Mirror Image (Capitol Chronicles Book 4)

by Shirley Hailstock

  "We'd better go," she murmured.

  The words, filled with sex and passion, were enough to break his ascent. He heard in her tone and knew in his heart that if he kissed her he wouldn't be able to stop. They had a show to do. He cursed it silently, knowing he wanted only to leave the grounds and take Aurora with him. He wanted her in his bed, breathing hard and unaware that a world existed with people other than the two of them.

  "Duncan?" She cleared her throat. "It's time I took a seat and you got in place."

  He didn't say a word. He was incapable of speaking and equally incapable of letting her go. He took her arm and led her from the room. At the door to the set he looked at her, squeezed her shoulder, and went to take up his place in the front of the audience. Aurora moved to the top of the gallery and sat down in the aisle seat which had been reserved for her.

  Duncan had sent a guard to Marsha's house. Guards stood posted at each of the entrances and at the base of the gallery. Additional security covered the grounds and entrances to the studio. He glanced at Aurora. Maybe he should get a guard for her. One whose specific duties would be to remain present whenever he entered her airspace. He could see that they, if left to their own devices, would cause ordinary air to burst into flame.

  Chapter 4

  Cooper Dean knew that most violent crimes were solved or major leads were found within twenty-four hours of their commission, yet he'd waited nearly a week and his friend, Duncan West, hadn't called to report a possible crime. Coop had gotten wind of it when Amy Peterson, one of the researchers on the show, mentioned it to her boyfriend, who happened to work the night shift at Princeton P.D.

  It involved The Marsha Chambers Show, and everything involving Marsha Chambers was news. Coop had looked for reasons to visit the set, but this week had been extremely busy in Extortion. White-collar crime was alive and well and living in suburbia.

  Dropping a file in the out basket he reached for another, just as thick and just as ugly. Coop liked living on the edge. He got a rush from duking it out in an alley with the bad guys or playing the puzzle game, and finally, when the last piece fell securely into place, he could collect his warrant and go pick up the criminal. His criminals weren't living in gutters. His lived behind high walls with security guards and wives dripping in diamonds and furs. His criminals often went in for industrial theft. Computer chips and information had replaced plans for toys and the latest fashion designs. In his field and in this area of New Jersey, kidnappings, even attempted kidnappings, were rare. He had heard about the one at The Marsha Chambers Show, yet no one connected with the show had reported a word.

  He could say that was show business, but when it overlapped his section of the world he was the one with jurisdiction. It was time to flex his authority. Reaching for the phone he punched in the familiar number. Moments later he'd passed a secretary and heard the ringing of Duncan's phone.

  "West," he answered.

  "Dean," Coop said, his voice full of authority. "I think it's time you and I had a talk."

  Duncan laughed in his ear. "I wondered how long it would take for word to reach you. A week, that must be a record."

  "It isn't a record. I've been waiting for a call from the show's producer to fill me in."

  Coop had a reputation in the borough. He knew everything, and nothing got past him. "West, we don't have earthquakes in New Jersey, leastwise not on a regular basis, but you're on uncertain ground if you decide to sidestep the law."

  "Why don't we meet for dinner tonight and I'll answer all your questions?"

  "When and where?" Coop asked.

  "My place, nine o'clock." Duncan was still laughing. "Remember, I like my steaks rare, my salads crisp, and my baked potatoes oozing with butter."

  "Yeah, and I like my coffee hot, black, and sweet. Nine o'clock." He replaced the receiver without saying good-bye.

  Coop spent the rest of the afternoon alternating through files of paperwork and his latest puzzle of extortion. He'd had a report several weeks ago of a missing executive and a large sum of unexplained money. When he went to investigate he found a huge stash of jewels. The two pieces didn't seem to match, and he was trying to find a link.

  At eight o'clock he gave up the struggle, pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, and headed for his car. He had time to drive at a leisurely pace to Duncan's house. He looked forward to seeing his friend again. Since Duncan and The Marsha Chambers Show had moved to New Jersey three years ago, they saw less of each other than when they had lived on opposite coasts. They both had busy jobs and Coop didn't envy Duncan his need to take care of Marsha Chambers. He'd met the diva of talk shows and found her rude, self-centered, and egotistical. He'd often told Duncan all she needed was someone to put her in her place. Duncan had given him the job.

  Coop would gladly have taken it. He'd seen her several times at official functions in the area. She often came and went with equal speed. Always surrounded by a group of people, she looked cocooned, untouchable, and lonely. He wondered at times if this was the case and that was the reason she didn't interact with the masses. On the other hand, he wondered if she was just a snob and thought herself too good for the masses. He decided on the latter.

  Weaving through the streets of Princeton, Coop made his way to the old brick house along Elm Road. It had stood in the same spot for over a century, been converted from gaslight to electricity, and from oil heat to natural gas. Several additions had been built onto the original structure by previous owners—yet today it epitomized the Princeton of the twenty-first century—stately, beautiful and moneyed.

  He pulled into the circular driveway and parked his car under the front portico. This entrance reminded him of the south entrance to the White House. A huge light fixture swung over his head as he headed for the door. Coop had crossed entrances like this several times since joining the local police force. He'd found that money, even old money, had just as many legal foul-ups as the lowlifes in New York City. Crime here was different. People didn't throw bricks to break into stores and rush away with all they could carry. They used electronic toys to get past security systems. They stole paintings and heirlooms.

  The door swung in before Coop could ring the bell. Duncan stood there, an apron over his jeans and shirt and a smile covering his face.

  "Now why don't my women stand by the door to greet me as I arrive?" Coop asked by way of greeting. He couldn't say how good it felt to see his old friend. The two of them had grown up on the same mean streets in South Chicago and it was a miracle they'd made it this far in life without being killed. He knew so many kids engaged now in the same dangerous pranks as they'd been. It was part of growing up, part of becoming a man. His job often brought him into contact with those who didn't make it.

  "You must be doing something wrong, Coop, if they don't. I thought I taught you better."

  "Excuse me, but who taught whom?"

  Laughing, he entered the house. It was just like Duncan, he thought. Despite the rooms which he knew were crowded with studio cameras and audio equipment, the main part of the house reflected a stable life style. A huge chandelier hung over the foyer of black and white tile that would have made Fred Astaire envious. Beyond that were rooms with comfortable furniture and books.

  "I know you're hungry, so the food is ready."

  "I swear if you were a woman I'd date you, even marry you."

  "Careful. You know where that leads you."

  Coop certainly did. He had two ex-wives and a daughter to support. Duncan led them down the familiar hall and they ended in the kitchen. He had a formal dining room but both felt more comfortable in the kitchen.

  The meal was robust, exactly the way Coop liked it. He couldn't have ordered a better tasting steak in any five star restaurant. The two old friends lingered over coffee. Duncan offered ice cream but Coop refused, opting for another cup of hazelnut flavored coffee. Duncan had picked up the gourmet coffee bug while living in LA. and Coop had to admit he liked it too, although around the squad
room he drank the brew that seemed to have come from an oil rig.

  "That was a great meal, Duncan. I'll have to compliment Mrs. West on how well she taught you when next I see her."

  Duncan laughed. "She'll be pleased."

  "I can just hear her now. 'You can't expect women to cook for you all your life. You gotta learn for yourself. And if you learn well, you'll get more women with an apron on than any fancy come-hither line you can think of.' "

  The two of them threw their heads back in laughter. Coop's imitation of Duncan's mother was near perfect. Coop laughed, but he thanked her every day for the lessons she'd taught them both, cooking being only one. They could each hold their own in contests involving the kitchen or the streets, and Mrs. Kathryn West had had a lot to do with that.

  She'd also taught them when to stop socializing and do their homework. Coop knew it was homework time. He took his cup and went to the counter, filling it to the brim. He took no sugar or cream, and sipped the hot liquid from where he stood.

  "I guess this is going to take some time," Duncan said. "Let me turn off the equipment in the other room."

  Coop followed him to his workroom. It had been the library for some former resident. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered the two side walls. The back wall was cut by two enormous French doors which led to the patio and pool beyond. Coop could see the green pool cover in the lighted distance. Inside, the floor space held television cameras, cutting equipment, and a panel board with enough switches to control the electricity in a small city. Duncan had told him what it was, but he no longer remembered—something to do with sound modulation.

  When the equipment went silent they headed for the living room. As they took chairs opposite each other Coop felt the butter softness give under his weight. He envied his friend for a moment, wondering when they had made the decisions that brought them to this point. Coop had been on every athletic team he could find, while Duncan had played basketball and soccer. Neither had been bookworms as adolescents, but today each had a huge library of all kinds of literature. Coop still kept up with basketball and played a regular game, while Duncan had added tennis, golf, and skydiving to basketball and soccer.

  He probably could make a good script about them being part and parcel of the same cloned gene, Duncan thought. What a concept that would make—two apparently individual men with a genetic trait that forced them to work together to complete a single universal man. Maybe he'd pitch it one day.

  Duncan returned from the fantasy world of movies to his friend. Coop wasn't here to have movie ideas bounced off of him. He wanted to know about Marsha.

  "I suppose you heard about the kidnap attempt," Duncan stated.

  Coop shrugged. Not much went on around the department that he didn't get wind of. "You want to fill me in?"

  Duncan stretched in the chair and placed his coffee cup next to a book about making movies which sat on the polished table in front of him. He related the details of the attempted kidnapping in precise language. He left nothing out except his attraction to Aurora.

  "You think this kidnapper mistook the look-alike for Marsha Chambers?"

  Duncan nodded. "What other explanation could there be?"

  "He could have been looking for her, followed her to the studio, waited until she came out, and tried to force her into the van." He paused. "Then you come charging over the hill in true Sir Lancelot fashion and save the day."

  "Not quite Lancelot. He would have won."

  Coop stared at him as if waiting for more. Duncan recognized that look. He knew they could sit there all night and be stubborn, but it wouldn't prove anything. He could hear his mother saying that

  Coop broke the silence. "Where is Ms. Alexander now?"

  "I hired her. She works at the station."

  Coop's eyebrows raised.

  "It was Marsha's idea," he rushed on. "She thought if it was the fan thing again, her presence was a way of confusing them."

  "Kidnapping isn't something to turn your back on," Coop informed him. "No matter how well intentioned, it's still against the law."

  "Coop, no one was hurt. Nothing really happened."

  Coop raised his hands and slumped back in the seat. “All right, Duncan. You're my friend, but kidnapping gets bounced to the feds. No passing go, no getting out of jail. It goes without exception. If anything else happens I'll have to call them."

  Duncan knew the truth of the statement. If it hadn't been for Marsha and her insistence they would have called the authorities the moment it happened, but the studio couldn't afford bad publicity, and they knew that copycat kidnappers were a real possibility.

  "I understand," Duncan conceded.

  "Good." Coop shook his head. "Now tell me about Aurora Alexander."

  The tightness that squeezed Duncan's heart at the mention of her name surprised him. He hoped Coop didn't see any difference in him.

  "What do you want to know? She looks like Marsha Chambers and I hired her to work in the editing department. If you want to talk to her, drop by the studio. But I hope you won't."

  Coop didn't react. He waited for further explanation.

  "She was shaken by the ordeal. She's fine now, and bringing the incident up again would make her nervous for nothing."

  Coop didn't speak for a long moment. "I see," he finally said in a tone that said he was looking straight into Duncan's mind and reading his heart.

  ***

  Reading faces, assessing character, and recognizing when a person said one thing and meant another were arts that Cooper Dean prided himself on as a master. He'd sat in his friend's living room not an hour ago and listened to him. He knew Duncan hadn't told him everything. Whether he'd actually omitted something or just had a feeling about something, Duncan hadn't been entirely truthful with him.

  Coop loved Duncan like the brother he never had. He'd been raised in a house with three sisters, a mother, and a widowed aunt. He and his father were the only males. Duncan's house had only men except for his mom. The two of them had run together since childhood, and Coop knew Duncan better than he'd ever known another man. He knew there was more to the story than Duncan had shared.

  He dialed into the police phone system and left a message for a buddy in Investigations who owed him a favor. Coop wanted to know everything there was to know about Aurora Alexander, Marsha Chambers, and—he gritted his teeth—Duncan West.

  ***

  Bread day, Aurora thought, packing the last of the boxes in her car. Closing the door, she felt a gust of wind blow at her hair. The air had turned cold. Red and gold leaves swirled about her feet. The shrubs and trees had been tied and covered against the approaching winter. Aurora lifted her head to the sky. It was overcast, grayish in color, perfectly matching her mood and her once a month attempt to reach her mother.

  Going back into the house she checked to see that nothing had been forgotten. The smell of sugar and the heat of baking warmed the spacious kitchen. As usual, nothing was wrong. Hooking her shoulder bag over her arm, she left the house. Pulling onto the road she waited for the feeling that someone was following her to descend. It didn't. She smiled, hoping it wouldn't come. Some days she just knew she was being watched, and kept looking over her shoulder. Other times the feeling was absent. Today was a no-one day. Aurora took it as an omen. Something would happen today. Her mother would recognize her.

  Cassandra Alexander didn't recognize her daughter. She'd withdrawn even farther inside herself. Aurora couldn't get her to react to anything. The art she'd seemed to enjoy for the past few months meant nothing to her. Music she'd enjoyed all her life got no reaction. Aurora's constant affirmation that she was there only caused tears to fall from her own eyes—her mother didn't react.

  The nurses had to take Aurora away and give her time to compose herself. They tried to soothe her and Aurora appreciated their ministrations, but it wasn't happening to them. It was happening to her.

  Aurora knew the stages of Alzheimer's. Forgetting people and places, inability to rec
all simple tasks, then loss of bodily functions, and eventually, total withdrawal and death. Knowing didn't make it easier. It was like knowing someone had cancer and was going to die. When the event took place no one was prepared. Those people could grieve and then go on, though. With her mother, a kind of death would occur before her body stopped breathing and her heart stopped beating. The toll on the family was immense.

  Staying away helped her sisters and brother. They weren't even in the same state with her. They lived thousands of miles away. Aurora was here. She couldn't stand the guilt of not seeing her mother when she knew she was alive. Facing her in this awful state tore her heart nearly out of her chest.

  Duncan, she thought. He'd helped her before. He'd been there. When she'd left the nursing home last month, Duncan was there to talk to, to support her. Why hadn't she thought of it before? She was a counselor. Why didn't she recognize the need for counseling in herself?

  She got up from the sofa in the waiting area and fixed her makeup. She would go to her mother and kiss her good-bye. Then she'd find Duncan and talk to him. It didn't matter what they talked about, just that she could interact with another human being.

  Duncan was alive.

  She was alive.

  ***

  They thought they could keep him out by adding guards. They were fools. He knew more ways to get around security systems than they could think of in a million years. Security had been his business. He'd studied it, learned what to look for, how to circumvent alarm systems, how to outwit police bands, and how human nature worked. He'd had time and he'd been a good pupil. Nothing could keep him away and no one would ever suspect he'd even been there.

  He'd watched the patrols, knew when they changed shifts, when they made rounds, which security guards had families, and how far they lived away from the studio. He'd watched the deliveries, seen the banter between the gate guard and the truck drivers. For him it would be a cakewalk.