by DiAnn Mills
“Was there another way?” he said.
“Not without raising Sally’s suspicions. Anyway, she finally mentioned Lance’s computer class and how the tutor was good for him because Lance enjoyed the one-on-one teaching. I wish it exonerated him, but it doesn’t.”
“We’ll have to keep our eyes open.”
Max arrived at the office forty-three minutes late. Tori spotted him in the hallway. His shoulders were slumped, and he seemed thinner. Was that possible from one day to the next?
“He’s here,” she said to Cole. “For his sake, I’d better be wrong.” She cringed. “He should be in bed.”
“Tori, how he looks will only get worse.”
Flashes of Kevin’s battle with cancer . . . A miserable memory. “I know. But he has to be held accountable. Stay here in case he contradicts me later.”
Cole stepped aside so Max could pull a chair to Tori’s desk. Wordlessly, the older man lowered himself onto it. “I spoke to Detective Hernandez, the HPD officer we met at the Moore home. He thinks we should have arrested Sally Moore. I despise being thought of as inept.”
“Good morning,” she said.
“Not today.” His pale face alarmed her.
“We have no evidence to arrest Sally, and I have a question,” she said. “Who leaked our findings to the media regarding confidential information about the Moore case? And our names as part of the task force?”
He snorted. “What does it matter? We need community support.”
She refused to curb the antagonism pouring into her words. “I figured it was you. What were you thinking, Max? You gave details Cole and I assured Lance wouldn’t be released unless absolutely necessary and certainly not without informing Sally and Jack first.”
His eyebrows knit like tangled yarn. “I made the call for the good of the case.”
“By breaking the trust of a teen?” She jammed her finger into his chest. “Then you give our names as the investigators? Oh, big guy, now you’re the lead? That sounds impressive.” She caught herself before her temper reached an irretrievable level. “You can have your honorable funeral, but the rest of us intend to work smart.”
“Big deal.” Max swore with gut-scraping force. “I’m the senior agent here.”
“Only by age. Trust me, I’m going to the ASAC with this. You’re working like a snot-nosed rookie.”
“My last case, remember? He won’t say a word.”
Tori’s neck flushed hot and color spiraled up. “Really? That’s not true, and you know it. You’re in stage 3 and that’s still beatable.”
“Right.” Max’s phone alerted him to a text. “There he is now. Did you file a complaint?”
“I didn’t have to. Your call to the media received a lot of attention.”
“Pardon me while I straighten this out.” He slowly stood. “If I’m tossed off this case because of you, Tori, I have enough friends here who’ll make your life miserable.”
“I have no doubt.” Her future with the FBI didn’t rest on Max. Or were his friends higher up the ladder willing to squash her career? The thought shouldn’t disturb her, but who was she fooling?
As Max disappeared down the hall, Cole lifted a cup of office coffee to his lips. “What’s the bottom line here?”
The day had just begun, and already her mood hit zero. Wasn’t Cole’s fault. “The FBI is incredibly compassionate and generous when it comes to illnesses. I’ve known them to have blood drives and fund-raisers in hardship cases. Max could be encouraged to take sick leave or get a medical mandate where he’d have restricted duties and still receive his pay.” She sighed. The fixer-upper in her wanted him well and working without problems. “Another option is a nonagent position. My guess is the ASAC will counsel him for his unprofessional manner or refer him to the Employee Assistance Program and the psychologist there.”
“A few times yesterday I thought he was making progress.”
“He’s an angry shell about to explode.” She offered a grim smile. “The FBI will get it worked out.” Get a grip. “What about an interview at the hospital where Franc Lawd works?”
“Sure. I want to talk to Lance and Jack once they’re finished with tutoring. As much as I like them, and the school states there aren’t any problems, I want to make sure they aren’t hiding anything.”
She glanced at her watch. “If Max isn’t back in thirty minutes, we can go without him.”
“Are you willing to pay the piper?”
“I’m sitting here when there’s a murderer on the streets.”
Twenty-nine minutes later, Max made his way down the hall. No emotion on his face, only the pale-gray color of impending death.
“We’re burning investigation time,” he said. “I’m ready to end this case.”
In what way, Max? But she resisted asking.
Cole listened to the director of human resources at St. Luke’s list Franc Lawd’s commendable traits. “He’s one of our most dedicated nurses.” The director opened a file before her. “Conscientious and respected for his methods of care and comfort for each patient.” She closed the document. “We have nothing in our records to discredit Mr. Lawd.”
“Any problems with other employees?” Cole said. Tori and Max sat on either side of him, squashed like pickles in a jar.
“Not to my knowledge. If a problem existed, I’d be informed.”
“What about friends?”
“Franc is quiet, introverted. Stays to himself.”
“Absenteeism?”
“No, sir.” She typed into her computer and peered at the screen. “He hasn’t missed a day of work in over two years.” She lifted her head and smiled, a little too sweetly. “He’s here today.”
Cole turned to Tori and Max. “Do you have further questions?”
Max rubbed his jaw. “He always works days?”
“Yes, seven to three.”
Lawd had claimed to be with a friend when the rig was bombed and when Nathan was killed. If the surveillance team on him was unsuccessful in finding a link to the crimes, this interview had been pointless. If evidence didn’t turn up soon, the label of inept would describe the task force.
They thanked the director and left the hospital. Lawd had a solid alibi for the murder of Preston Ustach, but Cole hadn’t checked his name off the list yet. Tori appeared absorbed in her thoughts, as though filtering the interview through her own database.
“You’re quiet,” Cole said once they were in his truck.
“We’re missing facts, and I don’t like it. Makes me a bit feisty.”
“What’s new?” Max said. “Okay, I have a few things to say, and it’s not easy. But if I don’t unload now, it won’t happen. ASAC could have put me out to pasture this morning, but he’s given me another chance. You know the drill. This is my last case. Blah, blah. Short story is I’m not the man I used to be. I hurt. Can’t breathe. Proved to myself at the oil rig that I can’t run. Just want to die. Meaner than sin. I’m not a nice guy. Maybe never was. But I want to work this case. Another screwup and I’ll be pulled off duty permanently. Best way for me to finish strong is for both of you to lead out. I have no patience or sympathy with anyone.”
What a mouthful. From what he knew about Max, that was the closest Cole and Tori would ever get to an apology. “What is the next step in your cancer treatment?”
Max stiffened. “No more chemo or radiation after I’m done with this round. Why puke my guts out and have my insides burned? What quality is that?”
Tori touched his arm. “Don’t you want to lengthen your life?”
“The meds already make me sick. I’m about to quit the treatments.”
“I’ll help you through this,” Tori said. “You don’t have to face cancer by yourself.”
“Don’t give me that stuff. Hate pity. Just help me not get thrown off this last case. What do you say, yardman?”
Cole lifted a brow, tired of Max’s remarks. “Yardman?”
“Jeffers sound better?”
/> “I prefer Cole.”
“I’ll try to remember. An—”
Their cells alerted them to a notification. “What do we have, Max?” Cole said.
“Report in on Nathan Moore’s personal and work cell phones. Business calls show several to Anita Krantz. Figures. Others appear work related, but the FIG is tracking each one, date and time. Personal call records show a few to the Krantz woman. One suspicious incoming number shows up five times since the oil rig bombing leading up to his death, placed by a burner phone. The FIG has the location—all downtown.”
“By any chance near St. Luke’s?” Tori said. “That would give us basis for a search warrant. Franc Lawd is shady, hiding something.”
“Give me a moment.” Max coughed.
Cole hated to hear him, knowing it came with a vicious countdown.
“According to the report, the burner was located within a three-block radius of St. Luke’s. Tori, looks like we should go after a search warrant.”
Cole knew a devious mind covered his tracks. “He’s smart enough not to keep the makings of a pipe bomb in his apartment or any link to hacking Nathan’s pacemaker. Our best bet may be taking down his alibi. But things just don’t make sense. Why would a nurse with no history of EPA activism be involved in a bombing or murder?”
ALBERT DIPPED A CHOCOLATE BUTTERMILK DONUT into a cup of coffee rich with cream while his son endured physical therapy. Albert had tried to watch Erik attempt the painful movements, but the anguish on his face proved more than Albert could handle. Ironically, he filled his stomach with donuts and coffee instead of becoming sick listening to Erik’s cries of defeat. A raspberry-filled beckoned him from the display case. Indulging in a third donut as a reward for confirming Special Agent Tori Templeton’s address was due him. He’d figured out a few things in his senior years, and one was surfing the Internet to find an address. Early in the morning, he’d have a caretaker look after Erik while he did some snooping. See about a special surprise for Tori Templeton. The woman had been friends with Nathan and Sally since college days, and she might figure things out.
The two men who showed up with her at the Moores’ home were investigators too. He’d learned their names from the media, and finding their addresses wouldn’t be hard. Then he’d figure out what to do with them. Sally didn’t need smart friends to spoil his plans while Erik’s life swirled down the toilet.
His cell phone rang with the first few bars of the Bee Gees singing “Stayin’ Alive.” Erik said the song was his, so Albert changed his ringtone to please him. What benefit were the lyrics for a man too young to die? Albert recognized the number as Walt Hanna’s and answered on the second ring.
“Aren’t we finished?” he said, tired of dealing with this guy.
“I’ve been watching the news and thinking. Feds are crawling all over this, and I need to protect myself. Talking to the FBI may be in my best interest.”
Albert glanced around at the busy bakery and walked outside, leaving his coffee and donut. “You were paid eight grand and I didn’t give you the okay.”
“Facts are facts, old man. You hired me to kill a man, and he’s dead.”
Albert froze. He’d tried to avoid thinking about this. “Bank’s closed.”
“How do you figure?”
“We made a deal.”
“How much is it worth for me to keep my mouth shut?”
Albert swallowed his ire. “Look, punk, if I go down, you and I will be in matching cells.”
“I have my plea memorized. You paid me to help you with your computer. I had no idea what I was doing.”
“With your record? I’ve seen the charges.”
A sardonic laugh erupted. “Try it. Wanna bet how it turns out? I need another ten grand.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Your son is half-dead. Wouldn’t take much to finish him off. Tell you what—I’ll give you twenty-four hours to empty your bank account of ten big bills. I’ll be in touch.”
He ended the call.
Albert stole a look around him. The punk didn’t have murder in his blood . . . only a love of money. His excuse for hacking Nathan’s pacemaker was flimsy at best, but taking chances wasn’t part of Albert’s game. He snorted. Idiot. In fact . . . An idea formed.
With a hard shake of his nerves, he returned to the café. His coffee and partially eaten donut still at his table. Erik had another hour left of PT.
Back to normal. Been looking after his son since his wife left them when Erik was six months old. Never understood why when she acted so devoted to both of them. Didn’t matter now. He cared for his son like he was a baby again. Fed him. Diapered him. One day after another. Instead of anticipating a growing child, he dreaded each new day, as it moved them closer to the date on Erik’s death certificate.
Hanna’s phone number was in Albert’s contact list, a burner phone according to him. Hacking skills were the only brains he had. Arrogance hit the top rung. Albert had met him a year ago on his postal route, just before retirement. The guy had been sitting on his front porch, working on his laptop. Claimed he’d just lost his job because his computer skills were above his boss’s.
“What are your plans?” Albert said.
“Hack into the company’s secure files and spread the info to the world.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure.”
Albert filed the information into his brain until he needed it.
Sitting alone, humor rumbled through him and a few people stared. Albert didn’t care. He texted the man who thought he had intelligence.
I know where u live. Still got that new Toyota?
A response sailed into his phone.
We aren’t done, old man.
He finished his donut and gulped his coffee before driving to the man’s address. He surveyed the one-story brick home. The front door opened, and a red-haired woman stepped out with a little girl about four years old. Albert snapped photos of both, then texted them. That would end the threats.
Albert had brilliance hidden beneath his old-man facade. He’d grease the axle on this wheel to his benefit.
AFTER LUNCH, Cole grabbed his laptop and took up residence in an FBI interview room to pore over the case’s data. Tori and Max used their cell phones to keep up on details, but he preferred a bigger screen. Knowing they were receiving the same reports, he scheduled a meeting in his makeshift office. Tori texted she’d be a few minutes late.
Max shuffled into the interview room in the middle of a coughing fit. The man would collapse before admitting defeat. When he gained control, blood stained a tissue. After tossing it in the trash, he covered it with paper. “Help me out here. Tori isn’t to know about this.”
“You have my word. How are you going to keep it from her?” He leaned toward Max and motioned for him to wipe his mouth. Blood had trickled from the right corner.
“I have my ways.” He tossed another tissue into the trash. This time Cole covered it. “She won’t watch me suffer like her brother.”
“He died of cancer a couple of years ago?”
“Right.” Max slumped into a chair. “Before that her mother had breast cancer and was a few years out in remission when Kevin didn’t make it. Look out for her, will you? She takes too many chances. Seems like her fear of cancer is bigger than taking on an angry cartel.” He half smiled. “Tori’s more of a daughter than my own. She’s a good agent, a real team player.” He shook his head. “I remember about a year ago, we were working a lead on a crazed killer who had made his way into the tunnel system downtown. She chased him while screaming at people to get out of the way. He grabbed a female hostage from one of the stores, and our girl talked him down. She turned those green eyes into liquid charm. No one got hurt.”
“But your case isn’t hopeless. You’ve got a lot of fight in you.”
“Tori said the same thing.”
The inner workings of Tori Templeton. Her doubts about faith held stronger ground, while they discounted h
er need for a Lord who loved her unconditionally. Cole wrestled with telling Max how he felt about her, the soft and vulnerable woman hidden beneath a dedicated investigator’s exterior. But she bustled down the hall, ending any confessions.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “Had calls. Took one from Sally. She needed a sounding board with media bothering her and the funeral tomorrow. So where do we begin?”
Cole gestured for her to take charge. “I’d say at the beginning. Go for it.”
Her eyes shone with thanks, and he was reminded of how much she meant to him. “Attorney Jacob Farr’s files give no indication of pending lawsuits or questionable activities. Neither did he have a name or names as to who Nathan might think was responsible. He’d arranged the extra bodyguards for his family but not himself. If he had some underhanded business dealings going on, Farr was not aware. The reading of the will is Tuesday morning.” She lifted her chin. “Why protect his family, those he planned to abandon, and not himself? I think there’s a huge part of this yet to uncover. Nathan is not the man I thought I knew, but he wasn’t the devil either.”
Cole offered more information. “The court transcript from the lawsuit is straightforward. An anonymous call to the EPA claimed Nathan was illegally dumping backflow water. Proven false. End of discussion. But Nathan suspected activists were behind the threats. Nothing has turned up there yet, but I want to talk to a couple on the list.” He wanted to review every name, read every question and answer.
Max unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it into his mouth. “When I started working the bombing, first thing on the agenda were activists in Texas and the Gulf region. When the investigation turned up zilch, we looked at the entire country. Although plenty would like to take the credit, we had no proof. Nathan Moore’s murdered, and our only hope of an informant is killed. I have an idea, a bit of a far shot. Tori, can you get the FIG to widen the search for persons who are not just protesting environmental issues, but antigovernment and anti–big business too? The list will keep us busy, but we’re missing something.”