Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9)
Page 5
The elevator stopped at the second floor. “Going down?” an older man with rimless glasses asked. He stepped to the door, then backed away. “Oh, no, I see the lights now. You’re going up.”
“We are,” Jeff said, hoping his smile made the man feel less foolish. As the door groaned shut, he continued, “I remember my mother hugging me and telling me to be a good boy, and giving me a teddy bear. Then my grandmother and I got on a train. The trip was fun—I’d never been on a train before—but the hospital stay was scary. You know, a strange place, by myself most of the time, getting poked with needles and stared at by strangers.”
Four loud dings announced their arrival at the fourth floor. In the hallway, Melanie held Jeff back by grabbing his sleeve. “I suspect Keenan pretends to fall asleep when he wants a visit to end or doesn’t know how to react. I think the best thing to do is play along.”
Jeff nodded, thinking he may have used the same tactic himself years ago.
“Hello, Keenan,” Melanie said as soon as they entered the youngster’s room. “How’s my brave little man doing today?”
“Okay,” Keenan mumbled, his eyes on Jeffrey.
Melanie went to the boy’s bedside and gently smoothed back his hair. “You remember our friend, don’t you?”
“Hey, buddy,” Jeff said.
Keenan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Jeff.”
“Excellent!” Melanie was obviously pleased the lad remembered Jeff’s name. “You’re one smart little boy. Are you having a good day?”
Keenan did not answer. Instead, he thrust a thumb into his mouth and stared at Jeff.
Jeff edged closer to the bed on the side opposite Melanie. “How’s Brat doing?” he asked. “You haven’t changed his name, have you?”
“No,” Keenan whispered, fingering his stuffed animal’s fur. “Brat.”
“Most teddy bears like to be hugged,” Jeff continued. “How about Brat? Do you ever give him a big hug?”
Keenan looked from Jeff to Melanie and back again. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, eyes still shut, he pulled his toy close and squeezed it.
Jeff glanced across the bed at Melanie, who was beaming. He cocked an eyebrow, hoping she would read his unspoken question whether to remain quiet or continue speaking. The beckoning motion of her hand seemed to encourage more dialogue.
“I bet Miss Melanie needs a hug.” Jeff grinned at her. “Maybe Brat would like to give her one.”
Keenan opened his eyes and gazed at Melanie with a solemn expression. Very slowly, he held his teddy bear out to her. She leaned across Keenan’s bed, and cupping the little boy’s hands in hers, nestled her face against his stuffed animal. “Oh, my,” she said, blinking away a tear. “I think that’s one of the nicest hugs I’ve ever had. I hope Brat liked it.”
Drawing Brat to his chest, Keenan stared at Jeff. He laid the bear aside and closed his eyes. After what seemed a long wait, Keenan’s arms lifted from the bed toward Jeff. Without stopping to question what he should do, Jeff leaned over and gently caressed Keenan. “You’re going to get well,” Jeff said softly. “You’re going to grow up big and strong, just like me.”
Keenan smiled. “Big like Jeff.”
While Melanie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, Jeff struggled to keep his own tears from spilling onto his cheeks.
A nurse in scrubs swept into the room. “Bath time,” she announced. “Would you mind stepping out?” She peered from Jeff to Melanie.
“Bye, Keenan,” Melanie said. “I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.”
“Good bye,” Jeff added. “When you get well, maybe we can go to the park and play.”
The nurse tugged on a privacy curtain, producing the screech of metal on metal. Keenan’s head lolled to one side, his eyes tightly shut.
Jeff and Melanie walked down the hall in silence. While they waited for the elevator to answer their call, Mel leaned against the wall and sobbed. “He smiled. He let you hug him. Jeff, you’re incredible.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Jeff guided her into the elevator.
“I understand why I cry when I’m upset,” Melanie said with a sniffle. “But it beats me why I start bawling when I’m happy.”
Uncertain how to respond, Jeff stood by her side, enjoying the feel of his arm around her shoulders.
As they walked to the parking lot, Jeff asked, “What’s wrong with Keenan?”
“It started out with leukemia,” Mel answered. “Then his parents had a terrible fight. His mother is still in a coma. His father died from his stab wounds. Poor little Keenan was already sick. Then he got banged up during the fight, and we don’t know exactly how. He hasn’t talked about what happened, and we are trying not to upset him by pressing for information.” Keys rattled in her hand. “His leg was broken so badly they had to do surgery and put a pin in it.”
“Poor little guy,” Jeff said. He closed the door to Melanie’s truck. “What happens if he’s released from the hospital before his mother?”
“Foster care’s the only short-term option.” Mel backed up and pulled forward three times before clearing her parking space. “No grandparents in the picture, and we haven’t been able to locate any aunts or uncles.” She tossed him a quick glance. “You’re lucky you had parents to welcome you home from the hospital.”
“My grandmother and mother took care of me,” Jeff said, staring straight ahead. “My dad was in prison by the time Nana and I got back from Minnesota.”
“What did he do?”
Jeff took a deep breath, then exhaled. “He stole money from a bank.”
Chapter Twelve
Jeff whistled as he walked by the receptionist’s desk at his office on Wednesday morning. He heard words trailing after him, “Mr. Galloway, Mr. Riley is waiting for you.”
“Got it,” he called over his shoulder. “Good morning, George,” he said as he hung up his topcoat and suit jacket. “What’s up?” Why was the man sitting at his desk?
The investigator leaned back in Jeff’s office chair, took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew three smoke rings. “I hope you don’t mind if I see how it feels to be a partner in a fancy place like this.” He patted the arms of the chair. “Pretty nice. I sort of thought it would be.”
“Don’t count my chickens quite yet,” Jeff said as he sank into a plush leather sofa near the window. “New partners won’t be selected until spring. And I’m not one of the insiders.”
“That may have been true yesterday, but from now on you should be able to write your own ticket. I foresee a big raise, a corner office, and if you’re so inclined you can marry the boss’s granddaughter—whatever you want.”
Jeff grinned. “This must mean you’ve found Romeo Munoz and he’s willing to testify.”
After another smoke ring, Riley sat up straight and stamped out his cigarette. “He’s living in Chicago. And, Jeffrey, he’s having a cat to get on the witness stand. I think I should fly up there and hide Munoz away in a nice hotel before anyone at Buffalo Nickel finds out what’s happening.”
“Why is he so eager?” Jeff held back his excitement. “When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”
Riley leaned forward, his elbows on Jeff’s desk. “Munoz had his own consulting business, not getting rich, but doing fairly well. Shortly after he surveyed the Meeker property, Buffalo Nickel hired him for big bucks. The honeymoon was short, because old Romeo found out the consortium was buying cheap mineral rights on little strips of land and slant drilling to tap into their rich neighbors’ gas and oil—the Meekers for example.”
“I suspected as much all along,” Jeff said.
“When Munoz started asking too many questions, Buffalo Nickel transferred him to Chicago. They helped him sell his house here, moved his household goods for him, the whole enchilada. Soon as he got settled in, they fired him, claiming he cooked the books on his expense accounts. He couldn’t get a decent job after that.”
Jeff nodded. “I’m sure Buffalo Nickel
can trot out some people who will say Munoz is nothing more than a disgruntled loser, seeking revenge for being fired.”
“Ah, but Munoz has a memo proving his former employers trumped up an excuse to get rid of him because they were afraid he was going to blow the whistle.”
“Do you believe Munoz’s story?” Jeff asked.
“I peppered him with questions, and he seemed to have all the right answers.”
“That could mean he’s honest, but it’s equally possible he’s a good liar.” Jeff tapped the arm of his easy chair. “However, his story is consistent with my observations about Buffalo Nickel’s way of doing business.”
“Now, this is where it gets sweet.” Riley folded his hands into a steeple. “When he couldn’t find a job, Munoz started drinking. He lost his house, his family, everything. He lived on the streets, panhandling for enough money to buy booze.”
“Oh, that’s sweet, all right,” Jeff said. He stood and faced the window. “Total destruction of his credibility—unless there’s more to this story, which I assume is the case. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
Riley strode across the room and joined Jeff at the window. “Two years ago, old Romeo fell in with the churchies.” He put a hand on the back of his neck. “Sorry, Jeff. I forgot Miss Wilcox warned me to watch my language around you. What I meant to say is, Munoz got religion. Sobered up, cleaned up, got his wife back, and now he runs a downtown Chicago rescue mission. He even racked up a public service award from the mayor last summer.” Rubbing his hands together, he added, “I want to be in the courtroom when this dude gets on the stand.”
Jeff thought through George Riley’s information for a moment. “How did Mr. Munoz happen to get his hands on the letter, the one that so conveniently exonerates him?”
With a sly grin, Riley said, “His former supervisor—the one who had to tell him he was fired. Name’s Harry Nelson. Someone tipped off Nelson he was going to get the axe next. So, to cover his own backside, the guy took home a bunch of internal communications that could embarrass Buffalo Nickel. He gave Munoz a copy of the one about him. Nelson kept the rest of the documents in his safe deposit box.” He drew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “I gotta quit puffing on these cancer sticks.”
“If there’s criminal activity, you have to get law enforcement involved right away.”
“Remember who you’re talking to,” Riley said, lighting his cigarette and taking a long puff. “I retired with thirty-five years of honorable service on the police force. I know the rules, and I follow them to the letter.” He snapped his lighter shut. “So am I cleared for takeoff to Chicago, to nail everything down?”
“Definitely,” Jeff said. “Since Mr. Wilcox is out, I’ll run this by Gretchen. I’m sure she’ll approve your travel, but if she doesn’t I’ll pay for the trip myself. Great work, George. I’m impressed.” Moving to his desk, Jeff added, “You were a police officer for thirty-five years? Here in town?”
“Yep.” Riley grinned. “I crashed two patrol cars, got my teeth kicked in by a cute little hooker, took a bullet in the leg, and lived to tell the story.”
I’ve never talked about this with anyone other than my family and Melanie, but here goes. “So, you were on the force when someone stole fifty thousand dollars from the First National Bank?”
“Keith Galloway’s your old man, right?” Riley exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke.
“Yes.”
“I read in the paper he’s out now. Served twenty-seven years for a lousy fifty grand. The dirt bag who shot me got eighteen months. That’s what judges call justice.”
Jeff turned the page of his calendar to the current date. “You weren’t involved in the First National case, by any chance?”
“Nah.” Riley looked toward the ceiling. “Let’s see, I was driving around in a black-and-white when the bank was ripped off. On the night shift, busting streetwalkers and tossing drunks into the tank. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” I wish I hadn’t brought this up. “I was just curious.”
After flipping the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray, the investigator walked toward the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he turned and stared at Jeff with narrowed eyes. “Otto Schmidt.”
“Excuse me?” Jeff asked.
“Otto Schmidt can tell you about First National.” Riley buttoned his coat. “I’ll keep you informed on the situation in Chicago.”
Chapter Thirteen
With things at a temporary standstill on the Meeker case, Jeff left work early on Valentine’s Day. He planned to zip home, relax for a while, and take his time getting ready for the Sweetheart Charity Ball. Ah, an evening with Melanie. Funny, kind, so concerned about poor little Keenan.
Jeff flipped his turn signal, changed lanes, and headed for Children’s Hospital. A sign warned the parking lot was full, causing him to divert to the tri-story garage. As he walked across the enclosed catwalk, he enjoyed the brightness of the cold February sun.
“Hi, Keenan.” he asked, stepping inside the youngster’s room.
“Jeff,” the boy said.
“You know what, buddy? The sun is shining, but it’s cold. Before long, though, the days are going to get warm. When that happens, maybe we can go outside and get some fresh air.”
Keenan’s eyes widened. “Outside?”
“Yeah. Someday we’ll sit on a bench in the garden you see from your window. I’ll push your wheelchair, and we’ll have a great time.”
“Okay.”
“I told you I was in the hospital for a long time when I was a little boy. I remember how happy I was when I finally got to leave my room. One of these days, you’ll find out how nice that feels.”
Jeff was encouraged that Keenan did not fall asleep—or pretend to—while he was with him.
Upon leaving the parking garage, it occurred to Jeff being inside the hospital hadn’t made him nervous. He’d been so focused on Keenan he hadn’t stopped to think about himself.
At home, Jeff turned on the stereo and took his time reading the sports page. When the telephone jangled in the midst of the peace, he considered not answering it. On the fifth ring, he sighed and lifted the receiver from its cradle. “Hello.”
“Hello. Jeff? Your office told me you left early, but I didn’t believe it,” a familiar voice said.
“Stephanie. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I was just thinking about home. And you. We haven’t talked in weeks. So I thought I’d give you a ring. What’s happening?”
“My father finished serving his sentence, and he’s been released. At work, I’m still plugging away on the Meeker case. How are things with you?”
“Pretty good. Washington is the most exciting place in the world. With your credentials, you could get a great job here. Now that your dad is back at home to take care of your mother, why not join me in DC? I can introduce you to all the right people.”
“We had this discussion before you left town, Steph. I’m not interested in moving.”
Stephanie sighed. “I miss you, Jeff. More than I thought I would.”
Too late, Steph. “It’s a big adjustment to relocate and change jobs. You’re probably suffering from a touch of homesickness.” Jeff hoped for her to pick up on his detachment, saving him from breaking the news he’d already met someone else.
“Why not come for a visit when the cherry trees blossom this spring? I’ve heard it’s the most fabulous time of the year. We’ll go to the symphony, or an opera. You can’t imagine how outstanding the capital’s restaurants are, and the museums are second to none.”
“I’ll think about it,” he replied.
She chuckled. “You’ll never guess who I had lunch with on Monday. One of our senators. Well, not exactly, but we were both eating in the same little bistro.”
Jeff glanced at his watch. “Steph, it’s been nice talking with you, but I have to hang up and get ready to go out pretty soon.”
“You’re going out? On Valentine’s Day?”
“Chickenpox, at his age? He must have had a sheltered childhood.” She paused. “I guess you can’t go stag to the biggest social event of the year.”
“I have a date.”
“Oh,” Stephanie said. “Anybody I know?”
“Probably not,” Jeff replied. “I have to go, Steph.”
“Sure. But try to give some thought to coming to Washington this spring.”
Jeff drew a breath. “I don’t think that’s in the cards.”
Jeff jumped into the shower and stood under the warm water. He didn’t want to hurt Stephanie’s feelings, but it was time for her to realize it was over between them. He was wounded when she left town and suggested they see other people. He might be tempted to overlook those hurts if it weren’t for Melanie. Until Mel came along, he thought he was most comfortable in the company of self-sufficient, sophisticated women like Stephanie. Who could have predicted he’d fall for a perky little blonde who seemed to think she was going to change the world?
Holding to his routine, Jeff donned his underwear and lathered his face with foam. A long-buried recollection came to mind—sitting on the side of the bathtub, watching his dad get ready to go to work. Keith lifted him in his arms and painted cream on both their faces with an old-fashioned brush. He used a straight razor on himself, after “shaving” Jeff with a washcloth. How many other precious memories might they have shared if only Keith hadn’t stolen the bank’s money? For the millionth time, Jeff wondered what happened to the fifty thousand dollars.
He stood looking in the mirror as he donned his shirt and fastened the cufflinks. Pants, cummerbund, and coat followed. What was it Stephanie once told him? “A man’s appearance is always improved by putting him in a tuxedo.” Checking his reflection as he brushed back his hair, Jeff concluded his tux was flattering. Did Melanie consider him handsome? Maybe she’d let him kiss her tonight. He could only hope.