by Ken Casper
“How long have you been on the force?” Jeff asked.
“Seven months.”
“I’ve been tracking people down for more than fifteen years.”
“Then I can learn from you.”
Jeff glanced at Catherine and thought he saw her lips twitch.
“And I’m an expert with computers,” Derek added.
“Good for you,” Jeff said. “I’m no slouch with them myself.”
“But you’re not authorized to use the department’s files and database. You may be clever enough to hack into the system, Mr. Rowan, but if you do, you’ll be breaking the law. Anything you find won’t be admissible in court. Whereas I have legal access.”
Jeff shook his head. “Passing official police information on to me would violate department regulations. Not only will it end your career, but you could find yourself doing time in a federal prison. Trust me, you don’t want to go there.”
“I won’t have to if the chief details me to work with you on special assignment.”
Catherine did indeed have the power to protect him.
The kid was not only gutsy, he was smart. Jeff had to give him that.
She shut her eyes and shook her head. “It’s out of the question, Derek. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t let you get involved.” She opened the door for him. “Thank you for coming.”
Taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold, then spun around to face them both.
“I’m not going to quit,” he said, his tone firm and just short of defiant.
Catherine closed the door behind him, turned and led Jeff through the living room, which was large and open, its ceiling crisscrossed with dark beams. Beyond the grand piano was an immense window that looked out on a colorful garden, lush and dense as a rain forest.
As they were walking through the dining room to the kitchen, he said, “I don’t know too many rookies who would have the nerve to come to the home of the chief of police and challenge her. What made him think he had the right—”
“We’re old friends. He and my daughter went to college together. They were practically engaged.”
“What happened?”
She poured two mugs of coffee. “I wish I knew. They seemed perfectly happy with each other, then one day she announced she was becoming a nun.”
“Just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
She nodded unhappily. “Just like that.”
The coffee was first rate. “How did he explain it?”
“He couldn’t. In fact, he seemed as baffled by her decision as Jordan and I were.”
She looked so fragile and vulnerable as she curled her hands around her mug and leaned against the counter, it made him want to fold her in his arms and comfort her. The urge astonished him. There were so many reasons for him not to sympathize with this woman. But they were logical. What he was feeling had nothing to do with his brain.
“I understand your not wanting to use Derek,” she said. “He’s smart and energetic, but he’s also young and inexperienced. There is someone else who can help you, though. Did you know Risa Taylor?”
“Not personally. She was accused last year of shooting her partner but was eventually cleared.”
Catherine nodded. “She knows the streets, has a lot of contacts. I’ll ask her to beat the bushes for Stuckey and report to me directly if she finds him.”
Jeff would have preferred her reporting to him, but under the circumstances this was probably a better plan. The fewer people who knew he was involved the better.
He leaned against the adjacent counter and crossed his legs at the ankles.
“I did some checking this afternoon,” he said. “You were right. Clemson’s partner told me he never made a serious effort to track down Stuckey. He apparently made up the report he gave you, except for the part about talking to the M.E.’s office. That only took a telephone call.”
“He used to be a good cop. What happened?”
He shrugged. “He started to fall apart a couple of years ago after he went through a messy divorce. It wasn’t his first. He seemed to bounce back from it well enough, but his partner told me he saw him with Fontanero a few weeks ago. At a bar.”
“Fontanero again,” Catherine said.
“He keeps turning up like a bent coin.”
She flashed a smile. “So you are going to take on this case?”
Let her think it was because of Fontanero. He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take it on.”
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING Jeff put the finishing touches on a report concerning the mysterious disappearance of inventory from a computer warehouse. The elderly man who had started out selling electrical equipment over forty years ago wouldn’t be pleased to learn his grandson was stealing from him, or that he was doing so to feed a drug habit. Jeff suspected the old guy, like many of his clients, already knew the truth; he just wanted independent confirmation, while hoping he was wrong.
Jeff signed the cover letter he’d just printed out and wondered if the story would have a happy ending. He entered a note in his computer scheduling program to call in six months for a progress report.
Glancing at the surveillance monitor, he saw a street kid approaching. The black teenager wore a nylon skull cap and a pair of gold earrings, a shiny gray shirt that hung down to his elbows and mid-thigh, and a pair of faded baggy gray pants that dragged under his scuffed running shoes. A silver chain dangled from his neck. Looking around, the teenager moved to Jeff’s door, then pushed his way in with a hostile shove.
Jeff rose from his chair, not sure what to expect but prepared for the physical confrontation the dude’s attitude implied. The guy stared at him until the door closed behind him.
“Don’t recognize me, huh?”
The voice did it. “Pager?”
Derek smiled, showing even white teeth. “The same.”
Jeff relaxed his tensed muscles and laughed. “Man, you got me.”
“I brought some information I thought you might find useful.”
“I told you I don’t need or want your help.”
“Maybe you ought to see what I’ve got before you reject it.”
Jeff made no move to take the manila envelope Pager produced from under his shirt. With a shrug, the rookie let it fall onto the desk. Cocky, he plopped into the visitor’s chair and extended his long legs. After a good two minutes of silence, he broke the stalemate.
“I’m sorry you don’t want my help,” he said, “but I can live with it. I’m more concerned that you’re willing to cheat your client.” Pager pulled his feet under him, rose and started for the door, then turned back. “I know what some people on the force say about you, and I admit I was surprised when you showed up at Chief Tanner’s house. But she hired you, so there must be a reason.”
Jeff wasn’t sure he liked the tone or the vague innuendo that he and Catherine might share a relationship beyond the purely professional. Or was a secret wish causing him to make too much of an innocent remark. In other circumstances he might find her attractive. No, he corrected himself. He did find her attractive. In other circumstances he might do something about it, but not under these.
“She fired you last year for racial profiling,” Pager said. “So tell me, are you a racist?”
Strange, no one had ever asked him that question before. Not the people who accused him of prejudice or the people who seemed to think it was perfectly natural to discriminate. Even Catherine hadn’t asked it. In spite of the rookie’s insolence, Jeff realized he liked the brash young man.
“Because, if you are, I can live with that, too,” Pager continued. “You wouldn’t be the first bigot I’ve had to deal with. I’m not interested in redeeming you or making you like me. All I want is to help Mrs. Tanner find out if her husband was murdered, and if he was, to catch the son of a bitch responsible.”
Yesterday, after leaving Catherine’s house, Jeff had done a preliminary background check on Pager. One of eight child
ren of a single mom, he’d earned both athletic and scholastic scholarships to Rice University, where he’d broken several school records in track and field while majoring in electrical engineering. He’d also graduated summa cum laude.
Instead of moving on to the computer world where his credentials could have reaped him big bucks, however, he’d joined the Houston Police Department, finishing the academy at the top of his class. On the force he had a reputation for being polite and quiet, a bit intense, but he could also handle himself physically and had never backed down from a fight. Those qualities had earned him respect, but they’d also gained him a few enemies.
Jeff chuckled to himself and shook his head. “And your long-term goals?”
“To be the best man I can.”
Not the best cop, but the best man. An interesting choice of words, yet Jeff wasn’t completely surprised by it.
“For the record,” he said, “I am not a racist. My objection to bringing you in on this job is essentially defensive. You’re an unknown quantity. I can control what I do, but I can’t control what you do. That makes me vulnerable, which is why I work alone.”
“Then you have a problem,” Pager said with a smile. “Jordan Tanner meant a lot to me, Mr. Rowan. I can’t ignore doubts about his death just because it’s inconvenient for you. I’ll try to stay out of your way, but I can’t promise that my investigation won’t collide with yours.”
“Chief Tanner isn’t going to appreciate your meddling in her private affairs.”
“She’ll get over it when I help her find her husband’s killer.” He started to turn for the door again, but once more stopped. “That folder, by the way, is yours. A gift. Do with it what you like.”
“Wait,” Jeff said, unable to resist reaching for it “What is it?”
Pager’s smile resembled a smirk. “Jordan Tanner’s last editorial. In it he corrects his previous misinformation and demands a full investigation into the twenty missing barrels of yellowcake, pointing out that it would be worth a great deal to terrorists. He also calls whoever sold it a traitor to his country and a threat to world peace.”
“I don’t remember ever seeing that editorial, and I read the paper every day.”
“It was never published. Someone deleted it from his computer files after he died.”
It was difficult keeping his face neutral. “How did you get it?”
“I told you I was good with computers. Some people say I’m a genius.” Pager’s expression was one of amusement now. “Deleting a file doesn’t erase it. It only strips it of its title. I admit to being lucky with this one. Normally after so long the contents of a deleted file would have been overwritten, which does destroy it. Jordan Tanner was proficient with computers. He had an extra-large hard drive installed on his terminal, which he partitioned. His brother Tyrone who took over from him doesn’t use a tenth of its capacity.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I worked part-time at the Sentinel in college. I still have a few friends there. It’s common knowledge baby brother prefers to dictate his editorials and let his secretary manipulate the keyboard.”
Except Jeff hadn’t known that. It was also apparent that Pager didn’t think highly of Jordan’s younger brother. “You think Tyrone deleted the file from the desktop?”
“Inconclusive.” He placed his large hands on the back of the chair he’d vacated. “I imagine several people have access to the editor’s computer. His secretary and of course the system administrator who changed permissions and passwords when Tyrone took over.” He stepped away from the chair.
“Hang on,” Jeff said to halt his retreat “Are you serious about conducting your own investigation?”
“Yes, Mr. Rowan, I am.”
“You’re a damn fool.”
Pager grinned. “I’ve been called that before, and by people who know me a lot better than you do. It hasn’t stopped me in the past.”
“I’m in charge. You take your orders from me.”
“I’m a great admirer of age and wisdom.”
Jeff tried not to smile, but it was impossible. “If we’re going to work together, you can stop with the Mr. Rowan business. My name is Jeff.”
The other man reached across the desk with an outstretched hand. “Call me Derek.”
SATURDAY AFTERNOON Kelsey let herself in the back door of the house she’d grown up in.
“Hi, honey.” Catherine was setting cups and saucers on a brass-trimmed wooden tray. An open tin of assorted biscotti sat beside it while the gurgling coffee-maker on the side counter filled the room with an enticing aroma.
Kelsey kissed her mother on the cheek and caught a whiff of scent something Catherine didn’t normally use, because it would detract from her professional image.
“Cologne?”
“It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m off duty,” her mother said defensively.
Getting together with a hired detective struck Kelsey as a business meeting, not a social one. Or maybe her mother simply wanted to feel like a woman for a change, instead of a police chief. Since she’d been widowed, she’d buried herself in her work.
“Four cups?” Kelsey snagged one of the cookies. “Who else is coming besides this private investigator you want me to talk to? I still don’t understand why. I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Derek will be joining us. He should be here in a minute.”
A tiny shiver gripped Kelsey’s stomach. “Derek? What has he got to do with this?”
“He’s helping out,” Catherine replied. “Get me that glass serving dish, will you, please?”
“But . . . ” Flustered, Kelsey gaped for a moment before reaching into an overhead cabinet and removing the plate. She put it on the counter beside the tray. “You said you were hiring a private detective to investigate Dad’s death, that you couldn’t trust people on the force.”
Her mother opened a drawer, removed a round paper doily which she placed on the dish and started arranging biscotti on it. “Derek is different. I know I can trust him.”
Kelsey wanted to argue the point, but she wasn’t sure how she could without giving too much away. Her mother thought the sun rose and set on Derek Pager; her dad had, too.
The doorbell rang.
“That’s him now. Would you answer it, please?” Catherine asked. “I’ll bring the refreshments.”
Kelsey didn’t move. “When is that other guy supposed to get here?”
“His name is Jeff Rowan. In a few minutes. He was very punctual when he was here Thursday.” Her lips twitched. “And Derek is always a few minutes early.”
The bell sounded again.
“Go ahead.” Catherine began refilling the sugar bowl from the canister on the counter. “I’ll be in as soon as the coffee is ready.”
Kelsey wasn’t fooled. Her mother wanted to give them private time together. As if it would make any difference. The clock said the P.I. was due in less than three minutes, hardly sufficient time to resolve the irresolvable. She was tempted to suggest that she take the tray while her mother greeted her guests.
The bell rang a third time.
“Please, don’t keep him waiting, honey,” her mother said, as she poured half-and-half into the creamer.
Unhappy at the prospect of having to deal with the man she’d rejected, Kelsey nonetheless obeyed. Her pulse, already up by the time she reached the door, accelerated another notch when she opened it. He stood before her, tall and very male, in buff-colored Dockers and an electric-blue knit Polo shirt. His toothy smile made her heartbeat race even more.
“Hi, Kelsey.” He slipped into the foyer quickly, as if he was afraid she might slam the door in his face. “It’s good to see you.”
She was unsure what to do next. Suppose he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent to give her a kiss? The thought brought heat to her face and a jolt of panic.
“How have you been?” he asked, jamming his hands in his pockets. “You look well.”
“Mom i
s bringing coffee to the living room.”
“Oh, let me give her a hand.”
Resentment percolated when Kelsey realized she was following him through the dining room. He’d spent many hours here when they were in college together.
“Hi, Mrs. Tanner,” he said as he entered the kitchen. “Can I help you with that?”
Catherine had just gripped the handles of the loaded tray. “Thank you.” She stepped back and let him take it.
“I wish you’d told me he was going to be here,” Kelsey muttered to her mother after Derek had passed through the swinging door to the dining room on his way to the living room.
“Would you have come if I had?”
“No,” Kelsey said emphatically.
Catherine stared at her. “I don’t understand what’s going on between you two because you haven’t deigned to enlighten me, so you’ll have to forgive me if my decisions don’t meet your expectations.” She held her daughter with a sharp glare. “This meeting is about your father’s death. If you don’t want to be here, you’re free to leave. If you stay, I expect you to be civil.”
Her mother didn’t often lecture this way, so Kelsey knew she was in the doghouse. Which added another layer of guilt to a pile that was already insurmountable. She’d tried a few times to explain what had happened, why she’d chosen the life she had, but she was never able to bring herself to say the words. The word.
“I’ll hang around for a while.”
They entered the living room as Derek was placing the tray on the coffee table. His bent posture emphasized the narrowness of his hips, the sweeping V of his broad back. Kelsey looked away.
Relief swept over her when the doorbell rang this time. “I’ll get it,” she sang out.
The man at the door was not what she had expected. Her mother had said he was a former police detective. Kelsey had assumed she meant retired until she mentioned something in passing about his having left the force under less than ideal circumstances. Given all the problems the department was having, Kelsey had pictured a hard-nosed bully, or maybe a balding, red-nosed bumbler with a dirty collar and bad breath.