Alias: Daddy

by Adrianne Lee

  “Not today.” Roman smiled “We were hoping to catch Cindy…Ms. Faber in.”

  “Catch her in?” The woman’s blond eyebrows lifted. “Hers is the other of these two apartments that are up for rent.”

  “Ms. Faber has moved?” Kerrie exchanged a glance with Roman. “When?”

  “Earlier this week.”

  Roman stepped closer to the woman. “You wouldn’t happen to have her new address by any chance?”

  The woman’s affable manner grew suddenly leery. “Who are you two?”

  Kerrie dug into her shoulder bag and showed her ID.

  “Oh, my.” Interest beamed in the woman’s eyes, the kind of gleam that marked her as a lover of gossip. “What’s she done?”

  “Nothing that we know of, ma’am,” Kerrie said formally. “We just wanted to talk to her.”

  “Oh, I wish I could help you out. Surely would love to. But she didn’t leave a forwarding with me. No reason to. She paid her rent on time every month and kept pretty much to herself. Only had a couple visitors I ever saw. An older woman, her mother maybe, and lately a nice-looking young guy who…don’t laugh now…but he reminded me of Forrest Gump.”

  Kerrie handed the woman her card. “You’ve been more of a help than you realize If you hear from Cindy Faber again, would you get her new address and call me?”

  “You betcha.” The woman studied the card, stuck it in the pocket of her jeans, then dug into another pocket and brought out a card of her own. Gazing at both of them, she offered it to Kerrie. “And if either of you hear about anyone who wants a one-bedroom fully furnished—I can be reached at that number.”

  Once in the car, Roman said, “Why did Cindy Faber give us this address when she’d already moved?”

  “If we could find her, we could ask her.” Kerrie started the engine.

  Roman buckled his seat belt. “Do you suppose she moved in with Springer?”

  Kerrie pulled away from the curb. “It is quite a coincidence that they both moved in the same week.”

  “Yeah, and apparently her apartment was furnished, so she wouldn’t have much to move except her clothes.”

  They looked at each other. Kerrie said, “Some of the unpacked boxes in Springer’s house could be hers.”

  “Too bad we don’t have grounds for a search warrant.”

  “We need something more concrete than the man not being at home when we want to talk to him. In reality, we don’t have one solid lead that connects him to Loverboy or even to any of the other suspects.”

  “If only one of my agents would call with a new lead.” He cursed the silent cell phone residing in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Tracing and retracing the same paths for any missed clue was part and parcel of daily police work, especially on a case as perplexing as this one, but Roman found himself agitated with the routine today. “All we’ve unearthed are more suspicions.”

  “Maybe she’s shown up at the Mercer Island house by now.” Hopeful that this might be the case, Kerrie checked at headquarters. To her disappointment, Cage hadn’t reported in since she’d spoken to him earlier. She got the number for the cell phone he was using and had Roman try him.

  “No answer,” Roman said, putting his phone back in his pocket “Either he’s turned the phone off or he’s away from it.”

  “We’ll try again when we finish here.” She pulled to the curb beside Joe Springer’s house.

  Joe Springer was not happy to see them. As before, he wore an old cardigan with leather patches on the elbows and rumpled slacks. His thinning gray hair was combed over from a side part and he kept them standing on the porch.

  Behind his thick-lensed glasses, he peered at them anxiously. Roman wondered if he was hiding something. Say Mike? Or Cindy? He’d have loved to ask, but this was Kerrie’s show. He stepped back to the porch railing and leaned against an upright post.

  “Mr. Springer, we are still seeking your son for questioning. Have you seen him or heard from him since yesterday?”

  Joe Springer’s tarnished-penny eyes widened with alarm. “Why are you badgering me?”

  “I’m not badgering you, sir.” The tolerant voice Kerrie was using on the man amused Roman. She was very good at this. Calm him down, then throw out a question that would hopefully catch him off guard. He listened as she went through the routine and saw it was having the desired effect. Joe. Springer nodded and he seemed to relax slightly.

  Then Kerrie asked, “Do you know a Cindy Faber?”

  Roman tensed, but this expected bomb landed with all the explosive force of a feather.

  “Cindy?” Joe Springer shook his head, his expression one of classic confusion. “No. Never heard of her. Who is she?”

  “Mike’s new assistant,” Kerrie explained.

  Roman’s cell phone rang, startling him. Kerrie glanced over her shoulder as he pulled it from his pocket. “Donnello, here.”

  “It’s Green.” Chuck Green was one of the agents he had watching the beach house in Wildwood, New Jersey.

  He covered the receiver. “I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

  Leaving Kerrie to continue her questioning of Joe, Roman scrambled down the steps to the curb. His pulse was zinging. “What have you got, Green?”

  “The pigeon arrived at the coop in the wee hours this morning.”

  “Description?” Roman held his breath.

  Green said, “Tall, slender, average looking, with short hair.”

  Sounds like Jeremy Dane, Roman thought, feeling justified that he hadn’t ruled out the mortician from Puyallup. “Brown hair?”

  “Not this guy. He’s got blond hair, crew cut.

  Shock traveled Roman’s veins. What the hell? Tully Cage? “Do you have a name yet?”

  “No, but I’m working on it.”

  Roman shook himself, trying to make sense of this new information. When they’d spoken to Cage earlier had he actually been calling from Mike Springer’s Mercer Island house, or from New Jersey? A chill swept his gut. “Keep at it, Green, and let me know if anything else develops.”

  Roman would do some checking on his own. At this end.

  “Wait, you haven’t heard it all,” Green said loudly, catching him just as he was about to disconnect. “The pigeon’s not alone. Another guy showed up a while ago.”

  Roman’s mouth went dry. “Does this other guy look like Tom Hanks?”

  “Hey, how’d you know that?”

  “Contact the locals, Green, and tell them I’ll call within the hour. Have them haul both men in for questioning in the Loverboy murders.”

  Roman hung up and sprinted back up the stairs, his step as frantic as his thoughts. If Cage was behind this, how would Irish take it? Hell, they finally had a break in the case and it might break her heart. Cage…and Springer. His head was spinning. He hated dirty cops, hated to think of Cage as one, but it would explain why no tails were put on Jeremy Dane after Kerrie’s “date” with him; Cage would have already known Dane wasn’t the perp.

  As Roman approached, Joe eyed him belligerently, pleadingly. “I swear I haven’t seen Mike in days. I can’t reach him at his new phone number or nothing.”

  Roman nodded. “I believe you, Mr. Springer. Thanks for your cooperation.”

  Joe’s look shifted to suspicion. “Why you believing me all of a sudden? That phone call have something to do with my boy?”

  “No, it didn’t.” Roman lied. He spoke to Kerrie. “We have to go. Now.”

  She nodded, and spoke to Joe, “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Springer. Don’t leave town.”

  Kerrie didn’t ask Roman anything until they were inside the Mazda. “What’s happened? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

  “Not me. Maybe you.” Roman cursed himself at the alarm that immediately sprang up in her emerald eyes. “No, no, it’s not the girls or your mom. It’s Cage. At least, it may very well be.” He explained on the way downtown.

  As soon as they arrived at the station, they tried contactin
g Cage again without result. Kerrie didn’t want to believe Roman’s fellow agent was right about Tully, but she determined to keep an open mind, in case she had to face that very fact If she’d learned anything in the past twenty-four hours, it was that she could count on nothing remaining the same.

  She brought the lieutenant up to speed. He told her Cage was not assigned to watch Springer’s house today. Someone else was doing that. They’d just reported no activity there all day. Kerrie’s stomach sank, her worst fears confirmed. Tully Cage, the man she’d trusted daily with her life, was not the straight arrow she’d believed him to be.

  Over the next hour, they applied for a search warrant for Mike Springer’s house and sent a unit to look for the missing Cage.

  The lieutenant and the New Jersey police granted Kerrie special permission to accompany Roman and sit in on the questioning of Mike Springer and the other man, whom they had not yet identified. No one had told them the other man might be her partner. They wouldn’t brand Cage a rogue cop until they were certain. Roman and she left for the airport.

  As soon as they were settled in the middle of the 737, Kerrie felt uncomfortable. The seats were too close together, forcing her into an intimacy with Roman that she’d tried avoiding all morning. Every time he glanced down at her with those warm golden eyes, she felt her insides stir with heat. Every time he shifted in his seat, his aftershave teased her senses.

  This was going to be one long flight, with nothing to talk about She pulled a paperback out of her purse and opened it to the folded page she’d left off reading.

  Roman studied the novel Kerrie was reading. A romance by a popular female author. He ached to bring up the subject of their own romance, but this was not the place for such an intimate discussion.- Given both their tempers, he doubted it would be a quiet exchange.

  But the longer the conversation was delayed, the more doubt crept into his mind. She harbored feelings for him. He was sure of that, but how strong were those feelings, how deep?

  The long flight seemed interminable, the food dry, the movie dull, and comfort nonexistent. He was glad to see the night skyline of Newark and feel the 737 touch down on New Jersey tarmac. As they deplaned, Roman spotted Chuck Green waiting in the crowd. What the hell was going on? The closer he strode toward Green, a medium-size black man, whose handsome face was usually a coffee color, the more anxious he became. Something was wrong. Damned wrong. Tonight, Green’s skin tone matched his name.

  But that wasn’t the only thing giving Roman a queasy stomach. He hadn’t made any plans for Green to meet them at the airport. He was going to rent a car and drive to Wildwood.

  With barely concealed impatience, he introduced Kerrie, then snapped, “What are you doing here, Green? What’s wrong?”

  Green tipped his head in acknowledgment, then he steadied his dark brown eyes on Roman. “The Jocals arrived to bring our pigeons in for questioning, but when they went into the house they found one dead and the other gone.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Dead?” Roman said louder than he meant, startling several passersby, who jerked his way and stared. He lowered his voice. “What do you mean? What happened?”

  “He was murdered,” Green explained.

  Murdered? The way Roman had it figured, Cage and Springer were in the Loverboy scheme with Dante Casale. Had there been some sort of falling out among them?

  “Who was murdered?” Kerrie’s face was ashen.

  Roman didn’t know which would be harder for her to accept, Cage being murdered or being a killer. He wanted to take her hand, put his arm around her, but with all those walls of hers in place, it would be useless. He held his arms stiff at his sides. “Was it Cage?”

  “Cage?” Green shook his head. “No, it was the pigeon you called a Tom Hanks look-a-like.” He consulted a tablet he’d taken from his pocket. “His real name was Springer. Michael Casale Springer.”

  Roman gaped at him in surprise. Cage, not Springer, was Loverboy? He’d have laid odds that the opposite was true. But his feelings hardly mattered right now. He glanced at Irish, concern sliding through his belly. Her eyes were awash with pain, but he could see she was deal ing with it and wouldn’t appreciate his acting on his need to- comfort her. Why did he both admire and resent her strength?

  She let out a breath and gazed up at him with her head tilted to one side. “So, your hunch about Springer was right. There was a connection with Dante Casale. He was his nephew.”

  “I told you to trust my instincts, Irish.” He winked at her, glad to see the color returning to her cheeks. But Springer’s death soured any satisfaction he might have felt in being right. If they’d proven his connection to Casale sooner, he’d still be alive. Now he couldn’t be questioned, couldn’t testify against Loverboy.

  “Apparently,” Green went on. “He was Casale’s sister’s son.”

  “I guessed that.” Roman imparted what they knew of Mike Springer’s life, starting with his move to Washington State as a teenager and ending with his career as a Seattle CPA. He pursed his lips.

  What did Cage being Loverboy do to his theory about Dante Casale’s involvement? Shot some pretty substantial holes in it, he surmised. Had he been wrong about Loverboy’s motives? No, otherwise Casale’s nephew wouldn’t have been involved. But if Casale was behind this operation, why had he allowed his nephew to be murdered? A shiver spiked his spine. Maybe Casale didn’t know abput the murder yet. “How was Springer killed?” Green glanced uncomfortably at Kerrie, as if what he had to say might offend her. “His throat was slit.”

  He asked Green, “Did the’ killer leave a tiny L at the cut?”

  “Man, I swear you’re psychic or something.” Green shook his head at Roman, a look of awe on his face. “How’d you know that?”

  “It’s Loverboy’s trademark,” Kerrie informed him in a voice as cold as the ice forming around Roman’s convictions.

  Green frowned at her and Roman enlightened him. “Detective Muldoon is the officer in charge of the Loverboy case.”

  Green’s eyebrows arched slightly and he gave her a shrewd, appraising once-over. His brown eyes warmed with respect. “I hope you catch this vulture real fast, ma’am. He’s a nasty one.”

  She leveled a stony gaze on him, her lush lips tight. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “Just to make this official, Chuck, would you look at this photo.” Roman pulled a photograph of Tully Cage from his jacket pocket and extended it to Green. “Do you recognize this guy?”

  Green peered at the picture, then nodded. “No question, that’s the rooster who flew the coop all right. I’d recognize him anywhere.”

  Kerrie stiffened as if he’d smacked her, and Roman realized some small part of her had been holding out hope that Green would tell them Cage wasn’t the murderer, that he would say it was some other blond man with a crew cut. He grasped her arm, gently, firmly, letting her know he was there if she needed his strength. She’d had worse blows than this one in the past few days, but there was no telling what might be the last straw.

  To his relief, she didn’t shake off his grip. He said, “What I don’t understand, Chuck, is how he got past you.”

  “I don’t understand it, either.” Green shook his head.

  “I swear, Donnello, I never took my eyes off that house. But the bird was gone before the cops arrived.”

  “I hope they put an APB on him.” Kerrie’s voice was hard-edged.

  “They’ve worked up a sketch of him from my description, but this is better.” He tugged a pen from the inner pocket of his suit, flipped Tully’s picture over and asked, “What did you say this turkey’s name is?”

  “Tully Cage,” Kerrie said flatly. “He’s my…a Seattle cop.”

  Green’s head jerked toward Kerrie, his eyes rounded. “Crap.”

  “Yeah,” Roman said. “Lookit, there’s no telling where this guy is or what his next move will be, but he should be considered armed and dangerous.”

  “I’ll g
et right on the horn to the locals. But we do have an idea where he is.”

  “What!” The word jumped from Kerrie. She leaned toward Green as if she’d shake the information out of him if he didn’t hurry up and spill it.

  “He left this for you two.” Green withdrew a piece of paper from his overcoat pocket and held it out between them. Roman thought Kerrie would snatch it out of Green’s hand, but she just stared at the paper and made no move to take it.

  Green said, “It’s a copy. The original is being run through a local police lab.”

  Roman unfolded the paper and held it so both Kerrie and he could read the typewritten missive.

  If you’re wondering where I am, you could check the C & F warehouse. But just a word of caution. Remember what happened at your house Muldoon? It’s going to happen again—because I’m one step ahead of you.

  L

  Kerrie shifted her gaze between Roman and Green. “Where is the C & F warehouse?”

  “Jersey City,” Roman told her. “Twenty, thirty minutes drive from here. But I’m wondering who left this note, Casale, Springer, or Cage.”

  Kerrie seemed to ponder the problem. “Well, Casale would deem it appropriate to kill us at his defunct factory—since he holds us responsible for his losing the business.”

  “Are you ducks sure Cage isn’t related to Casale?” Green asked.

  Kerrie and Roman exchanged an I-hadn’t-thought-ofthat glance. Her expression was bitter. “Don’t ask me. I thought I knew the man inside out.”

  “Seattle is double-checking his personnel papers,” Roman told Green. “Digging further into his background. If the connection is there, they’ll find it.” But he was already warming to the idea, could feel the holes in his theory shrinking.

  Kerrie asked Green, “Has the warehouse been checked out?”

  “The Jersey City squad is watching it, but they decided to wait for the two of you before going in.”

  As though his faculties were abruptly more alert, the noises in the airport intruded, reminding Roman where they were. He glanced surreptitiously up and down the concourse. It seemed as crowded as it had when they’d arrived, maybe more, but no one appeared to be paying them any attention. He didn’t see a soul who looked even remotely like Cage or Casale.