by G. K. Lund
Whoever it was, took their time, not thinking Evans a threat. My pulse raced as I kept quiet, waiting, barely breathing…then the steps manifested themselves as a figure became visible to my right. I had to force myself not to draw breath or say anything, almost losing my grip on the bucket, as what I saw made me relieved I hadn’t pulled my firearm.
Chapter 10
I sat in the car on the outskirts of town, engine off, lazily staring out the windscreen. The sky was dark, though with an oncoming orange light. I picked up my phone from the passenger seat as a text alert sounded. It was from Rosita. They had taken him off the respirator. He was breathing on his own now, but he hadn’t regained consciousness. Still, it had to be a good sign. I sighed thankfully and texted a reply.
A sort of moan from the backseat that ended like an unintelligible question, drew my attention a moment. I finished the text before checking the rearview mirror, seeing Evans’ lifeless figure. Then she moved a little, and it sounded like she hit the back of the driver’s seat with a limp hand.
“Whathfuck”—she drew breath very audibly—“youdone’tme?”
“Helped you,” I said. “Against my better judgment, I might add.”
There was silence for a long time and she didn’t move. Only lay still, breathing. “Hansen?” she finally managed to get out.
“Yup.”
“No…shit.”
Then she turned quiet for a long time. The toxins, whatever they were, were not completely out of her body yet. Despite her waking up, it took about an hour for them to wear off enough for her to manage to talk normally, let alone sit up. I have rarely been so caught up on the news, having nothing else to do but read them on my phone.
It was still dark outside when she managed to get herself into a seated position, head hanging a little, looking like she’d been on a bender and now facing a hangover of the ages.
“What happened?” she asked, eyes squinting at me in the mirror, her voice hoarse.
“You don’t remember?”
She had to think about it, and it seemed difficult for her to gather her thoughts. She ran her hands through her hair, smoothing it from the tangled state it had been in. “We were talking,” she said. “In the alley—”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, it’s just black.”
“You were shot with this,” I said, handing her the dart.
She took it carefully, looking at it with curiosity. “A dart?”
“Mmhmm. With a potent sedative. You’ve been out for hours.”
“Who the hell uses poisoned darts? What happened?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? “That’s what I want to know,” I said. “Why is the FBI after you?”
Her widening dark-brown eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. “FBI?”
I simply nodded.
“The FBI did this?” There was fear in her voice now.
As the footsteps had approached and I’d waited, I’d been shocked to see Agent Larkin materialize to my right, tranquilizer-gun in hand, a smile on his face as he looked down at an unconscious Evans. He hadn’t seen me. I’d hesitated a moment, but I knew this wasn’t right. No one went around arresting people with tranquilizer-guns and toxins. Something about this whole thing was very wrong. So, I’d stepped forward, raising the large bucket in my hand and hit him over the head with it, hoping I did no more damage than knocking him out. He’d toppled to the ground, shouting something on his way down. I’d been shocked by the lid of the bucket popping off, half-rotten chicken filets bursting out. The putrid smell almost made me retch, and I was lucky that the agent had seemed momentarily lifeless, and not been able to counterattack. As it was, I’d managed to get the car and Evans before the man came to. I had no idea if I was helping her out of something, or helping her commit a crime, and I was thankful the agent hadn’t seen me.
“Agent Larkin?” she repeated after I’d described the situation to her.
“You know him?”
She shook her head. I had no idea of knowing whether she was lying or not.
“Why is the FBI after you?” I asked again. “What did you do?”
“It’s not what you think,” she sat up straight, though she still looked pale. “They’re not after me so much…it’s more that I have something they want.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“You wouldn’t understand, Detective.”
“Seems to be a lot of that going around today. That is…you claiming none of this is my business.”
“Well…”
“No,” I said, turning and supporting my elbow on the car seat. “You may think Mulligan sent me to help you, but that is wrong. I’m here investigating this, and so far, you’re involved in a kidnapping, and a lone FBI agent is coming after you. Though that doesn’t seem related. All in a couple of days.”
She had opened her mouth to protest as I spoke, but now she shut her lips tight, folding her arms over her chest.
“Unless you start cooperating for real, I’m going to drag you to the station and hand you over to Bowman. Is that understandable to you?” I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t even sound angry. In part, because I wasn’t. Too many weird things were going on around that woman, and she had better start talking. She looked at me, anger in her eyes, but in the end, she rolled them and unfolded her arms. She could be compelled. But only if called out on her bullshit.
“Fine.”
I nodded and leaned back in my seat again. “Who is the woman they took?”
“Her name’s Andrea Kirby.”
“Friend of yours?” I asked while texting the name to Kaye. At least they would have something to go on now.
“No.”
“Acquaintance?”
“Not really,” Evans began but decided to elaborate as she saw the impatient look in my eyes as I turned my head. “It’s more that she knew of me. She asked me for help. That’s why we met.”
She didn’t seem to want to elaborate, but I didn’t care. I had been in enough interrogations in my life to know when to push and when not to, and decided to come back to this.
“So, who took her? You made it more than clear back at the crime scene that you know.”
“They’re Yorov,” she simply said, probably trusting that giving me the information wasn’t going to make me any wiser. I did, however, know how to search something on the internet.
“What does a Dutch industrial company want with Ms. Kirby?” I asked as the search results came up.
Evans moved forward to see, leaning her arms on the back of both front seats. “It’s the Ukrainian branch that you should watch out for,” she said.
“Why?”
“They like using people who can give them an advantage.”
“And you know this because…?”
“I’ve bumped into them before.”
“Why?”
Her lips moved into that damned half-smile again. “Nothing criminal…on my part, and so it’s none of your damn business.”
“Then why did they take Ms. Kirby?” I pressed.
Evans shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t,” she insisted, seeing me about to protest.
It didn’t make sense. Given that Evans was telling the truth, it still didn’t make sense. Ukrainians kidnapping a woman in the middle of town? The FBI showing up the next day looking for Evans? The only common denominator here was Evans.
“Hey,” she suddenly exclaimed, startling me. “That’s my stuff,” she said reaching for the passenger seat. “That’s my phone,” she added, outrage in her voice.
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing the phone, as well as the sim card and battery before handing them to her. “Don’t put those in again.”
“I need my phone,” she protested.
“Agent Larkin also needs you to need it,” I said.
She looked at me, quiet first. “You think that’s how he found me?”
I shrugged. “You tell me. Apparently, these are things I can’t handle.�
� At least that was what she said about the police back at the crime scene.
“You went through my purse, too?” she cried out. “What the hell? You’re not allowed to do that.”
I smiled at that. “Technically, you’re right,” I said. “But then, I’m not allowed to attack federal agents, either. So, I guess today is just one of those days.” Her purse had contained little of interest as to what had happened. A wallet, keys, a mascara, three lipsticks, a pocket mirror and a locket. Nothing that shed any light on what was going on. Although, the actual purse was interesting enough, though. I held it up, out of her reach. “Interesting lining in this one,” I said. The purse was lined with metal in the bottom, making it a handy weapon. “Feel free to come down to the station and make a formal complaint.”
She snorted at this. We both knew she would never do that.
“Just give it to me,” she said and moved forward snatching it out of my hand. She quickly picked up her belongings from the passenger seat.
A text alert got my attention. Kaye thanking me and asking where I’d got the information. I texted back, telling her it was an informant. I may not have been helping Mulligan as much as she might want me to, but she had ordered me to figure out Evans’ involvement first. I barely saw the confirmation of the text being sent as an elbow to my head knocked me back a moment, making me drop the phone.
“What are you doing?” I said, seeing Evans on her way from the back seat over the console, head first, throwing her now filled purse in front of her. The smell of iris and…something minty maybe flooded the front seat.
“I am not sitting back there…like I’m under arrest or something,” she said as she supported herself on the dashboard. She almost hit me with a knee this time as she moved her legs forward and managed to place herself in the seat. She smiled happily at her accomplishment and pulled the purse from the floor onto her lap.
We looked silently at each other a moment. Not that I could see myself, but I was certain that my face was not beaming with mirth.
“You couldn’t just use the doors, huh?” I asked rhetorically as I picked up my phone and put it in my jacket pocket. “You need to tell me about Andrea and what she needed your help with.”
Evans brushed her hair behind her ears and looked down. “She needed me to help her get something,” she said, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but in this car at the moment. There was something she didn’t want to tell me. Or couldn’t.
“And that was?” I pressed. She knew I wouldn’t let it go. And I was curious. Did this have something to do with how she made money? She had no income, no job, received no social security, and yet she spent money like anyone with a paycheck. The one thing Collier had not been able to figure out was where those funds came from. My money was on drugs, so when she pulled the locket out of the purse, I was, and I’m ashamed to say it, a little disappointed.
“She’d broken up with her boyfriend a week ago,” Evans said, “and the ass-hat had taken her purse. He wanted the money as some sort of petty revenge, I guess.” She moved the silver locket around with her fingers, holding it lightly. I had looked at it earlier and thought nothing in particular about it. It had some ornamentation on the outside, and a few dents as well. Inside was a pressed deep-red rose behind a thin glass plate. Likely an heirloom was my impression.
“And also some cash for pot, I guess,” Evans continued. “Anyway…though she was pissed about that, it was this locket that worried her. She needed it back.”
“So, she called you?” I asked, keeping the skepticism out of my voice.
She must have sensed it anyway, though, as she side-eyed me. “Yes. She did. I got it back for her. That’s why we met in the alley.”
“Why you?” I pushed.
That made her laugh, softly and exasperated. “What? Should she have called you guys? Like you would have done anything?”
I sighed and didn’t say anything.
“I bet you saw this earlier and thought nothing much of it. But it is important to Andrea. Really important.”
“But why did she call you for help?” I asked again. Evans rolled her eyes at my persistence and I narrowed mine at seeing it. It was so damn annoying.
“I…I’m known for being able to mend certain things,” she said.
Odd term. “Like a private investigator?”
“Ugh, no.” She grimaced. “That’s almost as bad as a co…uh…never mind.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s all you need to know,” she hurried to say. “Except that, I am trying to find her.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. I feel bad for what happened to her, even if I didn’t, I’d try and find her.”
“How?”
She looked at me, as she put the locket back in her purse. “I know people.”
“Yeah, I bet. But here’s the thing—”
“No, here’s the thing,” she said. “You mentioned Detective Bowman so my guess is that he and Kaye are looking into the kidnapping and shooting, right?”
I nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with this.
“And you’ve been told to find out what I’m doing and how I’m involved?”
Again, I could only nod.
“And I’m trying to find Andrea, too. So, the way I see it…we go about it my way.”
“That’s not going to work for me,” I began. She was one of the suspects. I couldn’t let her dictate terms.
“Fine. I don’t mind running at the first opportunity. Then you can sit down and twiddle your thumbs…unless that’s too difficult for you,” she added, the bloody smirk back again.
“Fine,” I snarled, knowing when I didn’t have a choice. Without her, I had no reason to look into this. I turned the engine on. “Where do we start?”
She nodded contentedly. “I’m so hungry I’m nauseous,” she said, pulling her seatbelt on. “We start with food.”
Chapter 11
“Morning, Nate,” said Josie as I walked through the door at Danny’s. It must have been the first time I’d walked in there five minutes after opening time because there was not a soul to see besides the waitress. I’d never seen the place empty before. The diner had a hint of a sixties look, though they had gone with light colors that brightened up the place. The mandatory booths stood by the windows and along one of the walls, while barstools stood in neat lines along the massive counter. The staff didn’t have to wear any retro uniforms, only name tags, and aprons with normal clothes. The place was clean and simple, gimmicks toned down, and people came for the food.
“Oh, and hi Maggie,” Josie added as she noticed Evans walk in behind me. “I didn’t know you two know each other,” she added as we walked over to the counter.
“We go years back,” Evans said, giving me a fist-bump into my arm before sitting on one of the barstools, smiling at Josie. “Are you even open yet?”
“Sure thing,” Josie smiled back. “What’re you having?”
As we placed our orders, she didn’t give either one of us a menu. They didn’t bother with the regulars as they always knew what the place had to offer. Which meant that Evans used to come here often. I’d never seen her in there before.
“You always lie like that to people who are nothing but nice to you?” I asked Evans as Josie went to the kitchen to get the cook going.
She scoffed at me and grabbed a packet of brown sugar, turning it around in her hand. “Lighten up, Hansen. It’d do wonders for your blood pressure.”
I ignored her. “So where to next?”
Evans shrugged. “We need to locate Andrea.”
“Obviously.”
“So, we find someone who can help with that.”
“You don’t think talking to her boyfriend might shed some light on this?” It was the first thing you did. Find out as much as possible about the victim and those around them. It was disturbing how many people got hurt by those they trusted.
“That idiot?” Evans snorted. “He didn’t do this. Thi
s is Yorov through and through.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.”
Evans dropped the sugar packet and straightened up. “Listen, I met the guy all right? He didn’t orchestrate this unless he had a brain transplant in the last forty-eight hours.”
“And you decided this with your method of questioning?”
She smiled then, her lips pressed in a thin line. “I know you’re not fond of how I do things, but no. Most of the time people are that obvious. Like you,” she hurried to say as I opened my mouth. “You’re so uptight, I can almost see the stick up your ass, and yet you hate that tie with a passion.”
“What?” I said, automatically grabbing for said tie. The dress code at work did thankfully not require us to wear suits, but the Chief demanded ties.
“What about his tie?” Josie interjected as she came up with my coffee.
“You tell me,” Evans said.
“Well,” Josie said, furrowing her eyebrows. “He usually looks like the thing is trying to choke him.” She smiled wide. “Anyway, I’ll have the rest out for you.”
“What?” I repeated, giving Evans a confused look.
“You keep pulling at it throughout the day,” she said. “But you see, though? Some things are obvious.”
I pointedly straightened my tie and grabbed my coffee, ignoring her half-smile at the sight. “So where are we going if the ex-boyfriend isn’t in on this?”
“You won’t like it.”
“That’s not really a surprise, though, is it?”
“No,” she said as Josie came out with our food–a sandwich for me, and cinnamon toast and a strawberry shake for Evans. I had no idea how that constituted any kind of breakfast. “You’ll see when we get there,” she said and headed out to the car.
Per her instructions, I drove to the north side of town to a quiet area, which had a suburban feel to it, except the town wasn’t big enough to have one. It was a definite family area, though, with big houses and gardens. As with most of the town, families had lived here for generations. I parked outside a white two-story house with a large porch out front. The place was well kept and tidy. Whoever lived there was fond of it.