The Agency

by Edward Kendrick

  “Kipling…” Tom always used Kip’s full name when he was being serious. “You have what it takes up here.” Tom tapped his forehead. “Figure out what you want to study and we’ll make it happen.”

  Emily, Tom’s wife and co-owner of the diner, nodded. “You’re like our third son. Anything we can do to help, we will.”

  Kip knew what he wanted to study—criminal justice. He admired Sheriff Long and had kept in touch with him, talking with him at least once a week. That was how he’d learned that the body of the man he’d seen being murdered by the two thugs had been located, three weeks after it happened. A hunter’s dog had found the grave, the sheriff said. Unfortunately, there were no clues to who had killed him.

  Kip knew. Well, not who, but I know what they look like. Several times he’d been tempted to let the sheriff know, only to change his mind. The men had seen him and would know he was the one who had turned them in. He felt guilty about staying silent, but not enough to take a chance the killers would find him, since he wasn’t willing to trust the police could protect him. He finally convinced himself that even if he had, it wouldn’t have stopped their boss from using other men to kill for him.

  He had no desire to become a police officer, despite his admiration for the sheriff. A private investigator however…I could help people like me who might be in danger.

  When he told Tom and Emily—although not the real reason behind it—they were all for his idea. Tom was friends with a man who owned an upscale restaurant in Cherry Creek and made it a point to convince the man to hire Kip, which he did. From there, it had been a case of finding a school he could afford, with Tom and Emily helping him pay for it, then spending the next two years earning his degree. That happened soon after he turned twenty-one.

  Degree in hand, figuratively, he started job hunting and found an agency that was willing to hire him. He stayed with them for almost four years before deciding, soon after his twenty-fifth birthday, to strike out on his own. He rented office space in a building close to downtown Denver in the Baker District, bought the furniture he needed, and had the name painted on the door—’Faulkner Private Investigation Agency.’ His last step was to hire Nina Cox.

  “Now I’m official. All one man plus Nina as my secretary slash receptionist,” he’d told both Tom and Sheriff Long. Neither of them seemed to have any doubts that he’d make a go of it.

  During the time between when he’d witnessed the murder of Mr. Constantine and when he’d opened his agency, Kip had kept track of any news about the man. In the beginning, after his body had been found, reporters speculated that he had been involved with someone else in the theft of the payroll and his accomplice had killed him. Or, he had been working for the mob and had stolen the money in an attempt to break free and go into hiding. Or…there were various other theories for his unsolved murder, some of them possible, others way off in left field as far as Kip was concerned. Given what he’d overheard and having seen the two men who had committed the murder, he tended to believe it was a mob hit.

  Not that I’ll ever know for certain. At least I hope I won’t, because if I do find out it was, it will probably be when one of the guys sees me somewhere and decides to take me out. That idea had given him many sleepless nights for the first couple of years after he’d come to Denver. When it hadn’t happened, he finally relaxed, putting the episode in the back of his mind, although he never forgot what he’d witnessed. He never would. But he did stop worrying that the killers would find him.

  * * * *

  “You need to hire someone new,” Nina said, resting one hip on the edge of Kip’s desk.

  “That better not be your way of telling me you’re quitting,” Kip grumbled.

  “Come on, would I do that? I love it here. The thing of it is, you’re so busy we have to turn away people because you can’t fit them into your schedule.”

  Kip knew she had a point. In the last three years his reputation for being a good and trustworthy private investigator had brought him enough clients he was beginning to feel overworked. Not that he was complaining but some days, and nights, it seemed as if he didn’t have time for a real life.

  “First,” he replied, “we’ll have to find a larger office space.”

  Nina grinned. “On it. In fact…” She handed him a sheet of paper. It was a print-out from a realty company that handled business properties. She had already circled several possibilities.

  “Now I know why I keep you around,” he said, getting an eye roll from her.

  It took two weeks, during what he laughingly called his lunch hour, for Kip to find a place he liked with a rent he could afford—and an option to buy if he wanted to in the future. It was east of downtown, a stand-alone building on the corner of Twelfth and Colorado. There were two floors, the first floor broken into office space on one end and a room for the furnace, water heater, and air conditioning unit at the other end. The second floor, accessed by outside steps to a small front porch, took the full length of the building and would be for the agency.

  “What are you going to do with the first floor?” Nina asked when Kip took her through the building.

  “Turn it into my apartment.”

  “Seriously? Are you crazy? You’ll never get away from work if you do.”

  Kip laughed. “Like I do, anyway? This way it’ll only take a minute to walk downstairs, not a ten minute or more to drive, and I’ll be home.”

  She ceded the point and once the contract was signed, Kip hired a contractor to repaint and carpet the office space and turn the downstairs into a one bedroom apartment. While all that was being done, Kip continued to take care of his clients at the old place and Nina started the process of letting everyone know they would be moving, and where.

  A month later, over the long Memorial Day weekend, Kip supervised the movers as they took everything from the old office and his apartment to the new agency.

  “It’s done,” he said with relief when he and Nina arrived at work Tuesday morning.

  “And it’s beautiful,” she replied, surveying the large waiting room. Her desk was at the back of it, next to the door opening onto the rest of the agency. There were three rooms on one side of the hallway, plus the washroom. Kip’s office was on the other side, as well as a second room, and a small kitchen area with the stairs next to the back door leading down to his apartment. “Now you need to get off your ass and hire someone to help you,” she said.

  “I thought you were my help,” Kip replied with a straight face.

  “I meant…” She smacked his arm.

  “I know, and I will. It’s just where to find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  Nina went to her desk, booted up her computer and went on line. “You start here.”

  He took a look, nodding. “Okay. Let me work up…”

  With one click, she brought up a document. “Like this?”

  “You’re two steps ahead of me, as always. Thank you!”

  She sent the employment ad to the website, saying a few minutes later when it was up, “Now we wait.”

  “And hope someone responds.”

  * * * *

  A week later, Kip was beginning to wonder how many unemployed private investigators lived in the city. He had already interviewed five men and one woman for the job, eliminating all of them.

  “It’s not that I’m picky,” he said to Nina after the most recent one had left. “I just want someone who has a résumé to back up their assertions that they know more than how to run background checks and stake out roaming spouses.”

  “It’ll happen. Maybe the man you’re talking to tomorrow morning will be perfect. Right now, though, Mr. Collins is expecting you to be at his main store at six.”

  Mr. Collins was regular client who owned three clothing stores. He’d called earlier in the day, saying he wanted to upgrade his security on one of them as there had been a rash of either shoplifting or employee thefts. That meant Kip needed to install more cameras—but not until after
the store closed as they needed to be hidden so that whoever was committing the thefts wouldn’t know they were there.

  “Another late night,” he said under his breath.

  “So hire the guy tomorrow, even if all he knows is how to run background checks. That would still ease up your schedule.”

  “I might do that.” Not that he would. He wanted a competent investigator. One who knew the ropes, from serving subpoenas to setting up and running surveillance to finding missing persons—especially kids.

  He went into the storeroom to get what he needed for Mr. Collins, then headed out, leaving Nina to lock up.

  * * * *

  It was well after nine when Kip finished installing the security cameras. It would have taken half the time if Mr. Collins hadn’t insisted on talking to him while he worked, asking why he put each camera where he had. Halfway through Collins left, returning with take-out dinners and coffee for both of them. That required Kip’s sitting in Collins’s office while they ate. He appreciated the man’s kindness. He would have appreciated it more if he’d been able to get out of the store an hour earlier.

  When Kip got home, he flicked on the TV, settling down to watch the end of a show he liked. He was half asleep, the result of his long day, when he realized the news was on. He reached for the remote, stopping when the news anchor began reporting that the body of a missing man had been found in the mountains. Kip instantly flashed back to the murder he’d witnessed eleven years before.

  “Mr. Alexander,” the anchor said, obviously recapping previous stories, “was the business banking manager for South Market Credit Union in Denver. The day after his disappearance three weeks ago it was discovered that a large amount of cash was missing from the bank’s vault. The police were unable to locate him until his body was discovered in a shallow grave five miles outside of Silver Plume early this morning. He’d been shot twice in the back of the head. The only clue to his killer is a photo of a man discovered on Alexander’s cell phone. From the time stamp, and the background, it was taken right before his murder.” A picture appeared on the screen, with a request for anyone to call if they knew or had seen the man. He had been caught in profile, obviously moving when the victim had shot the photo, so his face was blurry. Nonetheless, Kip recognized him.

  He shuddered, his thoughts going back to the last time he’d seen him. He had been pointing a gun at Kip, seconds before Kip took off running. The man looked older than he remembered, but that wasn’t surprising. It was eleven years ago. Who is he? Why did he kill Mr. Alexander the same way Mr. Constantine was murdered? Constantine stole payroll money, Alexander walked away with money from the bank where he worked. Both of them disappeared right after. There has to be a connection because the same thug was involved in both killings. But eleven years apart?

  Kip promised himself he’d start searching in the morning for similar murders. He had the resources upstairs in his office which would allow him to go deeper than just looking for news stories. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d have gone up right then and there. “But a working mind is a necessity,” he grumbled.

  Shutting off the TV, he went to bed, his thoughts whirling. His sleep was plagued with nightmares about the murder he’d witnessed. By the time morning arrived, he felt as if he’d barely slept at all—and looked as if he hadn’t if his reflection in the mirror was any indication. A hot shower, followed by a cold one, helped some and by the time he went upstairs to the agency he felt and looked almost normal.

  * * * *

  “Mr. Rigby is here for his interview,” Nina said, coming into Kip’s office ten minutes after they opened. “He’s kind of cute.”

  “Nina. Honestly.” He shook his head.

  “Yep, honestly,” she replied with a grin, handing Kip the man’s résumé.

  “Give me five minutes to look at this again then bring him in, please.”

  She did, and then ushered Mr. Rigby into Kip’s office. Kip’s first impression of the man was that he wasn’t at all cute, or even terribly good looking. Rugged would have been a better description. It took him a moment to realize part of the look came from the tattoo he could see covering Mr. Rigby’s neck, as well as the fact that he sported a mustache and needed a shave.

  If nothing else, he could intimidate someone we were after—or a client, which might not be good.

  “Please have a seat, Mr. Rigby.”

  “Thank you,” he replied, although he didn’t move. “And call me John, if you don’t mind. It’s less formal. Yes, I know this is an interview, but still…”

  Kip found it interesting that John’s voice belied his appearance. It was quiet and slightly husky. “John it is,” he replied. “I’m Kip. Kip Faulkner.” He held out his hand, they shook, and then he beckoned to the chair beside his desk. When John sat, Kip did as well, pressing his fingertips together as he studied the man. “Tell me about yourself.”

  John smiled. “There’s not much to say that isn’t in my résumé. I’m thirty. I’ve been doing investigative work since I graduated college with a bachelor’s in criminal justice. I’m duly licensed, like you.” He glanced at Kip’s license hanging on the wall behind him.

  “Why did you decide to become a private investigator?”

  “To help people who were in trouble. When I was in high school, my older sister was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend. The police couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything about it so my dad hired a PI. He obtained proof of what the guy was doing and gave it to my sister to take to the police. They charged the guy with trespassing, which only pissed him off, so the detective had a long talk with him.” John smiled wryly. “I don’t know if threats were involved. He didn’t tell her or my dad one way or the other. But her ex stopped bothering her. That made an impression on me on two levels. I decided I didn’t want to become a cop, which I’d been considering, but I, excuse the banal expression, wanted to serve and protect. So here I am. End of story.”

  Kip nodded. “I can understand that. You’ve worked for several agencies in the past eight years. Is there a reason you’ve moved around so often?”

  John nodded. “Trying to find the right niche. To be honest, I get bored easily. Sitting on my duff doing background checks, or parked in a car watching some poor schmuck who’s tired of his wife and wants to have fun with his girlfriend, makes me jumpy as hell.”

  “Well, that’s definitely honest,” Kip replied, chuckling. “I avoid straying spouse cases, so you’re safe on that. Background checks are part of the territory. If I decide to hire you, I promise I won’t throw all of them at you. I presume you own a car.”

  “Never presume,” John replied. “I have a 2013 Harley Softail.”

  Kip eyed him then shook his head. “Why doesn’t that really surprise me?”

  “You mean because of the tat?” John laughed. “I could say it, and the rest of them, are relics of my misspent youth, but they aren’t. I’ve been adding to them since I got the first one when I was in college.” He pulled up his sleeve to show Kip the one on his right forearm.

  “Nice artwork,” Kip commented before moving on to tell John what would be expected of him, if he was hired.

  * * * *

  If asked, John would have admitted he was impressed by the younger man. Kip knew what he wanted in an employee. He also had an excellent reputation as an honest and competent private investigator. John knew because he’d checked him and his agency out before submitting his résumé.

  He wasn’t half bad looking either, with his dark hair and open smile. Not that that was a selling point, but it didn’t hurt to be able to work for a man who didn’t look like he’d been on the losing end of more than one fight, like the last guy who had hired him.

  “Do you have a license to carry?” Kip asked.

  “Yes, and I’m a good shot.” John smiled. “Although I’ve never had to prove it, other than at the firing range.” He cocked his head in question. “Do you do bodyguard work where it might be necessary to carry one?”

 
“Occasionally,” Kip replied. For a second his expression darkened and John wondered what that was about. Not that he’d ask—yet. Not until he’d been hired and gotten to know Kip better.

  “Well, if you need me for that, it’s okay. I’m also decent with a knife, for what that’s worth.”

  Kip nodded. “At times, a lot. It’s quieter if you can get close enough to the perp.”

  “Do you have, well, I won’t call it a forensics lab, but what you need to deal with fingerprints and what have you?”

  “Yep. I call it the research room. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  “More rooms than people?” John commented when they were in the hallway.

  “Right now, yes. At the moment, the one next to mine is set up as a conference room for meetings with clients when I’m dealing with more than one at a time.”

  “Like a family or partners in a business?”

  Kip nodded. “That one,” he pointed directly across the hallway, “will be yours, if I hire you. The storage room is next to the kitchen and the final one is where I’ve got a research library of sorts, as well as setups for fingerprint, handwriting, and document analysis. If we run into anything beyond that, I’ll send the information to a forensics lab.”

  “Smart.”

  Kip chuckled. “I think so.” He opened the kitchen door.

  “Where do the stairs go?” John asked.

  “Downstairs,” Kip replied with a grin. “Seriously, though, I have an apartment down there, at this end of the building. The furnace and utility room is at the far end.”

  “That makes it convenient for you. You don’t have to commute.”

  “Exactly.”

  John was impressed when Kip showed him what was in the storage room. “You’ve got every toy imaginable for surveillance.”

  “Not everything, but a lot. It’s taken time to amass, but if we’re going to give our clients the best services possible, we need it.”

  With the tour complete, Kip took John back to the waiting room, thanked him for coming in, and told him he’d let him know the following morning if he was hired.