4 A Dead Mother

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Hmm. Why are people using that ‘oh, nothing’ bit around me these days? I wondered. It had taken work, but I had finally gotten Leslie Windsor to tell me what she had meant by that when she’d tossed it off toward the end of our phone call Tuesday morning. Once we’d had that conversation about Cedric Baumgartner’s relationship with her mother, she confessed that she’d almost said something to me about him. Her desire to preserve her mother’s privacy had kept her from mentioning his name even though he had come to mind immediately as someone Leslie mistrusted.

  “I also wanted to think about it before I implicated the man in my mother’s death without any specific reason to suspect him,” she’d said later as we waited for Peter to arrive. That had made sense to me.

  Frank must be doing something similar, I concluded. Instead of quizzing him further, I gave him an update about the news I’d received from Beverly Windsor’s accountant. He listened carefully, frowning, but not speaking as I shared the latest twist in the growing intrigue surround the woman’s death.

  “Given how brutal and personal the assault was, it’s hard to believe money’s the motive,” Frank asserted.

  “I understand. Still, I trust David Madison when he says something funny’s going on. He was more than a little uneasy about it. I accepted the papers from the courier, but haven’t had a chance to review them carefully yet. After a quick first pass, I’m sure he’s right.”

  “I take it you’ve given this information to Rikki. She mentioned something about an accountant when we arranged to meet over a beer, tonight. I haven’t had time to sit down and get a systematic briefing from her. I know you’ve had the Cat Pack working, too, so I thought this might be the best way to catch up with both of you and make sure we’re all in the loop on everything.”

  “It’s fine with me. I was in town anyway. Meeting at the pub on a Friday evening might seem a little unorthodox to Rikki.”

  “This is a place cops go to hang out and talk shop after work, so that won’t be too unusual for her. It’s later than normal and happy hour is over, but I’ll pick up the tab. To be honest, with the trouble going on around the investigation into Hargreaves’ murder, I preferred to meet when there weren’t likely to be police colleagues in the place.”

  Frank turned a corner and slowed down, scanning the block for a parking spot. When he had parked at the curb, he got out of the car and pointed to a storefront down the street. “The Copper Penny,” he said, smiling. “Get it? Only one of the reasons members of the constabulary like to visit. They have a great selection of beers and decent grub, too.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took off. I followed, doing my best to keep up with his long strides.

  “I get how you’re connected to Beverly Windsor’s case, but you don’t have any more reason than I do to be involved with Jim Harper’s disastrous situation, do you?” I stopped, suddenly, on the sidewalk and scanned Frank’s face wishing I had Bernadette’s superpowers or Kim’s highly-tuned people-reading skills. He turned and stepped toward me. “Not unless you’re in deeper than you’re willing to say with that DEA operation—what did you call it?” I asked.

  Without saying another word, Frank closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me. That not only shut me up quick, but left me breathless. As Frank released me, two guys walked past us and headed on down the block.

  “Who said you could stop?” I pulled him in close again and paid him back for that surprise kiss with one of my own. We continued walking to the Copper Penny, with my knees a tad wobbly, and without saying another word.

  Once we were seated in a booth in a dark, cozy corner of the lively neighborhood bar, a server took our order for a couple of handcrafted beers. Most of the action was around the bar where a group of college students was joking with the bartender and each other. We weren’t that close to the University or the place would have been packed. A steady murmur of chatter and laughter created a fun, relaxed atmosphere.

  “Cops and coeds,” I muttered as two young women came in and sat down at a table near the bar. The level of noise increased for a few minutes as friends greeted each other.

  “Yes. Lots of townies, too, at lunch time,” Frank said as our server returned with a small bowl of bar mix with nuts, pretzels, and other salty, crunchy ingredients. Two glasses of water, too.

  “Beer’s coming right up,” she said as she dashed off again.

  “Thanks,” Frank and I said almost in unison. As soon as she left, I asked the question that had been pounding away in my head since that close encounter with Frank on the street. “Are you going to tell me what that sudden bout of passion was about out there on the street? Who were those two guys who walked by?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Two nobodies,” I corrected him.

  “At least I’m fairly certain they were nobodies. I wasn’t taking any chances on letting you mention the DEA or any operation that’s underway to passing strangers, regardless of my involvement. So, I took matters into my own hands,” he grinned at me. His dark eyes couldn’t completely hide the concern behind his smile.

  “Aw, and I thought it was my irresistible allure.”

  “You’re plenty irresistible. Don’t go there, though, unless you’re truly ready to talk about what we can do about it.” A shiver of pleasure slid right down my spine as he smiled again. A crooked lopsided grin that bordered on irresistible for me. Part of me was more than ready to give in and do more than just talk about it. I reached out across our table and ran my fingers through the dark curls of hair that touched the top of his ear. I pushed his hair back a little, traced the outline of his ear with my fingers, and then ran my hand down his cheek feeling great affection for this troublesome man.

  “I should have had our stylist give you a trim today.” Frank grabbed my hand and clutched it in both of his.

  “You’re trying to hurt me now, aren’t you? That kiss was meant to protect you—save you from yourself. You can’t go around talking about that operation I mentioned,” he said, lowering his voice to a husky whisper.

  “You told me to keep it between the two of us. That’s what I was doing.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it.

  “I should have been clearer,” he said, lifting my hand and kissing it lightly. “It’s not a good idea to mention the operation at all right now—not by name anyway. In fact, not at all unless we’re alone and safe,” A darkness stole over him such abruptness and intensity that it scared me.

  “Oh, no. You have gotten in deeper, haven’t you?” I yanked my hand away.

  “Not intentionally. It’s just that the situation has become more complicated. That’s all.” Frank quit speaking, glanced around us, before speaking barely above a whisper. “Hargreaves wasn’t the only person at that party who’s a person of interest in the ongoing DEA investigation. This one happens to be a cop. Not here in the Sheriff’s Department, but nearby. I know the guy, so I’m just doing what I can to help figure out what he was doing at that party. That’s it, but it does make it more important that we stay out of the way while the investigators work Jim’s case and keep quiet about the fact the other police matter even exists.” He shrugged and sighed before speaking again.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you except that you have a habit of stumbling into crimes in progress, don’t you?” I don’t know if he was trying to underscore his point, but his eyes wandered to my arm. Then his eyes widened.

  “Surprise, nothing up my sleeve,” I said, sliding my sleeve up, exposing the arm that had worn the cast. “No more broken bones.”

  “Let’s try to keep it that way. Even if I have to resort to underhanded tactics like making out with you on the street.”

  “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it, I guess. I can’t believe a sharp-eyed detective like you didn’t spot the fact that my cast was gone.”

  “You had that bulky sweater on
most of the time. It’s like you were freezing in our seventy-degree weather with all Frankie’s friends running around in bathing suits!”

  I was about to respond, but our server arrived with two frosty glasses of beer. Once we were alone again, I did as Frank had done earlier and made sure no one was nearby, then leaned in, and lowered my voice.

  “The idea that a cop was at that party may not be as big a secret as you believe. Bernadette got it from a friend who claimed to have heard from Jim’s nanny that a cop was there. The nanny apparently witnessed more that went on that day than she’s been willing to share, largely because she says that guy wasn’t a cop but ‘un mal policia,’ according to Bernadette.”

  “Good grief! You see what I mean? A Cat Pack member goes poking around and there you are—on the verge of walking into an undercover operation. This has nothing to do with Beverly Windsor’s death. I thought you said you were staying clear of Jim’s case.” He leaned across the table and spoke almost whispering once again.

  “I am,” I said, holding up both hands. “Unlike you, I’ve got nothing to hide about dirty cops. Bernadette was just curious.”

  “I’ve already told you, several times, what curiosity can do to cats.”

  “Yeah, I know. Do you want me to tell you what she learned or should I just pass it along to Paul and let him run with it? My plan was to run this by you first, and then take it to Paul. Now that you’ve brought up the tie-in to the Fre…, uh, that other matter, maybe you’ll have a different suggestion.” I dropped my voice to a whisper, too.

  “Let me hear what Bernadette had to say,” Frank said, picking up his beer and swigging it.

  “The nanny told Bernadette’s friend that this mal policia had been coming to Jim’s place for months—sometimes with Hargreaves and sometimes alone.”

  “Not when Jim was around, I take it.”

  “Correct, as I understand it,” I replied.

  “Did the nanny give her friend a name or say why he was there?”

  “Cassie called him JJ and he was mostly partying from what the nanny told her friend. On occasion, making too much noise and waking the baby. One time, before she knew the guy was a cop, she confronted them and tried to get them all to leave. ‘Take the party somewhere else,’ the nanny said. At that point, she realized Cassie was passed out, so whatever party favors Marty Hargreaves and his cop friend brought with them must have been potent. Or maybe it was the combination of the drugs and swigging the good scotch Jim likes to keep around the house. There was a nearly empty bottle in the room when the nanny tried to break up the party.”

  “So, if Cassie was out of it, who was making all the noise?”

  “Hargreaves and his buddy, who the nanny claims were arguing. They had the music turned up loud, too, so she couldn’t hear what the disagreement was about.” I shrugged wishing I had more specific information than that for him. “This is third-hand information. I’m sure we’re missing important details or getting them wrong. Anyway, when the nanny told them to pipe down, the guy flashed his badge at her and told her she’s the one who needed to shut the blankety-blank up.”

  “Okay, that sounds about right, given who this guy is—or thinks he is—a real maleante as Bernadette would say. I don’t know why Cassie calls him JJ, but the DEA team must know, since this sounds like the same cop they’ve been tracking. I’m not sure why you have to tell any of this to Paul. How is it relevant to Jim’s situation? Cassie was cheating on him with two guys, not one. He can’t possibly have missed the fact that the woman he married was on drugs or booze or both.”

  “Here’s the deal. The nanny says JJ turned up at the party the day Hargreaves was assaulted. She also says he and Hargreaves were having a heated discussion earlier in the day before that fight broke out between Cassie, Marty, and Jim.”

  “What were they arguing about then?”

  “She’s not sure since she walked in at the end. At that point, the cop grabbed Hargreaves by the front of his shirt and got so close their noses were almost touching. When Marty Hargreaves realized she was watching them from the stairs, he nudged the guy, and then pushed him away like they were just kidding. The cop relented, but Bernadette says the nanny didn’t believe they were just fooling around.”

  “So, where was the mal policia when the fight started, or later when the authorities arrived?”

  “According to the nanny, she hid with the baby upstairs once the fight started. When it suddenly got quiet, she came down the stairs, saw the cop bent over Hargreaves, fishing through the guy’s pockets—wearing gloves. When there was a knock on the front door, the cop stuffed something inside his jacket and took off. Since I don’t know his identity, I can’t tell you if anyone noted his presence or not in the police report—there’s no ‘JJ’ in it, according to Jerry. I’m also sure he wasn’t on a guest list,” I said in a whisper. I had leaned in across the table, so close that Frank’s lips were nearly in kissing range. Distracting. He leaned back a little, thank goodness.

  “This is the kind of situation I dreaded most.” Frank leaned in close again. “I don’t see any way around telling Paul what you found out. If he can get the nanny to talk, it puts another suspect at the scene who could have had a motive to kill Marty Hargreaves—that’s reasonable doubt for Jim. If Paul’s team can find tangible evidence he was in the house when the nanny says he was, then the cop gets hauled in for questioning, too.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what Jerry said.”

  “Jerry? Don’t tell me the entire Cat Pack’s in on this?”

  “Yes. I told them I’d take care of it, though. If that cop left fingerprints or DNA, the CSIs are bound to pick that up and ‘out him,’ aren’t they? The DEA guys who have been watching him must already know if it’s the same cop or not, and whether he was at Jim’s house that day,” I said.

  “Yes, but if they go to Paul about it, that means they risk the entire operation by revealing they had this guy under surveillance. So far this is just hearsay from the nanny to Bernadette’s friend and then to Bernadette. If Paul brings her in for questioning without revealing that her testimony has anything to do with an officer of the law, maybe that’ll be enough to keep this under wraps for a while longer. I’m not clear how close the DEA is to making a move on the cartel members at the center of their investigation. It’s also possible that the folks who have been tailing this bad cop can get more out of him if they have more leverage. An eyewitness, who places him at the scene of Hargreaves’ murder not long after she saw the two of them quarreling, could be useful to the DEA. Give me until Monday to check this out through back channels, okay? In the meantime, tell Bernadette to back off. Mal policia is an understatement. No more talk about this for now.”

  My stomach revolted, as usual, at the realization that one of us had stumbled upon a snake in the grass. The warning to back off rankled while I recognized that Frank’s advice was dead on. It didn’t escape my memory that I’d plunged into a version of the same call to caution almost immediately after hearing Bernadette’s story.

  “I must be spending too much time with police detectives, since I already begged Bernadette to keep this quiet and not ask any more questions about Marty Hargreaves or what went on at that party.” Frank reached out and covered my hand in approval or reassurance. Before he could speak, a visitor arrived at our table.

  “Hey, you two. Am I interrupting something?” Frank and I both jumped. “Sorry! You want me to go sit at the bar and give you a minute?” She had a grin on her face.

  “No, have a seat,” Frank said.

  “Nice of you to give up your Friday evening,” I added. “As you can tell by our reaction, we’ve already started our conversation about bad guys without you.”

  “No problem on both counts. I’m new enough to the area that I haven’t met anyone I want do date yet. It sounds like Beverly Windsor was getting more action than I’ve had in months. Apparently, that General Contractor of hers too. What a piece of work! We’ve looked at the videos
from the nanny-cams in Beverly Windsor’s house. Her hunch that he and blondie were using the place for a little afternoon delight was right. I’m sure you know all about what’s on those cameras already, don’t you?” I didn’t affirm or deny her assertion, merely shifted the focus.

  “I haven’t shared that story with Frank yet, have you?” I asked as Rikki sat down at the table.

  “No, but it’s a doozy—more bizarre even than you know, Jessica. The big news I have for you first, though, is that David Madison appears to have beat it out of town. He’s nowhere to be found.” A server rushed over to take Rikki’s order. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths as Frank’s fingers drummed the table in anticipation.

  27 Lost and Found

  “What do you mean—nowhere to be found?” I asked the moment our server was out of earshot.

  “He’s gone, and no one seems to know where. When I called to set up an interview, Madison’s administrative assistant was obviously annoyed with him. He had ditched an important meeting at his accounting firm and missed a couple of appointments. When I asked if he’d done anything like that before, she said no. Then she got testy with me wondering who I was and why that was any of my business. I’m pretty sure she was about to hang up when I gave her my name as Detective Havens and said Mr. Madison should call me right away if he turned up. Her tone changed from irritation to worry. We do have a way with people, don’t we, Detective Fontana?” Rikki was smiling as she said that, but I could tell it bothered her. Frank nodded, but he was deep in thought.

  “Was she worried because a police officer was looking for him or did it dawn on her that he might be missing because he was in trouble?” Frank asked as though wondering about that out loud.

  “I don’t know. She quit asking questions and didn’t ask why I wanted him to call me.”

  “Did she promise to have David Madison do that—call you?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. She also gave me his local address, cell phone number, and a ‘home address’ in San Bernardino. Apparently, he spends most of his time in the desert during ‘the season’ when his clients are around, but heads ‘home’ when the snowbirds leave town in May and business at the firm drops off.”