Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  “An interesting occupation.” Blaine started on his fruit. “Do you see him often?”

  “As often as I can.”

  “I take it you’re close.”

  “Yes. Even closer in recent years, since my mom died. My brother’s job takes him overseas a lot, so mostly it’s just me and my dad.”

  He stopped eating. “A relationship with a father can be a very special thing.” There was a subtle undertone in his voice of—melancholy, perhaps?—and his eyes grew distant.

  “Is your father still living?”

  He blinked, gave her a strained smile, and finished off his last spoon of fruit. “No. He died many years ago, unfortunately. Far too young. But my memories of him are very clear. Count your blessings that you still have your own father.” Setting down his spoon, he examined her plate. “You’re not making much headway.”

  “I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “I can return a couple of calls if you’d like to eat a little more. It’ll be a long, full afternoon.” He checked his watch. “We don’t have to leave for about ten minutes.”

  She considered her half-eaten lunch. Might as well take another stab at it. She wouldn’t be eating again for hours, and tonight’s menu was macaroni and cheese. Again.

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.” She picked up her fork, and he moved off to the side.

  The distance between them, along with the muted hum of conversation in the cafeteria, masked his voice. Just as well. At this point, any sense of familiarity could be due to the simple fact that she’d been listening to him speak all day rather than to any similarity to the mystery man.

  Besides, everything she’d observed and learned today—combined with what she already knew about Blaine—reinforced the doctor’s stellar reputation. She ought to write this off. And she would, in a heartbeat.

  Except for the ring.

  “Watch this.” Connor leaned forward in his chair, intent on the screen in the conference room. “That sprinkler-head camera Dev planted caught it all.”

  Cal sat on the edge of the table, his gaze fixed on the monitor.

  Key in hand, their suspect entered the locked storage medication room, holding a bottle of water. The key was no surprise. Picking the lock was possible but too time consuming in a public place, except for experts. Their guy had probably made a wax impression of one of the nurse supervisors’ masters and filed down a blank to match. Or taken a rubbing of the key and done the same thing.

  The man moved to a cabinet. Reached to the back and retrieved what appeared to be an empty water bottle. Filled it one-third full with codeine. Then he watered down the remainder in the original bottle, returned it to its shelf, stashed the now-empty water bottle he’d brought in with him at the back of a shelf, and left the room. The whole procedure took less than four minutes.

  This guy had the routine down.

  Connor hit the remote, and the screen went black. “Time to turn this over to the narc unit, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah.” Cal stood.

  “I’ll coordinate with the director of the center. Make sure it’s handled low key.”

  “That’s why he’s paying us the big bucks. But the sooner the better.” A muscle flexed in Cal’s cheek, and he inclined his head toward the blank screen. “I’d like to see that guy busted ASAP.”

  “Agreed.” Standing, Connor stretched. “You hear from our Pulitzer prize nominee yet?”

  “No. She thought it might be a long day.”

  Connor twisted his wrist to see his watch. “Speaking of long days—it’s 6:00. I’m calling it quits. See you tomorrow.”

  They parted in the hall, Connor stopping only long enough to grab his keys off his desk before heading for the rear door. Cal continued to his office. He ought to go home too. No reason to hang around waiting for Moira’s call. She had his cell number.

  On the other hand, he hadn’t yet plowed through all the stuff Nikki had unearthed on Ken Blaine. Might as well hang around a little longer. There was nothing to entice him home, anyway. No savory smells wafting from the kitchen. No new photos arrayed on the dining room table awaiting his appreciative scan. No laughter or music or stolen kisses.

  No Lindsey.

  As he circled his desk, his throat constricted. Would the empty ache ever go away?

  Before his sudden melancholy could take hold, however, his BlackBerry began to vibrate.

  Moira?

  The familiar number on the LED display confirmed his guess. He pressed the talk button, dispensing with the greeting. “I’ve been expecting your call.”

  “Sorry it’s so late.” She sounded weary—and dejected.

  “Long day?”

  “Very.”

  “Productive?”

  “I guess you could say that. He has an alibi for that Friday night.”

  Not what he’d expected.

  “I know you have great investigative reporting skills, but how did you discreetly manage to introduce that subject?”

  “I didn’t. He brought it up indirectly by mentioning the bruise on my forehead. I told him about the accident, and he countered with a story of his own adventure that night, at a fund-raiser for Opera Theatre. His next-door neighbor talked him into buying a ticket.”

  Meaning there were witnesses to his alibi.

  Still . . . something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d learned long ago to listen to any niggle of doubt, no matter how vague.

  The distinctive high-pitched beep of car power locks opening sounded in the background as Moira continued. “I guess it’s a dead end after all, despite the Claddagh ring.”

  Cal regarded the file Nikki had compiled. “Let’s not give up yet. Where are you?”

  “Just leaving his office at Mercy. He puts in twelve-hour days. And I thought I worked long hours.”

  “Do you have all your notes with you from the interview on Tuesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t we put our heads together and take one more look at everything?”

  A couple of beats of silence ticked by. “Are you sure? There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to go with this, and it’s obviously been a long day for you too.”

  “I don’t have any plans for the evening.”

  When that admission was met with more silence, a sudden thought blindsided him. Maybe she had plans. Maybe there was a boyfriend waiting for her somewhere. A woman like Moira would only lack for male companionship by choice.

  For whatever reason, that notion didn’t sit well with him. But it was a definite possibility. So he tacked on a caveat—and held his breath. “Unless you do.”

  “No.”

  The tautness in his shoulders eased. He didn’t stop to analyze why. “I’m still at the office. We were wrapping up a case. Do you want to swing by here?”

  “Sure. I should be able to get there in fifteen minutes or so. No . . . wait. Make it half an hour, if you don’t mind. I have to run a quick errand first.”

  “No problem. That will give me a chance to go through the rest of the material on Blaine before you arrive. See you then.”

  As he slid the phone back onto his belt, the whisper of a smile tickled the corners of his lips.

  Perhaps the evening ahead wouldn’t be quiet and empty after all.

  Balancing her notes on top of the large supreme pizza box, Moira reached up to ring the bell at the Phoenix front door. It took two tries. The white bag containing the cans of soft drinks and napkins kept getting in the way.

  As she waited for Cal to greet her over the intercom and release the lock, she bit her lip. Maybe he’d already grabbed a quick bite at one of the nearby neighborhood restaurants while he waited for her. She should have let him in on her impromptu dinner idea.

  Oh well. Too late now. Worst case, she’d have leftover pizza for breakfast for the next week. Or two.

  The handle of the door rattled, and she retreated a few inches. He must have co
me to the front to greet her rather than simply press a switch to open the door.

  That earned him another gold star for good manners.

  An instant later he pulled the door wide. As he homed in on the pizza box, the gleam of appreciation—or was that hunger?—in his eyes reassured her she’d made a sound call.

  “I come bearing food. Since you won’t let me pay, the least I can do is feed you.”

  He relieved her of the pizza box and the bag, then ushered her in. “I’d say you shouldn’t have, but I’m starving.”

  “Join the crowd.” She edged past him, close enough to get a whiff of a subtle, rugged, masculine aftershave even the aroma of pepperoni couldn’t disguise.

  Nice.

  She had to fight the temptation to tarry.

  He shut the door behind her and motioned her toward the hall. “We can eat—and talk—in the conference room. I was going to order out for us, but you beat me to it.” He held an access card over a pad beside the door that led to the offices.

  She wrinkled her brow. Why hadn’t she noticed that on her first visit?

  As if reading her mind, he snagged the door and pulled it open for her. “During the day, Nikki controls the release from her desk. There’s a concealed button on the floor.”

  She was treated to another whiff of that appealing scent as she moved past him. “I didn’t realize a PI firm would need such aggressive security measures.”

  “Second door on your right. Not all firms do, but we’ve dealt with some sensitive cases. Plus, all three of us have potentially dangerous enemies from our past law enforcement lives.” He followed her in and set the pizza and bag on the table.

  “That sounds a little scary.”

  He shrugged and looked into the bag. “That’s one of the risks of a law enforcement job. You learn to deal with it.”

  “Have you ever had anyone actually come after you?”

  A muscle in his jaw clenched. “All three of us have our war stories.” He pulled out four aluminum cans and the napkins. “I could have provided the drinks.”

  The answer to her question was yes. But he didn’t want to talk about it.

  Message received.

  “When I bring dinner, I also bring drinks. I didn’t know what you preferred, though, so I brought a selection. No time to pick up dessert, however.”

  “The pizza’s plenty. Thanks for doing this. And any of the drinks is fine with me. Take your pick while I grab a notepad and Blaine’s file from my office.”

  As he disappeared out the door, she opened the lid on the pizza box, selected a diet Sprite, and pulled out her own notes.

  Once he returned, he gestured to the chair at the end of the table and took the one at a right angle to it after she sat.

  “I got a loaded pizza. I figured we could pick off any toppings we didn’t like.” She helped herself to a slice.

  “I like them all.” He chose the lemonade from the remaining cans of beverages, picked up a piece of pizza, and took a large bite.

  “Me too.”

  Cal demolished his first piece without much conversation, but after snagging a second slice and depositing it on his napkin, he pulled his notepad closer. “I know Blaine told you he has an alibi for that Friday night, but before we close this case, let’s take one more careful look at the situation. I do have a question for you first, though. I noticed on the police report of the incident that you mentioned you were distracted for a moment when you reached for your glasses. Any reason you weren’t wearing them?”

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I left them at home, in a different purse. I guess I should have mentioned them in our first meeting. They help me to a small degree with distance vision, especially at night, but they’re not a restriction on my license.”

  “I know. I checked.”

  That didn’t surprise her.

  She glanced around the room, focusing on the corner at the far end of the rectangular table. “There’s a vase of silk flowers on that cabinet. Rather exotic. Orchids, birds of paradise, anthurium. They’re in a tall, clear glass vase with a fluted edge. The front of the vase is etched with a fleur-de-lis design, and there’s Lucite in the bottom to simulate water.”

  One side of his mouth hitched up. “Very convincing.” He picked up his pen. “Okay, why don’t you read through your interview notes from Tuesday while you eat? If you come to anything that reminds you of an impression you had, stop and tell me. No editing. Let’s not decide yet what’s important and what’s not.”

  “Okay.” She popped a stray piece of pepperoni into her mouth and opened her notebook.

  They continued to eat in silence as she perused her notes.

  “Here’s something. During my prep for the interview, I’d read somewhere he was interested in the elderly. But when I asked him about that, he passed over it quickly. All he said was that he visited nursing homes through a program with his church, but not in a professional capacity. I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. The subject seemed to make him uncomfortable.”

  Cal jotted on his tablet but remained silent as she read through the rest of her notes and finally shook her head.

  “There wasn’t anything else that gave me pause. Besides, once I saw the ring, my powers of observation were compromised, to say the least.”

  “All right. What about his office?”

  “It was very sterile. Other than the framed photos of his clinic in Guatemala, there was no personality to the space. Not even a picture of his wife.”

  “Interesting.” Cal took a swig of lemonade and jotted another note on his pad. “Let’s move on to today. Walk me through it and focus on anything that struck you as odd or curious.”

  “I didn’t have all that much personal interaction with him except at lunch. Professionally, I think he’s highly skilled and very respected by his peers and his patients.”

  “Then let’s concentrate on your experience during lunch.”

  She frowned and stared at the blank wall across from her, reconstructing the conversation in her mind. “He took me off guard by bringing up the bruise immediately. It’s faded a lot, so I was surprised he noticed it. We talked a bit about our families too. I got the feeling in the interview Tuesday that he and his father—also a doctor—were close. I could see a lingering sadness in his eyes when he mentioned today that his dad had been dead for many years, and that he died too young. There may have been some hero worship going on there.” She picked up a stray piece of mushroom and added it to the slice of pizza on her napkin. “Not much to go on, is it?”

  “I don’t know.” He wiped off his fingers, wadded up the paper napkin, and tossed it onto the table as he ticked off the notes he’d taken. “Discomfort at your question about his interest in the elderly. No pictures of his wife in his office. Hero worship of a father who died young. Each of those could suggest interesting scenarios. But I’m most intrigued by the fact that not only did he invite you to shadow him, he made it a point during your limited conversation to volunteer an alibi for that Friday night.”

  Moira swallowed the last bite of her third piece of pizza. “You think he could be trying to deflect suspicion?”

  “That’s one theory. If he is your man, he might have wanted to head you off at the pass by impressing you with his professional standing and making certain you knew he could prove his whereabouts on that Friday night.”

  “But if he can prove where he was, he isn’t my man.”

  “‘If’ being the operative word. Maybe he hopes an alibi will discourage you from further investigation.”

  “Well, it’s working.” Moira picked up a napkin and swiped at the beads of condensation on her soda can. “The truth is, after listening to him speak all day, I can’t distinguish between his voice and my Good Samaritan’s anymore.”

  “That could also be part of his strategy.”

  “And I thought I was paranoid.”

  “There’s a difference between paranoia and healthy suspicion.”
/>   “Are we crossing the line here?”

  “You tell me.” He linked his fingers on the table and leaned closer, eyes steady and intent. As if he was looking into, rather than at, her. “Trust your instincts, like you do on a story. What are they telling you to do?”

  Keeping her gaze locked on his, she thought about how she’d felt the first time she’d heard Blaine’s voice, on the news program. About her stunned reaction when she saw his ring during the interview. About the highlights Cal had just distilled. About the terrified woman in her headlights.

  “They tell me to keep digging.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He continued to look at her for another couple of seconds with those intense brown eyes. Finally he leaned back and picked up the file he’d brought in with him.

  Moira released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and wove her fingers together on the table.

  “I had Nikki run some preliminary background for me. Nothing unusual turned up. Now that we’ve talked, though, I’m going to have her dig deeper on a few things while I check out his alibi.”

  Nikki, the punk rocker with the purple hair and seashell necklace, assisted with research?

  “Um, does she do a lot of that kind of thing for you?”

  Cal’s lips twitched. “Don’t let the externals fool you. She’s a whiz with online databases and has a degree in computer forensics. We brought her on board when we opened our doors, and at this point I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  Computer forensics. Iridescent toenail polish.

  Major disconnect.

  “You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

  A flame flickered to life on her cheeks and she fiddled with her can. Was she that easy to read? “A little.”

  “She runs into that a lot, but she’s learned to be amused rather than offended.” His expression sobered. “Nikki’s had a tough life. She ran away from an abusive home at fifteen and became a street kid. But she had ambition. She got her GED and a full-time job, then applied for college. She also managed to get custody of her younger brother after the family finally splintered. He still lives with her. She got married a few weeks ago to a great guy.” He shook his head. “She’s a real tribute to the power of perseverance.”