck caught me. He just—went off.” Quern rubbed her arm absently, and Robin got a mental image of it being twisted cruelly behind her back.
“Did he hurt you?”
“I thought he was going to strangle me for a minute.” As if recalling rough treatment, she smoothed her hair with both hands. “I managed to convince him I was gathering quotes for a press release, but he’s suspicious now. If word gets out, he’ll see that I never work in this town again.”
Robin wanted to ask if a person’s soul was worth a job, but it seemed that bargain had already been made. Quern drained her glass. “I’ve told you this so you understand that we won’t be talking further.” She pushed her chair back. “You can pay for the drinks.”
Despite Robin’s hopes, the interview was over less than five minutes in. As Jessica Quern rose to go, Robin put a hand on her arm. “Give me something—anything that might help us.”
Quern shook her head then apparently reconsidered. “I can give you a name.”
***
Patrick Delacroix was a junior state senator and a veteran of the Afghan War. He seemed the polar opposite of Buckram, certain of his position on the issues and able to explain clearly why he held them. Since Delacroix had introduced the veterans’ health bill Buckram was “considering,” she hoped he’d have incentive to help her.
“It’s hard to imagine him just agreeing to give us dirt on a colleague though,” Robin said to Em.
“The kid’s new and innocent.” Em wriggled her brows. “He might be dying to tell somebody his troubles.”
Delacroix certainly looked like a straight arrow. Comments they found on various websites told of the junior senator working tirelessly to help constituents navigate the maze of governmental roadblocks and red tape. One writer wrote, Senator Delacroix has a mature grasp of what government is supposed to be. After some research, Robin had to agree. With time running short before she had to make a decision on the KNP, she decided to simply show up at Delacroix’s office.