Books 9-12

The Last Song

Ghost

Hidden Agenda

Aces and Eights

David Archer

www.davidarcherbooks.com

Sam Prichard Boxed Set: Books 9 - 12

Copyright © 2017 by David Archer.

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BOOK 9

THE LAST SONG

1

“Hey, Sexy,” Indie said with a sultry voice. “I got the coffee on, and breakfast is cooking. Time to get your lazy butt out of bed.”

Sam rolled over and looked up at his wife, amazed, just as he was every morning, at how beautiful she was. “Or you could climb back in,” he said. “Breakfast could wait.”

Indie leaned over and kissed him, then grabbed his hand and pulled. “Too late for that. Kenzie is already up, and you don't know how to be quiet.”

“Me? I'm not the one who makes noise, that's you.”

“Yes, but it's your fault. Now get your butt out of that bed, Mister, and come join your family. It's almost nine o'clock, and you got rehearsals at one. Big show tonight, remember?”

She let go of his hand and turned to walk out of the room. Sam threw off the covers and let his feet land on the floor, ran a hand over his face, and got up to walk into the bathroom. He figured he didn't have enough time for a shower and shave, so he splashed some water on his face and headed for the kitchen, still in his pajamas.

“Daddy!” Kenzie yelled. “Mommy's making pancakes!”

“Pancakes,” Sam repeated. “Pancakes are one of my favorite ways to have breakfast!”

Kenzie nodded, with a huge smile on her face. “Mine, too,” she said. “Especially with syrup!”

Sam took his seat at the table and Indie set a cup of coffee in front of him. He winked at her as he picked it up, and she grinned. “Start on that,” she said. “Pancakes will be ready in a moment.”

True to her word, Indie put a platter of pancakes on the table only a couple of minutes later, and Sam slid one onto Kenzie's plate. “Butter?” Kenzie nodded, and Sam dropped a big glob of it right in the center of the hot pancake. It began melting instantly, and that process only sped up when he added the syrup that Indie had warmed in a pan of water.

He forked three of the pancakes onto his own plate, then smeared butter all over them and poured on enough syrup to cover them all. Indie was making her own plate, but took the time to smile at him.

“You use so much syrup, it's a wonder you're not diabetic by now,” she said.

“I like it that way,” he said. “I figured out a long time ago, pancakes are actually a species of fish. You have to give them enough syrup to let them swim around for a minute before you start eating them, that's what makes them happy. The happier they are, the better the taste.”

Her face sober, Indie glanced at his plate and then back up to his eyes. “Those must be some pretty happy pancakes, then.”

Sam cut off a piece with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. “Oh, indeed they are,” he said.

“Daddy, I can't wait to go see my grandmas today,” Kenzie said. “Grandma Grace says they're taking me to the park, and then we're going to go shopping for new clothes. I'm outgrowing my old clothes, and I need new ones for school.”

Sam nodded, looking at the beautiful little girl that he thought of as his own. Indie had been a single mother when they met, trying to survive by her wits as she raised her daughter, but life had not been good to her. The two of them were living in a car when she answered an ad for someone with computer hacking ability and met Sam. It hadn't taken him long to figure out the situation, and he had offered her the use of the spare bedrooms on the upper floor of his house.

At first, Indie thought he was making the offer in the hope of getting some “special favors” in return, but Sam had quickly disabused her of that idea. A medically retired cop with a bad leg, he had been left with a four-bedroom home when his ex-wife divorced him for working too many long hours and leaving her alone all the time.

His offer was only intended to be for a short time, to give Indie a chance to find a real job and get back on her feet, but the two of them quickly found themselves attracted to each other. Indie, just to express gratitude for the break, volunteered to cook and clean house while she was there, and Sam realized that he enjoyed watching her, and having her and Kenzie around just seemed to make life better. They had fallen for each other within only a couple of weeks, and had been together ever since.

More than a year had passed since then. They had celebrated their first anniversary a few weeks earlier, and it was almost time for Kenzie, who was five, to start kindergarten. She had obviously inherited her mother's intelligence, because she had breezed through preschool like it was nothing, and was already reading and writing at what Sam figured must be at least second-grade level. There was no doubt in his mind that she was going to impress her kindergarten teacher.

“Well, you tell Grandma Grace that your mom and dad want to buy you some new clothes, too, so she can't go too crazy today.” He stuffed another forkful of pancakes into his mouth, then swallowed before he spoke again. “I think it's probably time for some new shoes, too, don't you, Mommy?”

Indie nodded, her own mouth full. She swallowed, then said, “I do, but that's normal for Kenzie. Her feet are growing so fast that I wonder if we'll be able to keep shoes on them.”

“I got shoes,” Kenzie said. “I got lots of shoes.”

“Yes, you do, but most of them are too small. We need to take those and give them to Sarah Mitchell,” Indie said, referring to one of the twins down the street who were Kenzie's favorite playmates. “Her feet don't grow as fast as yours, they might last her a little while.”

Kenzie smiled. “Her mommy and daddy will like that,” she said.

They talked a bit more as they finished their breakfast, and then Sam went to take his postponed shower. They had to drive Kenzie over to his mother's place, and Sam always felt a bit of trepidation when they had to go there. Indie's mother lived there as well, and while he liked his mother-in-law, she made him a little bit nervous.

He shaved in the shower to save a few minutes, dried himself off and got dressed for the day. His band, Step Back Once, had a rehearsal scheduled for that afternoon. They were opening for Grammy-winning country singer Travis Bittner's concert at the Performing Arts Center that night, and all of them wanted to make sure they were at their best.

Indie had taken Kenzie up to her room and gotten her dressed, as well as packed for the overnight trip. Since the band would be playing late, Kenzie would be spending the night with her grandmothers. The little girl was excited about visiting then again, and not only because they tended to take her shopping a lot. The two women loved Kenzie so much that they thought nothing of getting down on the floor and playing with her, or letting her choose what they would have for lunch. Sam often thought that his own mother enjoyed throwing off her daily professional persona and becoming a little girl again, even if only for a little while.

“Okay, everybody buckled up?” Sam asked as they got into their car. Sam thought of the Honda Ridgeline as a truck, but to Indie and Kenzie, it was just the family car.

“I'm buckled,” Kenzie said, and her mother followed a moment later with, “Me, too!”

Sam backed out of the driveway and turned toward the main road that ran through their part of Denver. It was normally about a thirty-minute drive to his mother's house, but since it was a Saturday morning there wasn't a whole lot of traffic.

“Maybe it's a good omen,” Sam said. “Seems like we're hitting all the lights on the green.”

“I think it's got more to do with the fact that there isn't a lot of cross traffic trying to get through,” Indie replied. “Most people know that nine o'clock on a Saturday morning is a good time to be sleeping in and taking it easy. Not us, though, we've got to be up moving around already.”

“I don't want to sleep in,” Kenzie said from the backseat. “I want to go shopping!”

Sam and Indie laughed, and a few minutes later they pulled up in front of Grace's house. They hadn't even gotten out of the car when the front door flew open and the two grandmothers came running out.

“There's a Kenzie!” Kim yelled, as she half ran across the yard. Sam lifted Kenzie down from the back seat and set her on the ground, but her feet only got to stay there for a moment. Kim snatched her up and spun her around, and Grace was already waiting to snatch the child away. The two of them playfully pretended to play tug-of-war with her, and Kenzie laughed with delight.

They followed their mothers into the house and Sam declined a cup of coffee when it was offered. “I'm good,” he said. “We just wanted to come in and tell you don't spoil the child too much, today. We'll probably sleep in tomorrow morning, so how about if we all meet up for dinner tomorrow night, and we can pick her up then?”

They agreed on a restaurant, which naturally turned out to be one of Kenzie's favorites, and then Sam and Indie got hugs and said goodbyes. While it was still too early for the rehearsal to begin, Sam had promised to get with Chris Lancaster early, to share his latest song. Chris was the lead guitarist for the band, and while Sam could write lyrics and compose a melody, Chris could do things with that melody that seemed to elevate the song to a whole new level.

From Grace's house, the drive to Chris's place in Arvada took nearly 40 minutes, but once again the traffic was light. They pulled up in front of the small bungalow and parked on the street, and Chris had the door open by the time they got to it.

“Hey, Sam,” he said, holding out a hand to shake. Chris slid an arm around Indie's shoulders as Sam shook it, then turned and let them inside. It was a neat little house, which was probably attributable to the presence of Chris's girlfriend, Candy.

Candy, who was also the band's bass player, was in the kitchen pouring coffee for Sam and Indie, and both of them did a double take when they saw her. Candy had been a blonde—most of the time, anyway—for as long as they had known her, but her shoulder-length hair was suddenly looking like a dish of Neapolitan ice cream, with brown on top, platinum blonde in the middle and strawberry pink at the bottom. She set the cups on the table, then threw her arms around both of them. “Hey, guys,” she said. “Are you ready for this? Travis Bittner, oh my gosh, I can't believe we're opening for Travis Bittner!”

“Babe, chill,” Chris said. “The only thing Travis Bittner has that we don't is a couple of Grammy awards. Other than that, he slides one leg in his jeans at a time, just like me.”

Candy gave him a look that suggested he might be an idiot. “He's also got a major label, a tour bus and several million dollars that seem to have eluded us, so far, not to mention the fact that he's the most popular country star on the charts right now. Forgive me if I get a little excited about getting to meet him!”

The playful argument went on for a few more moments, while the four of them sat at the kitchen table. When it finally ran down, Chris reached over to where a guitar was leaning against the wall and handed it to Sam. “Okay, so let's hear this new lick.”

Sam took the guitar and fiddled with its tuning for a moment, then began playing, a quick but simple box pick. He played a short opener, and then began to sing. (click here to listen)

I've waited for so long, our good days have come and gone,

We can't keep living life this way,

I was too stoned to see, that your words would never fail me,

But here we are in this place again,

I've been missing out on this thing that we call life,

I finally figured out just what I left behi-i-ind,

How do I get back there, to the place I was before?

How do I get back there, where every door was an open door?

How do I get back there, where dreams can come true?

How do I get back there, where it was only me and you?

A word that I didn't own to, all of the pain I caused you,

I wish I could wipe your tears away,

I love, and I hurt, and I feel, and I still,

Want you to take me away,

I've been missing out on this thing that we call life,

I finally figured out just what I left behi-i-ind,

How do I get back there, to the place I was before?

How do I get back there, where every door was an open door?

How do I get back there, where dreams can come true?

How do I get back there, where it was only me and you?

I've been missing out on this thing that we call life,

I finally figured out just what I left behi-i-i-i-innnd,

I've been missing out on this thing that we call life,

I finally figured out just what I left behi-i-ind,

How do I get back there, to the place I was before?

How do I get back there, where every door was an open door?

How do I get back there, where dreams can come true?

How do I get back there, where it was only me,

It was only me, it was only me, it was only me and you?

It was only me and you…

Hey, hey,

Oh, oh,

It was only me and you…

When Sam finished, Chris and Candy both had glazed eyes, just staring at him. “Have you guys been fighting or something?” Chris asked.

Indie burst out laughing. “No, of course not,” she said.

“No, not a bit,” Sam agreed. “That song actually came from a comment I made a couple weeks ago, about how life seems a little dull, lately. Don't get me wrong, I love what we're doing, with the band and all, but—sometimes I just miss all the adventures, y'know?”

“I don't miss you getting yourself shot,” Indie said, “or getting dragged off into some mess that could get you killed!”

Sam gave her a sideways grin. “Yeah, I don't miss those parts that much, either. I think I'm getting old, maybe I'm just reminiscing about my old glory days. Anyway, I had said something about how do I get back there, and that sounded like a hook line, so I wrote a song about it. That simple.”

“It's a good song, too,” Chris said. “I think just about everybody has something in the past that they wish they could get back to, so people will identify with it.” He picked up a second guitar that was lying there. “Play that opener, again, I think I got an idea for it.”

2

The lights in the auditorium suddenly dimmed, and the audience began to cheer. While the stage was still dark, they could hear the sounds of the band taking their positions, and knew that the opening act was about to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came an announcer's voice over the speakers, “please welcome tonight's opening act, Step Back Once!”

The crowd went wild, because Step Back Once was extremely well known throughout the Denver area. Some of their songs were even played on local radio stations, and every music store within two hundred miles was carrying their CDs. Drums began to sound, and suddenly a guitar reverberated through the place, and then the lights over the stage came on.

Sam Prichard, the former cop and private eye who was now a musical sensation in Denver, was standing at the microphone, and he was halfway through his first song before the applause and the roar died down. As the opening act, it was just a five-song set, so they opened with one of their biggest hits, “I Got Married In The Elvis Room Last Night”. It was one of the most popular songs in the entire region, which contributed to the uproar of the crowd.

The next three they did were equally popular, and got them a rousing round of applause and cheers for each one, but then the crowd heard an unfamiliar strain begin, and a moment later, Sam began singing.

“How Do I Get Back There” was an instant hit, and got them a standing ovation from the crowd, which was screaming for one more song. The set was over, and they were taking their instruments and ready to move into the wings when the crowd started screaming even louder.

Travis Bittner walked onto the stage, right up to where Sam was just leaving the microphone. He held up a hand to tell Sam to stop, then stepped up to the mic himself.

“Damn,” he said, “these guys are pretty good, aren't they?”

The crowd got so loud that the entire building seemed to vibrate, and Bittner held up his hands to ask them to calm down. When the sound began to die away, he smiled and said, “Y'all want to hear one more song before they leave the stage?”

The response was overwhelming, and Bittner turned to Sam. “Buddy, I think you better sing another one,” he said, still leaning into the microphone so that the crowd could hear him. “These folks just might get upset if you don't, and then they might not like me at all!” He looked back at the crowd. “Come on, y'all, tell 'em you want another song!”

There was no denying that he was right, not with the crowd screaming the way they were, so Bittner reached out and took hold of Sam's arm, pulling him back up to the microphone. He patted Sam on the shoulder, then stepped aside and began applauding. Sam looked around behind himself and saw that the band were all back in position, so he nodded. He called out, “Everything I Need”, but Bittner held up a hand.

He leaned close to the microphone, looking at Sam. “I heard this one on the radio today, and sent somebody out to get me a copy. You guys mind if I join in?”

The crowd went crazy again, and Bittner waved a hand to someone offstage. A young man came running to him, carrying his own guitar, and he threw the strap over his neck and stepped up beside Sam.

It hadn’t been rehearsed, but it couldn't have gone better. Sam sang through the first verse and Bittner joined in on the chorus, but when the second verse began, Sam stepped back. Bittner took the cue, and obviously he really did know the song, because he took the microphone and sang the second verse perfectly. Sam joined in on the chorus, and then the two of them did the reprise together.

Sam didn't know if the crowd could actually hear the song or not, because they never stopped roaring the whole time, but they seemed to love the impromptu duet. As the final strains died away, Bittner leaned over and said, “I was planning to catch you backstage, because I'd love to record that song. We'll talk later. Don't go away after the show, okay?”

All Sam could do was nod, and then he and the band headed for the wings. Bittner's own band came running out onto the stage, and suddenly they heard the opening licks of his one of his own hits, “A Place In Your Heart”.

Bittner's show, of course, was a big hit. Sam and Indie got to watch it from the wings, along with the rest of the band, and they were having a fantastic time. During Bittner's break, he found Sam and the others, and they put together a quick handshake deal for him to record “Everything I Need”.

“Okay, you let me join in on your song,” he said, just before his break was over. “How about you join in with me on my closer? I'm ending the show with my new release, do you know it?”

Sam's eyes went wide. Bittner's latest song was “The Road I Didn't Follow”, Sam's and Indie's new favorite of all his music. “Yes, sir, I sure do,” Sam said.

“Good deal,” Bittner said. “When I start talking about doing our last song, you just come on out, and I'll introduce you again. Sam Prichard, right?”

Sam nodded, and Bittner hurried back out to the stage. Indie was jumping up and down with excitement, hugging Sam and kissing him, while the band gathered around with their own exclamations of delight and support.

When Bittner said it was time for his final song, Sam did as he was told and walked out onto the stage. The country star glanced over at him, and said, “Hey, this feller was good enough to let me sing along with him a while ago, so I thought it might be nice if he came out and joined in with me, y'all okay with that?”

Sam felt a rush of pride as the crowd roared their approval. Bittner leaned back from the mic and said, “Okay, just like yours, I'll do the first verse, you do the second verse and we'll duet on the last verse and the choruses, okay?”

Sam nodded, and from the standing ovation they got when it was over, he figured he must not have messed it up too badly.

When it was all finished, Bittner invited Sam and the band to join him for a very late dinner, “or a very early breakfast, however you want to look at it,” and they happily agreed. There was a restaurant not far away, and they ended up staying until almost four in the morning, just talking and enjoying the company. Bittner set all of their heads to spinning when he said he was taking copies of their latest CD back to his label, in the hope that Step Back Once might get a shot at the big time.

Sam and Indie finally got home at just before five, and fell into bed. Sam wrapped his arm around his wife and held her close, and the two of them were sleeping peacefully within minutes.

Sam was dreaming, and in the dream he was sitting in his living room with Indie by his side. Suddenly, there was pounding on the door, and he leaped to his feet, a gun magically appearing in his hand. As he went toward the door, it suddenly burst open and Grayson Chandler was standing there. Chandler had been the most evil man Sam had ever known, literally trying to bring about the end of the world, and Sam honestly believed that it was only a miracle that he had been stopped. The sight of him coming through Sam's own front door was such a shock that it snapped him awake. He woke to find himself sitting up in his bed, gasping for breath, trying to get the pounding of the door out of his head.

It wouldn't stop, and suddenly Sam realized that it wasn't part of the dream. Someone was actually pounding on his front door, and he could hear his name being called. Indie had also awakened, and was just sitting up beside him as he slid out of bed and pulled his pants on again.

“Sam?” Indie asked, but he shrugged as he walked out of the bedroom. Early in the morning like this, his bad hip always gave him problems, so he was limping.

As he got to the living room, it dawned on him that the voice calling his name was coming from Chris, so he opened the door. Chris pushed past him into the living room and dropped onto Sam's couch.

“Good morning,” Sam said ironically, but Chris was rocking back and forth and shaking his head.

“Sam, I need your help,” Chris said. “It's Candy, she just called me.”

Sam shook his head to try to clear it. “Candy? What's the matter, Chris, what's going on?”

“Candy just called me, she's been arrested for murder! She got up early this morning and went to see her son, Charlie, and I guess she and her ex got into an argument. She says she got pissed off and walked out, but she went back a little while later to try to talk to him again, and the cops were there. Carlos, that's her ex, he's dead—and I guess little Charlie said she's the one that killed him! They arrested her, they say she's going to be charged with murder!”

Indie had come into the room, dressed in the same clothes she had worn the night before. Sam glanced at her, and her eyes were wide. He turned back to Chris.

“Okay, you said she called you. What did she tell you? Did she do it?”

Chris was shaking his head, still rocking back and forth. “No! No, she said he was fine when she left, and she was gone about forty-five minutes. She said she went and got some coffee, and was trying to just calm herself down, then was going back to try to talk to him again. All she wanted was to take Charlie on a trip with us, we're going out to see her folks in California in two weeks. She wanted to take Charlie along to see his grandparents, but Carlos has custody and he just never lets her take him anywhere. Anyway, she said when she got back, there were cops all over the place and they said Carlos had been stabbed with a butcher knife, like ten times or something like that, and they said Charlie told them that she did it. She swears up and down she didn't do any such thing, and I don't know what to think, Sam. Dude, we need your help.”

Indie caught Sam's eye. “I'm gonna make coffee,” she said, and he nodded at her.

“Okay, give me a minute to think,” Sam said. “I'm not even awake yet, just give me a minute.” He walked down the hall to the bedroom, and came back a moment later with his cell phone in his hand, then sat down in his recliner. “Do you have any idea who's handling the case?”

Chris shook his head. “I don't know her name, Candy said it's some lady detective.”

Sam nodded. “That'd be Karen Parks,” he said. He dialed a number from memory and asked for Detective Parks. A moment later, she came on the line.

“I had a feeling I'd be hearing from you,” she said as she picked up the phone. “I've got your bass player in my jail, on murder one.”

“Yeah, so I heard,” Sam said. “Trouble is, I'm hearing that she says she didn't do it.”

“And your point is? Sam, they always say they didn't do it. In this case, though, she might as well just give it up, because her own kid says she did.”

“He saw his mother stab his father? Actually saw it?” Sam asked.

“Heard it,” Karen said. “When she showed up this morning, Daddy sent the kid to his room, but he could hear them fighting. The kid said it got quiet for a few minutes, but then they were fighting again and he heard his daddy screaming. Everything got quiet, so he came out and found his father lying on the kitchen floor in a big pool of blood. There was a butcher knife sticking out of him, a big one, and he'd been stabbed repeatedly. Mama was gone, so the kid called 911, and the mother showed up again about ten minutes after the squads got there. I got called in, and went down to do the preliminary. It's a real mess, Sam, and that poor kid is going to need therapy for years.”

“What about physical evidence?” Sam asked. “You got anything tangible to tie her to this killing?”

“CSI is working on it now,” Karen said. “There are some bloodied fingerprints on the knife, but they were too blurred for me to tell if they might be hers or not. Looked about the right size, though. Then there's the fact that there's skin under the vic's fingernails, and she's got three long scratches on her arm that match. She says it happened when he grabbed hold of her as she was leaving, but it looks to me like the kind of thing that happens when you're fighting for your life.” He heard her sigh. “Sam, I think she did it, but I know you. You've always been loyal to your friends, so you're going to do everything you can to prove she didn't, and we both know it. I'll break the rules for you and let you look through the file, but it'll be sometime tomorrow before I get the CSI report. How about you come by after lunch tomorrow?”

Sam nodded into the phone. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “I'll be there around one.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Chris. “That's Karen Parks, in homicide. We're old friends, and she's willing to let me look through the file they're building on Candy, but it'll be tomorrow afternoon. I'll go down and see Candy at the jail in the morning, but there really just isn't a whole lot I can hope to do, today.” He ran a hand over his face. “Chris, has there been a lot of bad blood between Candy and her ex? Is it possible he might have driven her to the point she would actually do this?”

Chris made a face and rolled his eyes. “Geez, Sam, no way,” he said. “Candy doesn't have any violence in her. She and I get into screaming matches all the time, and she's never even slapped me, not even when I deserved it. There's no way in the world I could believe she would kill somebody, no matter how mad she was.”

Sam looked him in the eye for a moment. “Karen says Candy's little boy says he heard it, that he heard them fighting when his father was killed. How are things between her and the kid? Do they get along okay?”

Chris shrugged, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they get along great! She gets him every other weekend, and he comes over to our place, you know that. He's a great kid, I think the world of him. I can't understand why he would say something like this, I really can't.”

Sam sat there for a few moments longer, then took Chris's arm and led him into the kitchen. They sat down at the table while the coffee finished brewing, and Indie asked if they wanted some breakfast. Chris shook his head, but Sam smiled.

“Yeah, Babe, I think that would be good. Something light, maybe.”

Indie nodded, and a moment later she was breaking eggs into a bowl and adding shredded cheese. Sam got up and got coffee for himself and Chris, then poured a cup for Indie, added sugar and set it on the counter beside where she was cooking. He sat down beside Chris again and looked at his friend.

“Chris, I know Karen pretty well. She wouldn't sound so confident if she wasn't pretty certain of her case, but that doesn't mean she couldn't be wrong. I'm going to do everything I can. If Candy is innocent, I'll find proof of it, but you need to understand that if she's not, there's nothing I can do.”

Chris stared into his coffee cup for a moment, then turned around and looked at Sam. “You've got to believe me,” he said. “I've been with Candy for over a year now, I know her. She doesn't have a mean streak in her anywhere, I swear she doesn't. There's no way she would ever seriously hurt anyone. Remember, I told you, she said she walked away and left the house? That's exactly what she does when she gets angry, she turns around and walks away. It drove me nuts, the first few times she did it to me, but then I figured out that if I let her go and get over it, the problem didn't last. We got over it and moved on.”

Sam smiled at him. “Then all I gotta do is figure out who really killed the guy,” he said.

3

As Sam had said, there was essentially nothing that could be done on a Sunday, so he went to the jail to visit Candy the next morning. Visiting hours started at 10 AM, and because of his license as a private investigator, Sam was allowed to speak with her in an interview room, rather than from behind a sheet of glass. He put his gun into a locker and the jailer buzzed him in.

“Thanks for coming, Sam,” Candy said as she was escorted into the interview room. It was obvious that she'd been crying, and Sam gave her a hug before they sat down across from each other at the table.

“Candy, this is a mess,” Sam said. “I talked to the homicide detective on the case yesterday, and she seems pretty sure she's got a case. According to her, your own son says you did it. What can you tell me that might help me prove your innocence?”

“Sam, I don't know what to say. I went to see Carlos yesterday morning, to try to talk him into letting me and Chris take Charlie on vacation, and he just went ballistic on me. He started screaming about me being unreliable, insisting I was using drugs. Sam, I haven't used any kind of drugs in years, I don't even like to take aspirin. Carlos has always been like this, he's always trying to keep Charlie away from me, but my folks haven't seen Charlie in over five years, now. All I wanted to do was take him on vacation to visit my family.”

“Yeah, Chris told me that. So, you and Carlos got into a fight about it? Give me the details.”

“It was pretty stupid,” Candy said. “I got there, and Carlos opened the door and let me come inside, even gave me a cup of coffee. He told Charlie to go to his room so we could talk, and we sat down at the table. He already knew what I wanted, we talked about it before, so I told him I had just come by to see if he was willing to let Charlie go. He started in talking about me not having a reliable job because I'm in the band, and how he doesn't like Chris. I told him Chris is a good guy, and I make more money in the band than he does on his job, so I think my job is pretty reliable, right? Anyway, he told me there was no way in hell he was going to let me take Charlie out of the state, not even for a day, and that's when we started yelling at each other. I told him he was a selfish jackass who just wanted to keep Charlie and me both under his thumb, and he called me a few names that were a lot nastier than that. I told him to go screw himself and got up to leave, and he grabbed hold of my arm and asked me where I thought I was going. I told him I needed to go calm down before I could try to talk any sense through his thick head, and I yanked my arm away and stormed out the door. I drove over to my favorite coffee shop, Sammy's over on Québec, and got me a cup, then just sat in my car with it for a couple of minutes. When I finally felt like my temper was under control, I went back, and that's when I saw police cars all over the place. I jumped out and started yelling about what was going on, because I thought maybe Charlie got hurt or something, but the cops wouldn't let me go inside. They told me Carlos had been stabbed, and they were waiting for the coroner because he was dead.”

“Was the detective there yet?” Sam asked.

Candy shook her head. “No, she got there about five minutes later. She went inside for a few minutes, then came out and talked to Charlie. They had him in one of the cars, but they wouldn't let me talk to him. After she talked to Charlie, she came over to me and asked me for my side of the story. I asked her what she meant, and that's when she told me that Charlie said I killed his father. Sam, I was in shock. I couldn't believe Charlie would say something like that because it wasn't true. I asked them to let me talk to Charlie, but they wouldn't. I could see him, sitting in the back of a squad car, and he kept looking at me like he wanted to talk to me, but they wouldn't let me go to him.” Candy wiped at her eyes. “Sam, he was crying, it was breaking my heart, but they wouldn't let me go near him.”

Sam nodded sympathetically. “Go on,” he said.

She wiped at her eyes again. “Anyway, I told that detective exactly what I just told you, and she asked me if I could prove that I was at the coffee shop. I told her that I got a cup at the drive-through window, so the girl that was there would probably remember me—this hair, you know? She walked away and made some phone calls, but then she came back about five minutes later and told me I was under arrest for murder. I guess the barista said she didn't remember seeing me, and I paid in cash so I hadn't even gotten a receipt. At least that would have shown what time I bought the coffee, you know?”

Sam sat there and looked at her for a moment, then said, “Candy, Charlie apparently said that he heard you and his dad fighting, but that it got quiet for a few minutes and then started up again. He said he heard his dad screaming, and then a little bit later he came out of his room and found his father dead in the floor. Was there anyone else at the house? Anyone else who might have stabbed Carlos?”

Candy shook her head again. “Not when I was there, or at least, not that I saw. The only thing I can figure is that somebody might have been hiding in the house, or else someone came in right after I left.”

Sam nodded, chewing on his cheek as he thought about what he was hearing. “Do you know of anyone who might want Carlos dead?”

“Ha! Just about anyone who ever knew him. Carlos is one of those people that just rubs everyone the wrong way. He always thinks he knows everything and that everyone else should just take his word as gospel. Especially when it comes to women; Carlos was the kind of guy who could get any woman to do just about anything he wanted, but it would always blow up in her face eventually. Then the poor girl would figure out she was being used, and end up hating him.” She leaned back just a bit and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Look, I don't know who he runs with, not anymore. What I do know is that Carlos seemed to be making a lot more money, somehow, than he was likely to make on his regular job. I mean, he drives a delivery truck, delivers stuff for some lumberyard, but he's got a brand-new Jaguar, a new Harley and he just had a pool put in. You ever known any delivery drivers who could afford things like that?”

Sam's eyebrows went up just a bit. “Okay, you got my spider sense tingling. Any idea who can tell me more about his financial situation?”

She made a sarcastic face and shook her head. “In case you hadn't caught it, me and Carlos weren't on the best of terms. He was one of those guys who doesn't care who he hurts, or how bad, as long as he gets what he wants. Well, that's how he got custody of Charlie. He knew that me and Charlie were living in a motel room, and that I didn't have any money. Look, I'm not proud of it, but I turned a few tricks back then in order to put food on the table, and somehow, Carlos found out. He set me up to get busted, then used that against me in a custody hearing. Between a prostitution rap and not having a permanent address, the judge decided Charlie would be better off with his dad. I'm supposed to get him every other weekend, but Carlos always finds—found lots of excuses to keep me from getting him when I was supposed to.”

Sam gave her a sympathetic look. “Tell me about Charlie. What's your relationship with your son like?”

Candy leaned forward again, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “It's been rough,” she said. “Like I said, there were a lot of times when Carlos would screw me out of my visitation, but he always told Charlie it was my fault, like I just didn't want to come get him or something. Charlie would feel hurt, so it didn't do me any good to tell him his dad was lying.” A tear started down her cheek from her right eye. “I'll admit it hasn't been great between us, but underneath it all you could tell that we still love each other. I think he knows I love him, and I can't believe he would think I would do something like this. That shocks me more than getting arrested does.”

“Candy,” Sam said. “You've got to give me something to work with, here. As it stands right now, even though no one actually saw you shove a knife into your ex-husband's chest, there's no doubt in my mind that they can come up with circumstantial evidence. Enough of that to go along with Charlie's statement, and you will almost certainly be convicted. Now, I'm going to be perfectly honest with you. At this moment, I don't know whether I believe you or not. If someone had asked me last week if I thought you were capable of murder, I almost certainly would've said no, but I've seen some of the nicest people in the world fly into a rage, especially when kids are concerned. When that happens, all bets are off. From everything I've heard so far, it sounds possible that you might have gotten so angry that you grabbed the first thing you could get your hands on and lashed out at your ex. I'm not saying that's what happened, I'm saying that nothing I'm seeing so far would convince me, or a jury, otherwise.”

“But, Sam…” Candy began, before Sam cut her off.

“Hold on, I'm not done. Just because I said I'm not sure what to believe at this moment doesn't mean I'm not going to do everything I can to find proof that you're telling the truth. I just want you to understand this: if I come upon proof that you're guilty instead, I am required by law to turn that evidence over to the police. Now, is there anything else you want to tell me before I walk out of here?”

The look on Candy's face was one of shocked bitterness, but she forced herself to remain in control. “I didn't do this, Sam,” she said. “When I get angry, I don't lash out; I walk away, I always have. That's what I did this time, too, because I didn't want Charlie to hear the things Carlos and I were saying to each other. There was a lot of name-calling, and Carlos was threatening to go back to court and try to claim that Chris would be a bad influence on Charlie. That would put me in the position of having to choose between my son and the man I love, and I didn't want to go through that. I told Carlos I was going to leave, and that I would come back when I calmed down, and he grabbed me by the arm and told me I wasn't going anywhere. I yanked my arm out of his hand so hard that his fingernails scratched me, but I didn't even notice that until that detective asked me about it.” She suddenly put both hands over her face. “If that stupid barista would've remembered me, I wouldn't be in this mess. You'd think I'd be somebody hard to forget, wouldn't you? Looking like this, I mean?”

Sam looked at Candy's Neapolitan hair, and found himself agreeing. Hair like that wouldn't be easy to forget, so if Candy was telling the truth, then it was actually strange that the barista claimed not to have seen her. “Funny thing is, that's the most sensible thing you've said yet.” He took out his phone and snapped a picture of her. “Okay, I'm going to get out of here and get on this. Have you got a lawyer yet?”

Candy nodded her head. “Yeah, Chris got me one. Guy named Falls, he's supposed to be pretty good. He's coming to see me this afternoon, so we can start figuring out how this is going to go. Sam, I do understand what you're saying, I know this looks bad, but I really didn't do it. I really need your help here, Sam.”

Sam smiled at her. “And I'm going to do my best to give it to you. Just hang in there, don't let this place get you down. If I can find evidence to back up your story, you'll be out of here and back with your son pretty soon.”

They stood, and Sam gave her one more hug before he left. The jailer came in to take her back to her cell as Sam was starting down the hallway, and he got the impression that Candy wasn't well liked in the jail. The jailer seemed stiff, and the hand he put on her arm looked like it was holding on awfully tight.

Sam retrieved his gun from the locker, then went outside, climbed into his Corvette and headed toward Karen Parks' office downtown. He was early, so he pulled into a small diner and went inside to order lunch. Once the waitress had taken his order, he took out his phone and called Indie.

“Hey, Babe,” he said. “I got done with Candy, and I'm grabbing a quick bite of lunch before I go to see Karen. How's your day going?”

“I've actually been productive,” she said. “Right after you left this morning, I decided to put Herman to work and see if he could come up with anything that might help you. I fed him all the information I could come up with on Candy's ex-husband, and got something you might be interested in. Carlos McAlester—incidentally, he was named after Carlos Santana, I guess his parents were fans or something—has probably got the cleanest record I've ever seen anywhere. I mean, as in this guy never even had a parking ticket. I've never seen anybody with a record this clean, and it makes me wonder how he managed to accomplish it in this day and age. How in the world can anybody manage to reach his mid-30s without ever having even a traffic ticket?”

“Well, it happens,” Sam said, “but if any of what Candy told me about him is true, then it really is hard to believe. According to her, Carlos was the kind of guy who always got his way, no matter who he had to hurt to do it. Guy like that usually runs afoul of some aspect of the law, sooner or later. I guess it's possible he could avoid it this long, but I'd have trouble believing it.”

“Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. The only other thing I got on him was that he has an awful lot of money stashed away in the bank, and I'm talking middle six figures. I can't find any kind of investment accounts for him, and his job only pays him about thirty grand a year, so it's hard to figure where that money might've come from. You'd think that alone would have gotten him some kind of scrutiny, at least from the IRS.”

Sam scowled. “Yeah, it does seem that way. Candy mentioned that he seemed to be making a lot of money somehow, something not connected to his job. Is there any way Herman can find out the source of any of that money?”

“I've got him working on it, but that's not easy. From his bank records, it looks like most of it was deposited in chunks of cash, probably in small enough amounts to keep from having to report anything on it.”

“Well, it's something to think about. Big amounts of money like that, even if it accrued over time, could conceivably be connected to a motive for murder.” They talked for a few more minutes, and then ended the call as Sam's lunch was set in front of him.

4

Detective Parks was busy when Sam arrived, and he had to sit and wait for about ten minutes before she came out to get him. “Sorry about that, Sam,” she said. “I was in a department meeting, we've got eight separate homicide cases working right at the moment. This one isn't really considered a high-priority case, but that's mostly because the higher-ups figure it's already solved. I got the preliminary crime scene report this morning, though, so I can show it to you. Come on back.”

Sam followed her to her office, where she shut the door behind them. “I know you know this, but I'm not supposed to be letting you see these files. This stays between us, right?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “I'm just looking for a lead, anything I can find. By the way, I wanted to ask you a question. You got a look at Candy's hair, right?”

Karen made a derisive snort. “Yeah, I sure did. I thought you guys were a country band, she looks more like punk rock.”

Sam couldn't help himself; he smiled. “Yeah, I was a little taken aback when I first saw it myself, a couple days ago. The thing is, Candy mentioned that she was surprised the girl at the coffee shop didn't remember seeing her, and that struck me as odd. Most people, if they're lying about something, won't want to point out an obvious flaw in their own story. If she really went to the coffee shop, that hair should've stuck in somebody's mind. The fact that the girl in the window claims not to remember could mean she was never there, or it could mean she's deliberately hiding the fact that she did see Candy.”

Karen looked doubtful. “Sam, why on earth would a barista who isn't even connected to anyone in this case want to lie about that?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't have the slightest idea,” he said, “but why would your suspect point out the very reason that she'd almost certainly be remembered, casting even more doubt on her story? That's out of character for anybody in this position, don't you think?”

“Could just be she's pretty smart, and figures tossing that tidbit out there is a way to get you on her side. Ever think of that?”

“Of course I did,” Sam said. “The difference is, I know Candy pretty well, and while she's a genius on bass guitar, she is unfortunately not the brightest bulb in the pack in anything connected to the brain department. Whatever's in her mind tends to fall right out of her mouth, even if it gets her into trouble.”

Karen smiled smugly and waved a hand in the air. “Well, there you go,” she said. “That's exactly what she's done in this situation, she opened her mouth and tossed out another reason to believe she was never at that coffee shop. Now, you want to see these files are not?”

Sam grinned and reached for the folder she was offering. He opened it up to find dozens of photographs and a concise description of the crime scene, including specific notes on every item that might have been remotely connected to the murder. He began reading the report, occasionally glancing at one of the numbered photographs. He skimmed through it until he came to the part about the body.

The victim appears to have suffered multiple stab wounds to the chest and abdomen. A common butcher knife was still present in one of the wounds, and was extracted and bagged for laboratory examination. Each of the wounds displayed bleeding patterns that were consistent with wounds inflicted while the victim was standing, before falling onto his back on the floor. Each of the wounds appeared to the examiner to have been made by the same knife that was extracted.

Blood was also observed in and around the mouth of the victim, indicating that one or more of the wounds appears to have punctured a lung. The blood pattern on the face was consistent with aspirated blood, ejected forcefully enough to indicate that the victim was choking or coughing at the time.

Sam skimmed through more of the report, but nothing jumped out at him. Carlos had fallen on his back and had apparently died quickly, because the amount of blood on the floor was not great. Had he been alive for more than a few seconds, the wounds would have bled more profusely and there would have been a larger pool of blood surrounding the body.

When he finished reading the report, Sam skimmed through the photos. He had seen homicide scenes in the past, so he understood the things he was seeing, but something about the way Carlos was positioned was bothering him. He had fallen onto his back on the living room floor, but he wasn't lying there with his arms and legs splayed randomly, as Sam would have expected. His legs were together, and his arms were lying at his side. To Sam, this indicated that he hadn’t struggled as he died.

“You got any idea why he's just laying there as if he was resting? It doesn't look like he even tried to catch himself as he fell, and that should be instinctive. He's just lying flat on his back, almost like he's standing at attention horizontally.”

Karen shrugged. “It turns out one of the stabbings basically cut his heart almost in half, so there wasn't a lot of blood getting to his brain. Between that and shock, it's possible he just blacked out and fell backward. That's what the coroner says, anyway.”

Sam shook his head. “I've seen people fall back after a bullet to the brain, and the muscles in the arms and legs still contract, or something. I've never seen anybody die like this, just perfectly laid out this way. It may mean nothing, but it looks odd to me.”

“Okay, I'll give you that, it does look odd. Still doesn't change the fact that the only one we know of who could possibly have been there to do it was the guy's ex-wife. Come on, Sam, you're going to have to do a little serious digging if you're going to find anything to corroborate her story. You can't expect to find anything to prove her innocence in the crime scene report.”

Sam flipped through the rest of the photos and then closed the file and passed it back. “I suppose it could be nothing,” he said, “but it bothers me. Just curious, here, but did you see anything at the scene that didn't seem right to you? Other than a dead man, I mean?”

Karen sat there for a long moment without saying a word, then looked down at the top of her desk. “Okay, there was one thing that really surprised me. When I interviewed the kid, Charlie, he didn't seem nearly as upset about his father being dead as he did about admitting that he heard his parents fighting. It wasn't like he was trying to hide anything, and when he told me that he thought his mom did it, he said it very matter-of-factly. It was just that—I could tell it bothered him more to say that he thought his mom killed his dad than it did to discuss the fact that his dad was dead.”

Sam looked at her for a moment, chewing his cheek as he did so. “Karen, I'm just wondering, but have you considered the possibility that the boy might've done it?”

“Of course I have,” she said. “Trouble with that is that the coroner says whoever did it was taller than five foot four. The kid only stands four foot ten, he's pretty small. According to the medical examiner who went over the body, Charlie could not have stabbed his father at some of the angles that were apparent. His mother, on the other hand, stands five foot six, so that fits.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Any idea where they placed the kid?”

“Oh, yeah, family services tracked down his dad's parents. He's staying with Grandma and Grandpa, right now.” She wrote down an address on a slip of paper and passed it to Sam. “I heard from them this morning, they're planning to get him into counseling right away.” She paused, and cocked her head to one side. “You know, there's another odd thing. It was Charlie's grandmother that called me, Carlos's mother, and now that I think about it she didn't seem any more upset about her son being dead than Charlie did. There was a sort of sense that maybe it was just one of those things, something that's unpleasant, but not necessarily that big a deal.”

“Maybe Carlos and his parents didn't get along too well,” Sam offered.

“Charlie seemed to think they were pretty close. When the family services woman got there, she asked if he had any family around and he said his grandparents came over almost every other day, and that they were all close. He seemed pretty sure that they would take him in, and they jumped at the chance.”

Sam shook his head. “Do you ever remember the good old days, when you and I worked in juvie together? Seems like the world has gone pretty crazy, since then.”

Karen smiled. “Nah, it hasn't gone crazy. It's always been that way, you and I were just too young and idealistic to believe it, back then. Now we're getting old, and we have to face up to reality. I'll let you in on a secret: reality sucks, buddy.”

Sam laughed, but then he thanked her for her time and the information she'd given him, and headed out to his car. He thought about what to do next, and decided to swing by the coffee shop Candy said she had gone to the morning before.

The place was called Sammy's, and was one of a small chain of coffee shops in the Denver area. This one was on Québec Street. Sam knew it, and had been there himself a few times. The drive to get there took him just over twenty minutes before he pulled up in the parking lot and walked inside.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Sammy's,” said the girl behind the counter. Her nametag said Brittany. “What can I get for you today?”

“Tell you what, Brittany,” Sam said. “Give me a large straight coffee, and could you possibly tell me who would have been working the drive-through window yesterday morning?”

Brittany suddenly looked wary. “Um, I was on drive-through yesterday morning, until about noon.” She turned around and started making his coffee.

Sam took out his cell phone and called up the picture he had taken of Candy. When the girl turned back to him with the cup, he held it up in front of her eyes. “You didn't happen to see this girl come through yesterday morning, did you? Probably sometime between ten and eleven?”

The girl glanced for a split second at the picture, then lowered her eyes to the counter. “No, I'm sorry, I didn't. The police called and asked me that yesterday, asked me about whether I'd seen a lady with hair like that. I told them the same thing, I didn't see her.” She slid his cup across the counter. “That'll be five twenty-six.”

Sam paid for his coffee and thanked the girl, then walked out the door and got into his car. Something about the way she avoided looking at the picture was bothering him, as if it was troubling her to say she hadn't seen Candy the day before. It was possible she was simply feeling stupid for not noticing hair like that, but she’d almost seemed agitated when Sam had first asked who was working the window. The only time he'd ever seen people act like that was back during his Narcotics Division days, when he was questioning a witness who had something to hide, or who had been pressured to lie.

It wasn't likely the barista was involved in the murder, so the only question was who might have any reason to ask her to lie. According to Karen Parks, this girl was in no way connected to either Carlos or Candy, so there would be no reason Sam could imagine for anyone to ask her to forget seeing the Neapolitan hair.

Sam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the slip of paper Karen had given him. Charlie's grandparents lived only a few blocks away, so he started the car and headed for their place. The drive took him less than five minutes, and he pulled up in front of a very nice home. There was a Lexus sedan in the driveway, so Sam parked on the street and got out.

The sky was overcast, and Sam's hip was telling him that it was going to rain sometime soon, so he took the cane out from behind the seats. Leaning lightly on it, he walked up to the door and rang the doorbell.

A woman who looked to be in her early fifties answered the door, and Sam smiled. “Mrs. McAlester? My name is Sam Prichard, and I'm a private investigator. I'm working for your former daughter-in-law, who has been accused of murdering your son but says she's innocent. I was wondering if I might speak to Charlie for a moment?”

The woman stood there and stared at him for a good twenty seconds. “My son is dead, Mr. Prichard, and that woman is the one who killed him. Don't you think this family has been through enough already? That little boy had to hide in his room and listen while she killed his father. There is no way on this earth I'm going to let you talk to him, and I would like it very much if you would simply leave.” She began pushing the door closed.

“Mrs. McAlester, I've already come across some strange things in this case, and it could very well mean that Charlie's mother is telling the truth. Now, I don't doubt that Charlie believes what he told the police, but I'd really like to ask him if he might've heard anything else, anything that could shed more light on the subject.”

Mrs. McAlester stopped and looked at Sam again. “Apparently, you didn't understand me the first time. Charlie has been through all the trauma he needs, right now, and if I let you speak to him you're only going to make it worse. It's not going to happen. Now, please leave, or I will call the police.” She slammed the door and Sam heard the deadbolt turn.

Sam shook his head, but turned and walked slowly back toward his car. He could understand the woman's position, but he desperately wanted to find out what else Charlie might have heard or seen that morning. The only problem was how he might accomplish it.

One way was to speak to Karen Parks. It was possible he might convince her to arrange a meeting, but he needed to find at least a few things to lend credibility to Candy's story. Just the fact that the barista didn't want to meet his eyes wouldn't be enough.

He started the car and was just pulling away from the curb when his phone rang. “Hello,” he said as he answered.

“Hey, Sam, it's Chris. Listen, Candy just called and said that they're taking her over for arraignment in about twenty minutes. I was just wondering if you had any ideas yet.”

Sam sighed into the phone. “Nothing yet, Chris,” he said. “I've come across a few things that don't seem to add up, but nothing that's going to sway the cops or the prosecutor. Arraignment just means they're going to officially tell her what she's charged with, and she might get to enter a plea today. She said you got her a lawyer, I hope he's a good one.”

“I've used him before, and he got me out of some trouble. He'd better be good, he sure costs enough. I had to give him ten grand as a retainer.”

“Yeah, lawyers don't come cheap. If she calls you again when it's over, call me back and let me know what happened.”

Chris promised to do so, and they ended the call. Sam drove through the residential streets, trying to figure out what his next step should be. With nothing else to do, he drove over to the neighborhood where Carlos had lived.

5

It wasn't hard to tell which house had been his, because it was still surrounded by police crime scene tape. There was a crime scene van, as well, and Sam recognized Jackie Porter, who was taking fingerprints off of the front storm door, as one of the techs he used to see when he was in homicide. Jackie had been working crime scenes and evidence for as long as Sam had been around the force. She looked different lately, her once-short black hair now long and tied back into a ponytail, but Sam knew it was her by her height; at six foot three, she was one of the few women he knew who were taller than he was. He pulled up in front of the house and climbed out of the car, once again taking the cane with him.

Jackie's partner was somebody new, and he spotted Sam walking toward the van. “Sir, I'm sorry, this is a crime scene. I'm afraid it's off-limits.”

Jackie heard him talking and looked up, then smiled when she recognized Sam. She set down the things she was holding in her hand and came toward him down the walkway. “It's okay, Ned,” she said. “That's Sam Prichard, one of the best detectives Denver ever had. Sam, baby, how long has it been?” She opened her arms and pulled Sam into a hug.

Sam smiled right back. “I guess it's been about four years, now, ever since I left homicide for narcotics. I see they've still got you training the rookies, right?”

“Of course, that's because I'm the best. Listen, I read the arrest report on the suspect. I gather she was part of your band?”

“Yeah, our bass player. I went down to see her this morning, and she swears up and down she didn't do it. I'm a PI now, although I'd sort of retired from it since I got into the music business. I told her I'd try to find any kind of evidence that might help prove she's telling the truth. Don't suppose you've run across anything I might be interested in, have you?”

Jackie turned and looked at the house for a second, then looked back at Sam. “I can't actually say I have, but if you put on the booties and gloves, I'll take you inside to look around. Who knows, you might spot something the rest of us missed.”

Sam grinned. “I don't know that I'd take any bets on that,” he said. He sat down in the back end of the van and slipped on the disposable paper shoe covers and the rubber gloves she handed to him. “Okay, lead the way. I promise not to touch anything without your approval.”

He followed Jackie up to the front door and inside the house. It was pretty easy to determine where Carlos had died; while there was a fair-sized bloodstain on the carpet, his body had been outlined with red masking tape. He stepped up close and looked down at the spot.

“That's where the victim was lying when they got here,” Jackie said. “You can see where his little boy apparently stepped in some of the blood, because when he turned around to get the phone, he left some fading bloodied footprints.”

Sam looked where she had pointed, and sure enough, there was the imprint of a child's sneaker at the edge of the big bloodstain, and three or four footprints that got steadily lighter the further they got from where the blood had pooled. The footprints were apparently headed toward the dining room, and Sam carefully stepped around the tape outline to follow them.

He started to go into the dining room, but glanced over his shoulder at Jackie. She smiled and nodded, so he stepped through the doorway. There was a cordless phone sitting in its base on a sideboard, and Sam guessed it was the one Charlie had used to call for help.

He continued looking around the dining room for a few moments but didn't see anything else he thought was interesting. Another doorway on the other side of the room led into the kitchen, and Sam hobbled into it. The room was fairly neat, and there was a block on the counter that held the butcher knives. One of them was missing, and Sam was sure that would have been the one that was taken out of Carlos's chest.

Once again, he looked around the room, but nothing jumped out at him. There was a hallway that ran through the middle of the house, and another door led to it from the kitchen. Sam stepped over to it and looked up and down the hall, then frowned. He turned around and looked at Jackie.

“Jackie, is there anything about this that strikes you as odd?”

The woman wrinkled her brow. “Odd? How do you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “Well, I'm standing here looking into the hallway and staring straight at a back door. I'm having a little trouble figuring out why Carlos didn't try to get out that way. I mean, the murder weapon was a butcher knife, right? If they were arguing in the kitchen, then Candy—assuming she actually did this—would probably have grabbed the knife out of the block there on the counter and turned around to threaten Carlos, the victim. Look where the block of knives is, there on the counter in the corner of the kitchen that's farthest away from either of the doors. In order for her to reach out and grab it, and then even try to stab Carlos with it, he would've had to have been standing somewhere behind her. Why didn't he try going out the back door? Why would he have gone further into the house, into the living room?”

Jackie looked over to where Sam was pointing at the corner of the kitchen, then turned and looked back through the door and the dining room. When she turned back to him, her face had a thoughtful expression. “You know, that really is kind of weird.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the door to the hallway, then walked through it and to the back door. That door was secured by a simple deadbolt, but it turned easily when she tried it. “He could've gotten outside, yelled for help. At the very least, she probably wouldn't have tried to chase him out into the yard. So why would he have gone for the living room?”

Jackie came back into the kitchen and knelt down, looking at the floor closely. “Nothing here,” she said. “No blood, no apparent scuff marks, like you might see if there'd been a struggle.” She got down on her hands and knees and crawled into the dining room. “There's a normal wear pattern on the tiles in here, most of it leading to the living room. You can see a small amount of wear around the table and under it, but the normal traffic pattern would have been from living room through dining room to kitchen, and vice versa.” She got up and moved into the living room, pausing at the doorway, where Sam caught up with her.

“The kitchen and dining room are both very neat,” he said, “everything in place. Somebody running for his life and screaming might run into things, might grab things and throw them at his attacker. It seems to me there should be some more visible indications that there was an altercation taking place.”

Jackie shrugged. “It all depends,” she said. “A lot of times, when people know their attackers, they don't actually panic until it's too late. It's like they think they can talk the person out of whatever they're trying to do, so they don't really get scared until the last minute. Still, the little boy said he heard his father screaming.” Jackie looked back toward the kitchen for a moment and then motioned to Sam. “Follow me,” she said, then turned and went back into the dining room and through another door that led into the hallway. She turned toward the back of the house, where another hall turned off to the right. She followed that one, walked between two doors that were directly across from each other, and opened the second door on the left side of the hall. “This was the kid's room. You step inside here, and I'm going to go to the living room and yell. I want to know how well you can hear me.”

Sam nodded and stepped inside, and Jackie pulled the door shut behind him. A moment later, Sam heard the faint sound of Jackie's voice calling his name. He could barely make it out, and would have missed it had he not been expecting it.

He opened the door and called out, “I could just barely hear you.”

“Okay,” she yelled back. “Let me warn Ned that I'm going to scream. Let's see if you can hear that from in there.”

Sam heard her calling out the front door to her partner, just as he shut the door again. A few seconds later, he heard what sounded almost like a siren going by on the street outside. He opened the door to confirm that what he was hearing was Jackie's scream, and then walked back toward the living room.

“I could hear you, but it was so muffled I wasn't sure if I was hearing a scream or an ambulance going by. That room is just darn near soundproof.”

Jackie looked him in the eye and nodded. “Yeah, I'd say it is. I can scream pretty damn loud, and I just gave it all I had.” She pulled her notebook out again and looked through it for a moment. “Yeah, I thought I made notes on this. The kid said that he was in his room with the door shut, because his dad made him go in there when his mom showed up. Sam, after what we just learned, I'd have to say it would be pretty hard for him to be sure of anything he heard from inside that room, especially if it was coming from all the way out here in the living room.”

Sam nodded, but gave a sigh. “Yeah, but that's not enough to completely discount his story. The prosecutor would come up with some expert to swear that a kid's hearing is better than an adult's.”

“True, but that's not what's bothering me the most about this right now. I'm still stuck on your observation, that if somebody pulled a knife on him in the kitchen, it would have made more sense to run out the back door. Now, if the two of them were actually fighting when this happened, I'm having a hard time imagining that he was in the living room while she was in the kitchen grabbing a knife. Domestic squabbles like this, people tend to chase each other from room to room.”

Sam nodded his head again. “From what Candy said, Carlos was that sort. She says she told him she was leaving to calm down for a bit and would be back, and he grabbed her by the arm, tried to keep her from getting out the door. She yanked her arm away and got scratched.”

Jackie lowered her eyebrows. “They did find traces of skin under the fingernails of his right hand. Which arm got scratched?”

Sam closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then said, “Her left arm, three moderately deep scratches, probably about two or three inches long.”

“On the upper arm, or the forearm? And inside or outside?”

“Forearm, about halfway between elbow and wrist. Outside. I could see them clearly while I was talking to her. She had her arms laying on the table for a few minutes, and they were clearly visible.” Jackie pursed her lips, and Sam asked, “Okay, what are you thinking?”

“That that doesn't sound like a defensive injury. If someone is being attacked with a knife, they have a tendency to grab at the knife hand with both of their own hands. That often results in scratches, but they should be close to the hand, and because they wrap their own hands around the attacker's wrist, some of the scratches ought to be on the inside.” She held out her own left arm. “Can you show me, sort of rake my arm with your fingers like you're trying to scratch me the same way?”

Sam reached out with his right hand and grabbed Jackie's arm, then pulled it slowly back, letting his fingers drag diagonally across the outer part of her forearm. “Sort of like that,” he said.

Jackie was nodding again. “Then I'm right, and those aren't defensive injuries. I don't know if she actually left or not, but I'd say she's telling the truth about how she got scratches. It sounds like she was trying to move away from him, and he grabbed her arm to hold onto her. She yanked her arm away, and that's what makes that kind of scratches. She got scratched because he was trying to hold on tightly.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that's exactly what she says.”

Jackie walked over beside the outline of the body and stared down at it. From the position the body had been lying in when the police arrived, it appeared that Carlos had been facing the door into the dining room, at an angle. He would have been standing almost dead center of the living room, facing the dining room door and with his back to the front outer corner of the room.

“Looking at this from a whole new perspective, now,” she said. “What if your girl really did storm out the door? From the position the body was in, it looks like he was maybe standing at the window, and turned around and took a step or two when someone approached him from behind. If an attacker had come in through the back…”

“Or was already hiding in the house,” Sam interjected.

“Or was already hiding in the house, right, and went to the kitchen, grabbed a knife and then came in here…The victim might have heard something, turned around, saw someone he knew and started walking toward them, but then the knife comes out from behind that person's back and stabs directly into his heart. The victim was shocked, the attacker yanks the knife out and plunges it back in several times, and the victim falls back without ever having a chance to fight for his life.” She looked back toward the dining room door again, nodded her head once and turned back to Sam. “That's actually a very viable scenario, and could be the way it really happened. Sam, your girl might be telling you the truth. All you gotta do is come up with proof.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that all? Heck, I can do that before dinner. Care to point it out to me?”

“If I could, I would,” Jackie said. “What I can do is tell you that if I come across anything I think might be of help to you, I'll give you a call and let you have a copy of it.”

Sam gave her a lopsided grin. “Wouldn't that get you in trouble?”

“It might, but they can't afford to get rid of me. I'll take my chances. Give me your number, just in case I do run across something.”

Sam took out his wallet and handed her his business card. “I appreciate this, Jackie. I was lucky to run into you today.”

Jackie looked through the doorway toward the kitchen, and then back to Sam. “I might have been the lucky one. I'm going to rewrite my report so that it presents this theory of what happened. Maybe it will help your bass player, you think?”

“It just might,” Sam said, “and believe me, she needs all the help she can get right now.”

6

Sam thanked Jackie and Ned for all their help, then started going to the houses close by, looking for anyone who could tell him more about Carlos McAlester. He started with the house next door, on the left, because it appeared there was someone home there. He knocked on the door, and a moment later a woman in her mid-20s opened it and then looked at him questioningly. “Can I help you?”

Sam showed her his ID. “Hi, my name is Sam Prichard, and I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into some matters concerning the death of your neighbor, Carlos McAlester? I was wondering if you knew him, if you could tell me anything about him.”

The woman seemed to brighten a little bit, but then her face became subdued. “Oh, sure, by the way my name is Marcy,” she said in a rush. “Isn't it terrible, what happened to Carlos? I heard on the radio this morning that they're saying his ex-wife did it. I didn't really know her, I mean, I met her a couple of times when she was over there to pick up the little boy, but that's all. We knew Carlos because he comes—well, he used to come over and have dinner with us every now and then.”

Sam smiled. “Then, I take it you knew him fairly well? What kind of a guy was he, can you tell me that?”

“Oh, my goodness, he was just the sweetest thing! He and my husband, Ronnie, they were really good friends, and Carlos was always willing to help out whenever we needed something. He was a whiz when it came to handyman-type stuff, and Ronnie, well, he's got ten thumbs. Whenever we had problems with one of our cars, or something broke around the house, Carlos was always the first one to volunteer to help. Nicest guy in the world, I'm telling you.”

“Really? Did you ever know him to have a temper problem? I've been hearing that he had a tendency to lose his temper, maybe even get rough with people now and then.”

Marcy's eyes went wide. “Carlos? You got to be kidding, I don't think I've ever seen him get mad at anybody. I remember, there was some guy who came to his house a few months ago, stood on his front walk just screaming and yelling about something or other, and I just thought maybe Carlos could use a witness, you know? I went out and stood just under our carport, so I could see and hear what was going on. Carlos came out to talk to the man and he never so much as raised his voice. In fact, he talked so softly that I couldn't really hear what he was saying, but I could hear the other guy crystal-clear. Probably everybody on the block could hear him. Carlos just talked to him softly for a little while, and finally the guy calmed down and left. One of the things we always liked about Carlos was that he was always so calm and levelheaded. Ronnie, he'd get all upset about something and go over to talk to Carlos for a little while, and then he'd come back acting like everything was just fine.”

“Wow, he does sound like a great guy. Were you home yesterday morning, by any chance? From what I understand, Carlos and his ex-wife supposedly got into a big screaming match in his house. Did you hear anything like that?”

“I was home, yeah, but I never heard a thing. I didn't even know she had come over yesterday, not until I saw all the police cars outside. I went out and asked one of the cops what was going on, and all they told me at the time was that Carlos was dead, but then she pulled up a little bit later. I thought maybe they had called her or something, because of Charlie, you know? But even if they had a big fight, we wouldn't have heard anything. That house is about as soundproof as it can possibly be. Carlos, he likes to turn the music up real loud, you know? He did a lot of work to his house, making it pretty much soundproof so he could crank his stereo up as loud as he wanted to go. The only time we ever even knew he was playing music was if somebody went in or out the door, then we'd hear a little bit of it, and then you could tell that it was really loud. Once that door was shut, though, you couldn't hear anything outside, not even if you were standing on the front step.” She grinned. “Okay, maybe that was a little bit of an exaggeration, you could probably hear it if you were standing on the front step, but not from over here, or out on the street. You wouldn't hear a thing.”

Sam thanked her and walked over to the house on the opposite side of Carlos's place. There, a man in his forties opened the door. “Yeah?”

Sam showed his ID and introduced himself. “I'm trying to learn a little bit about Carlos McAlester, your neighbor who was killed yesterday? Did you know him very well?”

“Well, we weren't the best of friends, but I knew him. Super nice guy, always ready to lend a hand whenever somebody needed something in the neighborhood.” He pointed at a house across the street. “See that house over there? An old couple in their nineties lives over there, and you'd see Carlos over there mowing the grass at least a couple times a month in the summer. I know them, and they said he never charged them a penny, just came over one day and asked if he could mow the lawn for them. The old feller, Mr. Howden, he told him he could pay him a little bit, but Carlos wouldn't take it. Said he just wanted to help out, and he knew they were up in years. Super nice guy. Real shame, what happened to him.”

“Yeah, a real shame. Listen, did you happen to see his ex-wife come over yesterday morning? I understand they got into a real argument, did you happen to know anything about that?”

The guy gave Sam a sly look. “You ever known a man who didn't get into arguments with his ex-wife? Especially if he has custody of the kid? That woman, every time she came over they'd get into some kind of a fuss or other. I think it was usually about her visitation, I think she wanted to take the kid more often than what the court said. Least ways, that's how I heard it.”

“But did you hear any of the argument yesterday? Did you happen to see when she got here, or when she left?”

The man shrugged. “I didn't see her when she first got there, no, but I did see her leave. She came running out the door like her ass was on fire, jumped in her car and roared away. Probably wasn't fifteen minutes later when the cops started showing up, then she came back, maybe twenty minutes after that, acting like she didn't have a clue what was going on. I could tell she was lying, so I'm sure the cops knew it, too. I saw when they shoved her into a squad car and drove her away, and then one of the cops that was still there told me she killed Carlos.” He shook his head. “Real shame, he was a super nice guy.”

Sam got similar responses from everyone else on the block, including the elderly couple across the street. It seemed like everyone who knew Carlos thought he was some kind of an angel that was pretending to be human. Sam had expected at least someone to dislike the man, after what Candy had told him. The way she talked, to know Carlos was to hate his guts, but that certainly didn't seem to be the case around his neighborhood.

He was just walking back to his car when his phone rang again. “Hey, Sam, it's me again,” Chris said. “She just called me. She said they told her she's charged with first-degree murder, and the prosecutor said he wanted to go for the death penalty, because Charlie was there when it happened.”

Sam's eyes went wide in a hurry. “The death penalty? Colorado hasn't executed anybody in forever,” he said. “They couldn't even get the death penalty for James Holmes, there's no way they're going to get it in this case.”

“Aww, geez, Sam, it doesn't matter if they get the death penalty or not,” Chris said. “Sam, if she gets convicted of this murder, she's looking at spending the rest of her life locked up in a women's prison. She said she'd rather they just strap her down and put her to sleep than to spend the next forty or fifty years locked up somewhere.”

“Yeah, I guess I can understand how she feels, but tell her not to give up. I've run across a couple of things that lead me to think she's telling the truth, and I've even enlisted a couple of allies. I'm gonna keep digging until I find the evidence we need to get her out of there, so tell her to hang on and don't let depression set in.”

Chris laughed. “Yeah, right,” he said. “How is she supposed to keep that from happening?”

“I know, Chris,” Sam said. “Just let her know that I'm still on this, and I'll come by and see her again tomorrow. Maybe with the things I've learned, she'll be able to give me some other ideas.”

Chris sighed. “Okay, man, I'll tell her. Do me a favor, willya, let me know if you come up with anything?”

“Sure will,” Sam said. “Keep the faith, Chris.”

Sam ended the call as he got into his car, but then the phone rang again. A glance at the caller ID told him that it was Indie calling. “Hey, Babe,” he said. “You come up with anything?”

“Not so far,” Indie said. “Like I said, cash deposits are hard to trace. There isn't anything in the transaction history to explain them. How about you?”

“Well, I found out that all of Carlos's neighbors think he must've been about the greatest guy who ever lived, which doesn't fit with what Candy says about him. She made it sound like anybody who knew him was a likely suspect in his murder. On the other hand, I happened to run into an old friend of mine from the crime lab at his house, and we noticed a couple of odd things about the whole situation. I'm not sure how much good it will do Candy, but it's enough to make me think she's telling the truth.”

“Good, because there's no way I could believe she's a killer. What kind of odd things?”

Sam started the car and pulled away from the curb as he talked. “Well, it looks to me, and the CSI tech agrees, that whoever killed Carlos either came in through the back door after Candy left, or was hiding somewhere in the house the whole time, somewhere toward the back. Carlos was stabbed in the living room with a butcher knife that was taken from the kitchen, but the way his body was lying suggests that he probably didn't see it coming. It looks like he might have been standing at the window right after Candy left like she said she did, maybe watching her drive away, and then turned away from there and came face-to-face with his killer. It had to have been someone he knew, because it doesn't look like he put up a fight at all. He probably got stabbed the first time without ever expecting a problem. By the time he realized what was happening, he was basically already dead. The knife got him in the heart, and he probably died in less than a minute or so from loss of blood to the brain.”

“That's terrible, but it's good for Candy. It gives credibility to her story, right?”

“Yes, and the scratches on her arm match up with her story, too. We kind of role-played it, and the way Carlos's fingernails scratched her arm says he probably did grab her the way she claimed. She yanked her arm away, and got scratched in the process. I found a couple of people who said they saw her come running out of the house and drive away in a hurry, which fits with her story, except that Carlos must have died no more than ten minutes or so after that. Little Charlie came out of his room, saw his dad bleeding on the floor and called 911, so the cops showed up within minutes. By the time Candy got back, the police were all over the place and the neighbors were already being told that he was dead.”

“And nobody saw anyone else go in or out of the house, right?”

“Right. Charlie was in his room while his parents were arguing, and came out after he heard his dad scream, he said, but there's something off about that, too. That house is about as soundproof as any place I've ever seen, including the recording studio. I stood in Charlie's room with the door closed while Jackie went into the living room and screamed her head off, and I could just barely hear anything at all. It didn't sound like a person screaming, just like a high-pitched sound, like a siren. I'd like to talk to Charlie and get his story firsthand, but he's living with his grandparents, Carlos's parents, and Grandma isn't about to let me near the kid.”

“Well, he's a kid, and look what he's already been through. You can't really blame her.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Trouble is, right now he's a kid who found his father dead and thinks his mother killed him. I think it might do the boy a lot of good if he could help prove his mother is innocent.” Sam glanced at the clock on the car's stereo and saw that it was after four. “Hey, I'm gonna call Karen and tell her some of this stuff. I should be home in about a half hour.”

“Okay, Babe, I'll see you then. Love you!”

“Love you more,” Sam said. He ended that call and dialed Detective Parks. “Karen, it's Sam. I happened to stop by Carlos McAlester's neighborhood and ran into Jackie Porter. She let me take a look around inside the scene, and we came up with a couple of things.”

“I know, I know,” Karen said. “Jackie called me. She says there's a possibility the vic was killed by someone who came in the back way unexpectedly. Sam, there's also the possibility he was killed by little green men who beamed in from the mothership; possibilities are going to make little or no difference from my point of view, or the prosecutor's.”

“Yeah, I know that, but it's something else we have to look at.”

“Of course we're going to look at it, I already told Jackie to do everything she can to either confirm it or eliminate it as a theory. I checked the report from yesterday, and the first officers on the scene say the back door was closed and locked when they got there, but that doesn't completely rule out this possibility. Somebody might have come in that way and locked the door behind them, then left through another exit after killing the guy.”

“Or maybe had a key, and could lock the back door from the outside,” Sam added. “I know this isn't the absolute answer, but it definitely allows for the possibility that Candy is telling the truth.”

“Yeah, and Jackie says she's probably telling the truth about the scratches on her arm, too. That's all great, and if this ends up going to trial it could even be useful for her defense, but it doesn't do anything to counter the evidence we've got at the moment. Mrs. McAlester was definitely there shortly before the victim was killed, her own son is convinced that she killed her ex-husband, and there's no corroboration of her story that she was gone at the time it happened. Can you honestly tell me that if you were in my position you wouldn't feel pretty sure you had your killer?”

“No,” Sam said, “I'd probably be thinking just like you, and if it wasn't for the fact that I know Candy, I might be less inclined to believe my own alternative theories. I'm not asking you to take my word for anything, Karen, but I am asking you to keep an open mind.”

He heard her chuckle. “Sam, if there's one thing I've always known, it's that Sam Prichard was the best investigator the Denver PD ever had, and I haven't forgotten how you saved me from sending an innocent man to prison last year. You can count on me keeping an open mind on this case. Just bring me whatever evidence you can find, and if it backs up your friend's story, I'll do all I can to help you prove it.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Sam said. “That's all I'm asking. I'll be back in touch as soon as I have something more to give you.”

7

As a private investigator, Sam could visit a client in jail even outside of regular visiting hours. At eight thirty the following morning, he was waiting in the interview room when Candy was brought in.

One look at the girl's face told him that she wasn't handling her incarceration very well. She had obviously been crying, and didn't look like she'd gotten a lot of sleep the night before. Under the circumstances, Sam could certainly understand, but he smiled brightly when he saw her. Candy threw her arms open and rushed to him for a hug, and he let her cling to him for a couple of minutes, with her weeping as she did so.

When she got herself under control and sat down, Sam began telling her what he had learned the day before. As he talked, he saw a tiny bit of hope begin to return to her eyes. “Now,” he said, “this isn't enough to convince the cops or prosecutors that you're innocent, but it definitely shows the possibility that you're telling the truth. In a worst-case scenario, it might be enough to convince a jury that there is reasonable doubt. Don't get me wrong, I'm not giving up, I'm just keeping you posted on what I know so far.”

Candy managed a weak smile. “Well, at least you're giving me a little bit of hope that I'm not going to be here forever. Thank you, Sam, I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, that's what friends are for, right? I do have some things I need to ask you about, though, so think real hard. When I talked to Carlos's neighbors, it seemed like everybody around there thinks he was one of the greatest guys they'd ever known. Yesterday, though, you made it sound like he didn't have any friends at all. What can you tell me about that?”

Candy shrugged, and shook her head. “Well, I guess I don't really know his neighbors. He bought that house after he and I split up five years ago, so I've only met a couple of them, different times when I've been over there. I didn't know he was so well liked by his neighbors, because back when we were together all the neighbors we had couldn't stand him.” She scrunched her face, deep in thought. “I know a few of the guys he worked with, and I can tell you that they didn't think much of him. Talk to Leon Schmidt, or Dean Calloway. You'll get a completely different story, I guarantee it.”

Sam nodded, and scribbled a note on a little pad he had brought with him. “Okay, now here's another question. Indie has been crawling all over Carlos in the computers, and she found out that he has a lot of money in the bank, like half a million dollars or so. Any idea where that money might've come from?”

Candy's eyes went wide. “Wow, I knew he had some money from somewhere, but I never dreamed it was that much. As to where he gets it, I don't know. I mean, I know he's done some things in the past, dealing drugs and stuff like that, but I have no idea if he's still into it.”

“Carlos was a drug dealer?” Sam asked, looking confused. “From what we found out, he's never been in trouble for anything.”

Candy sneered. “Yes, he has, he's been arrested at least three times that I know of. Once for selling drugs, and twice for what they called strong-arm robbery. He's just got friends who make things disappear for him.”

“What do you mean, friends who make things disappear? Are you talking about cops?”

“I'm not really sure who they are,” Candy said. “I just know that each of the times he got arrested when we were together, the charges got dismissed and disappeared. His record may be clean, but it's because somebody cleaned it for him.”

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a second as he thought about what she had said. “Candy, do you remember exactly when he was arrested? Or who might have arrested him?”

She closed her eyes and thought about it. “The drug arrest was six years ago, and it was the sheriff's office who arrested him. He was in jail right here for about three days, and then they just dismissed the charges and let him go. One of the others was a year after that, just before we split up. That time, he got arrested by a detective from Aurora, a guy named Shockley. I remember because he kept trying to get me to go out with him, after me and Carlos split. Of course, he wasn't a detective anymore by then. He got in some kind of trouble, and I'm pretty sure it had something to do with arresting Carlos.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Shockley? You mean John Shockley? I know him, but not very well, and I remember he got into some trouble a while back. He got demoted back to uniform, but I can't remember what it was about. He's a detective again now, though.” He made another note. “Candy, you mentioned strong-arm robbery. Have you ever actually seen Carlos get violent with anyone?”

“Oh, hell yes,” the girl said. “Back when Charlie was just a baby, I worked at Denny's and this guy used to come in and flirt with me all the time. One day, Carlos happened to come in and overheard some of the things he said, and when the guy left to go get in his car, Carlos followed him out and beat him half to death. The cops came out, but even though they loaded the guy into an ambulance and took him to the hospital, he said he didn't want to press charges. Kept saying it was his own fault, so they decided to just let it go. That wasn't the only time, it's just one that sticks in my memory.”

Sam looked at her for a moment. “What about you? Did he ever get violent with you?”

Candy shrugged. “He smacked me around a little bit, but it was never anything serious. He'd get mad over me spending money or something, and I'd get slapped or he'd grab me and shake me. Never anything serious.”

Sam nodded. “That's good,” he said. “What can you tell me about his parents? You know that they have Charlie right now, right?”

“Yeah,” Candy said with a grimace. “They're all right, I guess, but we were never close. They always seemed to think I wasn't good enough for their son, so I'm sure they hate my guts now. My lawyer says they already filed for custody of Charlie yesterday, and wanted to file to terminate my parental rights but got told they can't do that unless I'm convicted.”

“That sucks,” Sam said. “The thing is, I need to talk to Charlie, and they don't want to let me do that. Any idea how I might talk them into it?”

Candy rolled her eyes. “If they have any idea you're trying to help me, they'll never agree to it. If there's one thing those people are good at, it's hating someone. Right now, they think I killed Carlos, so I'm sure they hate my guts with even more of a passion. They're not going to do anything that might help me get out of this.”

Sam shook his head. He sat and talked with Candy for a few more minutes, then promised to let her know if he had any news and left.

He turned the Corvette toward Davidson Lumber, where Carlos had worked as a delivery driver. The drive only took about fifteen minutes, and he walked into the office.

A clerk greeted him from behind the counter. “Hi, there, how can I help you today?”

Sam showed the man his ID. “I'm Sam Prichard, a private investigator. I wanted to talk with you about Carlos McAlester, I understand he worked here?”

The clerk, whose nametag said “Bert,” suddenly looked nervous. “Yeah, he did,” he said. “Really sucks, what happened to him.”

“Yeah, it did. Did you know him very well?”

“Better than I wanted to. He wasn't exactly the easiest guy to get along with.”

Sam's eyebrows went up a notch. “How's that?”

“Ah, I don't want to speak ill of a dead guy,” Bert said. “Let's just say I got tired of complaints from customers over him being late, or having a bad attitude.”

“Did that happen pretty often? That he was late, or pissed off a customer?”

“Like I said, I don't want to talk bad about the guy, but it seemed like he was always taking a detour whenever he went out to drop off a load. I mean, we can get anywhere in the city within an hour, but sometimes it would take him two or three. Kinda makes people mad when they're sitting around waiting for materials so they can finish a job.”

“Yeah, I guess I can see that. Any idea where he was going on these detours?”

Bert was silent for a moment, purposely avoiding eye contact with Sam. “I, well, I don't know for sure what he was up to. He just always took off and did his own thing for a while, when he was supposed to be taking care of our customers. If it had been up to me, he would have been fired a long time ago.”

“I can understand that,” Sam said. “Any idea why someone else above you didn't feel that way?”

Bert suddenly looked Sam straight in the eye. “I wouldn't know about that,” he said. “You'd have to talk to Mr. Davidson, and he's not in right now.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “How about Leon Schmidt, or Dean Calloway? Would they be here?”

Bert glanced over his shoulder, and pointed to a door that led out into the yard. “Probably find both of them out there right now, loading the trucks.”

Sam smiled. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He walked stiffly to the door and out into the yard, where he saw four men loading items onto two different trucks. One of them was on a forklift, setting bunks of lumber into place, while the other three were loading smaller items by hand.

Sam walked up to the first man he came to. “I'm looking for Dean or Leon,” he said, and the guy turned around and smiled at him.

“I'm Dean,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

Sam showed his ID again. “My name is Sam Prichard, I'm a private investigator. I'm looking into the death of Carlos McAlester. I understand you knew him pretty well?”

Dean scowled. “Yeah, I knew him,” he said. “Bastard got what he deserved, you want my opinion.”

Sam nodded. “I had heard you weren't too fond of him. Can I ask why?”

Dean looked at Sam as if he were an idiot. “The guy was an asshole,” he said. “One of those people who thinks he's better than everybody else. He'd sit up in his truck and bitch about how we were loading it, but he wouldn't get off his lazy butt to help. And he was always ragging on us, bragging about that fancy car of his, and how he was so much better off than we were.”

“I know he had an expensive car,” Sam said. “Any idea how he could afford that, working here?”

“Ha! It didn't have anything to do with this job. You want to know what I think, I think he just kept this job because it let him move around the city without being noticed. Who pays attention to a delivery truck, right?”

Sam grinned. “Now, it sounds to me like you might know a little bit more than you're telling me. Any idea why he wanted to go unnoticed?”

Dean shrugged. “I don't know anything for sure, but I've heard rumors. Couple of people I know tell me that he had a habit of convincing people to do things they didn't want to do, or to keep their mouths shut about certain things. One of them was warned not to testify against someone, but I don't know the details.”

“You know anybody who might be willing to talk to me about that?”

“I'm afraid not,” Dean said. “Just because Carlos is gone doesn't mean there isn't somebody else they'd be afraid of, know what I mean? That was the whole point of him paying them a visit, to keep their mouths shut and do what they were told. He wasn't doing it for himself, he was getting paid. Whoever he was working for probably has somebody else doing the same job already.”

“So, what you're telling me is he was a leg breaker? Somebody's muscle? Any idea who we're talking about?”

The guy smiled at him. “Look, man, even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. I don't need somebody like that coming after me.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, I can understand that. Is Leon here?”

Dean pointed at the guy on the forklift. “That's him,” he said, “but he probably won't tell you as much as I have. Leon's got a family, he's not going to risk pissing off that kind of people.”

Sam looked at him thoughtfully. “Okay, I think I see where you're coming from.” He took the card out of his pocket and gave it to Dean. “Listen, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call if you happen to remember anything else that might help me.”

Dean took the card and glanced at it, then shoved it into his back pocket. “You working for the cops on this? I would've expected one of them to come talk to me, not a private eye.”

Sam shook his head. “Did you know Carlos's ex-wife, Candy?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I know her pretty well, and I can tell you right now she didn't kill him. Candy doesn't have it in her to ever hurt anyone. If she did, Carlos would've been dead a long time ago, trust me on that. You working for her?”

Sam smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Besides being a private investigator, I'm also the lead singer in the band she plays for.”

Dean's eyes went wide and round. “Holy smoke,” he said. “Dude, I didn't recognize you! I saw you guys open for Travis Bittner the other night, that was awesome! What was it like, actually getting to sing with him?”

“It was pretty cool,” Sam said with a big grin. “He's actually a pretty decent guy. Blew my mind when he asked me to come out and sing that final song with him.”

Dean dug the business card out of his pocket and shoved it back at Sam. “Hey, can I get your autograph? My girlfriend thought you were awesome, it'll blow her mind that I actually got to meet you!”

Sam took out a pen and leaned against a post. “Want me to make it out to her?”

“Yeah, would you? Her name is Kathy!”

Sam wrote, To Kathy, I hear you're a big fan. Thanks so much, Sam Prichard.

He handed the card back to Dean, who read it and broke into a huge smile. “Oh, dude, she's going to freak out!”

Sam shook his hand and turned around to leave. From what Dean had told him, he had a feeling it wouldn't do him a lot of good to talk to Leon just yet, so he had decided to take a different approach. He had almost made it to the car when his phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID to see that it was Indie calling.

“Hey…” That was as far as he got.

“Get home,” Indie said. “Now!”

Sam's eyes went wide in shock. “Indie? What's wrong?”

“I'll show you when you get here, just hurry. Please, Sam, hurry.”

“I'm on the way!” Sam said, and then he cut the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He moved as quickly as he could the rest of the way to the car, tossed his cane inside and jumped in. The big 427 roared to life, and his back tires squealed as he left rubber on the asphalt parking lot.

8

Sam hit eighty miles an hour on Sixth Avenue, and was still doing fifty after he fishtailed around the corner onto Federal. He had gotten back up to seventy by the time he passed a squad car, but it was sitting nosed into a parking space, and he was long gone before the officer driving it could get it back onto the street. He knew the cop would know his car, but the tone of Indie's voice had told him not to worry about speeding tickets.

He pulled into his driveway and was out of the car as soon as it stopped moving. He didn't even bother with his cane, just rushing as fast as he could to the front steps, where he grabbed the rail. By the time he got onto the porch, Indie was in the doorway holding it open for him. She had something in her hand, and she gave it to him as soon as he got inside.

Sam looked down at the item she’d handed him, and his heart turned to ice. It was a photograph of Kenzie, playing in their backyard, and someone had drawn crosshairs over her face.

The meaning was clear and obvious. Someone was threatening Sam's family. “Where did this come from?” Sam asked.

“I stepped out to get the mail, and it was in a letter in the mailbox. It was addressed to me, all typed up like it was printed on a computer, but there was no stamp. I opened it and saw that. Turn it over.”

Sam turned the picture over, and on the back someone had written, “Forget McAlester.” A chill went down Sam's spine, as he remembered Dean telling him that Carlos had worked as an intimidator. Somebody was worried that Sam might learn too much, and was trying to warn him off.

Sam reached out and pulled Indie into a hug. “You know I won't let anything happen to Kenzie, right?”

Indie nodded against his chest. “Sam, when I saw that, it just scared me to death. Kenzie was out back playing with Samson, and I ran out there in a panic. I think I freaked her out a little, but I made her grab the cat and get inside.”

Sam looked over to the couch, where Kenzie was holding Samson and watching them closely. The TV was running the Minions movie, but Kenzie had switched her attention to her parents.

Sam took Indie by the hand and led her into the kitchen. “I don't know what I'm up against,” he began. “This case is so weird, with some people claiming Carlos was a saint, and others calling him a devil. I just found out that he was moonlighting for somebody as a leg breaker, a guy who intimidates other people into doing what his boss wants. Maybe that's convincing them not to testify against someone, or forcing them to do something they don't want to do, but I was warned just a half hour ago that somebody else would undoubtedly be taking his place. Apparently, that someone has already been hired.”

Indie nodded. “Somebody's afraid you're going to find out about it. But my God, Sam, what kind of person would send a picture like this? Are they really threatening Kenzie, do you think? Or just trying to scare you off?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know, but we're not going to take any chances. I want you and Kenzie out of here, now, but I don't want to take a chance on someone following you.”

“Sam…” Kenzie started to protest, but Sam shot her a look that cut the words off before they could come out of her mouth.

“No, no arguments.” He took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contact list, then tapped a name. He listened for a moment as the phone on the other end rang, and then a familiar voice came on the line.

“Sam, boy, it's been too long! How in the hell are you?”

“Harry, I need your help.” It took him about ten minutes to bring Harry Winslow up to speed on what was going on, but the old man who worked for the Department of Homeland Security didn't even hesitate.

“You give me twenty minutes, and I'll have a team there ready to take your family somewhere safe. Get them all packed up and ready, and tell little Kenzie that Uncle Harry says they're going to have a lot of fun!” The line went dead instantly, as it always did when Harry was done speaking.

“I swear, that man does not even know how to say goodbye,” Sam said. “You've got twenty minutes to pack clothes, and we’re supposed to tell Kenzie that Uncle Harry says you're going to go off and have a lot of fun. I have no idea what he's got in mind, but you'll be with a security team, and that's where I want you right now.”

Indie put her elbows on the table and leaned her face into her hands. “God, I thought we were done with things like this. I don't want to be away from you, Sam, and especially when you're dealing with people who would do something like this.”

“Indie, we can't take any chances. I don't have a clue who Carlos was working for, or what it is they're afraid I'm going to find out, but we're not going to risk them getting to you or Kenzie. Come on, let's tell Kenzie, and you can get started packing.”

Kenzie looked at Sam as if she wasn't sure whether he was being honest with her or not, but she didn't argue, and only followed her mother up the stairs to pack some clothes for the trip. They were back down in ten minutes with Kenzie's suitcase, and Indie hurried into their own bedroom to pack one for herself.

“I'm not taking a lot of clothes,” she said. “I want you to get this thing settled, and settled fast, so I can come home. I don't like this, Sam, not even a little bit.”

“Babe, I don't like it either, but I'm not going to take a chance on either of you getting hurt. This is the best solution for right now, and I'll let you know the minute it's safe to come home.”

“Yeah, you just better! I mean it, Sam, you get this over with as quick as you can.”

Indie was still packing when a van and a car pulled up out front. Sam looked through the curtain and saw George, Harry's chauffeur, with Harry's own limousine. A woman climbed out of the passenger seat in the front and walked up to the door with him, while three men from the van climbed out and started wandering around the yard.

Sam opened the door, and George shook his hand with a smile.

“Sam, it's good to see you again,” George said. “Harry gave me a quick rundown on what's happening, and told me to introduce you to this lady, Jennifer Ragan. Jennifer is one of Harry's top security people, now, and the guys in the van work for her. Between them all, you just about got the equivalent of Seal Team Six watching over your family.”

Sam shook hands with Jennifer, and invited them inside. “Indie will be out in just a moment, she's just packing the last of her things.”

“We're not in a hurry,” Jennifer said with a smile. “This will be one of the best assignments we've had in a long time. Did Harry tell you where he's sending us?”

Sam shook his head. “No, he didn't. He just told me to tell our little girl that it was going to be fun.”

Jennifer smiled. “I'll say,” she said. She looked around to make sure Kenzie wasn't in earshot, then leaned close to Sam and whispered, “We're going to Disney World! Harry's got a plane waiting for us at the airport, right now, with all the smoke and mirrors so that no one will know where we've gotten off to.”

Sam's eyes went wide. “Are you serious? Well, that just sucks, I wish I could go.”

“Yeah, well, Harry kinda figured you'd feel that way. He said we can stay down there as long as necessary, so if you get done in a hurry with whatever you're doing, hop a plane and come on down. Trust me, none of us will mind spending an extra couple of days so you can enjoy the fun with your family.”

Indie came out of the bedroom just then, and Sam introduced her to Jennifer. The two women seemed to click, but Sam wasn't surprised. Harry would have chosen someone he knew Indie would like. There were hurried whispers to explain to Indie where they were headed, and then Sam called their daughter from the kitchen, where she had been playing with Samson.

Kenzie looked up at him solemnly. “Daddy, don't forget to feed Samson,” she said.

“Is Samson your kitty cat?” Jennifer asked, and Kenzie nodded. “Well, aren't you bringing him along with us? Uncle Harry said it was okay.”

There was another ten-minute delay, as Samson's pet carrier was located and extra cat food was tossed into a bag. Kenzie was delighted that her little friend would get to go along, and Sam was relieved. One of the reasons he had never had a pet before was because he would always forget that it was waiting at home to be fed. Samson would probably live longer, or at least better, since he was going along on the vacation.

There were hugs and kisses, and then George and Jennifer hustled Indie and Kenzie and Samson into the car. Sam met John, Tom and Matt, the three ex-military special forces security guys, and told them how much he appreciated what they were doing.

“No, we should be thanking you,” John said. “If we didn't get a break from Harry pretty soon, I think we were all going to go insane and shoot ourselves.”

Sam laughed. “Knowing Harry as well as I do, I think I understand what you're saying. Just let me tell you this, though. When it comes down to wanting someone at your back, there is nobody alive I trust more than Harry Winslow.”

John and the others grinned. “You think we don't know that? Any one of us could make three times the money we get now, working as consultants with one of those big security outfits overseas, but you couldn't take us away from Harry permanently with anything less than a nuclear bomb. That old man has saved each of our asses, at one time or another. Believe me, we know exactly what you mean.”

A minute later, Sam stood there leaning against his Corvette as his family was driven away. They would be safe, he knew, because anyone Harry trusted, Sam trusted. He waved once more as the limousine turned the corner, then looked up at the sky.

Sam locked up the house and got back into his car, then drove directly to Karen's office. He hadn't bothered to call ahead and she was out when he arrived, so he called her cell phone and arranged to meet her for lunch. “Anywhere you want,” he said. “My treat.”

“Your treat? Cool, then let's go to Applebee's.”

Sam was a couple of minutes later getting to the restaurant than she was, so she already had a booth by the time he got inside. She waved to get his attention, and he pointed her out to the hostess, then went to join her.

“Thanks for coming, Karen,” Sam said. “I've got a couple things I wanted to talk to you about, and it might be better to do it here rather than your office, anyway.”

“I'm all ears,” Karen said. “Especially since you said you're buying. What can I do for you, Sam?”

“I've been digging into Carlos McAlester a bit,” he said. “Are you aware that he has a substantial amount of money in the bank, money that can't be accounted for by his employment?”

Karen nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that this morning. From what I can tell, there's no indication of anything illegal, unless maybe the IRS wants to raise a fuss about it. I don't know whether he filed taxes on that money or not, and that's way out of my jurisdiction. If there is an issue, it would have to be with the feds.”

“I don't care about that,” Sam said. “My problem is that, from the things I'm hearing this morning, that money is his earnings from being paid muscle for somebody around here. According to people who claim to know, Carlos got paid big bucks to convince people to do something other than what they wanted to do, including keep their mouths shut and decline to testify against somebody. What I'm wondering is if you know of cases where a witness suddenly changed his mind. If I can get a lead on who Carlos might have helped out, it's possible I can follow it all the way back to whoever was paying him.”

“Hell, I know of several such cases off the top of my head. We had one just a week or so ago, a witness in a manslaughter case who suddenly got amnesia.” She thought for a moment. “I don't know, Sam, as far as I can tell none of those cases were connected to each other. I can't see how that might help.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on, Karen, think! A guy like Carlos makes hundreds of thousands of dollars as an intimidator, that has to mean that somebody was brokering his services. Somebody is getting in touch with people who get into trouble and offering to make those troubles disappear. That somebody charges an arm and a leg for the service, then pays a wrist and a hand to Carlos, or someone like him. It's an old game, been around forever.”

The waitress approached, and they put off their conversation while they placed their orders. As soon as she walked away, Karen looked Sam in the eye.

“So, you're saying somebody around here is running a Thug-for-Hire operation? As much as I hate to admit it, that would make a sick kind of sense. We probably had two-dozen cases go sour on us in the last year or so, when the witness decides he can't remember what it was he saw, after all. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know somebody's fiddling with us, but we haven't gotten anything solid enough to do any good, not yet anyway. You don't have any idea who might be behind it all?”

“No, not yet,” Sam said, shaking his head. “That's why I wanted to talk to you. If I could get a few of those amnesiac witnesses to talk to me, maybe I can find out.”

Karen looked at him for a moment. “Sam, this isn't just about your friend in jail anymore, is it? Something else is bothering you, now. What is it?”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph of Kenzie with the crosshairs over her face. He passed it to Karen, and watched her eyes go wide in shock at first, and then narrow in rage. She looked back up at his face.

“Is this what it looks like? Somebody's putting pressure on you?”

“Yeah, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? Now, ask yourself this question: why would anyone want me to drop this investigation, unless Candy is telling the truth and they're afraid I'm going to find out who really killed Carlos?”

Karen looked down at the photo again. “Okay, I'm convinced, but that's because I know you wouldn't rig something like this up yourself. If I go to the prosecutor with it, they’re just going to claim that you or someone close to your client did it to cast doubt on her guilt.” She raised her eyes back to Sam. “I'll get you the names of a few of those witnesses, but you have to keep my name out of it, for now. Okay?”

“No problem,” Sam said. “Now, there's one other thing. I need to talk to Candy's son, Charlie, but his grandparents won't let me near him. Is there any way you can help me out on this?”

Karen thought about it for a couple of seconds. “I can have them bring him in for an interview, and I can ask him the questions you want answers to. You can watch through the window. Will that help?”

Sam sighed. “If it's what I can get, then it will have to do. Can I put a bug in your ear?”

“About what?”

“No, I mean, can I put an ear plug in your ear, so I can talk to you, feed you questions as I think of them?”

“Sure, that's no problem. I'll call his grandparents when I get back to my office and set it up, and let you know when. Any particular time that would be better for you than other times?”

“No, you set it up whenever you can get it, and I'll be there. I've got a feeling that kid may hold more answers than he realizes.”

With that settled, they talked about other things for a while. Sam bragged about Indie and Kenzie, and even Samson, and Karen told Sam how proud she was of her own teenagers. Her husband, Ralph, had also been a police detective, but he’d been killed in the line of duty six years earlier while attempting to arrest a suspect in a murder case. It had actually been Sam who had finally caught the shooter, another reason that Karen was always ready to help him when she could.

They finished their lunch, and Karen went back to her office while Sam went back to the lumberyard to speak with Leon. Unfortunately, Leon was out on deliveries when he arrived, apparently taking over Carlos's role as the driver, and wasn't expected back before they closed. Sam decided he would return in the morning, and headed for Aurora. He knew where the police station was there from having participated in joint investigations, and it only took him a few minutes to track down former detective John Shockley.

“John's in the evidence room, now,” the desk sergeant said. “You know where that is?”

“Yep, no problem,” Sam said. A moment later, he was walking down a back hallway that led to some of the administrative offices and the evidence room.

Shockley glanced up when he heard the door open, and broke into a big smile. “Holy cow, would you look at this,” he said. “I do believe I'm looking at the next big country superstar. Saw you at Travis Bittner's show the other night, you sounded great.” He laughed. “Sam Prichard, how long has it been?”

Sam smiled and accepted the hand that Shockley extended to him. “It's been a while, that's for sure. Last time I saw you, John, you had a gold shield. What happened?”

Shockley grimaced and shrugged. “Had a bad arrest a couple years ago,” he said. “I brought in a guy on a strong-arm charge, and he was positively identified as the guy who shut down one of the convenience stores out on the loop, but the next day I get a call from the witness who says he was mistaken. I went out to talk to the witness, and the next thing I know I've got IA claiming that I tried to bully the witness into lying. Came down to either taking a demotion or getting shit-canned, so I gave up the shield. You know how it is, Sam, I got a wife and kids. I tried to fight it, but when push came to shove, I couldn't afford to give up the paycheck and benefits.”

Sam nodded. “Carlos McAlester, right?”

Shockley raised his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said. “You knew about that?”

“I heard something about it recently,” Sam said. “Did you hear that he was killed Sunday morning?”

“Yeah,” Shockley said, nodding his head. “News says his ex did it. You working that case?”

“His ex is the bass player in my band, so I dusted off my PI license to see what I can find out.”

Shockley's face became cold, all the friendliness drained away. “Sam, are you looking at me as a suspect? I can save you a lot of time, I was working here Sunday morning.”

Sam smiled. “Oh, good grief, John, no,” Sam said. “I just wanted to know more about your run in with him. Seems Carlos worked as a leg breaker for someone around here, and one of his specialties is to make witnesses change their minds. Did you ever find any indication that he may have been the one to intimidate your witness?”

Shockley frowned, but he had relaxed considerably. “No. In fact, I couldn't ever get him to talk at all. I did hear that it was someone else who got to him, threatened his wife, but I couldn't prove it.” He waved a hand to indicate the room around him. “That's why I'm here.”

“John, did you ever get anything on who was behind it? Any clue at all? I'm hoping that if I can find that out, I might find out who really killed him.”

“Nothing, not even a hint. If he was doing muscle work, then I'd guess it was whoever pulled his strings. Must have wanted him to stay out on the street.”

The two men talked for a few more minutes, but Shockley didn't have anything more to offer, so, with nothing else to do, Sam decided to head for home. It wasn't a long drive, but he had just gotten back into the house and dug a root beer out of the refrigerator when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID to see that it was Karen Parks calling.

“Hello,” he said.

“Sam, it's Karen. Listen, I called out to the McAlesters' place to arrange that interview, but the grandmother just called me back. She went to find Charlie to tell him they'd be coming down to the station in the morning, and found a note in his bedroom. He's run away, Sam, and the note said he was going to try to find a way to save his mom. They checked all his friends, and nobody knows where he is. Under the circumstances, we're opening a file on it now, and we've got an APB out on him already. I'll let you know if we find anything.”

Sam's eyes widened in shock. “Holy cow,” he said. “Does it strike you as odd that he would say his mother killed his father, but he wants to save her?”

“Sam, I'm beginning to think odd doesn't come close to describing this case.”

9

Sam's phone rang again about twenty minutes later, and he answered it to hear the familiar recording.

“This call is from,” said the recorded voice, and then he heard Candy's voice giving her name before it went on, “an inmate at the Denver County Jail. To accept this call, dial five. To block all future calls from this inmate, dial nine.”

Sam punched the five, and heard Candy crying. “Candy, it's Sam,” he said.

“Oh, Sam, they just told me that Charlie has disappeared. Sam, please see if you can find him, please? He's all I've got, Sam, and I'm scared to death. What if Carlos is mixed up with bad people, and they've got Charlie now?”

It took Sam several minutes to get her calmed down at all, but he promised to do everything he could to help the police find her son. He had also worried that Charlie might have actually been taken, used as a pawn or some sort of collateral to try to make sure no one got any closer to the truth. So far, there'd been no indication that this was the case, but that didn't keep Sam from worrying.

When he finally got off the phone, Sam tried calling Indie, but her phone went straight to voicemail. He left a message for her to call when she could, just to let him know she was okay, and then sat down in the living room and turned on the TV. At that moment, all he wanted was something to take his mind off of the case he had gotten entangled in.

Sometimes, though, fate has other plans. He had just finished watching an old rerun of Supernatural when he heard a car pull up in his driveway. He pushed himself up out of his recliner and went to the door just as someone knocked. He opened the door to find his mother-in-law, Kim, standing there, and she brushed past him into the house.

“Now, Sam, I know you're going to get upset about this,” Kim began, “and I promise you I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important, but…”

“Beauregard?” Sam asked. Beauregard was the name Kim claimed for her “spirit guide,” which she insisted was the ghost of a Civil War soldier. Sam wasn't exactly a believer in Beauregard, but he couldn't deny the fact that the warnings Kim gave him from what Sam figured was her own alter ego had helped in his investigations and even saved his life more than once. When Beauregard spoke, Sam had learned that it was usually a good idea to listen.

Kim looked at him for a moment with her lips pressed tightly together. “Yes. He told me to get over here and talk to you right now. Sam, I don't know what you're doing, but Beauregard says you've got to stop worrying about anything except the little boy. He won't tell me any details, but he says the little boy has the answer you need.”

Sam shook his head, an exasperated look on his face. “Well, that's just wonderful, Kim, except for the fact that the little boy has run away from home and nobody knows where he is. Can Beauregard help me with that?”

Kim stared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes. He could see her lips moving. A moment passed, and then she opened her eyes and looked at him again. “Beauregard says the little boy will come to you. He doesn't know when, but sometime in the next couple of days you're going to hear from him. When you do, it will be up to you to keep him safe.” She looked around the room, and then said, “Where are Kenzie and Indiana?”

Sam groaned. “Um, they went to Disney World. They got a free trip, and had to go today. I'm surprised Indie didn't call you.”

Kim stood there for just a moment, then closed her eyes again. When she opened them this time, they were filled with fire. “Sam Prichard! How dare you lie to me! Why didn't someone call and tell me she'd been threatened?”

“What? Indie hasn't been threatened…”

“No, you idiot, not Indie, I'm talking about McKenzie! Beauregard says you got some kind of a message threatening her if you don't stop investigating whatever you're working on!”

Sam put a hand over his eyes. “Do me a favor, will you, Kim? Tell Beauregard that sooner or later I'm going to find a way to kill him! Look, yes, I got a message like that, and I did exactly what needed to be done. I called Harry Winslow, and he arranged this trip to Disney World. They've got a top security team with them, and they're perfectly safe, now.”

The small woman stepped forward until she was chest to belly with Sam, who towered over her. “They had just better be,” she said in tones that dripped with anger. Then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door, got into her car and drove away.

Sam stood stock still in the middle of his front doorway for a moment, then slowly closed the door and went back to his chair.

“Beauregard,” he said to no one. “This is one time, buddy, I really hope you're right.”

Indie called an hour later, and told Sam that they had arrived safely in Orlando. Someone at the hotel had given Jennifer their passes, which included Disney World and Universal Studios, so she was quite certain that Kenzie was about to have the time of her life.

“I miss you already,” she said, and Sam told her that he felt the same way. They talked for a couple of minutes, and then Sam told Indie about her mother's visit, and Beauregard's message.

Indie sighed. “Sam, I know you hate it, but that old spook is always right. You know that as well as I do. If he says the boy will get in touch with you, then you might as well just sit around and wait.”

“Yeah, I know, that's what burns my ass. I want to be out there doing something, but I don't have any more leads to work, not really. It's like I've come up on a dead end.”

“Well, maybe that's because you're thinking like a private investigator. Think like a kid; if you were an eight-year-old boy and wanted to hide, what would you do?”

Sam thought about it. “I'd find a friend who knew how to keep a secret,” he said.

“Well, there you go. Is there any way you can find out who his friends are? Or better yet, find out where he goes to school. In fact, give me just a minute, I've already got my computer set up here in the hotel and on the Wi-Fi.” Sam heard her tapping on the keys of her laptop, and a moment later she said, “Aha! Charlie goes to Raynor Elementary School, it's a private school on East Alameda. He must be an advanced student, he's in the fifth grade already. His teacher is Becky Martinez. Sam, what you need to do is go and speak to his teacher in the morning. She would probably know who he's close to.”

Sam nodded into the phone. “Baby, that's an excellent idea. I'll go first thing tomorrow.”

They talked for a few more minutes, and then Sam got to talk to Kenzie, who assured him that Samson was having a wonderful time, as well. Kenzie had taught Samson to walk on a leash when he was only a kitten, which was a pretty good idea since he had some sort of nerve damage that occasionally made his back end pass up his front end, causing him to look like a rolling, furry cannonball whenever he tried to run too quickly. Because of this, he would even get to go along to the parks the next day.

Kenzie finally let her mother have the phone back, and Sam and his wife whispered their affections to each other for a few more minutes, but then it was time for the call to end. Jennifer was in charge of pretty much everything, and it was time for them to go and find some dinner. That reminded Sam that he was getting hungry, himself, and he wandered into the kitchen to dig in the freezer for something he could pop in the microwave.

Two large red-hot burritos and another bottle of root beer later, Sam plopped into his recliner again and watched a movie. Indie called at around nine, and they talked for a few more minutes, then Sam went into his bedroom to get some sleep.

Five minutes later, he carried his pillow out to the couch. The bed just wasn't going to work, not when Indie wasn't in it with him.

10

Sam walked into Raynor Elementary a few minutes before it opened the next morning and asked to speak to Ms. Martinez. The secretary told him to wait, and a moment later the principal, Mrs. Jackson, came out to ask him what he needed. Sam showed his ID and explained the situation. After a moment of thought, Mrs. Jackson led him to Ms. Martinez's classroom and explained to the teacher that Charlie had apparently run away. Sam, she said, was a private investigator who wanted to speak to the class about whether they had any idea where Charlie would go.

Ms. Martinez said she was happy to help, and when the students finally filed in, she introduced him to them. “Mr. Prichard is what they call a private investigator, like a policeman. He's looking for Charlie McAlester, who seems to be missing.” She looked at Sam and nodded encouragingly.

Sam stepped up before the class and looked out over the sea of little faces that were staring at him. “Hi, kids,” he began. “Well, like your teacher told you, Charlie has run away, and we're all very worried about him. I know he hasn't been in class the last couple of days, but that was because something bad happened at his house, and we're all afraid that it's got him pretty upset. I wanted to ask if any of you might have some idea of where Charlie might go, someplace he might want to hide. If you do, please let me know, because it's very important that we find him soon.”

The kids all looked to one another, but nobody spoke up. “Okay, well listen, if you do happen to hear from him or think of somewhere he might go, I would appreciate it if you would ask your parents to call me as soon as you can, or if they don't want to call me, then they could call the police. I'm going to give each one of you my business card, so you can call me anytime if you know anything about Charlie, or how I might be able to help him.” He had brought a stack of business cards with him for this very reason, and Ms. Martinez had two of the children in the front row take them from him and pass them out. Sam thanked the teacher and the children, and then left the school.

Once again, Sam felt like he was at a dead end. The message from Beauregard echoed through his mind, that he should simply wait for Charlie to get in touch with him. He turned the Corvette toward home again, and spent the whole day just hanging around the house.

Indie called him a few times, and he was delighted to hear how much fun they were having. He didn't tell her that he had been so lonely the night before that he slept on the couch. Instead, he told her about talking to the students that morning, and how he was hoping that Beauregard's prediction would come true.

He fielded a couple of calls from the other band members, Janice Peet and Stan Bennett. He assured them both that he was doing everything he could to help Candy, which is what they seemed to want to hear. Each of them was convinced she was innocent, and they were counting on Sam to do the impossible once again. After all, they had met Sam when their original lead singer had disappeared, and they had hired him to find the fellow. Unfortunately, Sam had found him dead, and it was only an accident that led to them finding out Sam could sing.

Chris called, and Candy called, and Sam did everything he could to keep all of their spirits up. He had learned long ago, as a police officer, that it was necessary to keep his own voice sounding confident so that other people wouldn't give up. Looking back, he was glad he had taken that lesson to heart.

Evening finally fell, and Sam continued his boring routine of the day, watching television and drinking more root beer than was probably good for him. He watched a couple more Supernatural episodes on Netflix, then found a movie about the war in Afghanistan and started watching that. It was nearly eight o'clock, and he was waiting for Indie to call and let him talk to Kenzie before she went to bed. It was two hours later in Orlando, so the call would be coming anytime.

When the phone rang a moment later, he didn't even look at the caller ID. He picked it up and said, “Hey, gorgeous.”

A very young voice that sounded surprised said, “Is this Mr. Prichard?”

Sam's eyes flew wide open. “Yes, it is,” he said. “I'm sorry about that, I thought it was my wife calling.”

“Oh. Oh, that's okay. My name is Cindy, you came and talked to our class this morning. About Charlie, you said you were looking for him.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Yes, I am. Do you know where he might be?”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds, and Sam began to worry that he had scared the little girl off. Finally she spoke. “If I know where he is, and I tell you, is he going to be in trouble?”

“No, not at all. Charlie hasn't done anything wrong, we just need to find him to make sure he's safe.”

“But what if he's already safe, and he doesn't want anyone to know where he is? What if he's afraid to go home? Would you have to take him home?”

Sam thought, Well, this puts a wrinkle into things. Aloud, he said, “Not necessarily. If there's a reason why he doesn't want to go home, then maybe we can find him somewhere else he could stay, somewhere he'd be safe and comfortable.”

Once again there was silence, but it didn't last as long. “Well—he's here at my house, out in our garage, but he's afraid to talk to anybody. I told him I thought it would be okay to talk to you. If I give you our address, would you be willing to come over by yourself and talk to him?”

Sam thought quickly. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even consider agreeing to a request like that, but for all he knew Charlie might be in danger. He wanted to know more about why Charlie ran away from his grandparents before he decided whether to report his whereabouts to the police.

“Yes, I could do that. When?”

“Well, maybe, like now? And—and would you bring him something to eat? I tried to sneak some food out to him, but my dad caught me. He doesn't want my dad to know he's here.”

Sam smiled. “Sure, I can do that. What's the address?”

Cindy gave him the address and told him that Charlie would be waiting for him in the garage. It opened onto the alley behind the house, so Sam could park a little ways down and get there without being seen. Sam promised to be there within half an hour, and to bring a big box of fried chicken with him.

Because the Corvette was both loud and flashy, Sam decided to take the Honda Ridgeline that he had bought for Indie to drive, instead. The truck was quiet, and nobody seemed to pay a lot of attention to it. He thought it would be a good idea to be as discreet as possible.

Indie called while he was pulling away from the house, and he filled her in on what was going on. She told him how glad she was that Charlie's little friend had reached out to him, and they both avoided mentioning Beauregard's prediction that something like that would happen. She let Kenzie talk to Sam for a couple of minutes, and he heard all about their first day at Disney World. The little girl seemed to have had a blast, and Sam wished once again that he was there to enjoy it with her.

Indie came back on the phone and they talked for a couple more minutes, whispering words of love and how each wished to be with the other. They hung up, with Sam promising to call and let her know how things went with Charlie.

He made a quick stop at the KFC and bought a double three-piece meal, then headed for the address Cindy had given him. He found it easily with his phone's GPS, and turned off his lights as he pulled into the alley. He parked a couple houses down from the garage, walked over, and tapped lightly on the garage door.

A small round face appeared in one of the frames where a window had been broken out. “Charlie?” Sam asked, and the face nodded. The boy held up a finger to tell Sam to wait, and then a smaller door on the side of the building opened with a creak. Charlie came around the building and stood just out of Sam's reach, as if he was ready to run if he had to.

“I got you some chicken,” Sam said. He held out the bag, and after a moment the boy took it. Sam stood there for a second, then sat down on the ground and leaned back against the front bumper of the Ridgeline. After a few seconds, Charlie sat down and leaned back against the garage, then tore into the chicken, clearly famished.

“Charlie, I know we haven't met, but I'm a friend of your mother. You know she's in a band, right? Well, I'm the singer.”

Charlie looked up at him, with half a chicken leg already in his mouth. He nodded his head, as if telling Sam to go on.

“Charlie, can you tell me why you ran away from your grandparents?”

Charlie ate the rest of the chicken leg and devoured a wing before he answered. He swallowed hard, then said, “I had to get out of there. All they did was talk bad about my mom.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Okay, I guess I can understand that. But, Charlie, they still think your mom killed your dad. It's probably normal for them to be mad at her right now, don't you think?”

“Well, yeah, I could understand that,” Charlie said. “It's worse than that, though, they keep saying that she should have been locked away a long time ago, and that she's a bad mother and stuff like that. She's not a bad mother, no matter what she's done.”

Charlie ripped into a chicken breast, and Sam let him eat for a couple of minutes before he asked any more questions. When the boy showed signs of slowing down, Sam started talking again. “Charlie, the police said you told them that your mom killed your dad. Do you really believe that's true?”

Charlie sat there and looked down into the box of chicken in his lap for a long moment, then looked up at Sam. “Well, I think she did,” he said slowly. “They were fighting and yelling, and then I think I heard my dad screaming like he was hurt. I wasn’t supposed to leave my room, but I waited to see if there was going to be any more fighting, then I ran out to see what was going on. He was already lying on the floor, and I guess he was already dead. I didn't know what else to do, so I called 911, like they always tell us to do.”

“Charlie,” Sam said, “was there anybody else at the house that morning?”

Charlie shook his head. “Uh-uh, not by the time my mom got there. I think my dad's girlfriend was there a little before that, though. Whenever she comes over, Dad made me go in my room. He said I was too young to see him and his girlfriend together, so I always had to go in my room and watch TV there.”

“So you didn't see her there?” If Sam could establish that someone else had been in the house that morning, it would be another bit of doubt as to Candy's guilt.

Charlie shook his head once again. “No, I never did see her. Well, just once, but I didn't get to see her face. She and my dad were—you know, doing stuff. It was late at night, and I got up to go to the bathroom and I heard something in the living room. I looked, and they were on the couch but when I saw it was them I hurried up and went back to my room.”

“Okay, no problem. Do you know her name?”

“Uh-uh. My dad always just called her Sweetie Pie, that's all I know. But she wasn't there when my mom got there, I know that. I was out of my room then, but Dad made me go back when they started fighting.”

Sam sat there on the ground, and wondered what else he might ask. “Charlie, do you know who your dad worked for? Not his job at the lumberyard, but his other job. Do you know?”

More head shaking. “No, but sometimes he would get a phone call, and had to leave all of a sudden. He always said it was work, but I knew it wasn't at the lumberyard. They were closed a lot of times when he got those phone calls.”

Sam waited while Charlie started on the second box of chicken, but his appetite seemed to have run down. He managed to eat a wing, but then he closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“Charlie, your mom told me that she left the house to get some coffee and calm down, because she and your dad were fighting. She said he was alive and well when she left, but by the time she got back he was dead. Now, I've been in your house, and even in your bedroom. If you had the door shut, it was probably pretty hard to hear what was going on out in the living room, right?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah, Dad liked it that way.”

“Okay, then, do you think it's possible that your mom left like she said, and that somebody else might have come in, maybe through the back door, and killed your dad?”

Charlie sat there and looked Sam in the eye for a long moment. “Sometimes, like at night, I leave my door open just a little bit. Sometimes when I did that, I could hear the back door open and close. We always kept it locked, so whoever it was must've had a key. I asked my dad about it once, and he told me I better keep my door shut from then on.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Do you think it might've been his girlfriend?”

Charlie shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “I guess it might have been.”

“Charlie,” Sam said, thinking about how he wanted to approach the subject, “I really can't leave you here like this. I'm going to need to take you with me to see a police detective, the one who talked to you that morning. She's a real good friend of mine, and she'll arrange for a place where you can stay, without getting into trouble. Will you come with me without making a fuss?”

Charlie looked at him, but didn't make any effort to get up and run away. “You're really a friend of my mom's?”

“Yes, I really am,” Sam said. “In fact, if you want, tomorrow I could arrange for you to see her. Would you like that?”

Charlie smiled. “Yeah, I would. Do we need to go see the detective tonight? Like, now?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think we better. If you stay here, it could get Cindy and her parents in trouble, and we don't want that, now, do we?”

Charlie shook his head again. “No, I don't want to get anybody in trouble. Let me get my stuff, and I'm ready to go.” Charlie got up quickly, handed Sam the bag that still had part of the second meal in it, and hurried into the garage again. By the time Sam got to his feet, the boy was back. He had an overstuffed backpack on his shoulders, and Sam helped him get into the Ridgeline and buckle up.

As soon as Sam got behind the wheel, he took out his phone and called Karen.

“Sam? Is that you?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, Karen, it's me. I've got Charlie McAlester with me, and we need to come and talk to you. You're probably gonna want to contact CPS, because he really doesn't want to go back to his grandparents.”

“Holy crap, Sam, how do you do this stuff? I've got every cop in thirty miles looking for that kid, and we haven't turned up even a lead.”

Sam smirked. “I got a message from a ghost, and that's all I'm gonna tell you. A guy has to have some secrets, right?”

Karen hesitated for a second. “Sam, you do know that there are people in the department who think you're just a little bit crazy, right? I've got to confess that I'm starting to be one of them. Okay, fine, come on over to my house. You know where it is?”

“Yeah, I remember. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

11

Karen opened the door as soon as Sam pulled into the driveway, and waited for him to walk Charlie up onto the porch. “Well, hello, Charlie,” she said. “I've had a lot of people out looking for you. I'm glad to see you're safe.”

Charlie looked down at his feet. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to make trouble.”

Karen stood aside and let them enter the house. “I'm not worried about that,” she said. “We were just all worried that something bad might have happened to you.”

Charlie shrugged and shook his head. “I just had to get away from my grandma and grandpa. All they talk about is how they want my mom to go to the electric chair, and every time I said I wanted to talk to her they got mad at me. My mom isn't a bad person.”

Sam and Charlie sat on the couch, but Karen took a seat across from them. Her daughter, a girl of about fifteen, came into the room with cans of soft drinks and offered them around. Sam and Charlie gratefully accepted.

“Charlie, when we talked the other day, there at your house, you told me that your mom killed your dad. Has something happened to change your mind about that?”

Charlie shrugged. “I'm not really sure what happened,” he said. “The only thing I know for sure is that she wouldn't have done it unless she had a good reason. But me and Mr. Prichard have been talking, and now I'm not so sure she did. I was in my room and it's real hard to hear what's going on in the house from there.”

“Yes, I heard about that,” Karen said. “Mr. Prichard and one of our officers actually tried it, and found out that he couldn't hear what was going on in the living room very well at all, with your door closed. Do you have any other idea what might have happened to your dad?”

Charlie shook his head again. “I don't know. Mr. Prichard asked me if maybe somebody else might have come in, while my mom was gone. Like I said, I couldn't hear very well from inside my room, but I know that sometimes people come in the back door.”

Karen glanced at Sam, then looked back to Charlie. “What kind of people?” she asked.

“Well, sometimes his girlfriend came in that way, but I think there were other people who had a key, too. We always kept the back door locked, so whoever came in that way had to have a key.”

“Do you think anyone came in the back door that morning?”

“I don't know about that,” Charlie said. “The only times I ever heard the back door open was when I had my bedroom door open a little bit. I never saw who came in, though.”

Karen looked at him for a moment. “Why do you think there were other people besides your dad's girlfriend who came in that way?”

Charlie hesitated for a moment. “Well, sometimes I'd hear the door open and close because I had my door open a little bit, and then I would hear somebody talking. Sometimes it wasn't a girl talking, sometimes it was a man.”

Karen nodded. “And could you hear what they were saying?”

Charlie shook his head. “Uh-uh,” he said. “Sometimes I'd hear somebody say my dad's name, but that was about all I could make out.”

“And what about his girlfriend? Who is she?”

“I don't know, my dad always made me go in my room whenever she was supposed to come over. He said I was too young to know her.”

Karen glanced at Sam, who shrugged. “You never heard your dad use her name or anything?”

“No, he just called her his Sweetie Pie. I only saw her once, from the back, and it was dark in the room. I think her hair was black or brown, and it was pretty long. That's all I know.”

Karen thought for a moment, and then changed her tack. “Charlie, tell me more about why you didn't want to stay with your grandparents.”

Charlie shrugged again. “They were just mean, every time they talked about my mom. It's like they hate her. I mean, I know they think she killed my dad, but they don't think about the things that he did.”

Sam and Karen both raised their eyebrows. “What kind of things, Charlie?” Sam asked.

Charlie pulled his head down, as if trying to hide from the question. He sat there in silence for more than a minute, but neither Sam nor Karen said anything more. The silence bore down on the boy, and finally he looked up at Sam.

“My dad hurt people,” Charlie said. “I heard him talking about it a couple of times, about how he had to go and make people do stuff. He said it was funny, how people would cry and beg when he was breaking their arms or something.”

“Was he telling you about it?” Karen asked. “Or was he talking to someone else?”

Charlie hesitated again but only for a couple of seconds. “He was on the phone. I don't know who he was talking to. I told my grandma and grandpa, but they said I was making it up.”

Karen looked at the boy for a moment, then glanced at Sam. “Sam, Charlie looks like he's pretty tired, don't you think?”

Sam nodded and grinned. “Yeah, I think sleeping on the concrete floor last night probably wasn't too comfortable, was it, Charlie?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, sir,” he said. “But I don't think I would have gotten any sleep, anyway. I was trying to figure out how to go save my mom.”

“Charlie,” Karen said, “my son Michael has bunk beds. Would you like to get some sleep, and we can talk more about this tomorrow morning?”

Charlie nodded without speaking, and Karen called her son down from his room. The boy was a little younger than his sister, and Sam was surprised to see how much he looked like his late father.

“Michael, this is Charlie. He's going to stay with us tonight, so why don't you take him upstairs so he can get a shower, and then show him your room so he can get to bed.”

Michael nodded and smiled at Charlie. “Sure, mom. Hey, Charlie, come on with me.”

Charlie picked up his backpack and followed Michael up the stairs. Karen waited until they had gotten out of earshot before she turned to Sam.

“I called the Department of Human Services right after you called me, and told them I was probably going to keep Charlie here tonight.” She gave Sam an exasperated sigh. “What do you think you're doing to my investigation? Sam, doggone it, you're throwing so many monkey wrenches into my works that I may have to start all over.”

Sam shrugged. “Would you rather see an innocent woman go to prison? I don't think Candy did this, Karen. From the things I've learned, especially this stuff we're hearing from Charlie tonight, I've got a feeling there was more than one person who might have wanted Carlos dead.”

“Yeah, and probably starting with his girlfriend! What kind of man keeps his girlfriend secret from his kid?”

Sam started to shrug, but then he suddenly looked Karen in the eye. “What kind of man keeps his girlfriend secret from his son? I'll tell you what kind. It's the kind of man whose girlfriend is married to somebody else!”

Karen pursed her lips and nodded. “You may have just hit on it. So now we've got several other potential killers in the mix, including the girlfriend, probably her husband or boyfriend, goodness knows how many people Carlos has bullied, and then there's the mystery man who comes to visit and maybe also talks to Carlos on the phone. And that doesn't even touch on what's going to happen when I tell the prosecutor that my one and only witness is no longer sure of his statement.”

“They're not going to cut her loose, not yet,” Sam said. “I don't know who you got on the prosecutor's table…”

“It's Monica Purvis,” Karen said. “She's a bear, she's got political ambitions.”

“Okay, well, she's undoubtedly going to claim that Charlie is changing his story, and go with the first interview you did with him on camera. That video will carry a lot of weight with the jury, so she's going to figure she can discredit Charlie's recant.”

“True. Which means that you and I have a lot of work to do.”

“I'm already working on it,” Sam said. “With what Charlie has given us tonight, I'm going to start beating the bushes to find the girlfriend, and go back and talk to Carlos's coworkers. Hopefully I can get somebody to give me a lead on whoever he was breaking legs for.”

“Good. I'll be doing some similar things. Oh, incidentally, you wanted to know about the cases where witnesses suddenly changed their minds, right? I put together a list for you, but I forgot it at the office. If you come by in the morning, I'll give it to you.”

“I'll be there. By the way, I told Charlie that I could arrange for him to see his mom tomorrow. Can you set that up?”

Karen nodded. “Yeah, no problem. It might even do me a little good to watch how they interact. Maybe Charlie will say something to her that he wouldn't say to us.”

Sam thanked her, and got up to leave. His hip was giving him trouble again, and he had to lean heavily on the cane as he walked out to the Ridgeline. He put the truck in gear and backed out of the driveway, then called Indie as he headed for home.

The call went to voicemail, so he just left a message saying that he loved her and Kenzie. He got to the house a few minutes later and went inside to sleep on his couch again.

At eight thirty the next morning, Sam pulled into the parking lot at Davidson lumber. The same clerk directed him back to the docks to find Dean and Leon, and Sam got the impression that he wasn't a bit happy to see the private detective coming back. Sam ignored him and went through the doors to the yard.

Dean was on the forklift, this time, while Leon was holding a clipboard and checking off items that were being loaded onto a truck. Sam walked up to him and held out his ID.

“Leon Schmidt? I'm Sam Prichard, private investigator.”

Leon nodded once. “Yeah, I'd heard you were around asking questions the other day. Don't think I've got anything to say.”

Sam put steel into his eyes. “Do you really think you want to take an attitude like that with me? I'm trying to find out who really killed Carlos McAlester, because I'm pretty darn sure his ex-wife didn't do it. Trouble is, she's the one sitting in jail and facing the possibility of death row. Now, she seems to think of you as a friend of hers, so I'm really hoping you're going to act like a friend and tell me whatever you can that might help her.”

Leon kept looking at his clipboard, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Look, man, Carlos was not a nice guy, but he was an absolute choirboy compared to the people he worked for. As far as I know, Carlos never killed anybody, but I'm pretty sure he would have, if they had told him to. I'm also pretty sure that it wouldn't be the first time those people wanted somebody permanently out of the way, know what I mean? I've got a wife and kids, man, I can't afford to have them people mad at me.”

“Look, I can understand exactly what you're saying.” He took out the crosshaired photo of Kenzie and showed it briefly to Leon. “That's my little girl, and I had to take drastic measures to make sure these people couldn't get to her, so I'm with you. I'm not asking you to point fingers or testify, I'm just looking for a lead. Can you give me anything I can use to try to figure out who those people are?”

Leon checked off a couple more items, then turned slightly toward Sam, his voice down to a whisper. “Gerald Pennington,” he said softly. “He can tell you more than I could, and he's not nearly as afraid to talk as I am. That's all I got, and I'd appreciate it if you don't come back.”

“Cool,” Sam whispered back. “Now, cuss me out and throw me out of this place. Loudly.”

Leon looked at the clipboard for another second, then turned around and looked Sam in the eye. “I told you, I got nothing to say to you,” he yelled. “Now you either get lost, or I'm going to toss you right out on your ass! And don't come back!”

Sam pretended to be surprised at his outburst, called him a jerk and then turned around and stomped as well as he could back to the door into the store. He didn't even look at the clerk as he passed the counter, then pushed through the outer doors and headed for the Corvette. He pulled out of the driveway before he took out his phone.

He googled Gerald Pennington and found out that the name belonged to a remodeling contractor. He called the number listed and asked for an appointment to speak with the man, but Pennington invited him to come right on out to his current job site. Sam got the address and punched it into his GPS, and arrived only a half hour later.

12

Pennington saw the Corvette pull in and walked toward it as Sam got out. He extended a hand, and Sam shook it, then produced his ID.

“Mr. Pennington, I'm Sam Prichard, a private detective. I'm trying to get some information that may help me prove my client is innocent of a murder charge, and somebody told me you might be able to help.”

Pennington looked him over for a moment, then smiled. “You working on the McAlester murder? Carlos? Normally I wouldn't say this, but it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy. You ask me, whoever did it should have made him suffer more before he checked out.”

Sam grinned. “I'm hearing that a lot lately,” he said. “I take it you knew him?”

Pennington rolled up his left sleeve and Sam saw a thick surgical scar. “That's a reminder,” he said. “Carlos paid me a visit about a year and a half ago, and when I told him to get lost he took my arm and broke it like a piece of kindling over the tailgate of my own truck. That probably wouldn't have done him much good, but then he threatened a couple of my employees with even worse things, so I finally agreed to go along with what he wanted.”

Sam's eyebrows went up. “And what was it he wanted?”

Pennington looked around to make sure no one was in earshot, then turned back to Sam. “He wanted me to drop a lawsuit. See, my wife was killed by a drunk driver two-and-a-half years ago, and I had filed a wrongful death suit against the guy who did it. The driver was a local doctor, and somehow or other they managed to lose the breathalyzer report from the evening it happened. The doctor got slapped with a fine and his insurance company paid off fifty grand to me, but I wanted the SOB to pay. Since I couldn't do anything about getting any criminal charges brought back up on him, I filed a wrongful death suit for ten million. I didn't want the money, you understand, I just wanted the man who killed my wife to at least feel some impact over it.” He glanced up at the sun, then took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat off of his face. “Anyway, Carlos came around a couple of times telling me I should drop the lawsuit, that I should be content with what the insurance paid and let it go. I told him he could kiss my ass, that I wasn't backing down for any reason, and then he came back a third time. I was alone on a job site, and that's when he busted my arm. I told him I didn't give a crap how many bones he broke, there was no way I was going to drop that lawsuit, but then he showed me a picture. It was one of my drywall guys, with his family. Carlos asked me how I would feel if he and his kids were in a bad wreck of their own, and after what he had just done to my arm, I was pretty sure he'd follow through on that threat. I decided I didn't want anyone else to suffer because of me, so I took out my phone and called my lawyer, told him to drop the lawsuit. Then I went to the hospital and ended up in surgery, getting a couple of steel plates and a dozen screws put into my arm. Now I set off metal detectors everywhere I go.”

Sam shook his head. “Mr. Pennington, do you have any idea how Carlos got involved in this? Did that doctor hire him?”

Pennington laughed, shaking his own head. “He didn't have to,” he said. “All he had to do was call up Randy Whitaker. Whitaker's the one who sent Carlos to visit me.”

Sam's eyes went wide, as the name registered. “Randy Whitaker? The county attorney?”

Pennington was nodding. “The very same,” he said. “Whitaker came after me five years ago, before he was got the county job. I was building a strip mall down on Zuni Street, and he wanted me to go along with a modification to the property survey. He had a client who owned the property right next door, but he needed seven more feet of street frontage to qualify for some government grant or other. They offered me what was probably a fair price for the East End of my property, but that would have forced me to have a whole new building designed, parking lot and all. I turned them down, but Whitaker kept pushing the issue. The last time we talked about it, I told him he could forget it, but he said I ought to take the deal while I could. I asked him what he meant, and he said something about having Carlos explain it to me. Bet you can guess who showed up the next day, right?”

“Carlos McAlester,” Sam said, and Pennington grinned and pointed a finger at him.

“Give that man a cigar,” he said. “Carlos made it clear to me that if I didn't go along with the sale, I'd be looking at having some extremely bad luck in the near future. When I asked what kind of bad luck he was talking about, he just said it would be something that I didn't have enough insurance to cover. I wasn't quite as cocky back then as I am now, and I caved in. I sold that stupid little strip of land for thirty-eight thousand dollars, and then it cost me seventy thousand for a whole new architectural layout.”

Sam settled himself onto the fender of the Corvette. “So maybe Whitaker hired whoever Carlos was working for. What makes you so sure that was Whitaker himself?”

“Because I know a half-dozen other people who went through the same thing when they butted heads with Whitaker. Sometimes it was just Carlos who came to see them, but a couple times Whitaker was with him. Randy Whitaker isn't just a lawyer, he's the worst kind of power broker that any city could ever have. If you want something to go your way, all you have to do is let Whitaker know about it, and not long after that you'll be quoted a price. If you're willing to pay, then whatever you wanted is what happens. I know for a fact that it's Whitaker who gets the money, and Whitaker who pays it out to the lowlife bastards like Carlos McAlester that he sends out to do the job.”

“Is there a way to prove it, though?” Sam asked.

“What is it they say on the crime shows on TV? Follow the money. If you took a good look at Whitaker's bank account a few days before my arm got broken, I'll bet you'd see a pretty big deposit. You'd find another one in Carlos's account, probably the very next day.”

“Mr. Pennington, I've spoken to a couple of people who tell me that Carlos wasn't the only one working for whoever was giving him orders. Any chance you know who else might have been in that racket?”

Pennington shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't have any direct experience with him, but I've heard other people talking about Roland Maxwell. Roland was special forces in the Army, and he's about as mean and vicious as a man can be. Never holds down any kind of regular job, but he's always got money, and I hear tell that a few people got him instead of Carlos. Even heard of one case when the two of them showed up together.”

“Okay,” Sam said, “can you give me the date when your arm got broken? I've got someone who can check those bank accounts.”

“That's easy, it was January 19th of last year. I can remember so easily because it was a year to the day after the accident that killed my wife.”

Sam scribbled the date in a notepad. “Can you think of anyone else who might talk to me about this? About dealings with Whitaker or McAlester?”

Pennington shook his head. “Not as long as Whitaker is still running around loose. I can tell you this, though. If you can get the prosecutor to go after him, I'm willing to testify. I'd just want some kind of protection for the people who work for me. I already know that Whitaker doesn't care who gets hurt, as long as he gets what he wants. He can send people after me all he wants, I got my concealed carry permit and I'm ready to put up a fight. I just don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

Sam thanked the man for his information and then got back into his car. It was still fairly early, but he had promised to go by Karen's office and pick up the list of witnesses she had prepared for him. He called ahead to make sure she was in, and she told him she'd be waiting.

“Come on in,” Karen said when Sam tapped on her door. He hobbled inside and sat heavily in the chair in front of her desk, and she passed him a manila envelope. He glanced inside and saw a list of names and contact information for each.

“Came by for this,” he said, “but I've also got a little information for you. Talked with a fellow this morning who had a run-in with Carlos McAlester. McAlester wanted him to drop a lawsuit he had going against a local doctor who was driving drunk one night and killed this guy's wife. The case somehow never made it to the prosecutor, so he had filed a wrongful death suit. When he declined to drop it, McAlester broke his arm, seriously enough that it required surgery to put it back together.”

Karen leaned back in her chair and looked at him. “The doctor hired McAlester?”

Sam shook his head. “According to my witness, McAlester worked for a man you probably know pretty well, Randy Whitaker. It seems that Whitaker considers himself something of a power broker. If you need something done, or not done as the case may be, you make a deal with Whitaker. He sends someone like Carlos to convince the people involved to do things his way. My guy had dealt with both Whitaker and Carlos before the arm-breaking incident, so he's pretty sure of his facts.”

Karen's eyes had gone wide at the mention of Whitaker's name. “Sam, I'm going to be honest,” she said. “There have been rumors for the last several years about Whitaker, but no one has ever gotten any kind of dirt on him. Personally, I think the guy is a sleazeball. When Ralph was killed, Whitaker was the lawyer the city hired to negotiate the settlement. He actually made a pass at me while we were in a meeting to discuss my kids' survivor benefits.”

Sam grinned from ear to ear. “Well, the guy I talked to, who wants his name left out for the moment, gave me a lead that might tie Whitaker to Carlos McAlester. If I can find a few more connections, maybe from your list of witnesses, we could have enough to go to the prosecutor. Wouldn't break my heart a bit to put this bastard away. If I'm hearing it right, then he's the son of a bitch who sent me this.”

He reached into his pocket and tossed the crosshair photo of Kenzie onto Karen's desk. She picked it up and looked at it, and Sam saw a flash of anger in her eyes before she got herself back under control.

“I wish you'd brought this to me when you got it? There might have been fingerprints on it, or DNA that we could trace.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I can't imagine anyone would be stupid enough to handle that photo without rubber gloves and a sterile environment. It came in a letter to Indie, with a computer-printed label.”

“Still,” Karen said, “you should've told me about it sooner, Sam.”

“I told you about it yesterday. And just for the record, McAlester used a photo in a similar way to intimidate my source, once. You can bet your sweet ass I want to nail the guy who took that picture.”

Karen looked at the picture again for a moment, then handed it back to Sam. “Whatever you get on Whitaker, I want to hear about it. If you're right, then he's an accessory after the fact to multiple crimes, including several homicides. On the other hand, if I go upstairs with this right now, he's going to hear about it. I think it would be best if I let you handle this for right now, don't you?”

“I think you're right,” Sam said. “I'm going to call Indie and have her get on some computerized aspects, and as soon as I have something concrete, you'll know it.”

“I expect to hear from you no matter what you find, even if it's muddy and runny. Like I told you, there's been a lot of rumors about Whitaker, but no one has ever been able to make anything stick. If anybody can, I think it's you, but that doesn't mean you won't need some help. And don't forget—we're talking about a man who uses threats and intimidation as part of his daily business. If he's as bad as we think he is and finds out you're coming his way, he won't hesitate to have you eliminated.”

Sam shrugged. “If there's one thing I've learned in the last couple of years, it's that I'm an extremely hard son of a bitch to kill. I don't plan on letting that change anytime soon.”

Sam got up and left the office, leaning on his cane as he made his way out to the car. As soon as he was sitting behind the wheel, he took out his phone and called his wife.

A sleepy voice answered. “Hey, baby…”

Sam grinned, but kept it out of his voice. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said. “I'm so sorry to be calling this early, I know you've got to be exhausted, but when you're up and about I need you to get Herman on to some things for me. Are you awake enough for me to tell you what it is, or should I text it to you?”

“Sam Prichard, we've been married over a year. Am I ever ready to function right after I wake up? Text me whatever you need, and I'll put Herman on it once I'm awake.” She paused for a second, then went on. “Unless you need it right now? I could probably force myself to get up, if you need me to.”

Sam couldn't help it, he laughed. “Baby, go ahead and get some rest. The information I need will be just as valuable this afternoon as it would be right now. Besides, I'm still working so I may have more leads to give you by the time you get up and drink some coffee.”

“Okay,” Indie sighed. “I'll call you when I'm up and about, okay?”

Sam told her that would be fine, and let her get off the phone. He texted her Randy Whitaker's name and asked her to check his bank accounts for a large deposit somewhere around the date Pennington had given him, and then cross-reference it with deposits to Carlos's account. He sent the message and tucked the phone back into his pocket, then pulled the list Karen had given him out of the envelope. He scanned down the names, and suddenly one of them jumped out at him.

Jim Mitchell. Sam checked the address to be sure it was the one he knew, and then fired up the car.

13

The Corvette cruised past Sam's own house and pulled in at the Mitchells' place a couple of blocks down. Jim and Anita Mitchell were friends, and Sam had known them since shortly after his retirement from the police force. Sam was in a wheelchair at the time, and his grass had been growing pretty long. Early one morning he heard the sound of a lawnmower outside and looked out to see Jim and another neighbor cutting the grass for him. He'd gone outside to thank them and offer to pay, but they told him that was what neighbors were for, and he and Jim became good friends. Jim and Anita had often invited him to join them and their kids for dinner, or to go out to a movie. When Indie had come into his life, she and Anita had also hit it off, while Kenzie found the Mitchell twins, who were close to her age, to be the perfect playmates.

According to the papers in the envelope, Jim had been a witness in a murder case a year before Sam had met him. The case involved the death of a teenage girl who was last seen trying to get away from an older man in a Lincoln Navigator. Jim was one of two witnesses who had seen the girl through the truck's window, slapping at the glass and screaming for help. Jim had gotten a partial license number and called police, and the truck was traced to a local businessman named Harold Morgan.

The girl's body was found the next morning, dumped behind a trash bin at a fast food restaurant. She was identified as the daughter of a minister from Utah, and had been missing for over a week from her home. Jim was called to the morgue to confirm that she was the girl he had seen crying for help.

The Navigator and its owner were located later that day, and it was confirmed that he had recently returned from Salt Lake City, but the man swore ignorance about anything to do with the girl. Unfortunately, neither Jim nor the other witness had gotten a truly good look at the man who was driving the Navigator, but when Jim saw Morgan in profile, he was confident enough to say that he could make a positive identification. Along with the statements of both witnesses that Morgan's Navigator was the one they had seen the girl in, and with the partial plate that Jim had gotten, the case looked pretty solid. All that remained was to put Morgan on trial.

Four days before the trial was set to begin, however, both of the witnesses suddenly declared that they were unsure of their identification. They apologized for wasting the time of the police, but there was nothing the prosecutor's office could do. Without their testimony, it was impossible to prove that Morgan had had anything to do with the girl's death or disappearance.

Sam parked his Corvette next to Jim's Mustang and got out. He made his way up the walk to the door and rang the bell, but Anita snatched it open even before he got his finger off the button.

“Hi, Sam,” she said. “You looking for Jim?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “I called his office, but his secretary said he was off today. Is he around?”

“Sure, come on in. He's out in the backyard, we got family coming in this evening and he's getting the grill ready for a cookout.”

Sam thanked her and went through the house to the back sliding door. Jim was on the deck, just outside, and he looked up with a smile when he saw Sam.

“Hey, buddy, how's it going?”

Sam took the hand that Jim extended and shook it firmly. “Kind of hectic, right now, to be honest,” Sam said. “You probably haven't heard, but my bass player is in jail on a murder charge, so I've sort of come out of retirement. I'm pretty certain she didn't do it, but the prosecutor thinks she murdered her ex-husband, and this case has taken a turn that got me digging into some other things.”

“Oh, gee, Sam, I'm sorry to hear that. Knowing you, though, I would just about bet you're feeling like you're back in your element, am I right?”

Sam grinned. “Maybe you know me too well,” he said. “Listen, Jim, this case is the reason I stopped by. I was looking into some things that might be connected to it and your name came up.”

Jim looked up from where he was cleaning the gas jets on the grill, and Sam saw wariness come into his eyes. “My name? In a murder case?”

“Well, not precisely in connection with this case, no. The thing is, the man who was killed in this case is someone you might have known, or met at one time. His name was Carlos McAlester. Ring any bells?”

Jim's eyes suddenly found the grill fascinating. “That, um, that doesn't sound familiar. Why do you think I might have known him?”

Sam glanced over to his right and saw a deck chair, which he pulled close and sank into. “Carlos McAlester was what we call a leg breaker. He used violence, or the threat of violence, to intimidate people into doing what he wanted them to do. Things like backing down on a lawsuit, or suddenly forgetting details about a case he was supposed to testify in. Jim, you were supposed to testify in a murder case a while back. In the initial stages, you made it clear that you were absolutely certain of your identification of the suspect, but just before his trial was set to begin you decided you weren't so sure after all. It seems like that's been happening a lot lately, and now that we know about McAlester and his escapades, it's a safe bet that he had something to do with a lot of those situations.”

Sam paused and just looked at his friend, who continued fiddling with the grill. “Sam,” Jim began, “I, um, I don't think I ever met the guy. As for what happened in that other case, I just—I just couldn't be sure that I had the right guy. That's all it was.”

Sam sat in silence as Jim continued what he was doing. After a moment, Jim started talking again. “Anyway, you know me. I wouldn't let somebody scare me off.”

Sam reached into his pocket and took out the photo of Kenzie, holding it out so Jim could see it. His friend looked at the picture, then turned his eyes away again quickly.

“Jim, I know what kind of man McAlester was, and I know that he isn't the only one. These men, they don't just threaten to get rough with you to get what they want, they'll threaten your family, your children…Jim, talk to me. Tell me what really happened.”

Jim set the grates back on the grill and then walked over and took another chair. He looked down at the deck for a few seconds, then leaned back to let his eyes meet Sam's.

“Yeah, it was McAlester, but he had some other guy with him. Roland something or other. They caught me while I was out to lunch one day and showed me several pictures like that, pictures of Anita and the twins. They told me in no uncertain terms that there was nothing I could do to protect my family, and if I didn't change my story then something terrible would happen to them.” He closed his eyes and put a hand over his mouth. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. “Sam, I'm not a coward, I swear I'm not, but you and I both know that a man won't risk his family if he can avoid it. I knew it wasn't right to change my story, and I really wanted that monster to get what was coming to him, but I just couldn't take a chance that something would happen to Anita or the kids.”

“Hey,” Sam said, “don't worry, Jim, you're preaching to the choir. As soon as I saw this photograph, I called in some pretty huge favors to get Indie and Kenzie completely out of the state and with extremely efficient bodyguards. I don't mind facing down people like this, myself, but like you say, I'm not going to put my family at risk in order to do it. I'm not going to look down on you, Jim. I just need to know the details.”

Jim swallowed hard and let his hand drop to his lap. “Like I told you, they came at me on my lunch break. Carlos, he did all the talking, he told me that somebody powerful wanted me to decide not to testify. I told him to get lost at first, I really did, but then that other guy, Roland, he pulled the pictures out of his pocket and just handed them to me. He didn't say a word, but Carlos leaned real close to me and whispered something about bad things happening to my family if I didn't change my mind.”

“Did either of them give you any idea who this powerful person might be?”

“No names were mentioned, but it was pretty obvious. It had to have been that guy Morgan, he's the one who was looking at life in prison.”

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a second. “Well, it turns out there's somebody who's running these thugs. A guy like Morgan, he wants witnesses to decide they don't want to talk, he tells this other guy and that fellow sends out the leg breakers. I've already got an idea who that person is, I'm just trying to find proof.”

Jim shook his head. “I wouldn't know anything about that, all I know is that I wasn't going to let them hurt my family. I hated backing down, Sam, but I just didn't feel like I had a choice.”

Sam nodded. “I understand. Does Anita know?”

Jim let his eyes drop to the floor again. “Yeah, she knows. When I told her that I had to back out of testifying, she went through the roof. I finally had to tell her why, so she wouldn't think I was just a piece of crap.”

Sam grinned at his friend. “You're not a piece of crap, Jim. You stepped up when you saw that girl in trouble, and you tried to help. Then you were willing to testify against the man who probably killed her. That's not the way a coward does things, and you don't have to be a coward to choose the safety of your family over civic duty.” He got to his feet, leaning on the table to do so. “I'm gonna go,” he said. “Right now, I'm thinking that powerful somebody is probably behind the murder of Carlos McAlester, and that's why I'm trying to build a case against him. If I can find enough connections, then maybe I can shake somebody up enough to talk.” He held out a hand to shake again, and Jim took it.

“You're not going to tell Anita we talked about this, are you?” Jim asked.

“Nothing to tell,” Sam said. “I just stopped by because I was bored.”

Sam walked down the steps from the deck and around the house, opening the gate to get out of the fenced backyard. He got back into his car and looked at the list again. The next recanted witness he wanted to visit was a woman named Mabel Swinson, and she lived only a few blocks away.

Mabel Swinson was a feisty old lady of almost 70, and she had contacted police about drug trafficking that was going on right in front of her own house. Using an iPhone, she had actually gotten video of drug transactions taking place, and when the dealers were rounded up she had agreed to testify against them.

Like Jim, she had suddenly had a change of heart just a few days before she was due to testify. Her excuse was that her memory wasn't as good as it had been when she was young, and she couldn't remember for sure just whom she had seen selling drugs. When she was shown the video she herself had taken, she insisted that she couldn't remember doing so.

The video would have still been fairly damning evidence on its own, but without eyewitness testimony as to when and where it had been created, it wouldn't have been terribly difficult for a defense attorney to get it thrown out. The prosecutor had finally decided to dismiss the charges, and Mrs. Swinson's home was vandalized several times over the next few weeks.

Sam found her out in her garden, down on her knees and carefully pulling the weeds that were threatening to choke out her late-summer crops. He introduced himself and showed her his ID, and she smiled as she invited him to come and sit on the porch.

Once they were seated, Sam asked her why she had changed her mind about testifying, and at first she gave him the same song and dance about getting old and losing her memory that she had given to the prosecutor. When Sam mentioned Carlos McAlester, though, the look in her eyes told him he had struck pay dirt.

“That boy,” she said, “he a bad'n. Why, I want you to know he come up in here, right up in my house, and he told me if I didn't shut my mouth, he was gonna shut it for me for good. I told him, I said I'm an old woman, I done lived a long time and I ain't afraid of him or nobody else. He said he didn't figure I'd be afraid of him for myself, but then he reminded me I got kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, and he made it clear if I didn't forget about what I seen, he was gon' go after them.” Suddenly she had a tear running down each cheek. “That's why I changed my story. I didn't forget nothin', but I had to take care of my family, you know?”

Sam nodded, and showed her the photo. “I do know, I know exactly what you mean. Somebody is trying to make me stop asking questions, but I was able to make sure my family was safe, so I'm still asking. Mrs. Swinson, do you have any idea who might have sent him to see you?”

“I know exactly who it was,” she said. “I told my daughter Melanie about it, she works down at the City Hall, and she said it was the lawyer them boys hired.”

Sam's eyes lit up. “And did you happen to get his name?”

The old woman nodded her head. “I sure did,” she said. “It was the one as got the big county job, now, name of Whitaker.”

Sam thanked her and made his way back to the car. He had just backed out of her driveway when his phone rang. It was Indie calling, and he answered quickly.

“Sam,” Indie said without preamble, “you were right. Whitaker got a big deposit, almost thirty thousand, on the seventeenth of that month. On the twentieth, Carlos McAlester deposited ninety-five hundred dollars to his account.”

“That's fantastic, Babe,” Sam said. “You got a pencil and paper handy? I got several more for you to look over.”

He read off the dates relevant to the list of recanted witnesses, and Indie fed the information into Herman. Since Herman had already hacked its way into Whitaker's and McAlester's bank accounts, it only took him a few minutes to correlate the data.

“Okay, you gave me eighteen dates. On fourteen of them, Whitaker made a deposit to his account within two or three days before, and McAlester made one the day after. I'm starting to see a pattern, here, Sam.”

“I see it, too,” Sam said. “Okay, here's another name. Roland Maxwell, lives over on Shoshone. See if you can find a bank account for him, and whether any of those dates precede a deposit to his accounts.”

“Okay, but that will take a little more time. Do you know how many banks there are in Denver? Way too many. I'll set Herman to digging, but then we're fixing to head out to the Universal Studios Park. Or do you need this like ASAP?”

“No, that's okay. It'll just be more evidence of Whitaker's involvement in McAlester's activities, and if we can take down another of his leg breakers, so much the better. You girls go on and have some fun. How's your security detail holding up?”

Indie laughed. “Jennifer is doing fine, but the men are all taking turns being wrapped around Kenzie's little finger. You haven't seen anything until you've seen three heavily armed men riding on the spinning teacups. Two of them are constantly watching around for any trouble, while the third one is doing everything he can think of to spoil your daughter rotten. I had to threaten one of them yesterday, he was trying to buy her a third bag of cotton candy.”

“Yeah, well, tell them not to spoil her too much, that's my job.”

Sam talked to Kenzie for a moment, and heard an entirely different version of the spinning teacup story in which she made it spin so fast that all three of the men turned green. He told her to spin it even faster next time, make sure they really felt it. After a moment, she gave the phone back to her mother, and Sam and Indie said their goodbyes.

The phone hadn’t even made it back into his pocket before it rang again, however. This time it was Karen Parks calling.

“Hello,” Sam said.

“Sam, I took Charlie in to visit his mother this morning,” Karen said. “He told her that you helped him figure out that she probably wasn't the one who killed his dad. Sam, I was amazed at how much that kid loves his mother. Anyway, after I heard that, I had to go to the prosecutor and explain that our chief witness wasn't going to be reliable.”

“Oh-oh,” Sam said. “How did she take it?”

“Monica? How do you think, she went through the roof! She actually tried to tell me that Ms. McAlester had sent someone to scare the kid into changing his story. I made it quite clear that I knew better than that, and that in my opinion, we've got the wrong person in jail. She told me to keep my opinions to myself.”

“Well, I didn't figure that would be enough to get Candy out,” Sam said. “On the other hand, her attorney will have a field day with it. Your prosecutor should know there's no way she's going to get a conviction, not with all the issues with evidence and the other possibilities.”

“I told you, Monica is a politician. She's not going to give up until we hand her proof of Ms. McAlester's innocence, or a locked-up case against the real killer. And speaking of that, are you getting anywhere?”

“I'm coming up with enough to show a pattern, that Whitaker would receive a large payment just before one of your witnesses changed his story, and McAlester or another leg breaker would have a chunk of money the day after. I can even tie Whitaker directly to a couple of cases. I'm just trying to find the missing link that connects him to Carlos's murder. Right now, I'm thinking that maybe Carlos became a liability in some way, and Whitaker had him taken out of the equation. You can help me out a little bit, if you can figure out where Roland Maxwell was on the day McAlester was killed.”

“Roland Maxwell? I know that name, where do I know that name from? I can't think of it right now, but it'll come to me. Let me get off the stupid phone, and I'll see what I can find out.”

“Hey, so what's going to happen to Charlie?”

“Well, since he insists on not going back to his grandparents, DHS says he has to go into a foster care situation for now. They took him after the visit, and he'll be staying in one of the group homes for a while.”

“I'll bet that's gonna suck,” Sam said. “You never hear anything good about the foster care system. Okay, I'll let you go for now. Hopefully one of us will come up with something soon.”

Sam tucked the phone into his pocket again, and drove the Corvette to the next address on his list.

14

The next three people Sam talked to wouldn't tell him anything, and he began to get frustrated. The only hope he felt he had for proving Candy innocent was to find out who actually killed her ex-husband, and he was pretty convinced that it had to have been Whitaker or one of his people. Without more to go on, however, there was not much chance he'd be able to prove it.

After leaving the last of the three, Sam was feeling discouraged. It was already past noon, and he was getting hungry, so he pulled into a Taco Bell and ordered lunch. He picked it up at the window and decided to simply sit in the car and eat.

He had just finished eating when a car pulled into the parking slot to his right, and a well-dressed man got out and opened the passenger door of the Corvette. Before Sam could react, he had sat down in the car with him, and Sam saw the gun in his hand.

“Mr. Prichard,” the man said, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Randall Whitaker, and I understand you're asking some questions about me.”

Sam looked at Whitaker. “This is a little out of character for you, isn't it? Actually coming after someone yourself, rather than sending one of your soldiers?”

Whitaker smiled. “I'm here myself, Mr. Prichard—may I call you Sam? I'm here myself, Sam, because you and I have some mutual interests. You're trying to find out who killed Carlos McAlester, and so am I. I thought it might be smart if we work together, rather than becoming enemies.”

“Whitaker, I know enough about you and what you're doing to make the thought of doing anything with you cause me to be ill.” He reached slowly into his pocket and withdrew the photo of Kenzie. “After getting this, what could possibly make you think I'd be willing to work with you in any way?”

Whitaker's eyebrows lowered, and he took the photo from Sam's hand. He looked at it carefully, and then raised his eyes back to Sam's face. “This is not my doing, Sam,” he said. “Someone else is trying to scare you off, not me. I can assure you I don't want you to drop this case.” He passed the picture back.

Sam watched his face carefully. “Why is that? Isn't it likely to expose you and the things you do?”

“Since you know what I do, you know that I tend to always get what I want, so that doesn't worry me. Now, here's the situation, Sam. I didn't kill Carlos, nor did I have him killed. Good grief, why on earth would I get rid of the tool that had made me more money than anything else? Carlos was excellent at what he did, and he had a particular knack for making evidence disappear, or making it say what we wanted it to say. It will be a long time before I find anyone who can fill his shoes. The problem for me is that, since I didn't have him killed, the very fact that he is dead causes me some worry. I think we both know his ex-wife didn't do it, simply because there was enough animosity between them that he would never have let her get close to him with a knife in her hand.”

“He let somebody,” Sam said. “Maybe he just didn't see it coming.”

“I'm going to tell you something that not many people know,” Whitaker said. “Carlos McAlester was probably one of the toughest men I've ever met in my life. I've seen him take down as many as a half-dozen opponents at once, and all without ever touching a weapon of any kind. It was sort of a pride thing with him, that he never used anything but his own hands and feet. I've seen people pull knives on him, even a gun once, and each time he simply took it away and then proceeded to beat the guy senseless. For anyone to get close enough to stick a knife into his chest, we absolutely have to be talking about someone he was foolish enough to trust completely. That wouldn't have been his ex-wife.”

Sam sat there and looked at Whitaker for a moment, letting the things he was hearing tumble about inside his head. If Whitaker was telling the truth, then Carlos would've been a hard man to kill under any circumstances. The theory that the killer had to have been someone Carlos trusted was once again making a lot of sense.

“Any idea who he might've trusted that much?”

Whitaker shrugged. “I can think of a very few people, one of them being myself. A couple of others are men like him who work for me, but neither of them would have any reason to want Carlos dead. Quite the opposite, because any time they needed backup, it was always Carlos they asked for. There is no way they would have done anything like this. Even if they were jealous of him, it would have been biting off their nose to spite their face.”

Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “The kid, Charlie, he mentioned that Carlos had a girlfriend, but he didn't know who it was. Do you?”

Whitaker's eyebrows went up. “A girlfriend? He had dozens of them; the guy could get just about any woman he wanted. He dated models, doctors, lawyers, even one girl who works for the cops, but as far as I know, none of them were anything serious. If he had a steady girl, I don't know anything about her.”

“He seems to have had one, but he didn't let his son meet her, or even know her name. My guess is that she was probably married or involved with someone,” Sam said, “because he kept Charlie out of sight whenever she came over. The kid always had to go to his room and close the door. He said he snuck out once and saw her from the back, but all he knew is that she had long dark hair.”

Whitaker shook his head. “Like I said, I don't know anything about her. Carlos and I weren't exactly friends, and we didn't run in the same circles.”

Sam nodded, and took a different angle. “Okay, you say you're trying to figure out who killed him, too. What about the girl at the coffee shop drive-through? When I asked her if she had seen Candy, and I can't believe anybody could forget that hair, it was pretty obvious to me the girl was afraid to admit that she'd been there. Someone warned her about talking. That wasn't you, either?”

“Nope,” Whitaker said. “Look, I've got no interest in seeing an innocent woman go down for this murder. I want to know who actually did it, because if it was in any way related to—let's just say, related to my activities—then I need to know who I'm dealing with. Maybe you should put some pressure on that girl to find out who scared her off. Sounds to me like there might be a connection to the killer.”

“Yeah, I thought of the same thing. I'll be visiting her shortly.” He cocked his head to one side and looked Whitaker in the eye. “You do know that the cops are on to you, now, right? And not just because of me; they've been hearing rumors about you for a while. You send your muscle to intimidate witnesses, force people to sell what they don't want to sell. You can't get away with things forever.”

Whitaker grinned. “Rumors don't worry me, and anyone you've been talking to won't be willing to testify. You can trust me on that, and take it to the bank. I'm pretty well insulated, Sam, and well enough entrenched that you'd never get a prosecutor to take me on, anyway. One of the nice things about being the go-to guy for the wealthy and influential is that you always know where plenty of bodies are buried. You might have stumbled across a few cases where my fingerprints might show up, but there are hundreds more you'll never find. Let's just say that some of those involve the very people who would make the final decisions about whether to mess with me.”

Sam sat quietly for a moment, then grinned. “So you're untouchable, then, right? Okay, fine. If I can't bring you down, then I want you in my debt. I'll find out who killed Carlos, but you owe me a favor. Fair enough?”

Whitaker laughed out loud. “Oh, Sam, I knew you were a lot more like me than you let on. Deal! You find out who killed Carlos and make sure they can't bother me in the future, and I'll give you not just one favor, but two. Doesn't matter what they are, you need something done, I'll get it done.”

Sam nodded and held out a hand. “Good enough. Just one caveat on this—if I ever find out that you've actually had someone killed to accomplish your goals, all bets are off. I'll come after you with everything I've got.”

Whitaker shook Sam's hand. “That's the one thing I'll never do,” he said. “Believe it or not, I don't think I could live with myself if I went that far. I like power, but not at the expense of a life.” He turned and got out of the Corvette, slid back into the driver seat of his own car and backed out.

Sam continued to sit in his car for a moment, thinking over the conversation he had just had with Whitaker. If there was one thing Sam Prichard didn't believe, it was that any criminal could truly be untouchable. He may have to wait a while to nail Whitaker's hide to the wall, but he promised himself that the day would come when he would see the man standing before a judge who wasn't afraid of him.

On the other hand, if he was telling the truth, then Sam now knew that he could eliminate Whitaker and his cronies from his list of suspects. That didn't really narrow the field, since Whitaker himself seemed to think that the killer might have been someone connected to one of the people he had pressured.

Pressure. That reminded Sam of the girl at the coffee shop, and he started the Corvette and backed it out of the slot. Sammy's was only a short distance away, and Sam was walking up to the counter only fifteen minutes later.

There was a different girl at the counter. “Hi, and welcome to Sammy's.”

Sam smiled. “Hi, there. Is Brittany around?”

The girl nodded. “Yeah, just a moment, she's in the back.” She turned and stuck her head through a doorway. “Brittany! There's someone here looking for you.”

“Just a sec,” Sam heard Brittany call out. He stepped to his right so that a new customer who had come in behind him could get to the counter. Brittany came to the doorway with a smile, but she lost it the moment she saw Sam.

For a split second, Sam thought she was going to turn and run, but then she steeled herself and walked up to him. “You were looking for me?” Brittany asked him defiantly. “I already told you, I never saw that girl.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Yes, I know you did,” he said softly. “The trouble is, I also know you're lying, and that makes me think someone has told you that lying is the thing you should do. Now, you seem like a pretty nice girl, and I'd hate to see you get in trouble for withholding evidence in a murder investigation. The way I understand it, that can get you a pretty serious prison sentence, like two or three years. I've got a feeling you can't afford that kind of trouble, so I thought I'd come back and give you a chance to get out of it.”

Brittany's eyes went wide. “I—I-I'm not lying,” she whispered. “I don't know why you would think I am, because I'm not. I absolutely did not see that girl last Sunday morning.”

Sam shook his head. “Look, Brittany, you can talk to me and we keep this quiet, or I can call Detective Parks at the homicide division of the Police Department, and you can talk to her. If you talk to her, she's likely to have you charged with obstructing justice, just because you didn't own up sooner. There's no way in the world you're going to get out of this, unless you tell me the truth, right now.”

Brittany looked around the room, and noticed that the other barista was watching her out of the corner of her eye. She turned back to Sam and motioned with her head for him to follow her, then went to a table in the far back corner of the room. She sat down with her back to the wall, and Sam took the seat across from her.

“Look, I really didn't want to be involved in this mess, anyway,” she said. “When the cops first called and asked me about that lady, I just didn't want to get involved, you know? That's why I said I didn't remember her coming in.”

Sam watched her face as she spoke, and got the impression she might be telling him the truth. “So, nobody asked you to keep your mouth shut about this? If they did, you need to be honest with me about it, Brittany. That would mean that person is somehow involved in the murder, and covering up for them would make you an accessory. That alone is enough to get you sent to prison.”

The girl closed her eyes for just a moment, then opened them, and Sam saw tears starting to well up. “Look, I just told you the truth. I really didn't want to get involved, so I just said I didn't remember.” She bit her bottom lip, and Sam leaned forward in his chair. He let his eyes bore directly into hers for a moment, but said nothing. “Okay, but it was later. My sister knew the guy who got killed, and I called her and was telling her about how the cops were asking me if I had seen this lady, and she told me that they took that lady to jail. She said the smart thing for me to do was stick to my story, because if I changed it, I might get in trouble.”

Sam watched her closely, and saw no sign that she was being dishonest. “I can see how she might have thought she was giving you the best advice,” he said, “but, Brittany, if you had just admitted that you saw the woman with the wild hair, the police wouldn't have wasted their time arresting the wrong person. That guy was killed less than fifteen minutes before she got back there after leaving here, but even to drive from there to here and back and stopping to buy a coffee takes over forty-five minutes. That means she couldn't possibly have killed him and then come here and made it back when she did.”

The tears were flowing freely by the time he finished speaking, and she had grabbed a napkin and was wringing it between her hands. “I didn't mean to do anything wrong,” Brittany said. “I mean, the cops arrested her, so I figured she must've done it. I didn't know it happened while she was here, or I would've said so, I swear I would have.”

Sam nodded. “At least you're willing to be honest now,” he said. “I'm going to have to call Detective Parks, and she'll probably want me to bring you down now. I'm going to tell her that you called me, and said you suddenly remembered seeing her. Okay? That way it makes it sound like you really just wanted to do the right thing, all along, and you won't get in any trouble. That okay with you?”

Tears still streaming, Brittany nodded furiously. “Oh, yes, thank you, thank you,” she said. “Really, I didn't mean to do anything wrong, I swear I didn't.”

Sam reached across the table and patted her hand. “I know, Brittany,” he said. He took out his phone and dialed Karen's number. She answered on the second ring.

“Karen, it's Sam. Listen, I got a call a little bit ago from the girl who works at that coffee shop, the one Candy said she went to that morning? She called me to tell me that she was thinking about it, and she suddenly remembered seeing somebody with multicolored hair that morning. I came down and showed her a picture of Candy on my phone, and she said that's definitely her.”

Karen let out a sigh. “Well, hell,” she said. “That will help your client, but is there any way she can determine the exact time Candy was there?”

Sam held the phone away for a moment and looked at Brittany. “Brittany, can you tell me what time that lady was here Sunday morning?”

Brittany looked at him for a moment, then held up a finger and jumped up out of her chair. She ran over to the counter and pushed the other girl away from the register for a moment. She tapped a number of keys, and a long strip of paper printed out. She tore it off and hurried back over to Sam.

Brittany laid the paper on the table and ran her finger down a list of transactions, suddenly pointing at one of them. “When I remembered her hair, I remembered that she got a Super Size Hazelnut Mocha and a cheesecake brownie, the one with the cheesecake-flavored frosting. That's this one right here, and look at the time-stamp on it.” She took a pen from a pocket and circled the items.

Sam looked, then put the phone back up to his face. “Karen, what time did Charlie call 911 that morning?”

“Just a moment,” Karen said, and he could hear her flipping through papers. “That call came in at 9:57 AM.”

“And what time have you got down for the probable time of death?”

“Well, Charlie said he found his dad about three minutes after he heard the scream, and he called 911 within a minute or two after that. Why?”

“Because Candy was sitting at the drive-through window at this coffee shop at the exact moment you figure Carlos was killed. Brittany just got a printout from Sunday morning, and she remembers now what Candy bought. I'm looking at the transaction report, and it shows that she paid for her coffee at exactly 9:52 AM. There's no possible way she could have killed Carlos and made it here in less than a minute, it's a twenty-minute drive.”

He could hear Karen groan. “You're killing me, Sam. Can you get that girl down here to make a statement? And bring that printout with her, okay?”

“We'll be there within half an hour,” Sam said. “You can go ahead and start the paperwork to get Candy released, because this proves she has an airtight alibi.”

“Fine, I'll get it started. You get her down here, and then you get your ass out there and find the real killer for me. That's the least you can do, since you're throwing all this egg on my face.”

Sam nodded into the phone, grinning as he remembered that Karen could not see him. “That's my plan,” he said. He ended the call and looked at Brittany. “We need to tell your boss that you have to leave for an hour or two. I can assure him that it's police business, if you want, so you won't get in trouble.”

She nodded, and went into the back for a moment. She came out a minute later to tell him that her boss said it was okay, and Sam led her out to his car.

Getting Brittany's statement took only twenty minutes, and Karen thanked her for coming in. Sam told the girl he would meet her back at his car, then waited until she had left the office.

“You got the release paperwork started?”

Karen nodded. “Yeah, I did,” she said. “I'll take this over to Monica and get her to sign off on it. With this new evidence, she won't have any choice but to release your friend. It'll probably take a few hours, though; nothing happens around here as fast as we'd like it to.”

Sam grinned as he got to his feet. “Isn't that the truth? I'll call her boyfriend and let him know to be waiting. He'll probably go to the jail and just sit in the lobby and wait there.”

“As long as he doesn't come down here and wait,” Karen said with a grimace. “He's been calling me at least three times a day, and it's driving me crazy.”

“Don't worry, I'll take care of Chris.” He turned and started toward the door, but then stopped and looked back at Karen. “Incidentally, don't get too excited about going after Randy Whitaker just yet. Would you believe he had the guts to come and face me today? Never even tried to deny what he does, just told me flat out that we'd never find a prosecutor who would touch him.”

Karen looked at him for a moment, then threw the pen she was holding onto the desk. “I can believe it,” she said. “Like I told you before, there have been rumors about him for years. Nobody has been able to make anything stick so far, so I don't know why I thought we would be able to.”

Sam shrugged. “Don't worry, we'll get him. For now, though, he convinced me that he wasn't behind Carlos's killing, so that just leaves me with a few thousand possible suspects.”

Karen scowled at him. “By the way, I've got everybody looking for Roland Maxwell. He may not be connected to this murder, but it turns out we want to talk to him about other things. Well, when you figure out who you think might be the killer, you let me know. And if I run up on anyone who looks like a serious possibility for it, I'll tell you. Deal?”

Sam grinned again. “Deal.”

15

Sam drove Brittany back to Sammy's, then called Chris Lancaster to let him know the good news. Chris was delighted, and as Sam had predicted, he decided to go down to the jail to wait for Candy's release to be processed. Once that call was finished, Sam decided it was time to check in with Indie.

Indie and Kenzie were out having fun, of course, but Indie had added a feature to Herman that allowed him to send links to his reports straight to her phone. “Sam,” she said, “Herman can't find a bank account for Roland Maxwell, anywhere. If he's getting paid the way Carlos was, it must be in cash.”

“That figures,” Sam said, “but he's been removed from my suspect list, anyway. I was just calling to see how you girls are doing.”

Indie laughed. “We’re just about to go into Minnie Mouse's house. Don't you wish you were here with us, Daddy?”

“I sure do,” Sam said. “It'd beat the heck out of what I'm doing. You got those guys under control, I take it?”

“Oh, yeah. Kenzie was up till past eleven last night, with all that sugar in her system. I warned them that if they do that again, they are the ones who are going to have to stay up and deal with her. I think that scared them worse than anything else they've ever seen.”

Sam chuckled. “That'd do it for me. I have enough trouble keeping up with her when she isn't bouncing off the walls.”

“Just a minute, she wants to talk to you.” Sam grinned, and suddenly Kenzie's voice came through the phone.

“Daddy! Guess what! I got to drive a car!”

“You did? Wow, that's awesome! Did you run over anybody?”

“No, silly! They got special cars for little kids to drive, and I got to drive one with Mommy and Jennifer.”

“That's so cool,” Sam said. “If I was there, you could drive me around.”

“Okay, she handed the phone back,” Indie said. “Kemzie is still in hyper mode, and someone is going to pay for it!” She and Sam talked for another couple of minutes, and then he let her go so that she could keep up with Kenzie. As he hung up the phone, it occurred to him that he was feeling just a little bit lost while they were gone.

Sam continued to drive down the street, and found himself wondering what to do next. His investigation wasn't going anywhere fast, and the only real leads he’d thought he had seemed to be nonexistent.

He thought about Charlie again, and that made him wonder about Carlos's girlfriend. If he could identify her, then it was just possible that she might have some idea who would want him dead. If Sam was right, her husband or boyfriend might be the most logical suspect. Unfortunately, Charlie didn't know who she was, so tracking her down was not going to be easy.

Sam headed back toward Carlos's house. There was always the possibility that one of his neighbors had noticed the woman coming or going. He pulled up there a few moments later and saw that the yellow crime scene tape was still stretched across the front door.

Sam got out of the Corvette, grabbing his cane, and looked around the neighboring houses. The elderly couple was out on their front porch, so he decided to start with them.

Surprisingly, they recognized him instantly. The old man slowly got to his feet and held out a hand, and Sam shook it.

“Mr. Howden, Mrs. Howden,” Sam said. “I was wondering if you would mind if I asked you a few more questions.”

“Not a bit,” the old man said. “Cop a squat, young man.” He pointed at another chair on the porch, and Sam gratefully sat down.

“I appreciate it,” he said. “Listen, I was wondering if you ever saw a woman going in and out of Carlos's place. We've been told that he had a girlfriend, but no one seems to know who she was. Any chance you might have seen a woman with long dark hair coming around, or a car that turned up fairly often?”

The old man put his fingers to his chin as he thought, but Mrs. Howden let out a loud snort. Sam looked over at her. “Mrs. Howden? Do you know who she was?”

The elderly lady rocked back and forth for a moment, then looked up at Sam. “I'm not one for gossip, you understand, and what people does is their own business. Just seems to me that they might be just a little bit more discreet, sometimes, but what do I know? I'm just an old woman.”

Sam grinned at her. “Sounds like you've got some idea who this lady might be, am I right?”

Mrs. Howden rocked for a few seconds more, then gave a single, curt nod. “Well, they made it obvious, didn't they? Whole neighborhood would know, if people just paid attention to what's going on around them. I mean, her a-traipsing back and forth, all hours of the day and night, just about anytime her husband gone off to work or out doing his own thing.”

Sam's eyebrows went up and he leaned closer to the old woman. “Traipsing back and forth? You're saying you think it was one of the people here in the neighborhood?”

“Now, Genevieve,” Mr. Howden began, but his wife waved a hand at him to shush him.

“Hush, Kenneth, I'll not be silent. That girl next door,” she said. “Sometimes I can't stay asleep, and I get up in the middle of the night. That's one of the things that happens when you get old, you can't sleep right. Anyway, the first time I've seen her going over there, it was about four o'clock in the morning, but that was months ago. Since then, I've seen her cutting across their backyards two or three times a day, it seems like, all hours of the day and night.”

Sam glanced over at Carlos's house, then looked back at Mrs. Howden. “How could you see her in the backyard?”

“I didn't see her in the backyard,” the old lady said. “I could see her running from behind her house over to the back of his, and if you just look right between their houses, you'll see what I mean.”

Sam turned around and looked and, sure enough, he could see about a thirty-foot gap between the two houses. Anyone sitting on the porch or looking out Mrs. Howden's front window would be able to see someone moving from one backyard to the other. The house she was referring to was the one where Sam had talked to the young woman, Marcy. He turned back to the elderly couple.

“So, you think that lady, Marcy, was Carlos's girlfriend?” Sam asked, and Mrs. Howden gave him a toothless grin.

“One of 'em, anyway. It don't take too many smarts to figure out why a young married lady would be sneaking over to the house where a single young man as good-looking as Carlos lived, now does it?”

Sam grinned back. “No, ma'am,” he said, “I don't guess it does. Let me ask you this: Do you know Marcy's husband, by any chance? Would he be the type who might get violent, if he found out Carlos was messing around with his wife?”

Mr. Howden shook his head rather emphatically. “Not Ronnie,” he said. “Ronnie Osgood is about as mean as your average caterpillar. Been more than one time I've wondered if he might be a little bit on the funny side, he's such a wimp.”

Mrs. Howden was nodding her agreement. “Ronnie wouldn't hurt a fly, even if it was trying to hurt him. He's one of those real soft-spoken-type boys, the kind everybody else pushes around. That wife of his is one of them that pushes him, too. They get into fights now and then, and you can tell who wears the pants in that house, believe you me! It ain't Ronnie Osgood. If he ever caught her sneaking over there, the worst he might do would be to beg her to stop.”

“And if she didn't,” Mr. Howden interjected, “he'd just put up with it. He never did have any backbone, that boy.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, I think I get the picture,” he said. “Maybe it's time I go and have another talk with her. If she was that close to Carlos, she might have some idea of who would want him dead.”

He thanked the elderly couple and made his way down their front steps and across the street. When he knocked on Marcy's front door, she answered with the same bright smile she'd had on Monday, and Sam noticed her long brown hair. It could easily be the hair Charlie described seeing in the night.

“Oh, hi,” she said. “You're the private detective, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, showing his ID once again. “I had just a couple more quick questions for you. Is now a good time?”

“Oh, sure, ask away,” Marcy said. Her smile hadn't wavered, and Sam had to wonder about whether she and Carlos actually had any feelings for one another. She didn't seem to be grieving, that was for sure.

“Marcy, you've been identified as Carlos McAlester's girlfriend. I'm wondering why you didn’t mention that fact when I talked to you on Monday.”

The smile froze, then slowly fell off of her face. Her eyes were locked on his, as she reached behind herself to pull the front door closed.

“I guess there's no point in trying to deny it, is there?”

Sam shook his head. “Probably not,” he said. “You can talk to me about this, or you can talk to the police, and they're probably going to want to take you downtown for that. Maybe we can avoid some unpleasantness for you, if you're willing to tell me what you know.”

She swallowed hard. “It started about a year ago,” she said. “I mean, it was just a little flirtation, nothing serious, you know what I mean? Then it got to be a little more flirtation, and finally—well, you can figure it out. It wasn't something I really wanted to do, it just sort of happened. Ronnie, he's gone at work a lot, and he's not the most romantic guy in the world, anyway. I guess I was lonely, but I just hadn't really thought about it up until then. The whole thing got out of hand, and then I didn't know what to do.”

Sam looked at her. “So it was still going on?”

She looked down at the ground, and nodded. “Yes, but I had been trying to break it off. If he'd wanted to make it a serious relationship, I probably would have left Ronnie, but I saw other girls going in and out too many times, so I knew he was just using me for sex. I told Carlos I couldn't keep it up, and he'd say he understood, but then he'd call me up when Ronnie was gone, and he'd start talking, and the next thing I knew I was sneaking back over to his place.”

Sam nodded. “And were you there on Sunday morning? Charlie thinks he heard you come in.”

Marcy crossed her arms across herself and cupped her elbows in her hands. “Earlier that morning, yeah. Ronnie had a big golf date and left early, and Carlos saw his car pull away. He called and…”

“And you went over, used the key he had given you to unlock the back door and get inside. Right?”

She nodded as if she was ashamed. “Yeah.”

“Were you there when his ex-wife showed up?” Sam asked.

Still keeping her eyes lowered, Marcy shook her head. “No, I had already come home. I saw her, though, when she pulled up.”

Sam just looked at her for a moment, to see if she would say any more. Finally, he asked, “Marcy, do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill Carlos?”

She finally looked up at him, meeting his eyes with her own. “No, not a clue. It wasn't like we were, you know, a couple. He never told me things about his personal life.”

“What about your husband, Ronnie? If he found out, do you think he would do anything like this?”

“No, not Ronnie.” She rolled her eyes. “Ronnie—I actually think he knew about it, but he just didn't seem to care. I mean, there were times he came home early, while I was over there. Once he was even in the backyard, and saw me coming out of Carlos's back door. He smiled and asked me how Carlos was doing. I waited all that evening for him to ask what I was doing over there, but he never did. I don't think he knows how to be jealous. If he did, it probably never would have happened at all.”

“Let's get back to Sunday morning. Did you happen to see anyone around Carlos's back yard, after his ex left? Right now, we're thinking that someone came in the back door, probably someone who had a key, grabbed the butcher knife and just walked right up to him before stabbing him. Now, that sounds a lot like someone he knew, someone he never would've felt threatened by.” He stared hard into her eyes, to see if she had figured out what he was implying.

Unfortunately, Marcy seemed oblivious, at least at first. “No,” she said. “After I saw Candy pull up, I sort of did my best not to pay any more attention.” She looked at Sam for a moment, and then realization dawned. “Wait a minute, are you saying you think I did it?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I'd have a hard time thinking of anyone else he might trust that much, other than someone he was intimate with. Wouldn't you?”

She started shaking her head emphatically. “No, no way,” she said. “I might have wanted out of it, but not that bad.”

“Really? You weren't showing any signs of grief when I talked to you on Monday. Seems to me that if you'd had a relationship going on with the guy for a year, you might have been feeling some sort of remorse that he was gone, even if you did want out of it.”

Tears suddenly began running from her eyes. “I feel it,” she said. “I just had to keep up an act, so no one would notice. I wouldn't want anyone to think I had anything to do with what happened to him, so I was doing my best to keep it from showing in my face. You can understand that, can't you?”

Sam nodded. “Sure, I can understand it,” he said. “I'm not sure how well the police will understand it, or your husband, but I suspect you'll be able to come up with an act for them, too.” He handed her his business card, even though he knew he had given her one before. “I'm going to have to report this to Detective Parks, and she will undoubtedly be in touch pretty soon. You might want to be thinking about how you're going to explain this to your husband.”

Sam turned and walked away, heading for his car, but then he paused and looked back. “Marcy, do you have a sister?”

She was still standing there, just looking at him. “Yeah,” she said. “A younger sister, why?”

“Brittany, right? Works over at Sammy's Coffee Shop?”

Marcy nodded, but didn't say anything.

Sam stood still for a couple of seconds, just looking at her, then turned and went to his car without another word.

He now knew who the mysterious girlfriend was, and her fairly amazing acting ability, plus the fact that she had advised Brittany not to confirm Candy's alibi, had moved her up near the top of his list of suspects. It was a little difficult for him to believe that Marcy could have been as close to Carlos as she claimed without knowing anything at all about his business, and her ability to keep up an innocent act right after he was killed made him wonder if she might have practiced it. Add in the fact that she had helped them to keep Candy's alibi from being confirmed, and he suddenly had a lot of circumstantial evidence.

She had told him she was trying to get out of the relationship. Was it possible that she had actually planned and executed the murder? Sam wondered if she might have simply waited until Candy or another potential murder suspect stopped in and left, then hurried over to do the job quickly and let it be blamed on the visitor.

In the past, he had certainly known both men and women who were capable of such coldhearted planning. Under the right circumstances, any of us, he knew, can be capable of cold-blooded murder. There was little doubt in his mind that any woman could kill, if her motivation was strong enough.

16

Sam decided that it was time for lunch, so he fired up the Corvette and pointed it toward downtown, then took out his phone to call Detective Parks.

“Karen,” Sam said when she answered, “I got an ID on McAlester's girlfriend. Her name is Marcy Osgood, she lives next door. I was right about her being married, too.”

“Any sense that she might be our killer?” Karen asked.

“I'd put her up pretty high on the list of suspects,” Sam said. “She says the affair went on for about a year, and that she'd been trying to get out of it, but Carlos could always talk her into coming back. Could be she decided to take matters into her own hands. She's a cool customer, and if she feels any grief over him, she keeps it hidden well.” He decided not to mention her relationship to Brittany just yet, but it could always be brought up later.

“I'm gonna pull her in for questioning. What about her husband, could be we're dealing with jealous rage, maybe?”

“Everyone I talked to seems to think her husband is too meek to hurt anyone, but you and I both know that anyone can snap. My gut says it isn't him, but that doesn't mean I would leave him out of the questioning.”

Sam took a right onto Fifth Avenue, and a quick glance in his rearview mirror showed the car behind making the same turn. He had vaguely noticed it back there when he had pulled away from Marcy's place, and it struck him as a little odd that it would be going the same way he was.

“Sorry? I missed that,” Sam said to Karen, who had spoken.

“I just said we'll bring him in and talk with him, too. Your gut tends to be pretty right on, but we can't afford to leave any possible suspects out of the investigation. I'll let you know if I come up with anything, and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same for me. And now that I think of it, aren't you done with this case? You already cleared your client. Surely they're not going to pay you to keep looking for the killer, now that she's in the clear, are they?”

Sam laughed. “This was a pro bono case,” he said. “Our band isn't rich enough that they could afford to pay me. I just sort of need to know who killed Carlos for my own satisfaction, now. Besides, Chris had to give all his money to Candy's lawyer.”

“Poor guy,” Karen said. “Good luck with getting any of that money back. Lawyers can hold on to money better than anybody else in the world.”

“Yeah, well, I would have hired a lawyer, too. The case looked pretty bad for her when I started on this, and I wouldn't have taken any bets on whether she could get out of it or not.”

“I gotcha. Well, listen, I'm going to jump on this. I'll let you know how it goes.”

“Same here,” Sam said, and then he ended the call. The powder blue Mustang was still behind him, and he changed lanes to get ready for another turn, this time onto Broadway. The Mustang moved over behind him, and when he turned right, it followed again.

Peering hard into his rearview mirror, Sam tried to figure out who might be driving the car, but its blacked-out windows made it too dark in the car's cabin to get any kind of look at the driver. He thought it was a woman, and wondered for a moment if it could be Marcy, but her car had still been in her driveway when he’d left, and it wasn't a Mustang.

Sam weaved in and out of traffic for a few minutes, and the Mustang stayed within a few car lengths of him. He waited until the last possible moment to make his next turn, onto West Seventeenth Avenue, then whipped around the corner without even touching his turn signal.

The Mustang came around behind him, its own signal blinking. There was no doubt that Sam was being followed, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Just ahead, he saw Steuben's restaurant, and deliberately fishtailed into the parking lot. He spun the car around as quickly as he could and backed it into a parking slot.

The Mustang turned in more sedately, and Sam watched as it motored slowly to where he was parked. There were no empty spaces nearby, but the car suddenly stopped right in front of the Corvette. It just sat there for a few seconds, and Sam let his hand rest on the grip of his pistol.

The driver window of the Mustang suddenly powered down, and Sam found himself looking into the face of Jackie Porter, the CSI tech. She was looking directly at him and smiling, so Sam popped his door open and climbed slowly out of the Corvette.

“Did I spook ya?” Jackie asked.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Sam said. “When you're trying to track down a murder suspect and someone starts following you through the city, it does tend to make you just a little bit nervous. What are you doing, tailing an old geezer like me?”

Jackie laughed. “I was actually going back to McAlester's house to take a look at a couple of things that were unclear, when I spotted you driving away. I just figured I'd catch up with you at your next stop and see if you had any new brilliant epiphanies about the case.”

Sam grinned. “Brilliant epiphanies aren't something that tend to happen to me very often,” he said. “Actually, I'm about to go have lunch. Care to join me? Maybe if we brainstorm a bit together, we'll come up with something.”

“Sure,” Jackie said. “Just let me park this behemoth, and I'll meet you at the door.”

Sam nodded, and made his way toward the front door of the restaurant. The place was known for its incredible food, and was a highly popular tourist destination. Fortunately, Sam knew just about everyone who worked there, so it wasn't hard for him to get a table. He held up two fingers to the hostess, and a moment later one of the waiters came to show him the way. Jackie came jogging up just then, and simply followed them inside.

The waiter took their drink orders as he seated them and gave them menus to look over, and both of them were ready to order by the time he came back. Sam went for the cheesesteak sandwich, and after asking his opinion of it, Jackie opted for the same.

“So what were you looking for at McAlester's place?” Sam asked when they were alone.

Jackie grinned. “You got me to thinking about just how odd it was, the way McAlester was laid out. It was almost like somebody positioned him, but that should have left smears in the bloodstains and there weren't any. On top of that, I wanted to find out just how easy it would be for someone to come in the back door without being seen. I took a quick glance the other day, after you left, and there are enough garages and hedges and such back along the alley so that only one of his immediate neighbors might have seen whoever came in that way. I know you talked to them; did anyone mention seeing someone in the backyard?”

Sam nodded. “Old couple across the street,” he said. “They saw the neighbor, Marcy Osgood, slipping between the two houses, going from her own backyard into his. Karen is talking to her today, I think. Right now, she's pretty high on the suspect list.”

Jackie's eyebrows went up. “Oh, really? I met her the other day, right after you left. She was out in her front yard as I was going to the van and said hello. She didn't act like someone who cared much about him.”

“No, she made it pretty clear that it was just a sexual thing. She implied that if Carlos had ever wanted it to be more, she might have been willing to explore the possibility, but she said he was only using her. She claims she wanted out of the relationship, but said he could always talk her into coming back. If she really wanted out and felt she just didn't have the willpower to stop, that could be motive for murder.”

“True,” Jackie mused. “Was she the only one they ever saw going in there?”

Sam shrugged. “The old lady might have implied that there were others, but I guess it wasn't anyone she knew. I didn't actually think to ask for more information, and now that I think about it, I should have. I'll run back over there this afternoon, see if she might have gotten a description of any of the others.”

“Well, if she had seen somebody going in there regularly, she probably would've mentioned that, don't you think?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam said, “but you can never be sure. It can't hurt to run back by.”

“I guess not. Hey, I heard you got your bass player girl out of this mess. How'd that happen, if you don't mind my asking?”

“I got to thinking about the girl at the coffee shop, the one who said she didn't remember Candy being there. When I went in to show her Candy's picture, she didn't want to look me in the eye when she insisted she'd never seen her before. That left me thinking that she was lying, even though I couldn't figure out why she would want to. Turns out she said it when the cops first called her just because she didn't want to get involved, but then she said her sister advised her not to say anything, because changing her story might get her into trouble. With a little nudge from me, she owned up and then wanted to be helpful. She remembered exactly what Candy had ordered and found the cash register printout that showed the time she was there. That proved Candy couldn't possibly have killed Carlos, because she would've been in the drive-through line at Sammy's at the time. Oh, and the sister? The one who told her to keep her mouth shut? Marcy Osgood.”

Jackie nodded appreciatively. “Good work there, Mr. Private Investigator. So now the cops have to find the real killer, right? You're not working on that, now, are you?”

Sam shrugged again. “Just for myself,” he said. “Whoever did it is probably the person who sent me this.” Sam pulled out the photo of Kenzie with the crosshairs and handed it to Jackie. She took it carefully, as if afraid of getting her fingerprints on it.

“Oh, my God, Sam,” she said. “Is that your little girl?”

Sam nodded. “That's McKenzie, and that picture was taken in our backyard. Somebody snapped it, printed it out, drew the crosshairs on it and stuffed it in an envelope addressed to my wife, Indie. She found it in our mailbox, but it didn't have stamps on it and didn't come through the mail. I guess they thought that would make me back off.”

Jackie looked up from the picture. “Where is your family now? Surely you got them put away safe, right?”

“Damn right,” Sam said. “Sometimes it's nice to have powerful people owe you a favor. My wife and daughter are enjoying a vacation in Orlando right now, with enough security on them to take care of a small army. They're safe, and I dare whoever did this to try coming after me.”

He took the photo back from Jackie and slipped it back into his pocket. She shook her head, as if stunned that anyone would try such a stunt. “Well, maybe now that you got your client cleared, the real killer will just leave you alone.”

“I hope not,” Sam said. “Whoever killed Carlos McAlester did it while his eight-year-old son was in the house, and it was the boy who found him dead. I want to nail whoever did this, for that kid's sake.”

“Yeah, that was pretty rotten. Maybe it will turn out to be the neighbor lady, maybe she didn't even know the boy was there.”

“I don't know,” Sam said. “I just want to get to the bottom of it, or help the cops get there.”

Sam's phone rang suddenly, and he pulled it out to look at the caller ID. His eyes went wide when he saw that it was his mother calling, because she almost never called him. “Mom?”

“Sam, it's Kim, I don't know what's gotten into her,” his mother said. “It's that ghost of hers, she's gone into that trance thing again. She says the ghost wants to talk to you, right now.”

“Oh, dear Lord,” Sam said. “Okay, fine, put her—put it on.”

“Samuel?” The voice that came through the phone didn't sound like Kim at all, but had a deeper, more masculine quality and a Southerner's accent. “I do hope you'll forgive me, but my message to you is urgent, and I could not wait for this dear lady to gain the courage to speak to you about it.”

Sam gave a sigh, and tried to avoid the piercing look Jackie was casting his way. “What is it, Beauregard?”

“You need to know that the man who died was not the killer's first victim, and that this murderer will strike again. You already know the killer, and if you can deduce who it is, you can save lives.”

Sam's eyes went wide, and he threw a hand to his forehead. “Beauregard, can't you just give me the name? Tell me who it is, so I can stop it?”

“I don't have the name, Samuel,” the eerie voice said. “I cannot choose the knowledge that comes to me, I can only pass on those parts of it that may pertain to you.” Suddenly Sam heard coughing, and then he heard his mother-in-law's voice. “Grace? Who's on the phone? Hello?”

“It's me, Kim, it's Sam. Apparently Beauregard wanted to tell me something, so he decided to take over driving for a bit.”

“Beauregard? Was it about the case you're working on? He's been telling me I needed to call you, but I've been busy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I guess Beauregard got tired of waiting for you to not be busy. If he asks, I got the message and I'm doing all I can with it.”

Sam ended the call, and then allowed himself to look at Jackie. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Don't even ask.”

Jackie's eyes were very wide, but she didn't say a word for a long moment or two. Finally, Sam could tell that she’d held it back as long as she could. “Beauregard? Who on earth is Beauregard?”

Sam shook his head. “As crazy as it sounds, Beauregard seems to be an old Confederate war ghost. He and my mother-in-law are pretty chummy, and sometimes he sends me messages. The bad part is that, so far, he's never been wrong and he's saved my life on more than one occasion.”

Jackie stared at him. “I believe in ghosts,” she said. “I've seen them, more than once at a crime scene.” She shrugged. “I haven't ever had one of them talk to me, or tell me who killed them, but I've seen them.”

“Okay, can we just not make ghosts a topic of conversation? It's really not something I want to talk about right now.”

“But what did the ghost say? Did he tell you who the killer is?”

Sam shook his head. “No,” he said. “According to Beauregard, I already know the killer, but I have to figure out who it is for myself.”

Jackie sat in silence for a moment, then shrugged again. “Well, best of luck, I guess.”

17

The food arrived, and they talked about less serious things as they ate. Then Sam got another call. This one was from Karen Parks, asking him to come down to the station and observe her questioning of Marcy Osgood. “I don't want her to see you, you can just watch through the mirror glass, but I want you to let me know if you think she's hiding anything. You've already talked to her, so you might have a better sense of when she's being deceptive.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “I'm not that far away, I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

Sam traded cell numbers with Jackie, and said goodbye, walked out to his car and headed for the station. Observing an interrogation didn't strike him as something truly productive, but Karen had done him favors in the past, so he didn't want to turn her down. Besides, if Marcy cracked and confessed, Sam wanted to be there to hear it.

As he drove, Sam thought about Beauregard's message. If the old spook was right, then Carlos's killer had struck before. Sam tried to recall any similar killings, but failed. If only Beauregard had been able to give him a lead on what other victims the killer might have had, it could have made figuring out which of his acquaintances he was trying to identify much easier.

Beauregard says I already know the killer, Sam thought to himself, and the killer has killed before, and will kill again. I guess that's what he meant when he said that if I figure it out, I can save lives. If I can stop him, there won't be any future victims.

He kept thinking it over all the way to the police station, and was still letting it roll around inside his head as he slipped into the observation room. Marcy and a lawyer—it was Carol Spencer, a lawyer that Sam knew well—were already seated at the table. Karen was in the observation room when Sam entered.

“Okay, I'm going in,” she said. “If you hear anything you think I should know about, grab one of the uniforms and tell him to get me.”

Sam nodded and Karen left the room, closing the door behind her. It was dark in the observation room, which was what made the one-way glass work. Sam could see through it perfectly, but on Marcy's side it was nothing but a mirror.

Sam saw Karen enter and take a seat. The voices came through a speaker over his head, picked up by hidden microphones in the room.

“Mrs. Osgood, Ms. Spencer, thank you both for coming down so quickly. I've actually just got a few questions, Mrs. Osgood, regarding your relationship with Carlos McAlester. I've spoken with Sam Prichard, and he has shared with me the things you told him. I just need to get them on record for the police department.”

“Okay, I guess,” Marcy said. The attorney sat beside her, but didn't say a word.

“All right, Mrs. Osgood, you told Sam Prichard that you and Mr. McAlester had been having an affair for about a year? Is that correct?”

“Well, when I thought about it afterward, it was probably more like maybe a year and a half, or a little less than that. It went on for a while.”

“Was it a serious affair? Were you and Mr. McAlester thinking of being together permanently?”

Marcy shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said. “It was just a physical thing, just about sex. I don't, um, I don't always get what I need at home. Not that that's an excuse, I don't mean that, I just meant that was why it got started. Carlos was attractive and I was lonely. It just sort of happened.”

“So, neither of you ever wanted anything more?”

Marcy glanced at Carol Spencer, but the lawyer simply grinned and nodded. “I probably had fantasies about something more permanent, and if he had ever asked, I probably would've been willing to leave my husband. I'm just being honest, here. It was just wishful thinking on my part, though, and Carlos never brought it up at all. I wasn't the only woman he was having fun with, so I'm sure he didn't want to have to give up his other extracurricular activities.”

“And do you know who any of those other women might be?” Karen asked.

Marcy shook her head. “No, I'm afraid I don't. There was one girl I've seen going in his back door a couple of times, but all I can tell you is that she had black hair, and she was taller than me, too. I have no idea who she was.”

Karen nodded, and went on with her questioning. Marcy told her basically the same things she had said to Sam, and he didn't pick up on anything that might have indicated she was being deceptive. The entire interrogation took only about an hour, and then Marcy was allowed to leave.

Karen stepped back into the observation room. “Any comments?” she asked Sam.

Sam shook his head. “No, her story didn't change much. She offered you the information that the affair lasted longer than she had first told me, but that might've simply been because I caught her off guard when I asked about it. To be honest, she's pretty believable. I'd have to say I'm moving her down my list a little bit. Now if only I knew who’s in the slots above her, maybe I'd have something.”

Karen sighed heavily. “You don't have any leads? Granted, this case isn’t high priority, but it irks me to have a killer running loose when we don't have a clue who it might be.”

Sam hesitated for a second, and then gave a sigh of his own. “I got—well, let's call it an anonymous tip a little while ago. Somebody told me that Carlos's killer has killed before, and implied that it was more than once. They also said he's going to kill again, and if I can figure out who it is, I might save lives.”

Karen just looked at him for a moment. “Are we talking about a serial killer, here? I wonder what would have put McAlester on a serial killer's hit list.”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know,” he said. “I've tried to think of any other murders that might fit the same MO, but I've drawn a blank. Any ideas?”

“No, but let's go check the computer. Maybe we'll turn something up and generate a lead.” She turned and walked out of the room, and Sam followed her to her office.

She scanned through all of the open cases involving stabbings, but didn't find anything that seemed genuinely similar. In order to look at them more closely, she printed the crime scene reports on about a dozen of them, handing half of them to Sam to go through while she looked through the rest.

Fifteen minutes later, they put them all back in the stack. Neither had noticed anything that might create a pattern, so Sam was more confused than ever.

“How sure are you of your tipster?” Karen asked, and Sam grimaced.

“I can tell you that he's never been wrong before, at least not as long as I've known him,” he said. “If he says this killer has killed before, I'm going to tend to believe it.”

Karen snorted. “I wish I had an informant I trusted that much. All the ones I know spend more time trying to shake me down for money than giving me information I can actually count on.” She picked up the stack again. “Well, let's look through these one more time. I don't have any other options to go on.”

This time she gave Sam the stack she had looked through before, while she took his. Still, neither of them saw any pattern in the way the killings had been carried out. There was nothing in any of them to indicate that more than one of them might have been the work of a single individual.

“There just isn't anything here, Karen,” Sam said. “If we're dealing with a serial killer, then it's one who’s smart enough not to use the same technique twice.”

Karen nodded her head. “True,” she said. “And to be honest, if there was a pattern in any of these, I'm pretty sure CSI would've spotted it. Most of these were handled by Jackie Porter, and she's one of the best crime scene techs we've ever had. If there was a pattern, I think she would've noticed it.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she's good. I actually got to work with her a bit the other day, at the McAlester house.” When he saw Karen's face, he held up both hands to ward off the reaming he knew was about to come. “Relax, relax, she made me put on the booties and gloves, and wouldn't let me touch anything. I didn't contaminate the crime scene, I promise you.”

“I didn't figure you would,” Karen said, “but there are rules about letting civilians into a crime scene. I won't say anything this time, and I guess I do trust Jackie's judgment. Still, you might have mentioned that before.”

Sam looked at her quizzically. “Wait a minute, I thought Jackie told you. It was just before she called to tell you that little Charlie couldn't possibly have heard his father scream. I was the one who tested that with her, I was in Charlie's room while she screamed in the living room to see if I could hear her.”

Karen shrugged. “She knows the rules, she probably didn't mention you because she didn't want to get herself in trouble. Anyway, it's water under the bridge now. I just want to figure out what it is your informant is trying to tell us, or tell you. How do we tie this killing to others in the past?”

“I wish I knew. It would make my life a lot easier right now. So now, we've got to figure out who this is. My informant says this killer isn't done, and I don't want any other people dying because we failed to do our jobs.”

Karen agreed, and Sam got up to leave the office. He made his way to the station and out the door, and had almost made it to his car when his phone rang again. The caller ID said it was his mother's number once more, and he groaned.

“Yes?”

“Sam, it's Mom. That stupid freaking ghost is at it again! Hang on a second, he wants to talk to you.”

Sam waited, and then that strange voice came through the phone. “Samuel, you are running out of time. You have to hurry, because they're too old. The shock alone could kill them.”

Sam's eyes went wide. “What? Who are you talking about? Who's too old?”

“What?” It was his mother-in-law's voice once again, without the strange timbre that marked a visit from Beauregard. “Sam? Oh no, is he up to it again?”

“Yeah, he is! He said something about me running out of time, and that someone is too old. Any idea what he's talking about?”

“No, Sam, I'm sorry. He probably doesn't know any more than that himself, he doesn't always get things clear. I'm sorry, but if he tells me anything more, I'll call you right away.”

“Yeah,” Sam said bitterly, “you do that. Meanwhile, I got to try to figure out who is about to die from shock!”

Sam ended the call and got behind the wheel, his mind racing in an attempt to make sense of the cryptic message. He quickly recalled everything Beauregard had told him, and tried to make it all fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

I already know the killer, even though I don't know who it is, he thought. The killer has killed before, and is going to kill again unless I stop him. And I have to hurry, because I'm running out of time, and somebody is too old…

Sam suddenly froze. “Too old?” Sam said aloud. He fired up the big engine and shoved the shifter into first gear. His tires left black marks on the parking lot of the police station as he roared out onto the street. There was only one possible connection to this case where the words “too old” might come into play.

Sam drove like a maniac, the Corvette sliding around corners at more than fifty miles an hour, then hitting a hundred and twenty on the straightaways. He was weaving in and out of traffic like a formula race driver, and trying to dial his phone at the same time.

Karen didn't answer until the fourth ring. “Sam? What…”

“The Howdens!” Sam shouted into the phone. “They're the old couple who lived across the street from Carlos's house! I think something is about to happen to them, can you get any units down there right away?”

“I'm on it,” Karen yelled back, and the phone went dead.

Sam didn't slow down. It was almost a half hour drive from the station to the Howden residence normally, but Sam made it in just over ten minutes. He slid to a stop at the curb in front of their house and all but flew out of the car.

It was midafternoon, but the old couple was not on their front porch as they usually were. Sam rushed as quickly as he could up the walk and the steps, and then pounded on the door. “Mr. Howden? Mrs. Howden? It's Sam Prichard, are you here?”

From somewhere inside the house, Sam heard a muffled scream, and he yanked the storm door open. He tried the knob but found it locked, so he threw himself against the front door as hard as he could. It took three tries, but finally he broke the lock and the door flew open. “Mr. Howden? Where are you?”

There was no screen, this time, but he heard a groan toward the back of the house. He snatched his Glock from its holster as he made a hobbling run across the living room and down the hallway. There were several doors, and he tried each of them with his left hand, the gun gripped tightly in his right.

Each of them seemed to lead to an empty room, and Sam moved as quickly as he could to the next each time. He was about to open the last door in the hallway when he heard the groan again. It was coming from behind the door, so he braced his back against the wall beside it and reached for the knob to throw it open.

Nothing happened, so he peeked around the doorframe. Mr. Howden was lying on a bed, and he had obviously been struck in the face. There was blood around his mouth and nose, but he was alert and conscious, and holding out a hand toward Sam. Sam stepped inside, checked behind the door and in the closet, then turned to the old man.

Mr. Howden had a frantic look on his face. “She—she…”

“Where is your wife, Mr. Howden? Where is she?” Sam asked, and the old man pointed toward the back wall. Sam spun around to look, but there was nothing there except the closet he had already checked. He looked back at the old man.

“Out…back,” the old fellow gasped out. “Shed…”

“Okay, stay right here, I'm going to go find her. I'll be back, just wait.” Sam stepped back into the hall and yanked open a door that led into the kitchen. He had ignored that room before, because he didn't see anyone in it, but now he hurried across it to the back door that led into the rear yard.

There was a shed in the yard, all right, and Sam hurried out toward it, his gun held at the ready. He listened at the door of the shed for a moment, then snatched it open.

Mrs. Howden was lying on the floor of the shed, just in front of a potting bench. A very large clay pot had been shattered over her head, and she was bleeding profusely. Sam quickly felt for a pulse and found it, then whipped out his phone and called 911. As he told the dispatch operator to send an ambulance to the address, he heard sirens coming down the street and knew that Karen's uniform patrols had arrived.

A half-dozen officers stormed the house, and two ran into the backyard. Sam yelled for help, and one of the officers hurried over to the shed. Between the two of them, they managed to move the shattered flowerpot fragments away from the old woman, and Sam held onto her hand until the paramedics arrived six minutes later.

“She was in pretty rough shape,” one of them said to Sam as they loaded her into an ambulance. “As bad as she's hurt, and as hot as it was in that shed, it's a wonder she's even alive at all. We got her stable at the moment, and we'll get her to the hospital ASAP.”

“What about her husband, in the house? He was hurt, too.”

“Yes, but not as badly as his wife. We got another ambulance on the way right now, they'll take care of him.” The paramedic climbed into the ambulance and shut the door behind him, leaving Sam standing there.

Sam turned and hobbled back into the house, and went to the bedroom where Mr. Howden was still lying on the bed. One of the officers had gotten a wet cloth and wiped some of the blood from his face, and it looked to Sam like he might have a broken nose, but probably nothing more serious than that.

“Mr. Howden, can you talk?” Sam asked, and the old man nodded vigorously.

“I got a split lip and a sore nose, but I can talk. Did you get her?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, your wife is on the way to the hospital. She's hurt, but I got a feeling she's a tough old bird, and I think she'll be back to keep you in line.”

The old man shook his head. “I know she'll be okay, you can't kill that old broad,” he said. “I mean the bitch who did this! Did you get her?”

Sam's eyes went wide. “You're saying a woman did this to you? Do you know who it was?”

Mr. Howden shook his head. “I never seen her before, but Genevieve said she was one of the women who used to go over to see Carlos. I couldn't see her face, because she had one of them stockings down over it, but she was a real tall gal with black hair. I know that, because some of it was hanging out at the back. She said we were too nosy, and she had to shut us up. She hit me and dragged me back here, and wanted to know where Genevieve was. I said I didn't know, but then she heard Gen calling me from the shed.” Tears were coming from his eyes. “She went out there to put some flowers in the pot, she wanted to put them over in front of Carlos's house. What did we ever do to this woman?”

Sam looked down at where the old man lay, his face swollen and bloodied and his eyes filled with tears for his wife. “You told me something that she didn't want me to know,” he said. “And now you've told me exactly who I'm looking for.”

18

The second ambulance arrived a few moments later, and Sam got out of the way so they could help the old man. He walked out the front door of the house, headed across the street to where the Osgoods lived, and knocked. A short, thin man opened the door.

“You must be Ronnie,” Sam said. “I'm Sam Prichard, a private investigator. Are you folks okay over here?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Well, it's not every day you find out your wife has been cheating on you with the guy who got murdered next door, but I guess we're coping. Is there something I can do for you?”

Sam nodded. “Yes. Keep your doors locked and stay inside for a bit. The person who killed Carlos is apparently trying to eliminate any possible witnesses. The old couple across the street was attacked just a short time ago, and since your wife and Carlos were involved, she might be considered another potential risk. Has anyone come around here, asking questions today?”

“Only the police,” Ronnie said. “Do they know who killed Carlos yet? I might want to send the guy a thank you card.”

Sam glared at him. “Mr. Osgood, what you need to do is try to figure out how to save your marriage. And if anyone comes around here acting suspicious, especially a tall woman, you call the police just as fast as you can.”

Sam turned around and walked away, heading back to his car. He took out his phone and called Karen as he climbed inside.

“Karen, I know who it is, but you're going to have a hard time believing me. It's Jackie Porter. I don't have a clue why, yet, but she's the only person who knew that it was the Howdens who tipped me off to Marcy, and said they had seen other women at Carlos's place. They've been attacked, and Mr. Howden says it was a woman who is taller than me and has long black hair. Two plus two makes four, even in this messed-up world.”

Karen was quiet for a moment, but then she said, “Remember all those crime scene reports we went through? Every single one of them was prepared by Jackie. If there were any similarities in those cases, who better to cover them up than the crime scene technician handling the case? Sam, how sure are you of this? I'll stick my neck out with you, but you'd better be able to back it up or we’re both likely to lose our heads.”

“I'm certain,” Sam said. “Still, what kind of motive could she possibly have had? Jackie is one of the best CSIs in the business, what would make her turn to murder?”

“Tell you what,” Karen said. “We'll ask her that once we've caught her. I'm going to give her a call and ask her to come down and go over the McAlester report with me. If she isn't aware that you're on to her, she'll probably try to act like there's nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Good,” Sam said. “I'm on my way there.”

He cut the call and fired up the Corvette, then started back toward the police station. As he drove, he was wracking his brain, trying to figure out any possible motive for Jackie to kill Carlos.

Suddenly, it hit him—the pieces started to fall into place. Whitaker had told him that Carlos had the ability to make evidence disappear, and Marcy told Karen that she had seen a tall woman with black hair going in and out of Carlos's home. If Carlos and Jackie were involved, it was quite possible that he convinced her to tamper with evidence from time to time; it would be easy for her, with her position in the department. Almost every kind of physical evidence from any type of case passed through her office.

When he added in the fact that only Jackie knew about the Howdens filling him in on Marcy, she was the only possible person who could want them silenced. She would need to be sure they couldn't tell anyone about her own visits to Carlos, because that would automatically put her on the suspect list.

Suddenly, Sam thought it made sense that she hadn't caught on at the crime scene. She should have realized on her own that Carlos knew and trusted his attacker, and would have already written that into her report, except that she needed to reinforce the police perception that Candy was the killer. Sam's fortuitous appearance had thrown a monkey wrench into her plans, which explained why she tracked him down earlier; she was trying to find out if he was getting any closer to connecting her to the crime.

His phone rang, and it was Karen calling. “Sam, she's not answering her phone. Think about it, is there any way she could know you're onto her yet?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I don't know whether she was still around the Howden house when I got there or not,” he said. “It's quite possible she was still there, and saw me come roaring in. On the other hand, she's smart, and she'd know that Mr. Howden was going to describe her. With everything I've got, she might expect me to put it together.”

“Then she's bolting,” Karen said. “I'm sending some plainclothes out to her place now, to see if they see any sign of her. You got any other ideas where we might look?”

Sam thought for a moment. “I don't know her that well,” he said. “She had a new partner, a guy named Ned, the other day. See if you can find out how to reach him. Jackie tends to fraternize, or at least she did back when I was in homicide. Some of the people she worked with should know more about her.”

“Gotcha, I'll get on that.” The phone went dead again.

Sam kept going over the little details of the case, trying to think of anything that might give him a clue to what was going on in Jackie's mind. She had been an excellent CSI, and there were literally dozens of men and women sitting in prison because of evidence she had uncovered that everyone else had missed. Now, all of those cases would be called into question. If she were connected to Carlos, and he was known for being able to make evidence vanish, then she had to be an accomplice.

Still, it's a big leap from tampering with evidence to murder. Sam couldn't imagine any circumstance that would take a brilliant CSI scientist and turn her into a killer.

His phone rang again, and this time the caller ID was blocked. He answered warily. “Hello?”

“You seem to have set off a beehive,” said a voice, and Sam recognized it as Randall Whitaker. “I'm hearing rumors that McAlester's killer has been identified, and it's got an awful lot of people upset. Care to tell me who it is?”

Sam thought for a moment, and decided that having Whitaker on his side could come in handy sometime, and would keep the man from realizing just how determined Sam was to bring him to justice. “Her name is Jackie Porter, and she's a crime scene technician for the Denver PD. You said Carlos was able to make evidence disappear? Well, I'm pretty sure we know how, now. I don't know what the connection between Carlos and Jackie was, yet, but when I put the pieces together, they all add up to her.”

Whitaker whistled. “No joke? I wonder why she killed him?”

Sam shrugged, even though Whitaker couldn't see him. “That's the thing we need to find out, or one of them. It turns out she may have been responsible for other murders in the past, and with her position, she could cover it up and let it remain unsolved, or let someone else take the fall. I'm working with the police on this, and we're trying to get enough pieces to put this puzzle together.”

“Do you think it has any connection to me? I mean, could she have wanted revenge over something I arranged?”

“Still no clue. We made a deal, though, so if I find out you'll be the first to know.”

Whitaker was satisfied, and ended the call only a moment later after promising that Sam would not regret his cooperation. Sam grimaced as he put the phone back into his pocket, but it rang before he could even let go of it. He snatched it back out and shoved it to his ear. “Prichard,” he said.

It was Karen Parks again. “Sam, Jackie's partner Ned seems to be missing. The lab says he got a phone call about an hour and a half ago, and left suddenly. No one knows who the call was from, but we called his home, and his father says he isn't there and has no idea where he could be.”

Sam shook his head in frustration. “They could be working together,” he said, “or she might have called him out on a pretext. I think you should get an APB out on both of their personal vehicles, and make sure the CSI van is accounted for.”

“What, do you think I'm stupid? Already did that. The van is at the lab, right where it's supposed to be. Jackie's car is a brand-new Mustang, and Ned Jacobson drives a 2014 Challenger. Sam, if she's running, she can be just about anywhere within a hundred miles right now.”

“No, she hasn't gotten that far. When I got to Mr. Howden, she had only been out of the house for a short time. Even if she saw me show up there and took off, she's only had about a twenty-minute head start. It wouldn't be that easy for her to get out of town without somebody on our side spotting her.”

“Fine, I'll keep you posted. If you think of anything, you let me know.”

Sam was quivering with frustration, kicking himself for not having caught on sooner. Still, he knew that it wasn't until Mr. Howden's description that all the pieces suddenly fell into place. He tried to think of anything that would lead him to Jackie now, but he had no clue what her plans were.

Sam started trying to think like a fleeing killer, planning how he would escape the city without running across police officers who might be looking for him. There were a number of roads that went out into the countryside, but there was little doubt they would be heavily patrolled at the moment. If there was one thing a cop couldn't stand, it was to see one of their own literally fleeing from justice. Every cop on duty would be watching for any sign of Jackie, so it wasn't likely she could take any of the more common routes.

That being the case, she would certainly be driving a different vehicle than usual, something that wouldn't be noticed as readily as her own. With her skills, she would have no trouble hotwiring a vehicle, but that would limit her to older cars that didn't require a key to unlock the steering or transmission.

In today's modern automotive world, however, there are a lot of new cars that don't require a key at all. All you need is a key fob in your pocket, and you can simply push a button to start the car. That's a wonderful thing, but it’s also enabled high-tech car thieves to run off with your fancy new vehicle. A simple device, designed to allow a dealership or locksmith to create a new key fob if your original is lost, can be plugged into a slot in your car to override that system. You simply plug it in, push the button and the car starts, allowing you to drive away without anyone knowing the car is stolen.

As a crime scene technician, Jackie would know about such devices and even have access to them. She could literally be in any of several dozen brand-new vehicles that were cruising around him at that moment, and he would never know.

But that didn't mean she couldn't be found. Sam yanked his phone out of his pocket again and called his wife.

“Hey, baby,” Indie said as she answered.

“Indie, is there any possibility you're close to your computer?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “We've been out having fun, but now were back at the hotel to rest up before dinner. What do you need?”

Sam grinned. “I need you to find a cell phone for me.” He gave her Jackie's number, and could hear her typing it into Herman's search fields. “How long do you think it will take to get a GPS location on her?”

“If that's all you need, I should be able to get it within a few minutes. Hang on, let me turn Herman loose.”

While Herman started searching for Jackie's phone, Indie filled Sam in on the day she and Kenzie had had, running wild through parts of Disney World that she hadn't even known existed until that day. They chatted for a few minutes, and then Herman went ding!

“Okay, I've got it,” Indie said. “That phone is heading south on 85, just about to cross Oxford. That help anything?”

Sam tapped the speaker button on his phone and dropped it into his shirt pocket, then looked around for a split second. Realizing where he was, he grabbed the shifter and downshifted to second gear as he yanked the wheel to the left and spun the car around. “It sure does,” he yelled. “Now just stay with me and help me zero in on the car it's riding in.”

Sam was on Broadway just north of Oxford, so he floored the car and took the right turn onto Oxford at almost 60 miles an hour. Cars were honking and drivers were making hand gestures, but Sam didn't take his eyes off the road. Just over two minutes later, he swung left onto 85.

“Okay,” he said to Indie, “I just turned onto 85 from Oxford, going south. How far ahead of me?”

“Um, it's just about to pass Belleview. Still going south, probably doing about fifty, fifty-five miles an hour.”

Sam shifted back into high gear and floored the accelerator again, watching his speedometer read higher and higher. He was doing a hundred and twenty, and still climbing. The big four twenty-seven under the hood was roaring, and Sam actually thought he could hear a note of relief in the loud exhaust. The car had been built to run like this, but it wasn't something he could do often.

Sam held the throttle steady when he made it to a hundred and forty. There weren't a lot of intersections on that stretch, so he wasn't running a great risk of someone pulling out in front of him. “How far ahead now?”

“It's halfway between Belleview and Bowles,” Indie said. “Where are you?”

“Sign says Belleview is a two miles ahead,” Sam said.

“Then you're about a three miles behind the car with that phone. Sam, who are you chasing?”

“Remember I told you about Jackie, my old friend in the CSI lab? Guess who turned out to be the killer in this case.”

“Are you serious? Sam, that's horrible.”

“No, what's horrible is that it took that damned ghost to give me the tips that let me figure it out. I've got to tell you that I'm getting kind of worried about your mother, she slipped into the Beauregard personality twice today and called me. I'm beginning to think it might be time for her to see a psychiatrist.”

19

“You want to think that through,” Indie said. “I mean, assuming she's crazy and Beauregard is just her own ability to predict the future, do you really want her to be cured? How many times has Beauregard saved your life now?”

“Shut up, I don't want to think about that right now. I just passed Belleview, how far ahead?”

“Um, it looks like about three quarters of a mile, and she's slowing down. The next major intersection is Bowles Avenue, or Littleton if she turns left. I'm watching, I'll let you know.”

This section of 85 had more side streets, so Sam stood on his brakes and downshifted in order to slow down. He dropped down to just over eighty miles an hour, weaving through traffic and dodging emerging drivers. The Corvette handled it all like it was on a Sunday drive on an oval track.

“Sam, she's turning right onto Bowles Avenue. She's stopped at the moment, and I know that light, it's a long one. Be careful, but you might come up on her before she gets away from the intersection.”

“I'll be careful,” Sam said. “Once I get there, all I have to do is figure out which car she's in. Anything you can do to help me with that?”

“Yes, I can! There's another major intersection when she gets to Federal Boulevard, and it's got traffic cams. I can be hacked into them in a matter of seconds.”

Sam could hear her tapping on the keyboard as he continued racing down the street. He could just see the intersection with Bowles Avenue up ahead of him when she spoke again. “Okay, I've got the cameras. She's coming up to the intersection in just a minute, and I should be able to tell which car she's in. Hang on, I'm watching.”

“I'm hangin', babe,” Sam said. He had downshifted in order to slow the car from its terrific speed, pumping the brakes to keep from overheating them. He was coming up fast on the intersection, and got the car under control in time to move into the right turn lane.

“Sam, it's one of two cars, but I can't get a look at the driver of either one to see if it's a woman. There's a big white car, almost looks like a police car without the lights, and right behind that is a black sports car, I think it's one of the new Corvettes.”

The light was red for Sam, but he was still moving at nearly 50 miles an hour as he came around the intersection. A couple of cars squealed their brakes as he slid in front of them, but then the Corvette straightened out and he floored it again. “Okay, babe, I'm about thirty seconds behind them. Let me take it from here, I've got to concentrate on driving.”

“Okay, Sam, but you better call me as soon as you can. I'm gonna be worried sick, you know.”

“I will, I will,” Sam said. “Call Karen, let her know what's going on.” A second later he heard the beep that said Indie had hung up.

The Federal Boulevard intersection loomed ahead, its light green, and Sam held the throttle to the floor. He was back up to a hundred and twenty and had no intention of losing speed, so he said a silent prayer and barreled ahead. The light turned yellow while he was still two hundred yards away, and he knew there was no hope of stopping.

Two cars started to enter the intersection of Federal, but Sam laid on his horn and both screeched to a stop as he shot through in front of them. There was another flurry of car horns and hand gestures, but Sam didn't even notice. He could see the two cars Indie described up ahead, and he was gaining on them rapidly.

Suddenly, the black Corvette whipped out and passed the car ahead of it, gaining speed like a rocket. “There you are!” Sam yelled. He had been about to slow down, but he pushed the throttle back to the floor and gave the old hot rod all it had.

There was no doubt in his mind that Jackie was driving the Z06 up ahead, and he knew that she had an incredible machine. The Z06 boasted six hundred and fifty horsepower, and was capable of speeds of two hundred and eighty-five miles per hour. It had been designed for road racing, and Sam's old 72 Stingray didn't have a tenth of the technological innovations that had gone into its design and production.

Sam didn't let that worry him. What his car did have was a high-compression 427 that had been a proven street dominator for decades. Sam had built the engine himself, spending more than twenty thousand dollars on the parts and accessories that made it as powerful as it could possibly be without being illegal. Since the road was leading through a massive residential area, there was very little chance that Jackie could get up to the monstrous speeds her car was capable of, so Sam knew he could keep up.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and quickly punched up Karen's number on speed dial. “I've got her,” he yelled when she answered. “She's in a new black Corvette, doing about a hundred and forty miles an hour on Bowles Avenue, going west. I'm right behind her, keeping her in sight.”

“Yeah, Indie told me. I hope you know we got phones going crazy down here about some idiots racing through that area. There's a half-dozen units already headed your way. You should be coming up on a roadblock shortly, Sam, so be careful.”

Sam dropped his phone back into his pocket and concentrated on driving. Jackie was trying to shake him, weaving in and out of the traffic that was all over the road, but he was hanging on like a bulldog. They had gone about five miles when Jackie suddenly began to slow.

Sam had to downshift and ride his brakes to keep from crawling up her tailpipe, but then she whipped the car left on to Coal Mine Road. Sam followed, fishtailing around the corner and shifting like mad in order to get moving again. This road, however, was no straightaway. The long curve should have been a breeze for the Z06, but Sam could tell that Jackie was having trouble controlling the car.

His own Stingray, on the other hand, was a road-holding monster. He quickly found himself gaining on her again, and when she tried once more to get a burst of speed out of the car, he knew that she was going to lose control.

Sure enough, the Z06 went into a spin and left the road just past the Easton Sports Complex. A large empty field on the right suddenly became a massive cloud of dust as the car spun round and round. Sam slammed on his brakes and managed to bring his own car almost to a stop, then turned onto the dirt to follow Jackie.

The cloud of dust had kept him from seeing exactly what happened, and when he found the Z06 he was shocked. Somewhere in that cloud, the car had dug in and begun flipping. Pieces of it were scattered over a half-acre, and he suddenly realized that what looked like a pile of rags in front of him was Jackie, herself.

Sam jumped out of the car and moved as quickly as he could to get to her, certain that there was no hope. Her body was mangled and broken, and blood was coming from various places, but when he dropped to his knees beside her she opened her eyes.

“Guess I really messed it up, didn't I, Sam?” Jackie said.

Sam yanked out his phone and dialed 911, but sirens were converging on him even as he told the dispatcher where to send an ambulance. A half-dozen squad cars skidded in around them, and several officers leaped out with their weapons drawn. Sam identified himself, and the officers hurried up to surround him and his suspect.

“Jackie, what in the world got into you?” Sam asked. “I know you killed McAlester, and you tried to kill the Howdens, but why?”

Jackie coughed, and a bit of blood spurted out of her mouth. “Got tired of him, I guess,” she said. “I wasn't always bad, Sam, but do you know how hard it is for a tall girl to get a date? Carlos—he made me feel good, at first. He treated me good, and I liked it.” She coughed again. “But then he started asking for favors, little things like making sure some small piece of evidence didn't make it to where it was supposed to be. At first I was scared, and just did it because I was afraid I'd lose him, but then it got to be kind of a game. I was outsmarting everyone, and that felt good.” She started coughing once more, and it took her a few seconds to get it under control. “It all just went downhill, after that. You know what they say, the bigger the thrill you get, the bigger the one you need. Things just got completely out of hand, and I figured the only hope I had was to get him out of my life. I had it all planned out, so no one would get hurt but him; I didn't even know his ex was there until I got there that morning, and I thought the kid was at his grandparents. I slipped in the back, while they were yelling at each other, and I decided to go through with it when I heard her storm out the front door. I grabbed the knife and started toward the front, but then he turned around. When he saw me coming at him, he started to tell me to leave, that she would be back, but I couldn't stop myself. I already had the knife, and I just went a little crazy on him. As soon as he was down, I turned around and got out of there.”

She took a ragged breath and Sam thought she was done, but she held on. Her eyes darted around at the officers surrounding her, and Sam wondered how many of them she knew.

“Jackie,” Sam said, “he wasn't your first victim, was he?”

She turned her eyes back toward his face. “No. Like I said, the bigger the thrill…It grew, it grew like a monster that was out of control. First I was just losing little bits of evidence, then it was a matter of altering it. Before long, I was figuring out how to create evidence that would point the way Carlos wanted an investigation to go.” She coughed again. “Then, one day, there was a witness, some guy who had seen something he wasn't supposed to see, but then he was in a wreck, and he got hurt. He was in the hospital, and Carlos was freaking out because if he talked, it would screw up whatever he was working on. He wanted me to fix it so no matter what the guy said, there wouldn't be any way to back it up, but I couldn't find a way to do that. Then it hit me it would just be better if the guy never said anything, and that seemed like the biggest thrill of all. I went to see him, and just added a bit more morphine to his IV.”

Sam shook his head. “How many cases did you tamper with, Jackie?”

She rolled her eyes up to look into his own, and tried to shrug her shoulders. She suddenly grimaced in pain, and her breath started becoming more ragged.

“Too many…” Jackie gasped again, and then her eyes rolled up in her head. She was still breathing, but Sam didn't know if there was any hope or not.

He stayed there beside her until they heard the siren of the ambulance approaching, and when it slid in beside them, he got up and moved over to his car. Karen drove up just behind the ambulance, and walked over to where Sam was sitting on the fender of his Corvette.

“I don't know whether to pat you on the back or arrest you,” Karen said. “In case you didn't notice, Sam, your car is not an authorized pursuit vehicle.”

“Yeah, I know it,” he said. “I couldn't let her get away, Karen. Chalk it up to me doing what I felt I had to do, and you can arrest me when you feel like it.”

She snorted. “I'm not going to arrest you, and you know it.” She looked over to where the paramedics were trying to stabilize Jackie enough to get her onto the stretcher. “You talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding. “After that kind of a wreck, I'm surprised she was alive, let alone conscious, but I talked to her. Apparently Carlos had gotten to her romantically, then when she was hooked, he started asking her for favors. Little things at first, I guess, tampering with evidence, but she said that it started to become a thrill for her to outsmart all of us, and she needed the thrills to be bigger. That eventually led her to murder, confirming the things I was told about her having killed before, but I'm not sure. She killed Carlos because she wanted out, wanted to quit.”

Karen shook her head. “Just goes to show, doesn't matter how good we think we are, there's always some kind of temptation that can take us down the wrong path. Think she'll make it?”

“Hell, I ain't no doctor. If you asked me, I'd say she should have been dead ten minutes ago. If she makes it, maybe we can find out more about the things she did. If not, then I guess somebody's going to be going over all her crime scene and evidence reports for the last five years or more. Maybe when we know what cases she rigged, we'll start to get an idea of just how dark she went.”

Karen stood there silently, watching with Sam as the paramedics finally got Jackie onto a backboard and into the ambulance. It rolled away quickly, its siren wailing once again.

“Well, I guess that's my cue,” Karen said. “I'd better go down to the hospital and wait to see if she's got a chance. For her sake, it might be better if she didn't make it.” She sighed dramatically. “At least she was single, that's one good thing.”

Sam shrugged. “Was it? That's how Carlos got to her, that's how men like him always get to a woman, playing on her loneliness.”

Karen looked at him for a moment. “Everyone is lonely, Sam, at least to some degree. All I really meant was that at least she wasn’t leaving any kids behind. I worry every day about what would happen to mine if I got myself killed on the job.” She shrugged her shoulders, then turned and walked away without another word.

20

Sam watched her go, then got into his car and fired it up to follow her to the hospital. It was certain that Jackie would be in surgery for some time, if she managed to pull through at all, but there were still questions that needed answers. Some of those he could get by hanging around Karen, but some would become unsolved mysteries if Jackie were to die.

“We might as well both go do something else,” Karen said when he found her in the ER. “Doctor Klockenbrink told me to get the hell out of his way. He thinks she'll make it, but it will probably take several hours of surgery, and she won't be able to answer questions for at least a day.”

Sam nodded. “I know she's in pretty bad shape,” he said. “What about her CSI partner, Ned? Anybody figure out whether he was involved?”

“Couple of uniforms found him just a little bit ago, back at work. He claims Jackie called him asking for a ride, said her car broke down. The way he tells it, he picked her up about three blocks from the Howdens’ place, and she had him take her to the Chevy dealership where she stole the car she crashed. He claims he didn't even know there was a problem until they snatched him up and brought him downtown for questioning.”

Sam grimaced and rolled his eyes. “He could be telling the truth,” he said. “If Jackie was doing it for the thrills, it's doubtful she would've wanted to share them with anyone else. Besides, if she brought him in on it all, it would create the risk of a witness against her. I think if he knew what she was up to, he'd probably be dead already.”

“Good point,” Karen replied. “We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now, unless we find evidence to the contrary. By the way, they're calling out Jack McGinty to run the crime lab for a while, and I guess he'll be handling all the case reviews. Unless we can find a particular point where her cases began getting skewed, he's going to have to go through every case she ever worked. Do you have any idea how many people could end up being released from prison because of this? How many cases that we thought were solved might be overturned?”

“Yeah, but there's an upside, too. Think of how many cases she tampered with so that we couldn't solve them. Going over the evidence with a fresh set of eyes might mean some of those will finally be closed.”

Karen glared at him. “Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're an optimist. Just remember, buddy, you're not the one who's going to have to crawl all over those cold cases. At least some of them are going to fall in my lap.”

Sam started to answer, but his phone rang. He glanced at it and saw that it was a call from Chris. “Gotta take this,” he said to Karen, and then he walked away a few feet. “Hello?”

“Sam! Sam, you did it!” It wasn't Chris's voice that was screaming through the phone, but Candy's. “I'm out of jail, and guess what?”

Sam held the phone away from his ear. “What?”

“My lawyer, when he found out everything was being dismissed, he called CPS and started reading them the riot act. They're going to let me have Charlie, temporarily for right now, but we'll go to a permanent custody hearing in a few weeks. Isn't that awesome?”

Sam chuckled. “Yes, it sure is,” he said. “Tell Charlie I said hello. That's a great kid you got there, Candy. I'm sorry things had to go this far south for you to get custody of him back, but I think it will be good for both of you to be together. When do you pick him up?”

“We're on the way to get him right now; he's at a group foster home in Littleton. Hey, Chris wants to talk to you.” There was a moment of unidentifiable noise, then Chris came on the line.

“Sam, buddy, you're awesome! I knew if anybody could prove Candy innocent, you could. Let me know how much I owe you, I'm more than happy to pay.”

“I'm not gonna send you a bill,” Sam said. “We have to take care of our own, right? Let's just chalk this one up to doing what needed to be done.”

“Well, like I said, you are definitely awesome. Anytime you need a favor in return, all you have to do is say the word. And I think that goes for all of us,” Chris said, and Sam could hear Candy's heartfelt agreement in the background.

It took a minute or two for Sam to get off the phone, and by then, Karen was nowhere in sight. Sam wandered over to the information desk and found out that Mr. and Mrs. Howden had been admitted, got their room number and went to peek in on them. He found them on the third floor, sharing a room, and knocked lightly on the doorjamb.

Mrs. Howden was awake and sitting up in her bed, and she broke out into a big smile when she saw him. “Oh, come in, young man, come in,” she said. “My husband tells me we have you to thank for our rescue.”

Sam grinned at her. “I think we're even,” he said. “I came to thank both of you for helping me solve the murder. You guys doing okay?”

“Oh, goodness, yes,” the old woman said. “I'm a lot tougher than that silly girl imagined. I think she had some idea of trying to make it look like an accident, like a flowerpot was on an upper shelf and just fell on me. I don't know what she was planning to do to Kenneth, but it seems to me it would have looked pretty funny if we both died accidentally on the same day, don't you think?”

Sam had to stifle a chuckle. “Yes, that might have seemed a little bit odd. Luckily, I happened to stop by and interrupted her. When I found your husband, the only thing he could think about was trying to tell me where you were.”

Mrs. Howden's eyebrows went up. “Really? That scamp,” she said. “He should have been worried about himself, he was hurt a lot worse than I was. That crazy woman broke two of his ribs.”

“Genevieve, I told you,” Mr. Howden said, “my ribs are not broke. They're just bruised. All she did was push me down onto the bed, but I twisted my knee and couldn't get back up. If it hadn't been for that, I would have been right behind her with my Louisville slugger! Lucky for us this young feller showed up when he did.” He turned to Sam. “Did you catch her?”

Sam gave him a half smile. “We got her, but I think she actually caught herself. I had found her on the street, and she decided to make a run for it. I was chasing her and she lost control of her car, rolled over several times. She's in surgery right now, but it looks like she might survive. Maybe then we can get to the bottom of this whole mess.”

“What I don't understand is why she would have killed Carlos?” Mrs. Howden asked. “He was just the sweetest man you could ever have known.”

“I'm afraid not everyone would agree with you on that, Mrs. Howden. It turns out that Carlos worked for a man who paid him to threaten and sometimes hurt people, just to make sure they did what he wanted them to do. Jackie—that's the lady who attacked you—she works for the police as a crime scene technician. I guess the two of them had a romantic relationship, her and Carlos, and he got her involved in his illegal activities. It seems she was trying to get out of it, and thought the only way she could do that was if Carlos was dead. She knew that if he was murdered, she’d be the one they called in to investigate the crime scene, and she could make the evidence look however she wanted. She just hadn't counted on me being hired to prove the number one suspect was innocent.”

The old woman nodded wisely. “So she came after us because of the things we told you, right?”

“That's how I see it,” Sam said. “I'm curious, though, why you never mentioned her as one of Carlos's girlfriends. I mean, you had to have seen her when she was going over the crime scene right across the street from you.”

“I noticed that she was pretty tall, but I didn't realize it was the same tall girl I had seen going in there before. That one always wore a hood whenever she came over, and she drove a fancy blue car. I wish I would've known it was her, I could have probably saved us all a lot of trouble.”

“Or you might have got us hurt a lot quicker,” her husband said. “I told you all along, your nosiness was going to get us into trouble sooner or later, and it did.”

Sam chuckled, and decided that was a good time for him to make his exit. He walked out of the room and took the elevator down to the main floor, then went out through the ER to get to where he had parked his car.

When he got to it, Sam paused for a moment to think about all that had happened over the past few days. Candy was free, and would soon be reunited with her son permanently. Jackie, who would probably go down for multiple murders and dozens of other crimes, was in surgery but expected to survive. The elderly couple who had helped Sam solve the case were going to be all right.

And Beauregard's track record was intact. Once again, he had been right.

Sam sat on the fender of his Corvette as he thought about all of these things, and then he took out his cell phone and called Indie.

“Hey, babe,” he said. “You girls ready for me to come and join you?”

BOOK 10

GHOST

1

For an ex-cop with a bad hip, Sam Prichard seemed to be doing pretty well. He had spent the first couple of years after he was medically retired just getting used to being a civilian again, but then a neighbor with a missing granddaughter had asked him for help. Sam had agreed to ask around and see what he could find out, which led him into the middle of a plot to destroy the country. Working with an old man from the Department of Homeland Security, and with the help of a young computer whiz named Indiana Perkins, Sam had thwarted the plot and rescued the little girl.

It felt good to be back in action, and Uncle Sam had been rather grateful financially, so Sam had decided to go into the Private Investigator business. He had the experience and the knowledge of the law, and it just seemed like a waste not to put it all to work doing something.

Indie, the hacker who’d helped him crack that first case, had been living on the street with her four-year-old daughter, McKenzie. Knowing how dangerous that could be, Sam had offered her the use of the spare bedrooms on the second floor of his house, so she suddenly became his temporary assistant/housekeeper/secretary, and she and the little girl began to grow on him in a hurry.

It wasn't long before Sam and Indie were in love and married, and Sam blundered into a side gig as the lead singer for a local band. Not only was it fun, it was becoming lucrative, as well. The band was hot, Sam was popular and the songs he was writing were keeping them at the top of the local area charts.

On the job, however, Sam kept getting dragged into matters of national security. After almost dying more than once, he finally decided he'd had enough. He announced his retirement from PI work, and the band began to perform more often. Sam Prichard looked like he had a future in the music business.

But then, just a few weeks ago, the band's bass player was arrested for murdering her ex-husband. With no one else to turn to, she begged Sam for help, and he found himself beating the bushes for clues once again. He found the killer, cleared the bass player's name, and realized that he missed the thrill of the chase.

Sam came out of retirement.

Between being a PI and fronting a hot band, free time wasn't something Sam knew a lot about. So, whenever the opportunity presented itself, he would do his best to take advantage of it in a way that pleased his family. Usually, that meant going out to do something the whole family would enjoy, but occasionally he would insist on leaving little McKenzie with her grandmothers while he took his wife out on a date night.

On this particular night, Sam had taken Indie to a lovely little place out in the country, a restaurant known for its romantic atmosphere and fine food. They had a wonderful time, just enjoying one another's company and whispering the loving words that came so naturally to them. They didn't get evenings like this very often, so Sam wanted to make the most of it.

They had come in his Corvette because they both loved the feel of the car on the curvy mountain roads outside Denver, and Sam often thought the car liked it too. It was fun to feel the G-forces trying to throw them to one side of the car or the other as the tires screamed, trying to hold their grip on the road in the curves. Sam knew the road and wasn't the least bit intimidated by it. As long as he didn't get a speeding ticket, he wouldn't be too concerned.

Fate, however, has a tendency to throw a monkey wrench into plans. While Sam and Indie were laughing and enjoying the ride, other people were having a much more serious evening.

They had just pulled around a curve, and Sam's eyes went wide as he grabbed the shifter to downshift and slow the car. A man had run out of the woods beside the road, and he froze like a deer when the Corvette's headlights hit him. Sam slammed on the brakes and the man turned his head to look back into the brush.

Sam got a brief, clear look at the man's face, but then his head seemed to explode. A split second later, the sound of a shotgun blast tore the night apart.

Indie screamed as the car slid to a stop, barely a half-dozen feet from the dead man. Sam got out of the car as quickly as he could manage, his .40-caliber Glock in his hand and pointed in the direction the shot had come from. There was no sign of the shooter, so Sam hobbled toward the victim as fast as his bad hip would allow him. He was hoping beyond hope that the man would still be alive, but most of his head was gone. From the base of his nose upward, there was only mangled bone and gore.

It was a grisly sight, but Sam had seen worse in his time, so he managed to keep his dinner down. He picked up a stick that was lying in the road and used it to open the man's jacket and look for some form of identification.

There was nothing. The guy was lying on his side, so Sam poked at all of his pockets and determined that they were empty. The hackles on the back of his neck began to rise.

Indie got out of the car and slowly approached him, her phone in her hand as she spoke to the 911 dispatcher. Amazingly, she managed not to get sick and contaminate what was obviously the scene of a murder.

“Yes, we’re pretty sure he’s dead,” Indie said. “My husband is checking him now, he’s a private investigator. His name? Sam Prichard.”

Sam turned his attention back to the victim. The guy was wearing a pretty cheap suit, the sort that you can buy right off the rack at just about any big department store. Sam knew about those kinds of suits because he owned a few of them. A cheap suit didn’t really mean anything, but the shot that killed the poor guy had literally blown him completely out of his shoes, and Sam glanced at one of them. The labeling on the insole said Brooks Brothers, and the shoes were almost identical to a pair worn by his lead guitarist. They had cost over thirteen hundred dollars, and Sam wondered why a man who could afford such shoes would be wearing a cheap department store suit.

It didn't occur to him to wonder if the shoes might belong to someone else. There were other things about the dead man that suggested he was no stranger to wealth, as well. His hands, for instance, were soft, uncallused, the kind of hands that had never known any type of actual physical labor. His nails had been recently manicured and the skin that Sam could see sported the kind of tan that usually required many hours of leisure time in the sun.

“The Sheriff's office is on the way,” Indie said. “I told them we were sure the man was dead, but they're sending an ambulance anyway.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that's the way they do things. They seem to just naturally assume that a witness calling in something like this probably went to public school and isn’t smart enough to know whether or not somebody with half his head blown off is dead, so they spend a great big chunk of their annual budget to send out an expert to make an official determination.”

Sam stood and looked out into the woods, in the direction the shot had come from. The trees were dense and the night was dark, so he really couldn’t see very much. It suddenly occurred to him that whoever shot the guy could be aiming that 12-gauge directly at him at that very moment, but he didn't think so. Whoever had chased this poor man through the woods and blown his head off had probably panicked and fled when Sam's car screeched to a halt.

“Indie,” Sam said. “Do me a favor and go stand over by the car, out of the headlights.”

“Am I blocking your light?” Indie asked. “I can move…”

“No, babe, I just don’t want you standing in the bright lights. Whoever did this could still be around, I’d really rather they not get a chance to aim that shotgun at your pretty head.”

Indie grimaced at his words, then turned and went to stand beside the Corvette. She made sure she was as invisible as possible in the darkness and then turned her attention back to Sam.

Sam was pretty sure the shooter was long gone, but he had wanted Indie out of sight, just in case. If he was wrong, then he and Indie could easily both be dead within moments. Sam often got pretty upset with himself for jumping blindly into things like this. It was always dangerous to stick your neck out, as Sam knew very well, but some instinct inside would always make him dive in headfirst whenever he stumbled across a crime.

That was almost always a mistake, and would probably prove to be one in this case. Instead of getting out of the car to check on the victim, he should have thrown it into reverse and gotten the hell out of there as fast as he possibly could. Anybody with half a brain would have simply called 911 and let the police handle the situation. Instead, Sam’s instinctual involvement could have conceivably put himself and his wife in grave danger.

Relax, he said to himself. If he wanted us dead, we’d already be down.

“Was that a shotgun that he got hit with?” Indie asked. “It sounded awful loud.”

Sam looked up at her and nodded his head. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounded to me like a 12-gauge, most likely loaded with double-ought buckshot. That's the same as being shot by a dozen .32-caliber guns at the same time. About the only thing I can think of that could do this much damage.”

Sam turned back to the dead man in the road. He appeared to be in his early-to-mid 30s, and seemed to have been in pretty good shape physically. The man's haircut, from what remained of it, was neat and stylish, which indicated it was done by someone other than a common barber, another sign that the man had been at least somewhat affluent.

Sam sniffed. “He was wearing cologne,” he said. “Strong enough I can smell it even over the blood.”

Indie nodded. “That's Killian,” she said. “It’s called Straight to Heaven.”

Sam looked up at her, his face a question mark. “Killian?”

“That cologne,” she said. “That's Straight to Heaven, by Killian. Stan wears it. I asked him what it was cause I wanted to get some for you, but then he said it was almost three hundred dollars an ounce, so you got Calvin Klein's cheap stuff, instead.”

Sam shook his head. “I can't imagine how you can recognize a fragrance like that.”

“I'm a woman,” Indie said with a grin. “We notice things that make our men smell better, trust me.”

Sam shook his head. “Expensive shoes,” he said, “expensive haircut, expensive cologne and a cheap suit. Something about this just strikes me as being off, somehow.”

The sound of a siren could be heard in the distance, and a sheriff's patrol car arrived a moment later. Sam showed them his ID and recounted what he had seen and done, and the deputies took their statements. As they were finishing up, a detective arrived, a man named John Dickens whom Sam knew from his days on the police force.

“Hey, John,” Sam said.

“Sam,” Dickens replied. “It's been a while. How did you happen to be here?”

“Took the wife out to dinner, and we were headed for home. I almost ran over this guy when he ran out in front of me, but somebody shot him while I was slamming on the brakes. I already gave my statement to the deputies, but I figure you might have other questions.”

Dickens looked down at the body and then looked around. “You said he ran out in front of you. Which direction did he come from?”

Sam pointed into the woods to the right of the road. “He came out of there,” Sam said. “He froze like a deer when my lights hit him, then looked back into the woods and that's when the gun went off. Sounded like a 12-gauge, but I never saw the shooter.”

Dickens grimaced. “Well, that was going to be my next question. Anything else you think I need to know?”

“I told the deputies, but it looks to me like this guy isn't wearing his own suit. From the cologne, the haircut and the shoes, I'd expect him to be wearing Armani, but that suit looks like it came off the clearance rack at Kmart.”

Dickens glanced at the body again. “Yeah, looks like a cheap one. How do you know about the cologne?”

“That was me,” Indie said. “We know someone who wears that cologne, and it's expensive stuff. That's why I don't buy it for Sam.”

Dickens stood there for a few seconds, then nodded at Sam. “Okay, you can go on home. I'll let you know if I have any other questions. Gimme a phone number.”

Sam handed Dickens his business card and said goodbye, and then he and Indie got into the Corvette. They drove the rest of the way home in silence, but Sam thought he heard a sniffle once or twice from Indie's side of the car.

“You okay, Babe?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I was just thinking about that poor man. I mean, I don’t know why he got shot, for all we know he might have been a monster of some kind, but there’s just something sad about seeing someone die all alone.”

Sam reached over and took her hand. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

2

Indie wasn't particularly happy about Sam being back in the PI business, but she was a dutiful wife and a more-than-capable assistant. After Sam decided to come out of retirement, they had resumed advertising his services and spent most of their mornings in the office that was attached to the side of their garage. The room had a private entrance that came off of the driveway, which was almost big enough to qualify as a small parking lot, and Sam had even made a sign to let potential clients know they’d found the place.

It had been a couple of weeks since they saw the man shot in the road, and life had quickly gone back to normal. On this particular morning, Sam had an appointment scheduled for nine AM. A car pulled up in the driveway just before that time, and a tall black man followed the walkway to get to the office entrance. Indie opened the door and invited him inside, and Sam saw that he had a dog with him, a big black-and-tan German Shepherd.

“Is it okay for Freddie to come in?” the man asked.

“Of course,” Indie said. Sam reached behind himself and pulled the door shut that led into the main house; Samson, little Kenzie’s cat, had a tendency to come wandering in now and then, and Freddie looked big enough to consider the cat an appetizer. Sam turned back to face his visitor and immediately noticed that both man and dog were limping. Indie went back to her own desk and smiled. “You must be Mister Wilson,” she said. She turned and indicated Sam with a wave of her hand. “I’m Indie and this is my husband, Sam Prichard. How can we help you today?”

Before the man could answer, the dog looked up at Indie and wagged his tail, whining softly. She smiled, then bent down and began petting him, and the dog leaned closer to nuzzle her. She laughed and stroked his head, looking up at Wilson. “I hope this is okay,” she said. “I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist.”

Wilson grinned. “Old Freddie'll be your friend for life, now,” he said loudly. “He absolutely loves a pretty girl, he does.”

Indie smiled and led the two of them over to Sam's desk. Sam stood and leaned forward to shake Wilson's hand. “Sam Prichard,” he said.

“Jack Wilson,” he replied, and his grip was strong and confident. He was still speaking loudly, and Sam realized that he must have some hearing loss. “I been hearing some good things about you, Sam. Friend of mine, Tom Andover, he says you're the guy to come to if you got a problem. That right?”

Sam smiled. “Well, I try. You're talking about Tom Andover from the police department? I know him, a good man.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, he is. He says the same about you, too, by the way.” He cleared his throat, glanced down at his dog, and then looked back up at Sam. “Me and Freddie, we was EOD, explosive ordnance detail in the Army, over in Afghanistan. We was clearing a building full of ISIS when the bomb we were looking for went off. I was pinned under rubble and my left leg was crushed; Freddie was hit by falling debris and had some serious fractures to his pelvis and right hip, and we were the lucky ones. The rest of the squad didn't make it out.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Sam said.

“ISIS was all around, and one of 'em came through what was left of the building to make sure we was all dead. He found me and was about to put a bullet in my head, but Freddie, somehow he was able to jump and take the bastard down, and I managed to get my hands on his gun. That took care of that problem, and we got carried out a few hours later. I lost my leg, but they patched Freddie up best they could and gave us both honorable discharges. I got to adopt him, they got this new program—they used to just put Military War Dogs down when they were done with them, calling them 'obsolete equipment,' you believe that? Freddie ain't a piece of equipment, he's my partner and my very best friend.”

Sam looked at the dog, and thought about the fact that he might have been killed just because he'd been wounded or wasn't needed anymore. “I can believe it,” Sam said, “but I'm glad it didn't turn out that way for Freddie.” Freddie wagged his tail when he heard his name, and Sam looked back at Jack. “So, what can we do for you and Freddie, today?”

Jack reached into a pocket and took out a piece of paper, unfolded it and passed it across the desk. At first glance, Sam thought it was a ransom note, because it was made of letters cut out of magazines, but it wasn't. It said:

Your wife is a slut. She has been cheating on you with your best friend while you were in the war. She is still going to see him behind your back.

Sam read it through and looked up at Jack. “Do you believe this?” Sam asked him.

“Hell, no,” he said. “I ain't even told my wife I got it. Good Lord, man, my best friend is Max Hernandez, and he runs Animal Partners. That’s a charity organization that provides service animals for disabled veterans.”

Sam smiled. “Service animals?”

“Yeah. Max gets dogs from shelters, where they might get put down, then trains them to be guide dogs, mobility dogs, hearing dogs and such for disabled vets. He does a lot of work with the Wounded Warrior Project, too. Me and Freddie help out when we can, training the dogs, and sometimes we even help out with the other animals. It’s amazing to watch Freddie showing other dogs how to do things. He’s about the smartest dog I done ever seen.”

Indie had been listening, and she moved over then to sit on the floor next to Freddie. The dog didn't need a lot of prompting to lie down and let her rub his belly.

Jack was still talking. “I haven't had any kind of luck finding an actual paying job since I got home last year, but I’ve got a decent VA pension. It's not a whole lot, but if we could do some kind of payments I'll pay you what I can if you'll see if you can find out who's behind this….”

Indie butted in.

“Jack, don't worry about it,” she said, “Sam does pro bono work sometimes, and he's short on it for this quarter. No charge.”

The look of relief on Jack's face put a big smile on Sam’s. Indie had lied through her teeth about being short on pro bono work, but they weren’t hurting for money at the moment. Sam didn't mind a bit.

“Okay, good, that's settled,” Sam said. “So, if I get this right, this Max is the best friend that your wife is supposed to be cheating with?”

“Yeah, but there ain't no way I'd ever believe it, not from either one of 'em. Me and Max went through basic and AIT together, I know this guy. He would never betray a friend like that, and my wife has stuck by me through so much already…”

“Then the best place for me to start would be paying him a visit and talking to him. I'm going to need to tell him about that note and what it says. Are you going to be okay with that?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be any problem. I'll give him a call and let him know some private investigator will be stopping by to see him.” He stood up slowly, with some difficulty, and Freddie got to his own feet beside him.

“That’ll be fine,” Sam said, “but do me a favor and don’t let him know much of what it's about. I want to gauge his reaction when I tell him what the note says. You're probably right and there isn’t any kind of truth to it, but it’s still possible I could spot something important simply from observing his body language.”

Jack nodded. “No sweat, Sam, I won't give away anything about the reason you're coming by. I'll just tell him a guy named Sam'll be comin' by, will that be all right?”

“That’s perfect. If you'll let Indie have your contact information, I'll give you a call as soon as I come up with anything to tell you.”

“Sam,” he said, “I just don’t know how to thank you, and I’m very sincere about that. You can’t believe how hard it is to cope with this kind of stuff, especially when you ain't got nobody to talk to, Sam.”

Sam shook his hand and said, “No problem,” and Jack made his way out the door with Freddie by his side, looking up at him lovingly. Indie and Sam watched as they got into a small car and drove away.

Sam turned to Indie and opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened again and a lady walked in at that moment. Sam suspected instantly that she must be Jack's wife, because she was also black, like him, and was looking through the window on the door to be sure that Jack and Freddie were out of sight as she shut it behind herself. As soon as she was sure they hadn't seen her, she turned to look at Sam and Indie.

“I hope you'll forgive me for this, and understand why I have to,” she said. “I'm Christy Wilson. That man who just left here was my husband, and I—please, I need to find out why he was here.”

Sam looked at her, a sad expression on his face. “Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I can't reveal that information. I'm required to abide by client confidentiality, just like a lawyer.”

The woman began to cry, but Indie quickly went to her and got her to sit down in a chair beside her desk.

“Please, I need you to understand,” she said. “It's not been an easy recovery for Jack, or for Freddie, either. To be honest, the dog is doing a lot better than Jack is; he still has a long way to go, especially, you know, in the emotional side of things. He's still having nightmares, and that plastic leg—he can use it to get around, but sometimes I see him when he doesn't know I'm looking. He just sits there and cries while he's putting it on.”

“I can imagine that's got to be rough,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, I still…”

“Jack's had a bad time of it ever since he got back. He always planned on an Army career, he never really wanted to be a civilian. Since he's not on active duty anymore, he's having a hard time just feeling like a man. He feels like he's not worth anything. It’s like he thinks that without that leg, he's not really a man anymore. He hasn’t had any luck trying to find a job, so he does a lot of volunteer work just to keep himself busy, and I'm doing everything I can to help him but sometimes I feel like…” She blushed a bit, and looked down at her hands. “He's trying hard, though, and—I haven't told him, yet, but we're going to have a baby.''

Indie's face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, Christy, that's wonderful! That should make him feel better, don't you think? Becoming a father?”

Mrs. Wilson smiled, but sadly. “I haven't told him yet,” she said. “He's been pretty withdrawn, lately. I saw where he jotted down a note about coming to see you this morning, so I took some time off work and followed him. I just wanted to find out what's going on, to see if I could help.” She suddenly began to sob, and Indie slid her chair closer to put an arm around the woman's shoulders. “I'm just terrified that something must be wrong between us, and I just don’t know what to do.”

Sam frowned. “Mrs. Wilson, I really do understand,” he said, “but I honestly can't tell you anything your husband spoke to me about.”

Indie turned to look at Sam and glared, but then she saw the wink he gave her. She stared at him for a moment, then turned back to look at Mrs. Wilson.

“Sam can't tell you anything, but I’m not bound the way he is. He came here because someone sent him a letter that says you were cheating on him with his best friend, Max, while he was overseas doing his duty. Don't worry, he doesn’t believe it, he’s just mad that anyone would say such a thing about you or Max. He just wants Sam to try to find out who's behind it.”

Mrs. Wilson suddenly looked shocked. “A letter? One that was made by pasting up letters cut out from magazines? I got one of those, too, just a few days ago, but I tossed it out cause I didn't want Jack to see it. It said he did all kinds of terrible things while he was in Afghanistan, like killing babies and feeding them to Freddie, just absolutely horrible things!”

Sam leaned forward. “Is there any chance you could find it for me?” Sam asked, but she shook her head.

“No, I'm sorry, I burned it up with the trash. I didn’t want there to be any possibility that Jack might see it. And just so you know, there isn't any truth at all in that crap about me and Max! Neither one of us would do such a thing, especially not to Jack!”

Sam sat there for a moment. “Mrs. Wilson,” he said, “I think you need to go home and talk to your husband. Tell him about the letter you got, and you should probably own up about following him here to see me. Let him know you talked to me about it and that I said you needed to talk to him.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “Oh, he’s going to be so mad at me…”

“I don’t think so,” Indie said. “He’s your husband, and I think he’ll understand that you were worried about him. Talk to him, please.”

Indie gave her a hug and she finally nodded her head. Sam waited until the door was closed and then looked at his wife. “Good job,” he said. “Realistically, though, that client confidentiality applies to you, too. I just felt like she needed to know, and you took the hint beautifully.”

Indie tried to look innocent. “You mean I wasn’t supposed to tell her? I'm sorry, I didn't realize…”

“Yeah, right, Babe,” Sam said with a smile. “We might have broken a rule or two, but I think it was exactly the right thing to do in this case. Just another reason I love you so much, I guess.”

Indie dimpled.  “Sam, surely you can help them, can't you?”

Sam got to his feet. “I'm sure going to try,” Sam said, “I'm going to go see Max. Go over that letter and see if you can figure out anything that'll help while I'm gone.” Sam leaned down and kissed her, then headed out the door.

3

Sam drove the Corvette to the address Jack had given him for Animal Partners, his GPS leading him to it without any issues. He walked inside and a lady at a desk looked up and smiled, then asked how she could help him.

“I'm here to see Mr. Hernandez, if he's in,” Sam said. “I'm a friend of Jack Wilson.”

She looked him over briefly and Sam knew she had noticed his limp, which brought her to exactly the conclusion Sam expected. “Oh, you must be looking for a service dog, right? Come on in, I'll tell Max you’re here.”

It made sense, Sam figured. When a guy with an obvious bum hip walks into a place that provides services to wounded veterans, it's a reasonable mistake to take him for a client. He let it slide, figuring it would probably get him in to see Max faster than telling the truth would have done. A moment later, the lady returned and led him down a hallway. They passed a couple of doors and Sam could hear a lot of noise coming through them, the sound of dogs barking and other animal noises.

“Hey, what’s that screeching?”

The woman grinned at him. “That would be the monkeys,” she said. “We have a number of Capuchin monkeys, which are considered the smartest of the new world monkeys, and we train them to help people who are paralyzed. They can do an amazing number of things, like fetching water bottles, phones and such, or scratching an itch or changing a TV channel. They’re really quite amazing.”

Sam grinned. “Sounds like it,” he said.

The receptionist stopped at a door. “This is Mr. Hernandez’s office, just go right in.”

A big man was sitting in a chair behind the desk with a monkey perched on his shoulders, and he stood when Sam entered. The receptionist closed the door behind him, and Max Hernandez extended his hand. Sam shook it and noticed the man's grip was firm.

“You're looking for a service animal, Mr…”

“Prichard, Sam Prichard,” Sam said, “and no, I'm not. I'm actually here at the request of Jack Wilson, who I'm told is a good friend of yours?”

The monkey suddenly squealed and Hernandez broke into a smile. “Sorry, this is Mikey, and he got excited when he heard you say Jack’s name because Freddie is his best pal. Okay, yeah, he called just a little bit ago and said you’d be coming by. What can I do for you, Mr. Prichard?” He motioned for Sam to have a seat, and then took the monkey down off his shoulders as he sat in his own chair.

“Mr. Hernandez—”

“Nope, Max.”

Sam smiled. “Max,” he said with a nod of appreciation, “Jack paid me a visit today because he got what we tend to refer to as a poisoned pen letter. Someone sent him a message made like a ransom note, with cut-out letters and words, and saying that you and Jack's wife had an affair while he was overseas.”

Sam had expected Max to react with anger or shock, but he only leaned his head to one side and said,  “You don't say?” He leaned forward and reached into a drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper and slid it across the desk to Sam.

It was made in the same way as the one that Jack had received, but this one was accusing Max of embezzling hundreds of thousands of dollars from Animal Partners. “I found this laying on my desk about three days ago,” he said.

Sam looked up from reading the note. “Who else can get into your office, when you're not here?”

Max shrugged his shoulders and grimaced. “Just about anybody, I guess. I never bother to lock it, so it's almost always open. The only full-time staff we have around here are myself and Janice, my assistant, and Nadine, the receptionist. She wasn't even in the building when I got it, though, she was off, had a doctor's appointment or something.”

Sam nodded. “So, has money actually come up missing?”

“Just a minute, let's ask the brains,” he said, then yelled out, “Janice? I need you to come here a minute!”

A woman Sam hadn't seen before came into the office and Sam got the impression from her walk and stance that she was probably former military, herself. Max smiled at her and nodded toward Sam.

“This is Janice Stewart, my assistant and second-in-command,” he said.

Sam smiled. “I've got an assistant like that, except mine has a habit of deciding that she's in charge, instead of me. Of course, she's my wife, too, so she gets away with it. Is yours like that?”

Max and Janice looked at each other, and both of them turned slightly pink. It was obvious that, while they may have had a terrific working relationship, these people also had a strong personal one.

“I guess she tells me what to do, sometimes,” Max said. “Thing is, she's usually right about what she wants me to do, so I tend to give in.”

Janice tried her best to put an angry expression on her face, but it was obviously just an act. She couldn't quite hold the smile back.

“The day I found that letter on my desk,” he said, “I called Janice in here and we went over the books together, three times. I can tell you that all of our accounts are in perfect order, and I'll be happy to let anybody audit them anytime they feel the need.”

Janice pointed at the letter. “I got a letter like that, too, the same day Max found his. Hang on a second, let me go get it.” She walked out of the office and could be heard rummaging around in an adjacent room. She returned a moment later and passed another of the letters to Sam.

You are a sexless bitch who couldn't get a man to look at you so you treat all men like dirt and you need to die

“Someone doesn't like you very much,” Sam said to Janice, and Max snorted.

“What's even worse is that it isn't true, not a bit. She's about the most popular person here, with the clients, the dogs, the monkeys, everybody. She knows exactly what it's like, coming back from over there and trying to start over.”

Janice nodded. “I was a truck driver in Iraq, and there were a lot of things that happened over there that I sure wish I could forget. I might not have it as bad as some of these men and women do, but I know exactly what they mean when they talk about nightmares. I care about the people we serve here, and as far as I know, I've never been mean to any of them.”

Sam believed her. Just like these folks, Sam knew what PTSD was all about, he knew what the nightmares were like, when you wake up thinking you're back in the situation that almost got you killed. He didn't believe they'd ever be abusive to anyone, nor abuse the trust that was placed in them as they carried out what was obviously the mission they had assigned themselves.

“Okay,” Sam said, “I think that's all I need for now. No, wait, one other thing. Check around carefully and see if anyone else with connections to your organization has gotten one of these letters and let me know. I don't believe this is about things that happened overseas. These are coming from someone who has something to do with you folks right here.”

Janice made copies of the letters she and Max had received and gave them to Sam. He took them and headed back to the office, but since it was almost noon, Sam called Indie as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Hey, babe,” she said, and Sam smiled.

“Hi, you sexy thing,” Sam said. “I'm on the way back, would you like me to grab us something for lunch?”

“Hmmm, best offer I've heard all day,” Indie said. “How about tacos?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “I'll swing by and pick them up and be home in half an hour.”

Sam made a stop at a place called Taqueria Rojo and picked up a half-dozen of their favorites, then broke a couple of speed limits to get them home while they were still hot. When they had finished eating, Sam looked at Indie. “Well, this case is already taking some odd turns. Jack's friend Max got one of those letters, too, and so did his assistant, Janice Stewart.” Sam showed her the two copies, and she read through them. “Whoever is behind these things is somehow connected to Animal Partners.”

Indie nodded. “Yeah, I agree, somebody who can get into the office whenever they want. Did you get a list of who they might be?”

“From what Max said, only he and Janice and their secretary have the keys to the building, but the secretary wasn't even there the day Max got his. It might be one of the volunteers, of course; it could even be Jack. If he's messed up badly enough, he could be doing it himself and not even realize it.”

Indie shook her head. “I don't believe that it could be him. He was just in too much pain when he showed us the letter he got. I think if he'd done it, all we would have seen would have been anger. Anybody faking it would figure that's what we expected to see, don't you think?”

Sam shrugged. “You're probably right, but until we get some kind of a lead, we really can't afford to rule anyone out.”

They had eaten at their kitchen table, so they each grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back out to the office. Indie noticed the blinking light on the answering machine and checked it, then looked at Sam.

“Max Hernandez wants you to call him,” she said, and Sam took out his cell phone and dialed the number.

“Animal Partners,” answered the secretary, “how can I help you?”

“Max Hernandez, please,” Sam said, and was surprised when the secretary didn't even ask who was calling. Max answered a moment later and Sam could hear Mikey chittering in the background.

“Max, it's Sam Prichard,” Sam said. “I got a message to call you?”

“Yeah, thanks, Sam. We found out about three more letters that all seemed to appear around the same time. The only one who held onto it was Doctor Uhlrich, a retired physician who works with us to help out some of the vets. The one he got accuses him of dealing drugs, pushing painkillers and such, which is absolutely bullshit. The others are Nadine, the secretary—she got one that said she was ugly and smells, and then there's one of our volunteer trainers, Carla Peters; hers accused her of offering sexual favors to our clients. If anyone else got them, they're not talking.”

Sam thanked him and added the info to his notes, then turned to Indie.

“Whoever's doing this is out to ruin Animal Partners,” Sam said, but she frowned.

“You could be right, but look at the way all these letters seem to be attacking people from different directions. These kinds of letters are usually about revenge, but these sound kind of bitchy to me. I think you're dealing with a woman, here, Sam.”

“That's a good point,” Sam agreed. “These letters don't even make sense. Some of them just seem to be insulting, but others are actually making accusations of either criminal or immoral conduct. Only thing I can see that ties them together is Animal Partners.”

“Then the person behind it is involved with the organization, as well, but we already knew that. To be honest, Sam, it looks like somebody’s just trying to start a bunch of trouble inside the organization.”

“Could be, but this kind of thing can destroy a person's reputation or relationships. Somehow, I've got the feeling this is just getting started.”

“Okay, let's look at the letters themselves. All of the ones we got are made up of letters cut out of magazines and newspapers, glued onto plain old, cheap white copy paper. Jack and his wife got theirs through the postal system. They came from different suburban post offices around here, but none from inside Denver, itself.”

Sam gave a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair. “There were some magazines at the Animal Partners office, in their waiting room. I should have looked at them, but surely no one would be stupid enough to actually cut the letters out right there.”

Indie shrugged her shoulders. “Sam Prichard, you of all people should know that there is absolutely no limit to how stupid people can be.”

4

The office door opened suddenly, and Indie turned to greet a woman who walked inside. She appeared to be in her early-to-mid 30s, attractive and well dressed.

“Hi, how can we help you?” Indie asked, and the woman smiled nervously.

“I'm—I think my husband is having an affair,” she said.

Sam hated those kinds of jobs, because they usually meant sitting in a car or somewhere for hours on end, doing nothing. However, it meant money coming in, and that was the point of being in business. Sam was trying to decide how much of a retainer to ask for when Indie smiled up at the woman and said, “Our standard rate is a hundred and fifty dollars an hour, plus expenses, and we require a one thousand dollar retainer.”

Sam did a double take, but the woman only smiled again and said, “Yes, of course, no problem.” She pulled an envelope from a bank out of a large, expensive-looking purse and counted off ten hundred-dollar bills into Indie's hand. Sam invited her to take the chair across his desk.

“I'm Genevieve Rogers,” she said. “I hate the fact that I'm resorting to this, but Daniel has been acting strangely for some time, now, and he won't tell me what’s wrong. He keeps on telling me it's no big deal, but I just know better. He took a business trip to Hawaii about six weeks ago, and when he got back it was almost like he had been replaced by someone else. He'd lost about thirty pounds, and he was always angry, always irritable and grumpy. He…” she paused, and Sam sat silently as he waited for her to go on.

“He hasn't even tried to make love to me since he got back. He even moved into a separate bedroom. He'd never, ever acted like this before. The only thing I can think of is that he must've found someone else, and I just—I just need to know.”

Sam nodded sympathetically, something he’d learned when he was on the force. “Mrs. Rogers, I'm truly sorry that you’re going through this, and I'll get to the bottom of it as quickly as I can. Tell me about your husband, please.”

“Daniel is a risk assessment consultant for some of the biggest investment firms in the country. He works independently, and he has to travel a lot. He's very good at what he does, and it's made us a lot of money. That lets me have the time to do all the charity work that I love.”

Sam nodded. “I see. Do you have any children?”

She shook her head. “No, Daniel never wanted to have kids.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Have you ever seen any actual signs of an affair? You know, things like lipstick marks on his clothes, unexpected credit card charges or somebody hanging up when you answer the phone?”

She shook her head again. “No, I haven't seen anything like that, exactly, but he did sell off some stocks not long ago. It was while he was in Hawaii, in fact. That's not exactly unusual, but normally he tells me before he sells off an asset. I don't know, he's just been different, too different for any other explanation than that he's got someone else.”

“Is there anyone he might confide in about what he's doing, or what kind of problems he might be going through?”

This time, she nodded. “His mother,” she said. “He spends most of his time lately at her place, so she might know something about it. She and I aren't exactly close, though, so she'd never tell me anything.”

Sam stood and said, “Mrs. Rogers, let me get started on this and I'll try to have some information for you within the next couple of days. Wait, would you have a recent photo of your husband?”

She reached into her purse again and handed him a photo. It showed a man with nice hair, in good shape, and wearing glasses. “That was taken about six months ago,” she said. “He gave up the glasses for contacts, and he's lost about thirty pounds, but other than that, he looks just about the same.”

Glancing at the photo, Sam thought the man looked familiar. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he had the distinct feeling he'd seen Daniel Rogers before.

Mrs. Rogers sat down with Indie to provide some of her husband's information, such as his social security number, date of birth, Facebook account and such, and then shook both their hands and left. “I want you to know that I truly appreciate this,” she said as she stepped through the door.

Sam turned to Indie after she left. “Well,” he said, “you can get online and see what you can find out about Mister Rogers. I'm going to drive out and talk to his mother, see if I can get anything out of her. If you happen to come up with anything, or if you think of anything new on the Jack Wilson case, give me a call.” He leaned down toward her for a kiss, which she gave him.

Rogers's mother lived in what had once been a servant's cottage on a big estate outside of the city. Sam found it with his phone's GPS app, and the Corvette got him there in about forty-five minutes. He rang the doorbell, and a woman in her mid-50s answered.

“Can I help you?” she asked, and Sam showed her his ID.

“I'm Sam Prichard, a private investigator, Ma'am, and I've been asked to look into some things that may be affecting your son, Daniel. His wife is pretty worried about him. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?” She hesitated for a second, but then opened the door and invited Sam inside. “Nice little place,” Sam said, and she smiled as she led him to a sofa. He sat down, and she sat on the other end.

“Yes, well, this used to be my gardener's place, back when we owned the estate. Unfortunately, my husband made some bad investments before he passed away, and the place was too expensive to keep up, so I sold it some years ago. I kept this part, though, with the garden and cottage, so I'd have a home.”

Sam nodded. “How long have you been a widow?”

“It's been almost twenty years, now. Frank died of a heart attack, and the death taxes were the final blow to our finances. Selling off let me have enough to live on for the rest of my life, but it hasn't always been easy.”

“I'm sure it hasn't. Mrs. Rogers, could you tell me when you last talked to Daniel?”

She blinked. “Oh, goodness, he calls me now and then, but I haven’t seen him since before he went to wherever it was, a few weeks ago. He stays pretty busy, you know. And as for my daughter-in-law, she's got a habit of being imaginative; she tends to see troubles where none exist.”

That was odd, Sam thought. Genevieve Rogers had said that her husband visited his mother often, and the way she'd said it made it sound as if she considered it to be true. It was unlikely she'd believe that unless she had reason, but his mother said he only called and hadn't come by lately.

Sam let that slide for the moment, and asked, “Can you think of any reason there might be problems between them?”

She shook her head. “The only problem I know of that they ever had is her spending faster than he was making, but that isn't the case anymore. Daniel has been doing very well, lately, so they aren't hurting for money at all. If you ask me, the only one there who might be a little strange is Genevieve, but that's just my opinion.”

Sam didn't seem to be getting anywhere with her, so he thanked her and got up to leave. She walked him to the door, and as he stepped outside he noticed that the old family place was not visible from her house, because of a large brick wall that seemed to be new.

“That wall,” he said. “I take it that was added after you sold the main house?”

“Just recently, actually. When I sold the place, the people who bought it were old friends, and they were always nice to me. They would often come over and check on me, or invite me up to the house for dinner, but they sold it again a few months ago and the new owners put that up. I think they run some kind of private club there, now, but it doesn't matter to me. It always kind of hurt to go back and see it being lived in by others, you know?”

“I can understand that,” Sam said. Another dead end, but that was the way cases like this usually went. He got into his car and drove away.

Sam went downtown to where Daniel Rogers had his office and found his car in the parking lot of the building, took a spot close to it and watched. He could see the door of the building as well as the car, and after a few minutes he even spotted Rogers through his second-floor window.

Sam picked up a digital camera from the passenger seat and used the zoom feature to watch as Daniel talked on the phone and worked at a computer. He could actually see the monitor pretty well, but as far as he could tell, Daniel wasn't using it to talk to anyone. He appeared to be simply typing up some kind of document, probably related to his work.

Finally, after three hours of watching, Daniel came out of the building and headed for his car. It was nearly four o'clock by then, so Sam figured he was getting off work for the day and tailed him from a distance to see where he might go. Surprisingly, he drove straight home without any delay or detours.

Sam watched as Daniel entered the building that housed his condo, and parked where he could continue to watch the door. He sat there through a large part of the evening, but when he caught himself falling asleep around eleven, he gave it up and went home. Indie was waiting up for him, and he told her how little he had learned.

“I haven’t seen anything yet that would indicate he’s having an affair,” Sam said. “In fact, from what I’ve seen, I think the guy is just boring. This might be nothing but a wild goose chase.”

“Don't let it get you down, babe,” Indie said. “You'll figure it out, you always do.”

5

“Daddy!” Kenzie yelled, as she jumped onto the bed. “You gotta get up, Daddy, Mommy's making breakfast.”

Sam opened one eye and looked at her, then slowly closed it. Just as she was about to shake him and yell again, he suddenly threw his eyes and arms open and grabbed her. Kenzie squealed in delight as he flipped her over onto the bed and began tickling her.

“Breakfast? Breakfast? I think I want to have you for breakfast!” Sam's impersonation of a troll, or maybe it was an ogre, got even more squeals of laughter out of the little girl. After a moment, he let her up and followed her toward the kitchen.

“Sounds like you two were having fun,” Indie said. “Have you settled down enough for waffles?”

“As long as there's butter and syrup, I'm good,” Sam said. He sat down at the table and began adding butter and syrup to Kenzie's waffle. Indie brought over two more plates a moment later, set one in front of him and kept the other for herself.

Kenzie would be going to school in just a bit, so Sam and Indie gave her their undivided attention during breakfast. That wasn't a difficult thing to do, since she was such a bright little star in their lives. They ate and talked together, happily enjoying the family time.

“Grandma Grace says I can help her make breakfast this weekend,” Kenzie said. “We’re gonna make pancake sandwiches.”

Sam’s eyebrows went up. “Pancake sandwiches? That’s not fair. She hasn’t made me pancake sandwiches since I was in school.”

Indie was staring at him. “What on earth is a pancake sandwich?”

“You never had pancake sandwiches? Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing. You make a couple of medium-size pancakes, slap an over-easy egg and three or four slices of bacon in between them and pick it up and eat it. Absolutely delicious!”

When breakfast was over, Indie helped Kenzie get ready to go to school, and then drove her as she did every morning. Sam stayed at the table with a cup of coffee until she got back, and then the two of them went to the office and began to talk about their current cases. They had just gotten started when the phone rang.

“Sam Prichard, Private Eye,” Indie said, and then her eyes suddenly went wide, and she said, “Whoa, wait a minute, calm down! Who arrested him, and why?” She listened for a moment, then handed the phone to Sam, saying, “Max Hernandez has been murdered, and the cops just arrested Jack Wilson for it.”

Sam snatched the phone to his ear. “This is Sam, what's going on?”

Christy Wilson was on the line, and she was sobbing. “Mr. Prichard, I just had to call you. The cops just showed up here and said Max has been killed, and they say they have a witness who claims that Jack was there when it happened. They came here to arrest him, and when they started slamming him around, Freddie growled at the cop who was doing it and the other one shot him. Oh, Mr. Prichard, I don't know what to do, please, please help us!”

Sam sent Indie to Jack's house with instructions to tell Christy to say absolutely nothing to anyone about Jack's arrest, while he drove straight to the jail. Indie called him when he was still only halfway there to tell him that Christy was in shock. Paramedics had been called by the police, and they insisted on taking her to the hospital when they found out she was pregnant.

“Good girl,” Sam said. “Take care of her and don’t let anyone bully her.”

“I got this, Babe,” she said.

Jack had been arrested by the Denver PD, but was taken to the county jail. Sam drove into the parking lot of the big building on East Smith Road, found an empty space and went inside. Sam put his gun into one of the empty lockers, then stuck the key in his pocket. The desk sergeant looked up at him and smiled.

“What can I do you for, Sam?” he asked.

“Here to see my client, Jack Wilson,” I answered. “I understand he was arrested for murder this morning.”

“Oh, yeah, that one.” The sergeant pressed a button and a door opened in the wall to Sam's right, allowing him to pass into the jail foyer. The jailer on duty, a woman, looked up as he came through.

“Mr. Prichard,” she said. “Who you here for?”

“Jack Wilson,” Sam said, “I'm his PI.”

She shrugged and put down her crossword puzzle. “Hang on a minute and I'll get him into the interview room.”

Sam was led to the room where Jack was already being questioned and was shocked by what he saw. Jack was handcuffed to a bench against the back wall, and four uniformed officers were in the room with him. As he entered, one of them shoved Jack's head viciously back against the wall and shouted in his face, “Why'd you kill him, huh? Why'd you kill Max? You gettin' jealous he's doing so well, and you're just a messed-up bum? Was that it? Answer me, you son of a bitch!”

“Officer, have you advised this man of his rights?” Sam asked, and all four of them turned to look at him.

“What are you doing in here?” asked the mouthy one, and Sam flashed his ID again.

“I work for him, and if you don't back off right now, I'm the son of a bitch who’s gonna get him a lawyer that will cost you your career. My client has not been afforded a reasonable opportunity to consult with his attorney before or during questioning, so you are in direct violation of his constitutional rights, and I would just love to ruin your life for that, but I'm gonna give you one chance to make it through this intact. Now, get the hell out of here, all of you, and don't come back until his lawyer arrives!”

The jailer had followed Sam in, probably expecting to see him get shut down by the uniforms, but that didn't happen. She picked up a microphone on her shoulder and told her supervisor that Jack was being brought to contact room one for a PI visit.

A contact room was a visiting room where contact between prisoners and visitors was allowed. In some cases, a man might get a visit from his wife and children there, and they'd be allowed to share hugs and kisses. The rooms were also used for attorney-client meetings, as long as the prisoner wasn’t considered a danger to the attorney. Because of his status as a former police officer, Sam was allowed to use one most of the time when he visited a client in the jail.

Sam was led into the room a moment after Jack, and they sat in chairs on opposite sides of a small table that was bolted to the floor. Sam took one look at him and knew there was going to be a problem. Jack’s eyes were darting all over the place, and every sound, even the scuff of a shoe on the floor, made him flinch and duck. He was having flashbacks.

“Jack,” Sam said softly, “it's Sam Prichard, remember me? I'm here to try to find out what's going on.”

Jack nodded his head. “Roger that,” he said. “Cap'n, I can't find Freddie. We gotta find Freddie.”

Just great, Sam thought, he's in full-blown traumatic shock. Sam patted Jack's hand and said, “We'll find him, Jack. We'll find him.”

He went to the door and knocked, and the jailer opened the communication window.

“Yeah?”

Sam smiled at her. “Hello, Dearie. My client is in shock and needs to be seen immediately by a doctor. I want him taken to the emergency room at Mercy Hospital, right now.”

She looked at Sam for a moment, then said, “I'll have to see when I can get someone to…”

“Did I stutter? Did it sound for even one second like I was making a request? This man is in need of medical attention, and if you do not get him moved to the ER within the next five minutes, I promise you that within six months, he and his wife will be getting eighty percent of your take-home pay for the rest of your life. Understood?”

She slammed the window, and the door opened less than twenty seconds later. One of the jail nurses came in and looked at Jack, then yelled for someone to help her get him ready to go to the hospital.

Jack put up quite a fight, and they finally had to sedate him to get him into the ambulance. Sam had to witness some paperwork, and then a detective named Hobson who was in charge of the investigation into Max's murder wanted to see Sam, so he got delayed for a few more minutes.

“You’re a private investigator, now, right?” Hobson asked. “How are you involved with my suspect?”

“He’s my client,” Sam said. “He came to me yesterday and hired me to find out who’s behind some ‘poison pen’ type letters that he and others who work at Animal Partners have been receiving. Your victim got one, too. I spoke with Max Hernandez yesterday, he and Jack Wilson were close friends.”

“Yeah, and most murders are committed by somebody close to you. We got a witness, there’s no doubt we got the right guy. Walked in and started yelling at the vic, then blew him away at point-blank range.”

“I’m not so sure I agree with you on that,” Sam said. “So what the hell happened with the dog?”

“Dang thing tried to attack my officer while he was trying to subdue the suspect,” he said. “I fired one time, blew that dog into the next room!”

Sam sighed. “You killed him? You stupid jackass, that dog was a decorated war hero!”

Hobson shrugged. “Who cares, it was growling at a cop. That makes it a threat and I took out that threat. Don't know if it's dead yet or not, the animal control people were lookin' for it when I left there.”

Sam shook his head in disgust and left, grabbing his phone as he did so. He called Karen Parks, a city homicide detective he had worked with on previous cases.

“Karen, it's Sam. I've got a situation, and I could use your help.” Sam explained to her what was going on and what had happened with Freddie. She was more likely to get answers from the animal control folks than Sam was, so he asked her to try to find out what she could. While the situation took place in a part of the city that was out of her jurisdiction, she didn't like what she was hearing.

“Let me see what I can find out, Sam, and I'll call you back.”

By the time Sam got parked at the hospital and made it inside, the doctor on duty had already realized that Jack was experiencing wartime reactive shock, reliving something that had happened in Afghanistan, and started the process of admitting him. The deputy assigned to sit outside his room said he didn’t have a problem with Sam going in, so he went inside and sat in a chair near Jack’s bed.

About thirty minutes after Sam got there, Indie showed up with Christy, and the nurses talked the deputy into letting them put her into the same room with her husband. Indie went to Sam and whispered, “Anything on Freddie? Christy says he ran away after he was shot, and they called out the dogcatchers to go after him.”

Sam shook his head. “Nothin' yet. I've got Karen trying to find out what happened to him.”

She put a hand on Sam's shoulder, then started rubbing his back. “God, I hope he's okay. I mean, Christy said he ran, so he might not be hurt too badly, right?”

“He's definitely a tough old soldier,” Sam said. “All we can do right now is say a few prayers.”

A couple of cops came in and wanted to talk to Jack and Christy, but Sam ran them out. Jack stirred right after they left, and woke a moment later. Surprisingly, he seemed to be somewhat coherent so Sam asked him and Christy to tell him what had happened.

“I did go and see Max last night, just wanted to ask him about getting some more hours in. We talked for a little while and he said he’d arrange it, and then I went on home.” He looked at Christy and managed a weak grin. “Me and the wife talked things over last night,” he said. “I told her about the letter, and she told me about hers, and we both knew it was all bogus. Then Christy told me we're gonna have a baby, and, well, things got a lot better. We ended up making up, and we were still in bed this morning when cops come busting down our door, sayin' I killed Max and they had a witness. I was gonna go peacefully, but one of the cops was tryin' to prove he was tough, I guess, cause he grabbed me by my neck and tried to put me on the floor. That's when Freddie—Freddie growled at him, warning him, and that plainclothes cop just pulled a gun and shot him.” Tears were flowing before he finished.

Christy took up the story, then. “Jack screamed, and then he just sat down and put his arms over his head. Freddie let out a yelp, and ran off out the back door, and that was the last we've seen of him. That cop called in the rabies people and told them Freddie was a mad dog and needed to be put down as soon as they could find him, and nobody would listen to me at all.” She stifled a sob. “I started screaming, and they were dragging Jack out by his arms and shoving him into a police car, and one of the cops grabbed onto me and started shoving me around, but I yelled I was pregnant and he backed off. I blacked out then, and when I came to, I was laying down and there were paramedics telling me they were taking me to a hospital, but I made them let me call you first. I hope that was the right thing to do—I was just so scared.”

Indie caressed her shoulder. “It was exactly the right thing to do,” she said. “Sam won't let anything happen to Jack.”

The doctor came by a few minutes later, and Sam cornered him for a private chat. “Doctor,” he began, “this man is suffering from PTSD. Don’t you think he ought to be over at the VA hospital?”

The doctor looked at him skeptically. “VA has their problems,” he said slowly, “but they probably do know more about how to treat this condition than I do. I can put in the order, but a lot will depend on how the police department feels about it.”

Sam nodded. “I’ll handle them,” he said. “What about Mrs. Wilson?”

“Well, she’s really just a little shook up. I don’t see any reason to keep her overnight, so I can go ahead and discharge her. That work for you?”

“That’ll be fine,” Sam said. He turned away from the doctor and walked over to Indie.

“They’re going to transfer Jack to the VA hospital,” he said. “Christy is going to be released. I want you to stay with her as much as you can, I don’t want anyone trying to waylay her with questions. Especially cops.”

“Don’t worry, Babe, I’ll handle it.”

No one seemed to have any objection to the transfer, so it went through rather quickly. The doctor wrote the orders and an ambulance was arranged to transport Jack to the VA facility. He caught Sam's hand as they were getting ready to wheel him out, with two cops going along. “Mr. Prichard, what happened to Max? Is he really dead? And please, please find out about Freddie for me!”

“All I know at the moment is that Max was supposedly found shot to death. As for finding out about Freddie, I’ve already got someone working on it.”

Jack sighed and let go of Sam’s hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready to—”

He was interrupted by the ringing of Sam’s phone. Sam pulled it out of his pocket and saw that it was Karen Parks calling.

“Prichard,” Sam said.

“It's Karen,” she told him unnecessarily. “I found the dog. The bullet went through his shoulder, and he's been found and taken to animal control. That ass Hobson told them the dog was dangerous and attacked an officer, so they decided to go ahead and put him down….”

“Oh, jeez, no!” Sam said, but Karen wasn't done.

“Calm down! I got hold of their office manager and told him that dog is a war hero, and if anything happened to him I'd personally make all of their lives a living hell! They took him to an animal ER right then, Jefferson Veterinary Clinic on Montrose Way. I called over there a couple minutes ago; they said the bullet went clean through without hitting anything vital. They're taking him into surgery on my authorization, and they say he's going to be fine.”

“I'm on the way,” Sam said and rang off. He turned to Jack and Christy. “Freddie's alive, and he's been taken to an animal hospital. The bullet didn't do any serious damage, and he's going to be all right.”

Both of them began crying tears of happiness.

Sam left immediately and drove to the Veterinary Hospital to check on Freddie. “He’ll have a new limp to go with the old one,” the vet told Sam, “but he’s pretty tough. We did a fairly minor surgery to clean and close the wound, and he'll be out cold until tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “Let me know what the bill comes to and I’ll see that it gets paid.”

He gave the vet his business card and went back to his office. He called Indie while he was on the way and gave her the good news about Freddie to share with Jack and Christy.

“I don't want to leave Christy anytime soon,” Indie said after the commotion died down. “I'm gonna call Mom and see if Kenzie can stay with her and Grace tonight, okay? They could pick her up after school.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “That might be a good idea. I'm going to try to get some idea of what's really happening in this case, see if I can figure out what to do.”

“Okay, babe. I'll be home this evening, once I know Jack and Christy are okay.”

The day wasn't even half over yet, so he made several calls and got more information. Max had been shot at fairly close range, a single shot to the heart, and there had been no signs of any struggle, so that fit with the idea that he'd known his killer and wasn't afraid. The police report said that there was a witness who saw Jack go into Max's office late the afternoon of the day before, and Max's body was discovered the next morning by Janice Cullen.

The witness was identified as the secretary, Nadine Hoyt. According to the statement she gave to Hobson, she was the last person to leave the building, and had seen Jack come in. She said he seemed angry, but that wasn’t anything new for him, so she didn’t worry about it. When he went into Max’s office and closed the door, she gathered up her things, but then she said she heard shouting from inside Max’s office. Again, she said that wasn’t unusual so she just went on home.

Sam filed all this away, but something wasn't adding up to him, and he spent the afternoon trying to figure out what it was. He was still at it when Indie came home around six.

“Christy's doing a little better,” she said, “and I've assured her that we won't give up until we get the truth. The cops are letting her stay with Jack at the hospital, and she said if we need her, she'll do anything she can to help.”

Sam nodded. “She's been through enough for today. I've been trying to get an angle on this whole thing. I mean, who on earth would want Max dead? From everything I can learn about the guy, he was almost a saint, for crying out loud.”

Indie bit her bottom lip. “Sam—Jack said he and Christy didn't talk until last night, and that would be after Max was already dead. Do you think there's a chance he might have actually done it? Maybe he flipped out and started to believe that letter was true, got jealous and killed him while he was out of his mind?”

“Yeah, I've considered that possibility, but it doesn't feel right. Just my gut, but it's done me right before, so I'm gonna go with it until I find proof the other way.”

Too stressed to bother with cooking, they ordered pizza and then sat at the table and bounced ideas around until it came. Indie was looking at pictures on her computer, and Sam realized they were the ones she had downloaded from his camera. He could see the one she had up on the screen, a picture of Rogers that he'd snapped when he came out of his building, and got up to stand behind her.

“I'm telling you, I could swear I've seen that guy before,” Sam said, and she shrugged.

“Doesn't look familiar to me. Maybe back in your cop days?”

Sam shook my head. “Maybe, but I doubt it. It'll hit me sooner or later. Let's look at the rest, see if you spot any sign of cheating.”

She turned her head to look up at him. “How would I know? What makes you think I'd know a sign of cheating if I saw one?”

Sam glanced down at her and smiled. “Like you always tell me, you're a woman.”

“Ha!” she barked in his face. “Of course I would! Men cheat, Sam, not because their woman is undesirable, but because they're wired that way. The hottest girl on earth has had a man cheat on her, or at least try to. The only reason a man ever stops cheating is when he's really, truly, absolutely in love! So let's see what we find in Mr. Rogers, here!” She spun back to the monitor and started scanning through all the pictures.

A half hour later, she looked up at him again. “Sorry, Sam. From what I can see, this guy is married more to his work than his wife. Maybe that's all that's wrong, he's just tired of the old ball and chain.”

Sam didn't have a response, so he sat quietly and just thought about what she had said. There was little or nothing he could do that night on either case, so they watched a movie and then went to bed.

They were up early the next morning and finished with breakfast by a little before seven. Sam told Indie to check on Jack and Christy, and let him know if there were any developments in that case. He wanted to go and tail Daniel from home that morning, so he kissed her and headed out.

Sam got to Daniel's street about ten minutes before he left, which was good, and followed him away from his place. He drove to a coffee shop and got a tall latte, then went on to his office.

Sam parked and waited. Indie called a couple of times during the morning hours, letting him know that she was back at the hospital with Christy and Jack. The doctors had put Jack on some new medication and were refusing to let Detective Hobson talk to him until they could see that he was responding to it. Other than that, nothing new seemed to be happening, although she said Jack did seem to be more lucid.

At lunchtime, Daniel came out and drove to a small restaurant in an old part of the city, and Sam perked up; it was the kind of spot most people would choose for a secret lunch rendezvous, so Sam waited 'til he was inside, and then put on a hat, slipped in and sat at the counter. He could see Daniel reflected in a mirror over the entrance to the restrooms, out of the corner of his left eye. Sam ordered a ham and cheese on rye and watched.

Daniel got a burger and fries, and the only person to join him was an old man of about sixty. Sam couldn't hear them very well, but the words Sam caught were about some software that wasn't doing whatever the old guy wanted it to do.

They talked like old pals through lunch, and by the time they finished up, Sam was already back in his car and waiting. Naturally, Daniel went right back to the office, and the boring waiting game began its third round.

Sam called Indie around three.

“Hey, Babe,” she answered.

“Just checking in,” Sam said. “Anything happening?”

“Nothing new. I’m going to leave about two thirty so I can pick Kenzie up from school. The nurses here are just as tough as I am; they’re not going to let anybody get near Jack right now. Not till the doctor says so.”

“Okay. I'll probably be stuck out here until late,” Sam said. “Call me if you need me for anything, okay, Baby?”

“You know I will,” Indie said. “Love you.”

At quitting time, Daniel drove straight home again, and Sam sat outside until ten. When nothing happened by then, Sam snuck out and placed a motion-activated wireless mini-camera in a bush near his car, where it could snap pics of the building entrance and the car itself, and went home again.

Sam and Indie got Kenzie off to school the next morning, then went out for breakfast to a little diner where Sam expected to find Karen Parks. She was there just as he expected, and waved them into the other side of her booth. Sam motioned for the waitress to bring coffee.

“How's your guy doing?” Karen asked.

“He's shook up, but the fact you saved his dog has given him some strength. I think he'll be okay if I can prove he didn’t kill his friend.”

“That may be tough,” she said. “Hobson said they have a witness who's pretty solid, and knows your guy well. She says he came in looking angry about four, just as she was getting ready to leave for the day, and said it sounded like they were yelling at each other as she closed the door behind her. If you can't find anything else, that's enough circumstantial to get a conviction on murder two, at least. Anger, an emotional killing? Manslaughter might be the best deal he can get.”

“Could be,” he said, “but I’m not giving up yet. A guy like Jack looks angry all the time; PTSD will do that to you. And he always talks kind of loud, so it might have sounded like yelling, I guess. I got a strong hunch that says he didn't do it, and my hunches are usually right.”

Karen shrugged. “Your case. Let me know if I can help.”

Sam promised to call, and he and Indie went home. He had told Indie about placing the little camera outside Daniel's place, and a few minutes later she had its view up on her computer. The cameras had their own built-in data connections, and she could log onto their website, enter the ID for that camera and see whatever it had snapped pictures of all night long, or activate it and watch in real time. She scanned through its memory and found nothing but a dog peeing on Daniel’s tire, and an old couple and some kids going in and out of the building. No sign of the suspected Lothario.

Sam sighed, and went back to watching him the old-fashioned way. He left the camera where it was so he wouldn't have to sit outside his place again that evening, and followed him to work once more.

Daniel didn't go out for lunch that day, so Sam had to go without, but he always kept emergency rations in the glove box. A couple of granola bars were enough to carry him over, but by quitting time, Sam knew he'd be ready for some actual food.

He didn't get to wait that long, though, because Daniel came out at about one thirty and got into his car. Short day, Sam figured, so he followed him, expecting him to go home like always, but this time he got a surprise.

Rogers got on the interstate, and Sam followed as he went out toward where his mother lived. It looked like he was finally going to visit her, but Sam stayed with him to be sure, and was glad he did.

Daniel didn't go to Momma's house; he turned in at the old family estate, instead.

Sam sat out of sight and watched through bushes as Daniel showed the gate guard his ID and was waved on through.

That was interesting, Sam thought. I wonder what’s going on in there, and what it’s got to do with Daniel Rogers.

Sam called Indie. “Guess what?” Sam said, and she bit.

“What?”

“Rogers just went into that fancy place that used to be the house he grew up in. I'm sitting outside now, watching, and the place has more security than Fort Knox.”

“Really? That’s intriguing.”

“Yeah. See what you can find out about who owns or runs the place. The address is….”

“I've got it. I'll check county property records now and get back to you.”

“Good girl,” Sam said.

“Of course I am,” she said with a giggle, and hung up.

6

Sam was parked on a high spot near some trees and bushes about a quarter mile from the place, and was watching through the zoom on the camera. One of the things he noticed was that there were a lot of expensive cars in the parking area, cars like Daniel's Mercedes, but also more expensive ones like Bentleys, Jaguars and even a Maybach or two. Sam knew enough about luxury cars to make him drool a bit, but he just jotted down a few of the license numbers and emailed them to Indie with a request to run them and see who owned those vehicles.

A delivery truck from some flower company pulled up to the gate, and the guard came out. Sam had a fleeting thought of renting a truck and trying to sneak in as a delivery guy, find out what was going on in there and what it had to do with Rogers, but that fantasy crashed when the guard made the truck wait outside the gate. A golf cart came up, and three big guys transferred a whole load of tall roses onto it, and then it took them up to the house. Sam snapped pics of the roses and sent them to Indie, as well.

Daniel came out after about two hours and Sam carefully tailed him back to his office. The guy didn't act like he was worried about getting caught at anything, because he never even checked his rearview mirrors. He just cruised along like he owned the road.

They got back to his office and Sam parked in the lot where he usually did. Daniel got out and went inside, just like always.

Sam sat there for about an hour, and suddenly Indie showed up. She climbed into the car, and Sam kissed her, partly because she brought him a couple of burgers and a big cup of coffee.

She smiled as Sam chowed into the burgers, and said, “I got you some info. That place was bought by a company called Roseblood, and no, I didn’t stutter there. It's owned by a trust from the UK, which makes it extremely difficult for me to find any kind of corporate records, not for the company or the trust. I did a quick Google search and found out that Roseblood refers to an extremely high-risk investment strategy, one that doesn't quite break any laws, but certainly bends a lot of them.”

Sam looked at Indie and shook his head. “So the old Rogers place might be some kind of investment club?”

Indie smiled. “Well, Daniel is supposed to be an investment consultant, right?”

“Maybe our guy is just overstressed over this high-risk investment thing. Maybe he's not really doing anything wrong, and this is just some sort of business deal that's got him stressed out. I mean, stranger things have happened.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe I should just tell the wife there's no evidence of any cheating, and drop this whole case.”

Indie looked at him. “But something is telling you there's more to this than meets the eye, and you're not ready to give it up yet, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“So where do we go now?”

Sam nodded toward the fancy cars sitting in Rogers's parking lot, and asked if she’d had any luck with tracing any of the license numbers he'd sent to her from out at the estate.

“Not yet, but I'll get on that as soon as I get back to the office. I thought you'd want this info—oh, and some lunch—right away. Right?”

“Of course you're right, and what would I do without you?”

Indie kissed him and got out of the Corvette. Sam saw the Ridgeline drive past the parking lot a moment later as she headed for home.

Sam waited 'til quitting time, and sure enough, Daniel went home like he had each night, so Sam checked that the spy cam was still where he'd left it and did likewise. Getting home early was a treat; it meant he could have dinner with his family. Indie treated them to her famous Italian chicken, and then they went to the living room to relax and watch a movie. Sam let Kenzie choose, and they ended up watching Minions for the fifth time.

Occasionally, Indie would allow Sam to sleep late in the morning, and his phone said it was almost nine by the time he got up. Sam was pretty sure he knew where Daniel would be, though, so he didn't panic. He showered and got dressed, then snagged a cup of coffee on his way out to the office.

Indie was on her computer and turned to smile at him. “Morning, Sunshine! I'm in the DMV database, and guess what?”

Sam took a big swig of coffee and said, “You found my long-lost rich uncle?”

She shook her head. “Nope, but I did find out that almost all of the cars whose tags you got belong to various corporations, and some are rentals, but one of them is privately owned. That one belongs to a man named Nicholas Gaines, and he's about seventy-five years old. Got his address right here.” She passed Sam a sticky note with an address.

“Hmm. So whatever it is, it's not just for young guys like Rogers. Something about this is just eating at me, you know that? I think I'm going to go see Mr. Gaines and try to get myself invited to the club.”

Sam punched the address into his phone and let it guide him to one of the ritziest apartment buildings in the city. The place had security and required a key card to get in, and with the video cameras all over the place, there was no way Sam was going to be able to slip in behind another tenant. He was sitting there wondering what to do when he spotted Gaines's car. It was one of the Maybachs, and it was coming out of the parking garage, so Sam fired up the Corvette and followed.

7

Gaines drove to a medical office building, the kind where a dozen different doctors shared a front office. When he parked and went inside, Sam was quick enough to hold the door open for him.

This man may have been seventy-five, but he looked about ninety. Sam wasn't a bit surprised to find him going to a doctor; considering how he looked, a visit to an undertaker wouldn't have been any more surprising. He signed in and sat down to wait.

A few minutes later, a nurse came out and called his name. Sam waited a few seconds before following, and watched her lead him into a urologist's office, a fancy place. A receptionist looked up as Sam entered, but Sam just smiled and pointed at Gaines, and she grinned and went back to what she was doing. Sam walked over and took the seat next to the old man.

Sam glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and then leaned in close to him. He turned toward Sam, looking a bit startled, and Sam whispered, “Hello, Nicholas. We need to have a little chat about Roseblood.”

The old man's eyes shot wide open and his face went beet red in a split second, and Sam thought, Oh, Geez, I've given the old buzzard a heart attack! Sam leaned in again and said, “Calm down, you're not in any danger. I just need your help and I'll explain later. For now, just get this straight—I'm your old buddy, Stan Phillips, and you like having me around to help you handle things. As soon as we get a minute, we'll talk, but don't mess this up!”

The old man nodded, and forced himself to get his face and breathing back under control. Good Lord, this old guy looks like he thinks he’s in some kind of trouble or something, Sam thought. What the heck have I stumbled into?

A different nurse came out and called Gaines in, and Sam got up to follow. The nurse held up a hand to block him, but he caught Gaines's eye.

“He's with me,” he wheezed out. “An old friend.” The nurse shrugged and led the way into the examination room, took all his vitals and then left them alone.

He looked at Sam and it was obvious he was scared. “What do you want? How much? I'll pay, I swear, just don't tell anyone, please! I'm begging you!”

Sam didn't have a clue what Gaines was talking about, but he didn't want the old guy to know that, not just yet. Something about his panic told Sam that his gut had led him on the right trail.

“Calm down, Nicholas, your secret is safe with me, and so is your money. All I need is to get inside Roseblood, and I want you to arrange it.”

The old man stared at him. “Honestly?” he asked. “That's all, and then you'll leave me alone?”

“That's all. I just need to get a look at it from the inside, and no one will ever know that you helped me do that. You'll never hear from me again.”

He looked at Sam, afraid to believe me but not daring to doubt. “Are you a policeman? I swear, if there's anything illegal going on, I know nothing. I only go for the services, nothing else, I swear. I'm a member, not one of the partners.”

Sam smiled at him. “Okay, relax. All I need is for you to get me on the list as an invited guest.”

He stared at Sam. “What is it you're hoping to find there? If this is about blackmail…”

Sam shook his head. “I just have my own reasons for wanting to know what that place is all about. For that, all I need is a chance to get inside and see with my own eyes, and that's all I need from you. The name is Stan Phillips, remember?”

He nodded vigorously. “Stan Phillips, yes. For when?”

Sam thought about it; both Gaines and Rogers had gone in the daytime, so odds on that would be the best time to find out what was going on in there. Sam smiled and said, “How about tomorrow afternoon? That gives you enough time to set it up, doesn't it?”

He nodded. “Tomorrow afternoon, then. Let me make the arrangements.” The old guy took out a smartphone that made Sam's look like a stone tablet, and whispered, “Roseblood,” to it. A moment later, he said, “Mr. Renquist, this is Mr. Gaines. I have a friend coming by tomorrow afternoon who would like to sample your wares.” He listened for a second, and then looked Sam pointedly in the eye. “Oh, of course I'll vouch for him, I've known him for years. His name is Stan Phillips.” He listened again and then smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Renquist. I'm sure he'll find it to be everything he's looking for!”

He ended the call and looked at Sam, his smile gone completely. “You're in, Mr. Phillips. If you do anything there that reflects badly on me, I'll be ruined. I'm praying you're being honest with me, and that I won't be seeing you again.”

Sam patted his shoulder again. “Mr. Gaines, your secret is safe with me; I have no reason to cause you any problems, and I promise you that I won't, unless something there goes terribly wrong. Since this is just a sight-seeing tour, I don't really think there's anything to worry about, though, so after we leave here, you'll be done with me.”

Gaines nodded. A moment later the doctor came in, and Sam stood by and acted like the concerned old friend as they discussed prostate problems and FlowMax dosages. When the appointment was over, Gaines kept up the act, thanking Sam for coming and asking him to walk him out to his car.

“Mr. Phillips,” he said once they were outside and alone, “there is something about you that makes me trust you on this. I have no idea what it is you're looking for, but somehow, I hope you find it.” They got to his car and he turned to look at Sam. “Should it happen that you need more from me, and on the condition that your motives are not criminal, I would not object to speaking with you again.”

He handed over a business card that said, “Nicholas Gaines, Private Investments.” Sam tucked it into a pocket and shook his hand.

“There's nothing criminal in my intent, sir,” Sam said. “Thank you.” Sam opened the old man’s door for him and helped him in, then shut it and watched him back out of his space before he went to get the Corvette.

Indie was delighted when Sam called to tell her he had gotten a way into Roseblood, and they started brainstorming on how to make the most of it. By the time Sam got back to the office, he had decided to rent a flashier car and wear his one genuinely expensive suit so he could give off the image he wanted, and Indie even found a place to rent a chauffeur's uniform, so she could pose as his driver. Since he didn't anticipate any danger, Sam went along with the plan.

He had just gotten back home when his phone rang, and he saw that it was Jack, calling from the hospital. He answered immediately.

“Sam,” Jack said, “I hate to bother you, but my lawyer thought it would be a good idea if you came down while I'm being questioned. She already told that dumbass detective, and he just threw his hands in the air and said it was okay with him. Can you come down right away?”

“Sure, Jack, I'll be right there,” Sam said. He hung up the phone and turned to Indie. “Jack got himself a lawyer, and she wants me to come and sit in while the detective questions him about Max's murder. I've got to head down there right away.”

Indie kissed him and smiled. “Go on, then,” she said. “Don't worry, I'll be here waiting for you when you get home.”

Sam limped out the door to the Corvette and headed for the VA hospital. The lawyer met him in the hallway and he saw that it was Carol Spencer, an attorney he knew well.

“Sam,” she said, “I really appreciate you coming down. When he told me you were on the case, I figured it couldn't hurt to have you involved in this as well. I've told him that he should look at me before answering any question. If I don't shake my head, he can answer; if I do, he's to refuse under the fifth amendment.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam said. “Just curious, but how did you end up with this case? I didn't think Jack and his wife had any money for a lawyer. Are you taking public defender cases now?”

“Me? Not hardly. One of the people on the Animal Partners funding committee called me,” she said. “He said he knew Jack, and couldn't believe that he killed Max. Offered me a healthy retainer to take the case, and I wasn't about to turn it down.”

Hobson showed up just then, so they followed him into Jack's hospital room. Sam was irritated when he saw that Jack was handcuffed to the bed, but as a former cop himself, he understood.

Hobson walked over and stood right over Jack.

“Mr. Wilson,” he said, but Carol stopped him.

“Move back, Detective. You're here to ask questions, not badger him. You can do that sitting in a chair, I don't want you pressuring him to answer the way you think he should.”

Hobson glared at her, but took a chair and sat down. Two other cops, in uniform, stood at his sides. They weren't paying any particular attention to Jack, so Carol ignored them.

Hobson tried again. “Mr. Wilson, can you tell us why you went to see Max Hernandez night before last?”

Jack glanced at Carol, but she didn't move. He looked at Hobson and said, “Because he's—he was my best friend.”

Hobson snorted. “Remind me not to count you as a friend. Do you kill all your buddies?”

“Inappropriate question, Hobson,” Carol said, and he turned to glare at her again.

“That's 'Detective Hobson' to you.”

“When I see you acting like a detective,” Carol said, “I'll treat you like one.”

Hobson sneered, but turned back to Jack. “Witnesses say you were arguing with him. What were you angry about?”

Jack didn't even look at his lawyer. His eyebrows went up and he said, “I wasn't angry about anything. I stopped in to ask if I could get a few more hours a week to work with the dogs. Keep me busy, keep my mind off things”

“But by the time you left, he was dead. Can you explain that in any way that won't lead me to believe you killed him?”

“He was fine when I left. Hell, I wasn't even there ten minutes—he said, sure, he could get me more hours, and he had three new dogs coming in the next day so he was glad I was volunteering. I said thanks, and left, and he was talking on the phone to someone else when I walked out.”

Hobson made a note. “Mr. Wilson, do you own a handgun? A forty-caliber?”

Jack glanced at Carol, but didn't wait for her to give him a cue. He turned back to Hobson.

“No, I don't,” he said.

Hobson snorted again. “Oh, come on,” he said. “What military man doesn't have at least one gun around?”

“One with PTSD, you dumbass. Just looking at a gun messes me up, and the sound of a gun can send me right into shock.”

“Well, if you didn't kill him, who did?”

“How the hell should I know? Max was always the last one to leave, and the doors were always open if he was there. Anybody coulda walked in after I left.”

Sam interrupted. “Hobson, what about the gun? Any leads on it?”

He shook his head without facing Sam. “Not yet. All we got is it's a forty-caliber, and probably a Glock.” He looked up at Jack. “Let me tell you what I think. You got this letter”—he produced the one Jack had received—“so you were pretty pissed that he'd been boinkin' your old lady. You got out your non-existent gun and went down there to tell him to leave her alone. He said you were nuts, which you are, and then you shot him, and split. You went home to the missus, made a big thing about making up with her, and figured you were home free. You just didn't know that the secretary saw you go in and heard you yelling at him. Way I see it, we got you dead to rights.”

Jack sat up and Sam thought for a moment he was going to lunge at Hobson, but he didn't. Carol Spencer must have thought the same thing, because she put herself between the two men.

“You jackass,” Jack said loudly. “I knew damn well he didn't do no such thing, and neither did my wife! I never once believed that crap, I just wanted to know who was doing it! That's why I hired an investigator!” He pointed at Sam.

The questions went on, and after hearing the same ones over and over for an hour or more, Carol called a halt to them. Hobson objected, but Carol got the doctor in, who said Jack was under extreme stress and couldn’t take any more right then. Hobson left in a tizzy, and Sam told Jack he'd be back later. As he left, Carol was talking with Jack about potential plea bargains, but Jack wasn't willing to consider one.

Sam left the hospital and went to see what he could learn about the others who were connected to Animal Partners and had received letters. They were all scheduled to be at Animal Partners that day, so Sam went on down to their building. Janice was there and seemed pretty upset, which was understandable. Sam asked if she was going to keep the place running, and commented that it looked like someone had been tidying up. Even the old stack of magazines was gone.

She nodded. “The committee that runs it has already asked me to take over as interim director, and I'll probably get offered the full-time position. It just isn't the same without Max, but this was his dream, so I'll do all I can to keep it going.”

“That's all you can do, I guess,” Sam said. “I need to ask you some questions, if you're up to it.”

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sure. Cops already asked me most of them, anyway, I'm sure.”

“You were the one who found Max, yesterday, right?”

She nodded, and Sam saw tears leaking down her cheeks. “Yeah. He was sitting right here at his desk, just slumped backward. Whoever did it had to have been someone he knew, because they got really close. I've seen gunshot wounds many times, and this one was fired from no more than four or five feet away. On top of that, there was no sign of a fight or anything, and nothing was missing, so it wasn't a robbery. And no, I don't believe Jack killed him. Those two were close.”

Sam waited a moment, then asked, “What about anyone else Max might have had a problem with? I know you and he were close, too; is there an ex-husband that might have had a grudge against him?”

She laughed, but it was sarcastic. “Not hardly,” she said. “My ex was so glad to get rid of me he paid for the divorce and gave me a new car in the deal. He never even met Max, and probably doesn't even know where I live, now. We were in California two years ago when I caught him cheating on me, and we haven't been face-to-face since that night.” She sighed deeply. “The truth is, Max didn't have enemies. I don't think anyone ever disliked him, he was one of the sweetest guys you'd ever have a chance to know.” She grinned. “Hard to believe he was a Navy Seal, and one of the most dangerous guys on the planet.”

That backed up the theory that the killer was someone Max trusted; not too many people could get the drop on a Seal, unless he had no reason to suspect he was in danger.

“Okay,” Sam said, “tell me about the people who got these letters, other than Christy and Jack, and yourself, of course.”

She thought about it for a moment. “Well, Doctor Uhlrich got one. He's about the best thing that's happened to us. He was a MASH surgeon in Vietnam, a career army man, so he saw a lot of war-wounded over his many years of service. He helps out with the vets we work with, and this is all he does now. He's retired, and the fact that he’s also gay made it hard for him in the Army. He knows what it's like to be alone and have no one, so he thinks this is a great program.”

“Okay.”

“Nadine, our secretary, she's been with us about a year now. She's not a volunteer, she gets a paycheck, and to be honest, I don’t think she's worth it. Her fiancé was killed in Afghanistan, he was in the same unit as Jack. She doesn't really talk about it much, but that's the only reason Max hired her.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, who else?”

“Carla Peters. She's our extra dog trainer. She isn't ex-military, but her husband is. They own a security dog-training company, and she works with us as a volunteer. Sweet lady, and I know she doesn't do the things the letter said.”

They chatted a bit more, but Sam wasn't getting anything out of it, so he left a few minutes later. He didn't know what else to do at the moment, so he went to check on Jack. Sam found Christy there with him, and Indie walked in just after Sam did. She'd gone to their house to get Christy a change of clothes and her makeup.

“Well,” Sam said, “I wish I had better news, but so far I'm not coming up with anything earth-shattering. I went by Animal Partners and talked to Janice—she's been made acting director, and by the way, she says there's no way she'd ever believe you're guilty.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Janice is a good woman. She loved Max.”

“I talked with her about the others who got the letters. One thing that struck me was that she said the doctor is gay; Indie made a good point that this whole thing with the letters smells like a woman's handiwork. I'm wondering if that might include a gay doctor?”

“Doc Uhlrich? Nah, he ain't like that, no way. He's one of the nicest people you'd ever want to meet, and he don't even act like a queer, you know what I mean? If I didn't know it from working with Max, I'd never have guessed. It ain't him.”

“Okay. What about the secretary? What can you tell me about her?”

Jack looked lost. “Nadine? I don't know her at all, not really. She's there a lot, but I don't really talk to her.”

“Okay, I’d have thought you would. Janice said her fiancé was in your unit, and was killed in Afghanistan.”

“Fiancé? When was this?”

Sam shrugged. “Must have been over a year ago, she's been there that long. According to Janice, the only reason she got the job was because her fiancé was supposed to have been close to you.”

Jack closed his eyes in concentration. “There was a guy about a year, year and two months ago, was killed by accident, friendly fire. I wasn't there, but I knew him. Brian Cooper, that was his name, but he wasn't never engaged. He had some woman that was stalkin' him, as I recall, and didn't want nothin' to do with women 'til he got out, he said.”

Indie looked at Sam, and motioned for him to follow her out of the room. Sam told Jack and his wife he'd be back in touch, and walked out with her.

On the way to the parking lot, Indie asked, “Are we thinking the same thing?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I need to talk to the secretary, but I need you to do some digging for me, first.” Sam told her what he had in mind, and she got into the Ridgeline to head for home and her computer.

Sam called Karen Parks at her office and ran over what he was planning with her. The case was out of a different district so she couldn't actually get involved or help much, but she said it sounded like Sam's logic was pretty sound. By the time he left, he was fairly sure he was on the right track.

Sam got back to the office and Indie showed him what she'd managed to find.

“I turned Herman loose on it,” she said. “Check this out.”

Sam stared at the monitor for a couple of minutes, then looked at his wife. “Call Mom,” he said. “Have her and Kim pick up Kenzie and keep her overnight.”

8

It was almost four PM by the time Sam was ready to put it all into play. He had Indie call Nadine, the secretary, and tell her they needed her help to clear up some anomalous information in Animal Partners' records, and that she might be helpful in proving that Janice was fiddling with the books. She said she'd be only too glad to help, and would be right over. When she got there, Sam apologized and said he'd be tied up for a bit, and asked Indie to keep her company while he finished up some paperwork.

Nadine was not an extremely pretty woman, but she wasn't ugly, either. Indie asked her where she'd gotten the dress she was wearing, and the two of them started chatting like old friends.

“It just looks stunning on you!” Indie said, buttering her up. “I'm too darn skinny for a dress like that, y'know? Not enough junk in this trunk, but that makes your butt look awesome.” She sighed. “You don't know what I'd give to have a body like yours!”

“Oh, girl,” Nadine said, “you best be careful what you wish for. You get this kinda bump goin' on, you ain't got nothing but men, all over you, all hours of the day and night. It may look like a blessing, but it's a curse, baby, it's a curse!”

“You know, I can see that,” Indie said, and Sam smiled, as the thought ran through his mind that she deserved an Oscar. “Is that how you met your fiancé? What was his name?”

“Brian. He was just the most wonderful man! I thought I was gonna die when he got killed, but you know, he saved his entire unit that day. He was the only one who stood up and started shooting back at the snipers, and everyone else got out alive because of him. He was a real hero, and I miss him every single day.”

“That's so sad, but you must be so proud of him, too. When were you supposed to be married?”

“Oh, that's the saddest part. He was supposed to come home only two days later, on leave, and we had this big wedding all planned out. Over a hundred people were gonna be there. It was so beautiful, and the cake was over six feet tall! I had this wedding dress all made special for me; his daddy paid for it, it cost over three thousand dollars!”

Sam stood up and said he had to go to the bathroom, then slipped through the door that led into the main house. A moment later he came back out, and Nadine froze when she saw the elderly couple who followed him into the office.

“Nadine,” Sam said, “you know Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, right? Your almost in-laws?”

Mr. Cooper took one look at Nadine and turned gray with anger. “You are the most vicious liar, woman!” he said vehemently. “Our boy hated you for the things you did to him!”

His wife walked past him and got right in Nadine's face. “Our son was never engaged to you. He went out with you one time, and you wouldn't leave him alone after that, telling people all these lies about how it was love at first sight, and how he asked you to marry him on your first date. He got a restraining order to keep you away from him. How could you say these things?”

Sam broke up the reunion. “Folks, are you sure your son never had a real relationship with this woman? That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

Mrs. Cooper turned to face him. “He couldn't stand her! When he left to go on his tour of duty, we started getting these threatening letters, all typed out, and they called us all sorts of filthy things. We always thought it was her, but we couldn't prove it. Then, when Brian got killed—and it wasn't by saving his unit, it was an accident when one of his buddies' gun went off and hit him in the head—‘friendly fire’ accident, they call that—all of a sudden the letters stopped coming.” She turned back to Nadine. “But I know this much—if he was still alive, this is the last woman he'd ever want anything to do with! He wouldn't have married her if she was the last woman on earth!”

Nadine screamed, “That's a lie! He loved me, I know he did! The Army killed him, and that's what took him away from me! You people, you did everything you could to keep us apart, but he was always comin' to see me when you weren't around, cause he loved me!”

“You're insane!” shouted Mr. Cooper. “Our son couldn't stand you!”

“You're the crazy ones,” Nadine retorted, “he loved me. He freakin' loved me and he hated you because you wanted to keep us apart. He wanted to marry me, but he told me how you said I wasn't good enough! You made him join the Army, and it got him killed, and now I'm the one doing what's right. I'm gonna destroy all of those bastards who killed my Brian.”

“Your Brian?” shouted Mrs. Cooper. “He was never your Brian!”

Nadine screamed then, and snatched up Indie's letter opener from her desk, brandishing it like a weapon, lunging at Mrs. Cooper. Sam tried to intercept, but wasn't close enough, so he shouted a warning.

Indie screamed, then, a kung fu-type scream, and threw herself between the two women. For a split second Sam would have sworn he saw the dagger plunge into her, but it was only an illusion; Indie had baited Nadine, and when she tried to stab at her, Indie grabbed the blade from her hand as she kicked out with one foot and knocked the crazed woman to the floor.

Sam moved then, landing on top of Nadine with one knee in her chest, knocking the breath from her and keeping her down.

“Call Karen!” Sam yelled at Indie, and she snatched up the phone and dialed 911. The operator said officers would respond immediately, and then patched her through to Karen Parks.

“Karen,” she said. “We've got the killer here at Sam's office! Can you come and handle this?”

She said she'd be there in five minutes, and she wasn't late. She arrested Nadine for attacking Mrs. Cooper and inciting trouble, but she had to call Hobson to come into the city and make the charge for Max's murder.

Hobson met them all at the precinct, but he refused to charge Nadine for the murder of Max Hernandez without proof of her guilt. Since she lived in the city, it took Karen's help to get a search warrant for her place, but by midnight there was still no trace of the murder weapon. Without that, Hobson said he would not dismiss charges against Jack, nor charge Nadine with anything.

“Karen made the arrest for the assault on Mrs. Cooper,” Sam told Jack and Christy by phone that evening, “and that’ll at least keep her in jail for the moment. Meanwhile, I’m not going to give up trying to find evidence to prove she murdered Max.”

Unfortunately, he was no closer to proving Jack was innocent of Max's murder, and Nadine wasn't about to confess. Sam was still sure it had been her, but he couldn't identify a motive. Why would she kill him, when he hadn't been anywhere near Afghanistan when Brian was killed?

The rest of it was fairly easy to figure out: Nadine had been infatuated with Brian Cooper, but he’d wanted nothing to do with her, so she created a world of fantasy in which they were lovers. She was undoubtedly a sick, neurotic woman, so self-deluded that she’d probably convinced herself that they really were going to get married one day. When Brian was killed by friendly fire, however, she'd lost hold of the last of her sanity and decided to harass and destroy as many of the people she considered responsible as possible.

Somehow she knew Jack had been in his unit, and that alone was enough for her to try to make him one of those responsible for Brian's death. Jack was involved with Animal Partners, so she weaseled her way in and bided her time. By the time she felt ready to strike out at him, she was connecting everyone at Animal Partners to Brian's death, as well, so one day she began her poison letter campaign. There were probably far more letters than they would ever know about, but since she was out of the poison pen business, those people could go on with their lives and put it behind them.

Sam needed to get to the bottom of it before Jack and Christy could have any hope of normal lives, and it was driving him nuts that he wasn't able to figure it out. Could it be that Nadine had a thing for Max, and was jealous of his relationship with Janice? No one had ever thought so. What about her psychosis? Maybe she attributed some of the guilt for Brian's death to Max just because he was Jack's friend? Still, that didn't make Sam feel like he was onto something that would hold up.

Sam and Indie got home around two AM, but Sam wasn't ready to go to bed. Indie, exhausted, kissed him good night and went to their room, but Sam sat on the couch in the living room and turned on the television. An old rerun of Supernatural was on, and Sam had always liked the program so he watched it as he thought about ways to prove Jack innocent.

In that episode, the only witness to a couple of unusual deaths is a dog, so Dean uses an ancient Indian incantation to give himself the ability to speak to the dog—and ends up thinking like one. He finds himself unable to resist chasing a thrown ball or stick, and wants to chase cars so bad he can taste it. He even eyeballs a poodle lustfully for a moment, until his brother gets him to focus.

If only I had that power, Sam thought to himself. I could ask dogs to spy for me on all kinds of things, and probably be able to use my own nose to track people down. That would be so awesome.

Sam drifted off to sleep just as the dog that was helping Dean tried to tell him that dogs aren't really pets, but were put here on earth for some mysterious purpose. Unfortunately, the spell wore off just as he was about to find out what that purpose was, leaving Dean even more frustrated than ever.

Indie kissed him awake, and Sam opened one eye to find her sitting on the couch beside where he lay. He smiled at her, and she kissed him again.

“So, what's on the agenda for today?” she asked. “Any idea where we go from here?”

Sam started to shake his head, but suddenly the memory of the episode he had watched the night before played through his mind, and he sat up so quickly he almost knocked her off onto the floor.

“Freddie!” Sam said. “I need Freddie!” He rushed through a shower and got dressed, and Indie handed him his morning coffee.

“What's so important about seeing the dog?” she asked as Sam guzzled it down.

“Just a hunch,” Sam said, “but I think Freddie might be the key to solving this whole case. Jack always took Freddie with him to Animal Partners, right? That means Freddie probably knows everyone there, including Nadine.”

Indie eyed him curiously. “And that helps you how?”

“That's the part I haven't worked out yet. Come on, let's go!”

Freddie was still at the Veterinary Hospital, so Sam called to say he was coming to see him. The receptionist asked if Sam was the man who said he'd pay the bill, and Sam admitted it, so she told him he could pick him up if he brought a check. Sam snatched one from his desk and told Indie to make it out.

They took the Corvette. Sam got them there in record time, barely avoiding a ticket only because the cop who saw him speeding couldn't get turned around in time to chase him down. Sam was parking when his phone went off. It was Karen.

“Hey, Karen,” Sam said, “what's up?”

“What's up is I just got a call from the chief of police, telling me to ‘tell that psycho private dick to slow his damn car down,’ so I’m delivering the message. What are you doing out on Montrose at eighty miles an hour?”

“Going to interview a potential witness. Can't talk now, I'll call you later!” Sam hung up and jumped out, almost forgetting to open Indie's door. Before he could turn around and get to it, she had it open and was climbing out.

“Never mind me,” she said, “I wanna see what you’re about to do! Go, I'm right behind you!”

Sam got inside, found the cashier and had Indie pay the bill. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, only six hundred dollars, and Sam figured that if this worked, it would be worth every penny. The vet came out and took them back to where the animals were kept, and Freddie, still bandaged but fully operational, looked up at Sam with a curious expression on his face.

“Hey, boy,” Sam said. “Wanna help Sam nail a killer?”

The dog woofed and Indie gave Sam a look that said she was amazed. Sam grinned and hooked the leash the vet handed him to Freddie's collar. “Come on, boy, we got work to do!”

Sam and Indie led him out to the car and he hopped through the window into the shotgun seat. Indie gave him a look, and said, “Oh, no, hot shot, wife gets the good seat. You get to ride in the back!” Freddie made a low growl, but went between the buckets to get into the space behind them, and it was Sam's turn to look at Indie in awe.

“It's a gift,” she said and got in, so Sam stopped worrying about it and got behind the wheel. He fired the big four twenty-seven up and wheeled out of the lot, headed for Animal Partners' offices.

When they got there, Sam saw that there were only two cars in the lot, and Indie followed as he led Freddie inside. Janice was there with Carla, in the front reception area, and they both brightened when they saw Sam leading Freddie. The dog trotted right up to them, and both women gave him attention for a moment before looking at Sam and Indie.

“Mr. Prichard?” Janice asked inquisitively. “What can we do for you?”

“Freddie's been here a lot, right? And he likes everyone?” Both women nodded, looking at Sam as if he'd lost his mind.

“Freddie loves everybody here,” Janice said. “He used to run to get to Max…”

“I'm thinking he might notice something we've all missed. Okay if I let him run loose a bit?”

She looked confused, but nodded. “Sure.”

Sam unhooked Freddie's leash and knelt down beside him. “Okay, boy, here's the deal. Somebody came in here and killed your pal Max. We need to know what happened. Something here might tell us, and we need you to find it! Go find it, boy!”

Freddie looked at him the same way the women had, but after a second, he got up and started walking slowly toward the office door. He paused at the entrance, and sniffed around in the air for a moment, then turned his head and looked at Sam. Sam took a step toward him, and he went on inside.

Sam got to the doorway in time to see Freddie sniffing around where Max's chair had been, and it was obvious he was a little confused. Sam had counted on him expecting to see his old buddy, and when it was clear that Max wasn't there and even his chair was gone, Sam thought he might get a reaction that could help him form some kind of idea. He didn't know what it would be, but he was grasping at straws.

Freddie sniffed the floor under where the chair had been, and then he whined. Sam would bet that a dog who'd been in combat would know that a lot of blood meant someone was dead, and he could almost certainly tell that it was Max's blood he was smelling. It had been cleaned up, but there was no way to get it all; his keen nose would find it.

He looked at Sam again, and then stood up to put his front paws on the desk. He sniffed all over it, and something on the right side of the desktop was getting his attention, Sam could tell. Just behind him, Indie whispered, “Look at that!”

Freddie moved to the side of the desk and sniffed that spot again, and then a low growl came from down deep in his chest. He dropped back to the floor and started smelling the carpet, then began following a scent. He walked back toward the doorway. Sam moved so he could get through unimpeded, then followed again as he walked out to the reception desk. Once again he got up and sniffed the top, and again one particular spot caught his attention, almost dead center. He dropped back onto all fours, and began tracking again, and this time he went down a hallway to where the dogs were kenneled during their training. Sam had to help by opening the door, but the dog didn't hesitate once it was open. He went through, still tracking something on the floor.

He paused at one point, and Sam thought he was lost, but he cast about for a moment and picked up the scent he was looking for once again. He went back to following a trail only he could detect, and the women and Sam went back to following him as quietly as they could.

He came to a back door. Sam fumbled with its deadbolt for a moment before getting it open, and Freddie let him know with a growl that Sam was taking too long. Once it was open, he went through and into the alleyway behind the building.

He stopped again, and sniffed about for a moment before choosing a direction and heading east. He was staying close to the wall on the right and moving a bit faster, out there in the open, so Sam and the women had to hurry to keep up. By the time they’d gone half a block, Sam's bad hip was complaining, but he forced himself to ignore it. Freddie wasn’t going to stop and wait for them, so they hustled to keep close to him.

Another block, and the dog was getting anxious, Sam could tell. He was growling, and it was obvious he was onto something that he thought was important. When he stopped at a dumpster, Sam thought he was done, but he only sniffed at it and then went on past.

Suddenly, Sam had a hunch what he was after, and he silently thanked Supernatural’s writers for the idea that would prove Jack innocent. As far as Sam knew, there was only one thing that he could be tracking, and if he was right, he was probably about to bust the case wide open.

Freddie continued almost another block, and then veered away from the wall and crossed the alley, still sniffing. When he came to the opposite side, he looked up at several big electric boxes, the kind with industrial-sized electric meters in them, and began sniffing at them one by one.

He sat down and looked at the one in the middle, and barked once, then turned and looked at Sam.

Sam went to the boxes looked at the one Freddie was indicating, and saw that the little metal seal that the power company put on them had been broken. Someone had twisted it off, then tried to put it back and bend it so it wouldn't be noticeable, but Sam saw it. He got out a handkerchief to wrap around his fingers, pulled the broken seal off and moved the little latch that held the cover closed, then lifted it up and out of the way.

There, in the bottom of the box, right next to probably a million volts of electric wiring and relays, lay a .40-caliber Glock.

Indie got out her phone and took several pictures of it where it lay, while Sam got down on one knee and told Freddie what a good dog he was. He called Hobson and told him he had found the murder weapon, and that he wanted it fingerprinted as soon as possible. Hobson acted as if he didn't believe it, but agreed to come out.

Just to be safe, Sam called Karen, too. She agreed to ring the county crime lab and call in a favor to get someone out to them immediately. Sam didn’t trust Hobson to do his job, but Karen said she'd get some people Sam could count on, and he definitely trusted her.

Thirty minutes later, Sam watched as County CSI carefully spread powder over everything, including the inside of the box and its cover and seal. The prints their super digital cameras got were clean, and some of them appeared to be the same on both the cover and the gun, according to the techs.

Hobson had arrived after the CSI team, and stood there fuming because they wouldn't let him touch anything until they were done. By the time he got the gun, it was bagged and tagged, and all he could do was escort it to the lab for ballistics testing.

All Sam could do now was wait, at least on this case. He was confident the crime lab would find that the fingerprints they had discovered were Nadine's, but nothing would change for Jack until Hobson saw that for himself.

Meanwhile, Sam had another case to wrap up.

9

With everything going on, Sam and Indie decided it would be best for Kenzie to remain with her grandmothers for another day or so. Grace and Kim were delighted, because it meant they had more time to spoil the child.

With that covered, Sam got dressed while Indie went to pick up the chauffeur’s outfit and rental car. She was back by the time he was ready at just after noon.

They arrived at Roseblood at one, and the guard stepped out as they approached the gate, waving for them to stop

“Good afternoon,” he said, and Sam leaned out the window he'd rolled down. “How can I help you this afternoon?”

“Hello,” Sam said crisply. “My name is Stan Phillips, and I'm a guest of Mr. Gaines.”

The guard nodded once, then scanned a list he held on a clipboard. He smiled.

“Yes, Mr. Phillips, I've got you right here. Please follow the yellow line on the drive to the parking area, and you'll see the guest entrance. There's a chauffeur's lounge there, where your driver can wait, and they have a juice bar and other amenities for them.” He glanced at Indie. “I'm sure she'll be well entertained while she waits.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, and Indie drove through the gate as it opened. She was the perfect chauffeuse, hopping out to open his door and pulling off an adorable British accent. As Sam stepped out of the car, he said, “I'll call when I'm ready, Emma.”

She snapped back with a perfect, “Veddy good, Sir, I shall be waiting.”

While she waited, she'd also be listening for any gossip among the other drivers. There might not be any, if the place was as security conscious as it seemed to be, but if she heard anything interesting, she'd tell Sam when he returned.

The guest entrance was under a portico, and a man in a tuxedo was waiting to open the door. He smiled as Sam stepped inside, and said, “Good evening, Mr. Phillips. I am Mr. Renquist, the director. I hope you enjoy your visit with us this afternoon.” He held out his hand with a small package in it. Sam took it, thinking it had some sort of information or party favor inside, but what he pulled out was a soft, satiny mask.

Sam stared at it for a second, and then looked up at Renquist, who smiled and said, “The mask is optional, of course, but most of our guests do prefer to maintain anonymity, here. It's entirely up to you.”

Sam thanked him and put it on. It made sense; whatever it was about this place that made Gaines terrified of anyone finding out why he came, it would undoubtedly make others want to keep their involvements secret, as well, especially from other guests. That explained why Gaines wondered if Sam was into blackmail.

“In addition, most of our guests use pseudonyms; I've taken the liberty of calling you Mr. Randall, I hope that's all right?”

“That's fine,” Sam said. Renquist nodded and led the way.

The house was huge, and Sam followed him down a long hallway into a lounge area. The liquor was artfully arranged behind one of the most ornate bars Sam had ever seen, but the thing that caught his attention instantly was a set of red velvet-covered couches in the corner.

It might be more accurate to say that what caught his attention were the twelve nearly naked women who were sitting on them. There were blondes, brunettes, redheads and some with so many colors Sam got dizzy; there were small girls and big girls and some that almost looked like men in drag, and he wouldn't have taken bets that they weren't!

Surrounding these women were men, and Sam saw that almost all of them were wearing masks like his own. Some of them went even further, wearing costumes of various sorts. Sam saw a gaudy, obviously fake General's uniform, a guy dressed up like a bear, and one that was wearing almost as little as the women, and with a horse's tail hanging off his bottom end. He even had a bridle on his face, and Sam suddenly got a very bad feeling about the place.

The bartender was a tall girl with blonde hair, and like all the others, she was dressed in what amounted to a leather thong bikini. She smiled at Sam as she asked what he'd like, and he hesitated.

Sam had given up drinking when he and Indie got together, but before that he'd occasionally drunk a lot. He didn't want to get started again, and while he'd drunk mostly beer, he knew that alcohol of any kind could be a mistake.

“Virgin Mary,” Sam said, and the girl didn't even bat an eye. She passed him a glass of spiced-up tomato juice with a stick of celery for a garnish, and Sam gathered that he wasn't the only tee-totaler to patronize the place.

Mr. Renquist spoke. “If you'll follow me, Mr. Randall, I'll show you around, and we can discuss the type of servicing you might be seeking.” He led off down another hallway, and Sam followed.

They stopped at a door, and he opened it to let Sam look inside. He was suddenly very glad he was wearing the mask, because he sure his face would have been a mask of shock.

The room was a torture dungeon. There were chains and manacles along one wall, and a rack held dozens of different kinds of whips, paddles, riding crops and other devices that Sam was sure were designed to cause pain to someone. In one corner stood a large X-shaped wooden device that was obviously designed as some sort of sadistic restraint; Sam didn't even want to think about what would be happening to the person so restrained, but he was certain it would not be pleasant.

Sam looked it over and nodded, trying to give the impression that he was not surprised. Renquist closed the door, and they moved to another one.

This one held a huge, circular bed, and the entire room was covered in mirrors. There were mirrors on every wall, and the ceiling was one huge mirror; Sam was suddenly reminded of an old Dean Martin movie about Matt Helm, a secret agent who made James Bond look like a prude. He'd had a bedroom like that in one of his movies, and Sam recalled that when he'd seen it (he was about fourteen), he'd thought it was cool. Looking at this one made him feel dirty.

Renquist closed the door and they walked on. As they walked, he said, “Many of our guests enjoy spanking, some on the giving end, and others on the receiving. Some prefer more intricate fantasies, of course, such as role-playing, or pony or puppy play. May I ask your own preferences?”

One of the cases Sam had worked on during a short stint with the vice squad had involved something similar. In that case, Sam had learned quite a lot about the BDSM lifestyle, which is all about control.

Suddenly that knowledge came to his rescue.

“I'm a dominant, myself, and mostly into the physical aspects, rather than the fantasies. My friend told me I might find some interesting situations here, so I wanted to check it out.”

“I'm certain you will,” Renquist said, as he opened another door.

This room had an assortment of different clothing, most of it feminine and the kind of thing one might expect to see a little girl wearing. There was a twin bed with a frilly canopy, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out the kind of games that went on there. Sam swallowed his bile. “Not my cup of tea,” he said, and Renquist nodded with a smile and moved to open yet another door.

This room was occupied, and Sam would have probably backed out quickly but for one thing: There was a nearly nude woman, in the leather bikini that they all wore, holding a leash that was attached to a collar worn by a completely naked man, and she was using a thin rod to whip his rear, yelling at him and calling him a “bad dog!” He was whimpering like a dog as she did so, but when the door fully opened, they both froze and looked up in surprise.

Renquist muttered an apology and yanked the door shut, but in that split second of shock, Sam saw that the man being whipped was none other than Daniel Rogers; but even more than that, the look of utter surprise on his face made him suddenly remember where he'd seen that face before: it was the same face Sam had seen blasted off the man on the road, a little more than two weeks earlier. That man had looked exactly like Daniel Rogers, and had worn that same look of shock and surprise, just before his face was obliterated by buckshot.

Renquist apologized to Sam for his mistake in exposing a client, and it gave Sam the break he was looking for. He drew himself up with all the anger he could muster—which wasn't hard, considering some of the things he'd just seen—and looked Renquist in the eye.

“Mr. Renquist,” Sam said as coldly as he could, “if you can make a mistake like that when you’re showing a visitor around, then I'm afraid I would not be comfortable that you could preserve my own privacy. I'll thank you to forget that I was ever here. Would you show me out, please?”

“Oh, but Mr. Randall,” he began, but Sam shook his head.

“I'm sorry, I'd like to go.”

Renquist surrendered and led him back to the guest entrance. Sam handed him the mask, stepped outside and saw Indie standing beside the car sipping a bottle of grape juice. She spotted him at the same time. As Sam got to the car, she opened his door and held it as he entered, then got behind the wheel.

10

They didn't speak until they were off the grounds.

“So what's the big secret in there?” Indie asked, and Sam sat there for a long moment, trying to gather his thoughts and decide just how to tell her what he'd seen. He was still so shocked by some of it that he wanted to let it settle.

“I'll tell you when we get home,” Sam said. “It's too much to talk about while you’re driving, you'd wreck the car and kill us both!”

She tried to get more out of him, but Sam refused to say a word until they got to the house. Indie had left the Ridgeline at the rental place, so she'd take the Lincoln back in the morning; that left them free to go home and talk it all over. They sat down at the table and Sam looked in the refrigerator, wishing for the first time in well over a year for a beer. He settled for the root beer he'd taken up since then, and sat down in a chair beside Indie.

“Do you know anything about BDSM?” Sam asked her, and her eyes went wide.

“Um,” she said, “a little…”

“Well, five minutes in that place, and you'd know a lot more than you ever want to! It's a fantasy club where people go to play those kind of games. They showed me rooms for spanking fantasies, master and slave stuff, even rooms full of dolls and toys and little girl clothes, and I don't even want to think about what goes on in there! It was all I could do not to come running out of there with my hands in the air, screaming bloody murder!”

Indie sat perfectly still for about three seconds, and then burst out laughing. “Omigod,” she said between gasps for breath, “as tough as you are, I can't believe something like kinky sex could make you panic and want to run! Sam, have you led that sheltered a life? I learned about all that stuff in college! You can't be a college student today without running across people who are into some kinks now and then!”

Sam glared at her. “It's not funny, Indie,” Sam said, but that only made her laugh harder. Sam sat back in frustration and waited for her to run down. It took a couple of minutes, but finally she cleared her throat and said, “Okay, I'm good, now. So, what else happened?”

Sam looked at her, embarrassed to admit that he'd been so uncomfortable, but finally he just blurted out, “One of the rooms they showed me wasn't empty; Rogers was in there, naked as a newborn and down on all fours wearing a dog collar, while some woman was using a stick to whip his ass and telling him he was a bad dog!”

That set off another round of uncontrollable laughter that was so bad she almost fell off the chair and onto the floor. Sam just sat there and waited for her to get done again. It took another couple of minutes before she managed to talk.

“Well, I guess we know why he isn't into the wife, anymore,” she said, and then had to stifle another chuckle or two.

Sam nodded weakly. “Maybe; if she isn't into his games, that might explain it. But there's something else that's really bothering me, and I don't have a clue what it means.”

She sobered instantly; Indie knew him well and could tell when Sam was getting his teeth into something. “Spit it out, Sam,” she said.

Sam gathered his thoughts for a moment, then said, “Remember a couple weeks ago, that guy in the road that got killed?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Pretty hard to forget.”

Sam looked her dead in the eye so she'd know he was being very serious. “I saw that guy's face, and you know I have a very good memory. When I saw Rogers's face up close like that, and he was looking scared because we'd walked in on his kinky game, it hit me why he looks so familiar; it was the exact same face I saw get blown off that man in the road.”

Indie sat there in silence.

“What?” Sam said.

“Sam, you only saw that guy for a second before he got shot. Maybe there were some similarities, but it can't possibly be the same guy, he was dead.”

Sam shook his head. “One of the things you learn as a cop is how to take in all the evidence and embed it in your mind. After a while, you get to the point that everything you see, everything you hear, it all gets embedded in your memory, and when you need it, you can call it up and look it over again. Seeing Rogers with that same expression on his face, that 'oh, crap, I'm caught' look, I suddenly saw the dead guy's face in my mind, and it was exactly the same.”

Indie sat there for another moment. “Okay, well, I know you well enough to know you wouldn't say it unless you were certain, but I can't figure any way it fits in, can you?”

“Nope. Not a clue.”

“Okay. Then we keep it in mind, but unless we see how it figures into Rogers's problems with his wife or the case, we just go on, right?” Sam nodded. “Good. Now, while I was waiting for you at the limo, I had Herman do a little research and send it to my phone. He found something interesting, and it does seem to fit in now that I know what you found inside. I was thinking about the name of that club, Roseblood, and I decided to see what he might find. Roseblood was the name of a famous Cherokee Indian girl who was forced into prostitution, but learned to use her charms to free herself. Apparently she was considered one of the most beautiful women who ever lived, and would give her clients any fantasy they desired, as long as they gave her whatever she asked in return. Eventually she was free and built herself a nice little empire by teaching other women to do the same.”

Sam shook his head. “Well, I don't know what they charge for membership, but I'm sure it would have been pretty well up there.” He sighed. “I guess we've gotten to the bottom of our client's case, though. If Rogers wants to be a pooch, maybe she can buy him a doghouse and collar and save her marriage, assuming she'd want to. We'll talk to her tomorrow; I know we've burnt through the retainer, so get her bill ready when you get a minute.”

She nodded. “Okay. Now, what do we do about Jack?” she asked, but Sam's phone rang at that moment. He glanced at it and saw that it was Karen Parks calling.

“Any news?” he asked instantly.

“Not the best. Ballistics says that’s definitely the murder weapon. The problem is, the prints on the gun don't match up to your suspect, but they don't match Jack Wilson, either. We're still looking for the killer, Sam.”

Sam sighed. “What does Hobson say?”

“He isn't going to back off of Wilson, not as long as he's got the witness statement that she heard them fighting just before Hernandez was killed.”

“Even if that witness is on her way to a nuthouse?” Sam asked incredulously. “He's got to know it's a weak case at best. What the hell is his problem?”

Karen coughed softly. “I never said this,” she said, “but Hobson—he's a pretty well-known racist. Your client is black, and to Hobson, that makes him guilty.”

“Sheesh. That guy shouldn't even be allowed on the force. Doesn’t the chief watch the news?”

“Okay, well,” Karen said, “I'll keep my ears open. Let me know if you come up with anything, too, okay?”

“You got it. I'll keep working.” The call ended, Sam looked at Indie and shook his head. “The prints don't match Nadine. We're back to square one.”

Indie bit her bottom lip for a moment, then looked at Sam. “Maybe not,” she said. “I was a little nervous about telling you, but Mom called while I was picking up the car a while ago.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, Lord, don't tell me Beauregard has decided to weigh in on this case.” He sighed once again. “What does he say?”

“Um—he says you need to look at how the cases you're working on are related to each other. She said he wouldn't tell her what that means, but he made her promise to deliver the message.”

Sam's eyebrows scrunched down in the center. “The cases are related to each other?”

“That's what he said. You know how Beauregard is, he always claims he only knows part of it, but not enough to give the answer.”

“How in the world can they be related? We know that Nadine was behind the hateful letters, whether she killed Max or not. And I don't see how Daniel Rogers could be connected, he's just a weirdo who likes to get his bottom spanked.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I'm not buying it. Maybe we've finally found the time Beauregard will be wrong. Whoever killed Max Hernandez has to be associated with Animal Partners, and there's just no connection between them and Daniel Rogers or that crazy kink club. I just can't see any way to tie them together.”

Indie nodded. “Well, I just promised Mom I would give you the message. I even told her it didn't make any sense, but you know her, she swears by Beauregard.”

Sam looked at his wife. “You know what? This is making my head hurt. We've got a whole evening free, all to ourselves. What do you say we go have some dinner and just enjoy the peace and quiet for tonight?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” Indie said with a smile. “You want to shower first, or…”

Sam grinned. “I'll go for the 'or,' since you gave me a choice.”

11

Sam woke like a shot the next morning, because Indie had gotten up early then snuck back into the bedroom, set a cup of coffee on his nightstand and then smacked his rear end as hard as she could before running back into the kitchen. Sam came up off the bed and caught her in front of the dishwasher.

“That,” Sam said sternly, “will be the only time you ever do that.”

Indie giggled, so Sam spun her around and returned the favor before stomping down the hall to take his shower. When he came back out a few minutes later, dressed and with coffee in hand, Indie was on the phone.

“Okay,” Sam heard her say, “we'll see you then.” She hung up and turned to face him. “Sorry about that, but after your experience yesterday, I just couldn't resist. I won't do that again.”

“Darn right, you won't,” Sam said, but she could hear the playfulness in his growl.

“Okay, Mrs. Rogers will be here in an hour. I didn't give her any information, just said you needed to talk to her about the case. Oh, and I did your hours, and her bill is on your desk out in the office. You've got about eighteen hundred coming.”

“Good, we can use it! Let's get the office tidied up a bit before she gets here.”

“Already did,” Indie said. “That only took me a few minutes, while the coffee was brewing.”

She quickly heated them up some frozen breakfast burritos, and they had a hasty meal before going out to the office. Mrs. Rogers drove up only a few minutes after they got there.

Indie met her at the door and seated her at Sam's desk, then asked if she wanted coffee or anything, but she declined.

“I just want to know what's going on,” she said nervously, so Sam cut to the chase.

“Mrs. Rogers,” Sam said as gently as he could, “I'm afraid I found that your husband has gotten into some things that may be upsetting to you. Have you ever heard of a place called Roseblood?”

Sam was surprised when she nodded. “Yes, that's the club that bought his family's old estate. I don't know much about them, I'm afraid.”

“Well, they are a very private club that caters to some very specific needs of their members. In this case, I'm afraid your husband has been going there to…” Sam swallowed. “He goes there to explore a fantasy about being treated like a dog, and getting spanked or whipped.”

She froze solid, and didn't even blink. For a second, Sam wondered if he'd given her a stroke, but then she took a deep breath.

“Oh, my god,” she said. “Oh, no. I've been worried he might go mad, but nothing like this ever even crossed my mind!”

Sam squinted. “Why did you think he might go mad, Mrs. Rogers?”

She looked at Sam as if he should already know the answer. “Well, his brother. His twin brother went crazy when they were boys, and was institutionalized for trying to kill Daniel when they were fifteen.”

Something went click in Sam's head, and his heart started pounding. “Were they fraternal twins, or identical?” Sam asked her.

“Oh, they were identical, that's why I was worried about it affecting him, too. I never met Jared, that was the twin's name, because he died from some kind of accident at the institution a few years after he was put there. Daniel never talks about him, but his mother has mentioned him a few times.” She looked at Sam, as if about to share a secret. “I think she has a few issues, too, because she's apparently never accepted his death. She still talks about him as if he's alive, and even used to talk about going to visit him sometimes.”

Sam let all of this roll through his mind, and then heard himself say, “Okay, that's fine. Now, I've still got a few things to look into, if that's okay, and we'll have your bill for you in a couple of days. I hope this information helps you in some way, and if I get anything else, I'll call you right away.”

She thanked him profusely and then left, and Indie came to sit on the edge of his desk.

“Twin brother, huh? You get the feeling the twin wasn't dead, after all?”

“Oh, one of them's dead, all right, but it wasn't as long ago as she's been told. He died two weeks ago, on a road not all that far from where his mother lives. What bothers me is why this woman doesn't know that. Didn't the cops ever identify the body?”

Indie shrugged, but said, “I'll find out. Give me a little time to get into the right databases.”

“Okay. I'm gonna go see Momma Rogers again. Something isn’t adding up, and you know how I hate that!”

“Yeah,” she said, “about the way I hate a toothache!”

Sam headed out the door and got into the Corvette, then drove back out to the cottage where Rogers's mother lived. He was almost there when Indie called.

“Get this,” she said. “John Doe's body was never identified, because his fingerprints were not on file. They didn't bother to check dental records or DNA, because they didn't have a missing person report that matched, so with no one to claim the body, he was buried in the local potter's field with no headstone.”

A potter's field was what cemeteries called the plots they donated to the homeless and indigent; it came from the Bible, for that was the name of the field that Judas bought with the silver he was paid for betraying Jesus. He killed himself there, and it became known as the place to bury the poor who had no grave of their own.

“Wow,” Sam said. “What a world we live in. Okay, check one more thing for me…”

Sam told her what he wanted to know, and she said she'd get right on it.

Rogers's mother seemed surprised to see Sam again, and a bit nervous, but she let him in.

“Ma'am, I just learned about your son's twin brother, and I'd like to know more about him. Can you fill me in?”

“Oh,” she said, “why, yes, I suppose so. Jared and Daniel were identical twins, you know, so identical that we couldn't ever tell them apart. I used to dress them differently, put one in red and one in blue, that sort of thing, so I'd know which was which, but the scamps would sometimes switch on me, playing games. They were wonderful boys, just mischievous, you know? At least, until they got older.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

She looked a bit sad, then, as if what she was about to say would somehow hurt her. “When they got into their teens,” she said, “they just seemed to grow apart. They'd always been close, up to then, but suddenly one of them was the good student, and the other wouldn't even try. Daniel was always the good one, though Jared would always claim that it was him, and Daniel was just blaming him for the stuff he was doing. There were problems at school, things like Jared trying to touch some of the girls inappropriately and such; I got called in more than once. Jared always swore that it wasn't him, but the girls were sure because of what he was wearing. Then, when they were fourteen, we came home one day to find our dog dead on the front porch. He'd been gutted and hung up from the awning, it was horrible. Daniel swore that Jared did it, and I found a bloody knife hidden in one of Jared's desk drawers. That was almost the last straw, but Jared swore he'd behave, so we didn't do anything about it.” She let out a long sigh.

“Then, a year later, the boys got into an argument. Jared attacked Daniel with a hunting knife, and almost stabbed him, but Daniel managed to fight him off, and he ran. Daniel chased him, and by the time I got there, Jared was down on the ground, bleeding from his head. Daniel said he'd fallen and hit his head on a rock, and we couldn't wake him. An ambulance came, and they took him to the hospital. He was in a coma for about three days, and when he woke up he couldn't even remember what had happened. He had some brain damage, the doctors said, and pretty serious memory loss, but the worst part was his anger. He'd get so frustrated at not being able to remember things, he'd just explode for no reason at all, and we finally had to agree to put him in a special hospital. I used to go and visit him, but it always seemed to upset him, so finally I stopped going except for once or twice a year.”

Sam felt sorry for her, but he needed answers, and this was no time to play nice. He asked the question he had prepared in his head before he got there. “How long ago was it that he died, Mrs. Rogers?” Sam asked, and she looked at him strangely.

“Died?” she asked in surprise. “Why, he didn't die; in fact, he was released a couple of months ago. He'd been undergoing some experimental treatments and they'd been very successful, so the hospital released him. He showed up here to visit, and we had a wonderful time!”

12

Sam was taken aback, positive that his hearing had somehow failed him. He knew what she'd said, though, even if he found it impossible to believe. “He's alive?” Sam asked. “Genevieve said Daniel told her he died in an accident in the institution.”

She waved a hand in disgust. “That one,” she said, dismissing her daughter-in-law as if she were no one important. “Why, yes, of course he's alive! He came by when he was released, and we had a terrific visit, and I called Daniel to let him know so he could come and see him, too. Jared stayed here for about a month, and then decided he wanted to get out and be on his own.”

“Daniel knew he was here?” Sam asked, and she lowered her eyes.

“I just said that, didn't I? In fact, to be honest, that was when he told Genevieve that he was going to Hawaii, but he was really right here, visiting with us. The two of them were getting along so well, and it felt so good to have them both here with me again. They'd go out and spend the day together out in one of the suburbs, and come back with dinner for all of us. It was a wonderful time.”

“So what happened? How did it end?”

“Jared decided he wanted a life of his own, you know. They went out one night and talked, and Daniel gave him some money and helped him find a job doing some kind of writing—he was always good at that sort of thing—and he went out to California. He calls now and then, just to let me know he's okay.”

Sam sat there for a few moments, trying to figure it all out. There was no doubt in his mind that one of the twins was dead, but which one? Sam decided it was time to play his ace in the hole.

“Mrs. Rogers,” Sam said, letting a bit of steel come into his voice. “What are you going to say when I tell you that I saw one of your sons get killed a couple of weeks ago?”

She looked up at him instantly, and Sam saw that while she hadn’t expected the question, it hadn't come as a complete surprise, either. “What?” she asked, trying to look startled. “What do you mean? Jared is fine!”

Sam grinned, knowing he had her. “Mrs. Rogers, I didn't say it was Jared I saw killed, but you already knew it had to be him. It happened on Marquette Road, about three miles from this spot. He ran out in front of my car in the middle of the night, but before I could stop and find out why, he was shot in the face by a shotgun that took most of his head off. The killer was gone by the time I got stopped, and there was nothing I could do for your son, so I called the police and let them handle it.”

She sat there for a moment, silent. Sam could tell she was trying to figure out what to say to cover her own ass, and then tears began to fall.

“I didn't know,” she said, “but I'll confess I've wondered. When I get the calls, it's always from a blocked number, and I wondered if maybe it was Daniel. He just sounds different, somehow.” She let out another deep sigh.

“When it happened,” Sam said, “your son was wearing a cheap suit, but he had on expensive underwear and shoes, and a very expensive cologne. His hair was done up pretty professionally, too, and I know that isn't cheap. Any idea why he'd have been dressed in such a fashion?”

She nodded. “Yes. When he was released, they gave him a suit to wear, but as you say, it was from some discount store. Daniel bought him some clothes, basics, you know, and took him out to be groomed. I'm sure he got him the cologne, as well.” She sighed. “I confess I'd wondered if something had happened to Jared. When he decided to leave, he didn't come back and tell me, just called on the phone and left it to Daniel to pack up his things for him.”

Sam felt anger rising; as Indie had said, no one should die alone and unwanted. “And you didn't think it important enough to come forward? I just found out that your son is buried in a pauper's grave not far from here, and no one even knew his name.”

She looked back at him, and there was a bit of fire in her eyes. “And what would you have had me do? Accuse my other son, the only one I've got left, of killing him? I don’t know for sure that's what happened, Mr. Prichard, and even if it did, I have no proof! If Daniel killed Jared, then it's because there was bad blood between them, and a lot of it. I'm sorry, and I did love both my sons, but Jared caused us a great deal of heartache! Those aren't the kinds of things you ever get over, not completely, and I'm sure that there must have been more that I didn't even know about. Daniel was the one who stayed out of trouble, who went to college and became a good husband and provider. If he had some resentment toward his brother that made them enemies, I can't say I don't understand. I certainly had my own share of grief from him, you know; their father's death was around the same time as when Jared went into the hospital, and I'm sure knowing the truth behind it was part of the reason why he took his own….” She stopped suddenly. “I don't want to discuss this any further, Mr. Prichard. And I think that I would like you to leave, now.”

Sam shook his head, disgusted. He wondered if he would feel differently if he had sons of his own, but he doubted it; murder was murder, no matter who does it, and no matter who the victim is. Sam wouldn't say there weren't some times when it was justified, and even necessary, and he'd been one to make that call himself in recent years; still, there was something about this case that just rubbed him the wrong way.

He left, and as he got into the car, a thought struck him; Genevieve Rogers was going to confront her husband about his kinky little excursions, after Sam had just become convinced that the man was a killer. Suddenly he was worried for her safety, and dialed her number.

No answer. Sam called Indie.

“Hey, Babe,” she answered.

“Indie, Momma Rogers says Jared was released from the hospital two months ago, and Rogers lied about his latest business trip to spend time with her and his brother. I'm pretty sure that Daniel killed Jared, and that means he's not afraid to commit murder. If Genevieve tells him what we found out, she could be in danger! Try to reach her and warn her, and get the cops on it, too; call Karen Parks and tell her I'm about to hand her another murder case. I'm on the way to Daniel's place, now.”

“Got it!” she said. “And look at your email; I dug up what you asked about, and you were right!”

Sam thanked her and hung up, then gave the Corvette's big engine enough throttle to leave black marks on the highway, even though he was already doing sixty. Indie called him back to say that Karen was going to look into it, and Sam filled her in on everything he'd learned from Daniel's mother. After he'd told her the whole conversation, Sam hung up, pushed the car for all it was worth and hit one-twenty on some of the long, straight stretches, fishtailing around all the corners. He got to Rogers's condo building in less than twenty minutes, ahead of the cops.

Sam rang the buzzer, but there was no answer. Sam was trying to figure out what to do when a woman came out. Sam forced his way past her and into the building, then ran through the hall and up the stairs to their unit.

Sam’s bad hip didn't like it when he ran, but it had learned that there were times when he would ignore it. This was one of those times; it was screaming when he got to the third floor, but he didn't care.

As he got to the door, Sam heard shouting, and then a scream. He tried the door handle, sure it would be locked, but it turned and opened, and there in front of him was a scene Sam never wanted to see again: Rogers had his wife held by one arm around her throat, and a butcher knife pressed to her jugular.

“HEY!” Sam yelled as he ran inside, and she used the momentary distraction to bite Daniel’s arm like a pit bull. He let out a screech and let her go, the knife flailing away from her for a moment, and she ducked out of his grasp just as Sam got hold of his collar and dragged him back from her.

“Heel, Fido,” Sam yelled, but that only set him off worse, because he whirled and swung the knife at Sam's face. Sam fell back, and that turned out to be a good move; he followed, and the more Sam fell back, the more Daniel came after him. Stumbling backward was another of those things Sam's hip hated, and it began screaming at him almost immediately, but Sam kept going anyway. Rogers kept coming after him as well, and just as steadily. Sam could see Mrs. Rogers, cowering on the floor behind her husband, but she had a phone in her hand, and Sam hoped she was calling for help.

He shouldn't have let his attention slip, because another swipe of that knife caught him on his right arm. It hurt like mad and Sam yelped, but he didn’t let himself slow down a bit.

He continued to fall back, drawing Daniel out and toward the hallway, but the madman got lucky again and caught Sam's left shoulder with the tip of the blade. It stabbed in, though not too deeply, and Sam actually fell as he tried to pull away from it. He hit the floor, his hip screaming in protest as his leg got twisted under him for a moment. Daniel advanced with a look of pure glee on his face, ready to finish him off and get back to what he'd been doing when Sam interrupted.

He lunged at Sam, ready to bring the knife down into his heart, but Sam wasn't out, yet. He rolled, swung his feet in around Daniel's and clamped his legs between his own thighs and calves. When Sam continued rolling, it brought Daniel down onto the floor on his back, and Sam got to his knees and punched him in the throat as hard as he could.

His shoulder was screaming from the stab wound, but Sam put everything he had into it anyway, and the punch left Daniel gasping for breath. Sam got up on his feet and kicked the knife away, just as three cops came rushing in with Indie right behind, telling one of them that he could take his order to stay back and shove it up his…

Sam smiled, as the paramedics brought up the rear of the little convoy.

13

Detective Karen Parks showed up only moments later and took over. Mrs. Rogers explained that she'd hired Sam to find out what her husband was up to, and that when she confronted him about the Roseblood club, he'd gone nuts. He'd told her that she had no right to interfere with his life, and when she'd tried to tell him she cared about him and was worried, he'd told her that she was just like his mother, always getting in the way. He had lost all connection with reality at that point, and that was when he grabbed a knife and tried to stab her. She'd fought him off for a few moments, and Sam had come in just as he was getting the upper hand.

Karen turned to me. “So, this is really the twin brother, right? Your girl filled us in on that part, and I guess that explains why he seemed so different, right?”

“Yes,” Sam said. Sam pointed at the man in cuffs on the floor. “This is Jared, the twin, who was locked up in a mental institution for years. The one I saw killed was Daniel.”

“How are you so sure of that?” asked Karen.

“Simple enough; the John Doe couldn't be identified by fingerprints, and Daniel has never been arrested or served in the military, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on record. Indie found out that Jared had a few run-ins with the police when he was younger, even before he was committed for trying to kill his brother, so his fingerprints are on file somewhere. When he got out, released because he was supposedly successfully treated with some new therapies, he came home, and at first they were glad to see him, but my guess is that Daniel got fed up with Momma gushing over her poor little boy who was finally back with her. Sort of like the prodigal son story in the Bible; the one who'd always been there was jealous of the one who'd been gone and come back. After a while, I'm sure Jared figured out that Daniel was going to try to get rid of him, and turned the tables. He probably forced Daniel at gunpoint to trade clothes with him, but somehow Daniel got the chance to run and did. Unfortunately, he ran out in front of my car and froze, and that's what gave Jared the chance to fire the killing shot. Momma pretended not to know what was going on, but she admitted that she'd begun to wonder if one of her sons had killed the other.”

“That would explain the sudden divide between him and Mrs. Rogers,” said Indie. “Jared probably hated everything to do with his brother's life, including his wife.”

Sam shook my head. “Probably,” he said. “I've been thinking about the stories of when they were teenagers, though, and I don't think there was just one of them who was bad; I think they both were, but maybe in different ways. Some kinds of cruelty are related to hereditary conditions, and when we dug into things, we found that Mrs. Rogers's story about her husband having a heart attack was another lie; he actually killed himself, after being implicated in the rape and sadistic torture of a teenage girl.”

Daniel/Jared had caught his breath and was sitting in a chair, hands cuffed behind his back with two officers holding onto his shoulders. He looked at Sam with a face full of hate.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” he said. “I've never killed anyone. My brother wanted out of his life, bad enough to talk me into trading places with him. We're identical, so he took over my life and I took over his. He was heading for Florida, the last I knew.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “Sounds like you've made a mess of it, haven't you? How did you get mixed up in the Roseblood club?”

Jared flashed them an evil grin. “That was just another way I took over my brother’s life,” he said. “You are right about one thing, he and I really are absolutely identical. He was a member even before they bought our old estate, he's the one who told them it was for sale.” He shrugged. “I've been missing out on that kind of action all those years. That was the thing that got me to go along with his crazy plan.”

Karen looked at him. “You claim you never killed anyone, but we just caught you in the act of trying to murder Mrs. Rogers and Detective Prichard. That doesn't look like you were all that sane when they let you go, not to me.”

Jared shook his head vigorously. “Okay, okay, I lost it,” he said. “But I'm telling you, I'm telling you the truth, I never killed my brother or anyone else.”

Karen agreed that there was enough evidence to arrest Jared for two counts of attempted murder, and assuming the body that would be exhumed from the potter's field turned out to be his brother, for murder, as well. He was taken into custody. Mrs. Rogers, who had just learned that her real husband was dead, was taken to the hospital and treated for minor injuries and shock.

Sam went to the ER with Indie to get a few stitches of his own.

While they were in the ER, Indie looked at Sam. “Got any new ideas on how the cases linked together?”

Sam shook his head, but then he grimaced in pain. “Near as I can tell, they don't, not really. I can't find any way to connect Daniel—I mean, Jared, to what happened at Animal Partners, and as for the kinky club, I guess it was just the place where Daniel went to get his jollies. Jared got rid of him, then took over his membership, but to be honest, if we hadn't been suspicious about it, he'd probably have gotten away with murder. If I hadn’t seen him in a vulnerable spot, naked and being whipped, he'd never have looked enough like his brother for me to make the connection to the dead man in the road.”

She shook her head. “This was by far your weirdest case, yet.”

Karen came into Sam's room just then. “How are you feeling?”

Sam grinned at her. “I feel like some lunatic just tried to stick me with a butcher knife. You got everything under control?”

“I suppose so,” she said. “There's just one thing bothering me, and I was hoping maybe you could help me straighten it out.”

“Sure, if I can,” Sam said. “Shoot.”

Karen nodded. “Sam, I've interviewed a lot of suspects, and even confronted a view of them with damning evidence. One thing I've gotten pretty good at is spotting the signs of deception, and while I know Jared is crazy already, he wasn't showing any of the normal tells when he claimed he didn't kill his brother. I can't help but wonder if there's not something we're missing. Any thoughts on the matter?”

Sam sat and stared at her for a moment. “None that I can think of at the moment. To be honest, I was convinced Jared killed Daniel even before I went to that apartment, so I guess I was biased. It's doubtful we’ll ever find the shotgun, or any other way to tie Jared to the murder. If he doesn't break down and confess, he might still get away with it.”

Karen shot him a rueful eye. “Or, maybe he's actually innocent of that particular crime.”

“I suppose he could be,” Sam said with a grimace. He turned to Indie. “I guess we're still looking for a killer, after all.”

14

Indie drove Sam home and tried to help him into the house, but he managed it on his own. They were sitting on the couch watching television a bit later when Sam's phone rang again. The caller ID showed the number of the hospital.

“Sam,” he heard Jack say when he answered. “What's this I hear you done got yourself all cut up?”

Sam chuckled. “It isn't as bad as all that,” he said. “How did you hear about it, anyway?”

“Man, don't you ever watch the news? You all over it tonight. They saying you caught another murderer. I don't suppose there's any chance it was the same guy who killed Max, is there?”

“Sorry, Jack,” Sam said. “I'm afraid there's no connection between the two cases. I believe the man I caught today killed his own brother, but he isn't connected to Max or Animal Partners.”

“He isn't?” Jack asked, and something in his voice made Sam suddenly pay attention. “His name was Daniel Rogers, right? Big investments guy?”

“That's right,” Sam said. “Are you saying you knew him?”

“Well, no, not me personally,” Jack said. “Max did, though, he was one of the guys who put up money for the organization to run on. Some kind of tax-deductible thing, I gather.”

Sam was stunned. How in the world had they managed to miss looking at the funding committee for a possible murder suspect? Just like the staff members, they were all deeply connected to Animal Partners. Sam couldn't guess what kind of motive any of them could have for murder, but he had left an entire field of potential suspects untouched.

“Jack,” he said, “you may have just given me something that will help break your case. I need to make some other calls, but I'll get back to you soon.”

He hung up the phone without waiting for Jack to say goodbye, and was scrolling through his contacts a second later. He found the name he wanted and hit the icon.

“Carol Spencer,” he heard the attorney say as she answered.

“Carol, it's Sam Prichard. I've got to ask you a question, and I sure hope you can answer.”

“Hi, Sam. As long as it doesn't violate client confidentiality, I'll be glad to answer. Go ahead.”

“You told me at the hospital that one of the people from the Animal Partners funding committee was the one who retained you as Jack's attorney. Who was it?”

Indie was sitting beside Sam, staring at his face and watching his reactions. When his eyes went wide, she knew that he suddenly had the answer he’d been seeking. When he got off the phone, he asked her to look something up online, and the answer she brought him moments later told him he was right.

He called Karen Parks and told her what he had just learned, and she agreed that he seemed to be on the right track at last. The only problem was that they still had no idea where to find the shotgun that had killed Daniel, but Sam didn't let that stop him. He knew who the killer was, and had every intention of seeing an arrest made before the day was over.

Indie helped him change clothes and then they drove the rented Lincoln to the hospital. Jared Rogers was being held there in a psychiatric ward, with police officers on duty to make sure he didn't escape. He wasn't allowed visitors the way a normal patient would be, but Sam had made special arrangements.

They paid off. As soon as Sam walked into the room, he saw Mrs. Rogers standing beside the bed her son was handcuffed to, gripping his free hand. She turned when she heard Sam enter, and her eyes went wide when she saw him.

“Have you come to gloat?” she asked. “Haven't you done enough to my family?”

“Please, Mrs. Rogers,” Sam said softly. “I'm not here to start trouble. I just wanted to come and express my appreciation to you.”

The woman looks surprised. “Appreciation? To me?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, ma'am,” he said. “I just found out that you're the one who paid for Jack Wilson's attorney, and I wanted to say thank you. That was an awfully generous thing to do.”

Mrs. Rogers looked irritated. “It just seemed appropriate,” she said. “From everything I heard about Mister Wilson, I just didn't think he did it.”

“See, that's what I mean. You didn't even know the man, so it makes it an even more wonderful thing, what you've done. Of course, I know it must've been quite a financial burden on you. You just told me the other day that you don't have a lot of money, anymore.”

She turned and looked at Jared, refusing to face Sam. “I guess I had enough,” she said. “Now could you please leave us alone? I'm going to be getting an attorney for my son in the morning. I'd like to have some time alone with him before then.”

“Sure, I understand,” Sam said. “There's just one thing, though. I was wondering why you were the one to put up the money, when it was your son Daniel who was actually on the Animal Partners funding committee. It wouldn't have been nearly as surprising if he had done it, but you weren't connected to the organization at all. What prompted you to want to help?”

“Please, Mister Prichard, I really don't want to discuss this with you.”

Sam nodded. “Okay, okay, I can see that. Instead of you telling me, how about if I throw out my own ideas, and maybe you can tell me if I'm right. Because I'm thinking that the reason you put up that money was out of guilt.”

Mrs. Rogers spun around and looked him in the eye. “Guilt? What would make you say such a thing?”

“I say it because I finally figured out who really killed Max Hernandez, and the same person killed your son, Daniel Rogers. Until just a little while ago, I was convinced that it was Jared who killed Daniel, but I was wrong. Jared insisted he never killed anyone, and he was telling the truth, wasn't he?”

Jared suddenly looked at Sam. “You believe me?”

Sam smiled at him and nodded. “I do,” he said. “You didn't kill your brother. Your mother did.”

“You're insane,” Mrs. Rogers spat at him. “I don't know how in the world you could ever come up with an idea like that.”

“Actually, you told me yourself. Remember when I tried to surprise you by telling you I had seen one of your sons get killed? When you said Jared was still alive, I thought you were trying to cover the fact that you thought he was dead, but I was wrong, there, too. You weren't putting on an act at all, you were stating the actual truth. Jared was still alive, because Daniel is the one who was dead. The only way you could possibly have known that was because you either killed him yourself, or you knew who did.”

Mrs. Rogers's eyes were darting all around the room. “I didn't do any such thing,” she insisted. “Maybe—maybe I wondered if something had happened, but that isn't a crime, is it?”

“Only if you have evidence, and don't turn it over to the police. Evidence like the shotgun that blew your son’s head off. I did some checking, and you happen to own a number of guns, including a twelve-gauge shotgun that could handle double-ought buckshot. And then I noticed that you also own a forty-caliber Glock pistol. You know what's interesting about buying guns at gun stores? They actually write down the serial numbers. I got the serial number off of your Glock from when you bought it and had it checked against the one that killed Max Fernandez. Care to guess what we found?”

Mrs. Rogers let go of her son's hand and spun toward Sam. “You found nothing!” she screamed at him. “You didn't find anything because there isn't any…”

She froze. Behind her, Jared's eyes were wide as he stared at his mother.

“Mom?”

She turned her head to him for just a second, long enough to tell him to shut up and stay out of it, then look back at Sam.

“That's right,” Sam said. “We already knew that the serial number had been ground off of the pistol, but the only way you could know that is if it's yours. That's enough to confirm for me that you killed Max, but I'd already figured that out. The only question I had left was about motive, but then I checked on the most recent funding committee meetings. One of them was just the day before Max was killed, and he had taken one of the members into his office for a long talk afterward. I'm betting that it was Jared, who everyone thought was Daniel. Daniel had been chairman of the committee for more than two years, so Max would have known him well. He would have spotted Jared as an imposter easily, because he wouldn't know how to run the meeting.”

Mrs. Rogers stood there staring at him for another moment, but then her face fell and all the anger seemed to drain out of her. “He thought Daniel was using drugs or something,” she said quietly. “Jared came to me all upset, worried because Hernandez was trying to talk him into going and getting tested for drugs, going into rehab. He wasn't using drugs, he just didn't realize that he was supposed to be in charge of the meeting, but that put him at risk. If Hernandez started talking to the other members, somebody might figure out the truth.” She hung her head and shook it from side to side. “I didn't want to kill him,” she said. “I only wanted to make him back down, leave Jared alone, but I guess I said too much then, too. He and Daniel had been friends, I guess, and he knew about Jared. He suddenly realized that Jared must've taken his place, and demanded to know how to reach Daniel. I had the gun, I didn't mean to use it, but I had it—and then it went off.”

“You took off out the back after that,” Sam said, “ran down the alley and found a place to hide the gun where you thought no one would ever find it. Then, the next day, you heard that an innocent man had been arrested for the murder you committed. Your conscience was having enough trouble over killing your own son and Max, so to assuage your guilt, you hired Carol Spencer to represent Jack Wilson.”

She nodded, but didn't say another word.

“And Daniel? Daniel wanted out of his life, so he offered to trade places with Jared. Why didn’t you just let him go?”

Mrs. Rogers was staring at the floor, but Sam saw a tear drop from her eye. “Because it was Daniel who was the murderous one. I overheard him talking to someone on the phone, taking out a large life insurance policy on himself. He listed Jared as the beneficiary.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Daniel was planning to kill his brother, but not until after they traded places. Jared would be dead, but Daniel would collect millions from the insurance by posing as his own twin brother.”

The woman nodded. “I knew that’s what he was planning,” she said, “but I had just gotten my Jared back. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again, and I couldn’t just stand back and let Daniel murder him that way. I tried to talk to him, talk him out of it, but he denied everything. He was staying in his father’s old cabin out there in the forest, so I went to see him, to try to reason with him but he still wouldn’t listen. I had the shotgun in the car and I—I threatened him with it to try to make him stop, but he took off running through the woods and I followed him. I lost him for a minute, but then I heard tires squealing and I saw him standing out there in the road, looking back at me, and I…” She began sobbing.

“You aimed the gun and pulled the trigger,” Sam finished for her.

“Mom? Mom, you killed Daniel?” Jared’s eyes were wide as he stared at his mother.

Still sobbing, she nodded her head.

Karen parks stepped in from where she had been standing just outside the room with the police guard. She was wearing an earpiece, one that was plugged into a digital recorder. Sam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the little transmitter she had given him and passed it to her.

“Cynthia Rogers,” Karen said, “you are under arrest for the murders of Daniel Rogers and Maximilian Hernandez. You have the right to remain silent…”

* * * * *

That evening, Sam and Indie were invited to Jack and Christy's home to help them celebrate, and they were happy to go. The four of them were sitting on their back deck, enjoying iced tea and lemonade, while Jack was grilling steaks. Christy had just told them that Freddie was doing very well, and the bandages could probably come off in a couple more days, when the doorbell rang.

Christy and Indie went to answer it, and came back a moment later with Karen Parks.

“Hey, everyone, I'm not here to interrupt,” she said, “but I just got word that the newspaper has heard all about how Freddie tracked down the murder weapon, and they're doing a story on him for the weekend edition. The mayor, who is never one to miss a photo opportunity or a chance to get some good press, called my chief and said he wants to present Freddie with a medal. They're planning a big ceremony tomorrow afternoon, in the mayor's office at city hall; can you bring him and make it?”

Jack stood there frozen for a long moment, and then tears began to flow. He smiled at Karen, and said, “Oh, we'll be there, Ms. Parks, we'll be there! Thank you, my dear, thank you!”

Christy touched Karen's arm. “Ms. Parks, won't you join us? We've got plenty of steaks, and they've only just gone on the grill; it's no trouble to add another.”

Karen started to beg off, but Indie put a stop to it.

“Don't even think about it, Karen! You’re part of this celebration, too, y'know! You deserve to be here.”

“Me? This wasn’t even my case! I didn't have anything to do with it!”

“Yeah, you did,” Sam growled at her. “Remember when I called you about Freddie, and you had to stop the animal cops from putting him down? Wasn't for that, he'd have been dead, and we'd still have Jack in jail for a murder he didn't commit, so sit your ass down and grab a glass!”

She stood there for a second, then grinned. “I will,” she said, “on one condition. I want to know how Freddie knew what you wanted him to do. You tell me that, and I'll stay.”

Everyone else, including Indie, demanded Sam answer her, so he looked at Freddie and said, “How about it, boy? Can I give away our secret?” Freddie barked, and they all laughed.

“Okay, here it is,” Sam began. “I didn't know what I was hoping to find when I went to get Freddie, but I figured if he was familiar with the Animal Partners offices and knew everyone there, he might just spot something wrong if I took him back. I didn’t have any expectations, exactly, just a gut hunch. When he went into Max's office, he could tell from the smell of Max's blood that his old buddy was dead, I think, and I guess he wanted to know why. He sniffed around the office, and sparked up on part of the desk, right about in front of where the shot would have been fired from—to me, that means he picked up the scent of the gun, the powder burns that would’ve hit the desk. Once he had that, he could follow it out of Max's office to the front desk, where Cynthia probably stopped and put the gun down to try to think through what to do. He found the scent again on that desk; then she must have picked it up again and carried it through the building, out the back, and down the alley to where she hid it.”

Karen shook her head. “You're saying Freddie tracked the smell of the metal gun all that way? Come on, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “Hear me out. He followed the smell, not of the gun itself, but of the burnt gunpowder. Any ballistics tech knows that once you fire a gun, there is gunpowder residue on every part of it, and on the person who fired it. Well, that powder falls off, as we move around, or as air moves over the gun, whatever, in little specks we humans would never be able to detect. But Freddie, there, being a breed of dog that is used for tracking in some countries, could smell those tiny little specks and track them where they dropped off of Cynthia and the gun. She left a trail of breadcrumbs, and Freddie was the only one who could possibly have followed them.”

Everyone shook their heads, and Sam smiled. Freddie looked around and barked a couple of times, so they were all pretty sure he knew everyone thought he was a truly wonderful dog.

“Sure is a pity Max is gone,” Jack said. “He was a hero to an awful lot of people.”

“A fallen angel,” Christy said. “We’re all going to miss him.”

“A fallen angel,” Sam repeated. His eyes were resting on an old guitar that was leaning against the wall. He pointed at it. “May I?”

Jack looked around at the guitar and grinned. “Help yourself. Might have to tune it a bit, I haven’t touched it in weeks.”

Sam got up and got the guitar, sat back down and tuned it by ear. He strummed a couple of chords and then began to play.

“This is a song I’ve been working on for the band,” he said. “It doesn’t fit perfectly, but the title of it is Fallen Angels, and I just felt it might be appropriate tonight.” (Click To Listen)

The bell rings, it’s another day,

They grab their turnouts and on their way,

A child is trapped at fourteen stories high,

You can say they’ve got a job to do,

But when it comes down to me and you,

Could you look that fire in the eye…

They still ride prepared to pay the price,

They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

God bless the fallen angels in our lives…

It’s the moment they’ve been training for,

Our commander in chief says it’s time for war,

There’s pride in their hearts and in their eyes,

He’s only eighteen and they’re shootin’ at him,

That’s the difference between heroes and men,

When it comes down to it they still ride…

They still ride prepared to pay the price,

They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

God bless the fallen angels in our lives…

They still ride prepared to pay the price,

They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

God bless the fallen angels, they still ride…

In our minds they still ride…

In our hearts they’re still alive…

They still ride…

They still ride…

Just a routine traffic stop on the south side of town…

They all sat quietly for a moment when the song was finished, and Sam saw the tears on all of their cheeks as he wiped away his own.

“That was absolutely beautiful, Sam,” Jack said, and Christy and Karen both echoed the sentiment. Indie reached over and took Sam's big, rough hand in her tiny, beautiful one and said, “I think it was perfect.”

Sam raised his glass into the air. “To the fallen angels,” he said solemnly. “To those who have fought; to those who have fallen; to those who continue to fight!”

All of the glasses clinked, and Freddie looked up at them all and barked once. Sam looked at the dog for a moment, and then added, “And to Max, who fought for so many who couldn't fight for themselves.”

They clinked once more, and then they all felt a chill run down their spines, as Freddie raised his nose to the sky and howled. It was a time for mourning, and for just a moment, they all sat silently with the dog and mourned his friend who was no more.

BOOK 11

HIDDEN AGENDA

1

There’s something to be said for sleeping in, and Sam Prichard was the kind of guy who would take advantage of every opportunity to do so. Since school had just let out for the summer and nobody had to be anywhere early in the morning, Sam hadn’t even bothered to set an alarm.

Of course, the best-laid plans of mice and men, as they say…

Sam was awakened by the sound of his phone ringing and threw out a hand to find the blasted thing on his nightstand. “Hello,” he mumbled into the phone.

“Sam, before you say anything, I want you to know this isn’t my fault,” he heard his mother say. “I’m just the messenger, remember that, okay?”

Sam groaned. “Just spit it out, Mom,” he said. He held the phone out and let one eye focus on the time. It was just after seven. He held the phone back to his ear.

“Okay,” Grace said with a sigh. “It’s Beauregard. Kim came out of her room this morning for breakfast and said Beauregard wanted me to call you. I’m supposed to tell you to take the case.”

Beauregard was, according to Indie’s mother Kim, the ghost of a confederate soldier who acted as her “spirit guide,” giving her advice, which she sometimes needed to pass on to others. Sam thought he was an alter ego Kim had created to mask her own ability to see bits and pieces of the future, but he never said that to her face; Indie had warned him that it could be too hard for her mom to accept, so he pretended to believe in the old ghost at least part of the time.

Sam blinked, trying to wake up enough to understand what was going on. “Take what case?” he asked. “I haven’t had any new calls.”

“All I know is that she insists that he says you have to take the case. You know how Beauregard is, he doesn’t give you any details. Just these vague hints, and I don’t know what they mean.”

Indie rolled over and leaned up on an elbow to look at his face. “Beauregard?” she whispered.

Sam nodded. “Okay, I guess,” he said into the phone. “Personally I think Beauregard is a load of hogwash, but I have to admit he’s saved my life a time or two. The next case that comes my way, I’ll take it no matter how silly it sounds. Good enough?”

He could hear Grace speaking to Kim, who rented a room from her. A moment later she came back on the line. “I guess Beauregard says that’s okay. Did I wake you guys up?”

“Yeah, we were kind of sleeping,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about it, though, we’ll be okay. What are you up to today?”

“Well, I’ve got to go and write a couple of new listings today, but I think Kim was planning on coming over to your place. That’s why she wanted me to call you this morning, so she wouldn’t have to be the one to tell you about that crazy old soldier of hers.”

“She’s getting smarter, then,” Sam said, and Indie poked him in the ribs. “Oof!”

“Well, I won’t keep bending your ear. Tell Indie and Kenzie I said hi, and I’ll see them this afternoon.”

“I will.” Sam ended the call and set the phone back on the nightstand. “Beauregard says I have to take the case,” he said to Indie. “It’d be nice if I knew what case he meant.”

“Maybe he does mean the next one. Let’s wait and see if it’s one you’d normally turn down.” She tossed off the covers and rolled to her feet, shaking her nightgown to make it fall modestly around her. “Get your lazy butt up and I’ll make you bacon and eggs,” she said playfully.

“With coffee?” Sam asked, but she was already walking out of the bedroom. He groaned again and got up, sliding into a pair of jeans and then pulling a t-shirt over his head before following her to the kitchen.

Kenzie, their not-quite-six-year-old daughter, came running down the stairs. “Is it time to get up yet?” she asked, and Sam scooped her up with one arm to carry her the rest of the way. They had told her not to get out of bed until they were up, and she had been lying up there listening for any sounds for more than an hour.

“Yep,” he told her. “And Mommy’s making us bacon and eggs!”

Kenzie’s face lit up. “I like bacon,” she said, and her cat, whose name was Samson, chose that moment to come tumbling down the stairs. Samson had suffered from distemper as a kitten, and while he had been lucky enough to survive, his coordination hadn’t. His back end had a tendency to pass his front end, but even the regular rolls down the stairs didn’t seem to hurt him any.

“I think Samson likes it, too,” Sam laughed, as the cat followed its own tail into the kitchen ahead of them. He plopped Kenzie into a chair and got her a glass of orange juice, then poured some for himself and Indie.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down across from her, “Grandma Kim is coming over later, and Grandma Grace will be here sometime after that. They want to come see you.”

The little girl nodded. “Yeah, we’re gonna play games and stuff.”

“Ooh,” Indie said, “that sounds like fun. Maybe I can—”

She was cut off by the ringing of the office phone, an extension of which was in the dining room. She hurried over to answer it. “Sam Prichard, Private Investigator,” she said.

Indie listened for a moment, and then turned to look at Sam with eyebrows that were threatening to climb over her forehead. “Um, yes,” she said. “We’ll expect you at ten.”

She hung up the phone a moment later and walked back into the kitchen, where the bacon in the skillet was just beginning to sizzle. “That was a girl named Heather Biggs,” she said. “She wants to talk to you about finding her mother, who she says has been abducted.”

Sam’s eyebrows were climbing a bit as well. “Abducted? That sounds like a matter for the police, not a private eye.”

“She says the police don’t believe her,” Indie said, “and neither does her father or her stepdad or anyone else, but she’s certain she’s right and needs help. And there’s one other thing, Sam—she’s only fourteen years old.”

“Fourteen?” Sam echoed, aghast. “I can’t...”

“Sam,” Indie said. “Remember Beauregard? You said you’d take the next case, no matter what, right? And this is definitely one you’d normally turn down, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but...” His eyes stared into those of his wife. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding. This can’t be what Kim meant, can it?”

Indie shrugged her shoulders as she flipped the bacon. “It fits,” she said. “I think you better at least hear the girl out and agree to look into it, don’t you?”

Sam scowled. “I guess so,” he said. “What did you say her name was, Biggs?”

“Yeah.”

Sam got up and went back to the bedroom to get his cell phone, dialing it as he came back into the kitchen. It was answered as he took his chair again.

“Denver Police, this is Sergeant Ragsdale, how can I help you?”

“Sergeant, this is Sam Prichard. Have you got a missing persons case on a woman named Biggs?”

The desk sergeant sighed. “It’s actually Jensen, but I know who you mean. Her daughter’s name is Biggs, and she’s been calling every hour for the past day and a half, even at night. That case is with Detective Lemmons, let me transfer you.”

Sam heard the hold music come on, but it lasted only a few seconds. “Detective Lemmons.”

“Jerry? Sam Prichard. You’ve got the missing persons on Jensen?”

“Yep,” Jerry Lemmons said. He and Sam had once worked together in the Vice Division, and knew each other fairly well. “Don’t tell me you’re being dragged into this, too.”

“Actually, I got a call from a potential client who says the woman was abducted, but that you don’t think so. Any truth to that?”

Jerry laughed. “Let me guess, the daughter called you? Listen, Sam, this is a simple case of a momma who didn’t want to be a momma anymore. I’ve got cell phone records, credit card records and a ton more info that says she’s been having an affair for the past couple months, and now she and Romeo have run off together. The kid doesn’t want to believe that of course, but it’s pretty clear.”

“Do you know who Romeo is?” Sam asked. “Any trace of him?”

“Yeah, he’s Martin Fletcher. Won’t be the first time he’s seduced a married woman and got her to run off, but they always come back after a few weeks. Soon as her money runs out, he’ll dump her in Boise or somewhere. She’ll call home and beg for help and forgiveness, they always do.”

Sam closed his eyes and thought for a second. “Jerry, are you sure about this? Is there any chance there really could be something nefarious about this one?”

“You want to see the motel security video of the two of them going into the room together? I’m sure, Sam, it’s a runaway mother situation. Nothing more than that.”

Sam sighed into the phone. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the table beside his plate. “That was Jerry Lemmons, guy I knew back in Vice. He’s got the case and says it’s just a matter of a mother who’s run off with a boyfriend. According to him, everything from her cell phone records to motel security videos backs that up.” Indie just looked at him without saying anything. “Okay, I know what I said. I’m not gonna blow the girl off, don’t worry. I just don’t know what to do with a case that isn’t really what she thinks it is.”

Indie smiled at him. “Maybe the idea is to help her come to grips with reality,” she said. “Sometimes kids have a hard time with that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

They finished breakfast with Kenzie and were just sitting down in the living room with her to watch some TV when Sam’s mother dropped Kim off. Sam opened the door for his mother-in-law, and Kenzie ran to give the woman a hug.

“Good,” Indie said. “Now that you’re here, you can keep Kenzie entertained while Sam and I interview a new client. She should be here in about fifteen minutes, so your timing is perfect.”

Kim smiled and nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Beauregard says this is the one you’ve got to take. He says there are three lives to be saved and only Sam can do it.”

Sam looked at her intently. “Three lives to save? That’s more info than he usually gives. Is there anything else?”

Kim shrugged her shoulders and kept her eyes on her granddaughter. “Only that you’ll have a hard time figuring out who to believe. You’ll have to trust your own instincts, no matter how crazy you think they are.”

Sam stood there in the middle of the room for a long moment, just looking at Kim and imagining the old soldier standing right behind her, then shook his head as the two of them turned to head down the hall to their bedroom. They changed into fresh clothes and then went to the office that was tucked behind his garage.

“Believe it or not,” Sam said as Indie took the chair at her desk, “I’ve suddenly got a feeling this case is for real. Old Beauregard doesn’t usually give me any hints, but this one sounds kind of serious.”

“Yeah,” Indie said. “I got a chill when Mom said he told her you need to save three lives. I wonder whose.”

There was a knock on the outer office door, and Indie got up to open it. A young girl who didn’t look like she’d even made it to fourteen yet stepped inside.

“Heather?” Indie asked, and the girl nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “I called a little while ago...”

“Yes, that was me you talked to. This is my husband, Sam. Why don’t you sit down there in the chair and tell us what this is all about?”

Heather ducked her head shyly and took the chair Indie had offered. Indie sat down in the one beside her.

“I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy,” Heather said after a moment, “but I’m not. I know my mom, and she wouldn’t run out on me the way they say she did. The only way she’d disappear is if she got kidnapped.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “First, why don’t you tell me what’s happened, and then tell me why you think the police are wrong.”

Heather had kept her eyes down on the floor before, but now she raised them up to look into Sam’s own. “Mom didn’t come home from work three days ago,” she said. “The cops told my stepdad she was having an affair and ran off with her boyfriend, but that isn’t true. Mom told me about Marty, and she wasn’t his girlfriend. He worked with her at the auto parts store, but he got himself in some kind of trouble and she was trying to help him get it all straightened out. It was something about something he knew that other people didn’t want him to know, and he was scared somebody was gonna kill him, so she was helping him hide 'til they could figure out what to do.”

Sam’s eyes were wide, and he noticed Indie’s looked about the same. “Heather, did you tell the police about this?”

She nodded her head. “Yeah, but they say Marty always says stuff like that to get women to like him. They said it was the way he got them to leave their families, but Mom isn’t that stupid. She was really scared for him, but she didn’t want to be with him or anything like that. She just didn’t want him to get hurt, y’know?”

Modus operandi, Sam thought. Get a woman to worry about you, and you were halfway to seducing her, or at least that was the way a lot of guys worked. If Martin was that sort, it was quite possible Heather’s mother had fallen prey to it, after all.

“Heather, don’t you think the police might know something about this? From what I understand, your mom wouldn’t be the first woman he’s tricked into running away with him.”

She shook her head. “Mom wouldn’t,” she said emphatically. “The morning she disappeared, before she went to work, she told me if anything happened to her, if she got hurt or disappeared and no one would do anything about it, I was supposed to come to you and tell you that the cops are in on it and can’t be trusted. She said you’d know what to do.”

That made both Sam’s and Indie’s eyebrows go even higher. “She told you to come to me? How does she know me?”

Heather looked at him shyly and cast a furtive glance at Indie before turning back to Sam. “Because she used to be your girlfriend,” she said. “You were even gonna get married, once.”

Indie looked at Sam curiously, but didn’t say a word. Sam looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “Heather,” he said slowly, “what is your mother’s name?”

“It’s Tracy,” the girl answered. “Tracy Jensen, now, but it used to be Tracy—”

“Prentiss,” Sam said. “Tracy Prentiss.” He looked over at Indie and smiled halfheartedly. “She was my closest friend all the way through school, and we got engaged just before she went off to New York for college, but then—well, things just changed, and we ended up calling it off. I haven’t really even spoken to her since then, I don’t think.”

“What happened was that she got pregnant with me,” Heather said, glancing at Indie. “Mom said it was an accident at a party, but she ended up marrying my dad. They got a divorce three years ago, and Mom married my stepdad last year.” She turned back to Sam. “Gary’s okay, my stepdad, but he’s always afraid Mom is gonna get tired of him, cause he’s a lot older than she is.”

Sam nodded slowly. “And she told you to come to me if she disappeared?”

Nodding again, Heather said, “Yeah. She said she read about you being a private detective, now, and that if anything happened to her, you were the only person who might be willing to help.” The girl looked down at the small purse she was carrying and opened it, taking out an envelope that she held out toward Sam. “I don’t have a lot of money, but I’ve got these. They were from my grandpa’s baseball card collection. I know they’re worth something, and I’ll give ‘em to you if you’ll try to find her for me.”

Sam glanced at the envelope but didn’t reach for it. “Heather, we’re not going to worry about money right now,” he said, and Indie chimed in with, “Of course we’re not. Sam will find her, you just count on it!”

Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, I was going to say that I’ll do my best to find her,” he said, “but I can’t guarantee anything. If the police are right, then she’ll probably call home sometime soon in any case, but the fact that she told you to come to me makes me think she might have gotten into something worse than that, so I’ll see what I can find out.”

“I told you,” Heather said, “you can’t trust the cops. Some of them are in on whatever it is she was worried about. She told me if I came to you, to make sure I told you not to trust the cops.”

Sam looked at Indie for a moment, then back to Heather. “Okay, I won’t,” he said. “You said your mom worked at a parts store?”

“Yeah, Rocky Mountain Auto Parts. She’s the assistant manager there. She used to be a nurse, but this pays better, she says. She’s been there for a little over three years, now.”

“Okay,” Sam said, making notes. “What about her friends? Who might know something about what she’s doing?”

Heather shrugged. “She doesn’t really have many friends. She mostly just hangs out at home or at church when she isn’t working. I think her best friend is probably Mrs. Raymond, the lady who lives next door to us, but they just sit around and talk sometimes is all. They don’t go out and do anything, and I don’t think Mom would ever tell her anything important. Mrs. Raymond is a big gossip, Mom says.”

“What’s your address, Heather?” The girl gave it to him, and he got the address for Mrs. Raymond as well, then added Heather’s cell number to his notes. “Okay, let me see what I can find out, and I’ll try to let you know something pretty soon. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of this, all right?”

The girl smiled for the first time. “Mom said you would,” she said. “She said if nobody else would help me, you would.” She suddenly bounced to her feet and ran around Sam’s desk to kiss his cheek, then smiled sheepishly at Indie as she hurried out the door. Indie watched as she climbed onto a bicycle and rode away, then looked back at Sam.

“So,” she said with a mock scowl on her face. “Your ex-fiancé is in trouble, and sends her kid to call you for help?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Indie, I haven’t heard anything from Tracy since the ‘Dear John’ letter that told me she was breaking up with me to marry the guy who knocked her up. She sent back my ring and that was it. I think the only time I even saw her since then was back when my ex dragged me to a rummage sale one Saturday, and she was there buying old dishes. She looked up at me, we said hi, and then she paid for her stuff and left.”

“I’m not jealous, Sam,” Indie said, letting a smile spread. “I’m just thinking how odd it is that Beauregard says you have to take the very next case, and it turns out to be your ex-girlfriend’s teenage daughter who comes to the office.” She leaned forward and put her elbows on his desk. “So, what do you really think about this one?”

“The thing that troubles me is that Tracy must have honestly thought she could be in danger. That’s the only reason I can think of to tell Heather to come to me if anything happened to her. That doesn’t sound to me like she was in some kind of romantic entanglement, does it to you?”

Indie shook her head. “No,” she said. “It sounds like someone who tried to help a friend and got into something over her head. You know what worries me?”

“What?”

“Beauregard said you have to save three lives. What if it’s Tracy, Marty and Heather’s lives we’re talking about? That kid is scared, Sam, scared for her mom, but I think she’s a bit scared of what’s gonna happen when you start asking questions, too.”

Sam sighed. “Well, I can start with Tracy’s co-workers,” he said. “She and Martin both worked there, so it’s possible one of them might have some idea of what was going on. I’ll head out there in a minute, and you might start digging into anything you can find on Martin Fletcher. There’s bound to be something in the PD files on him.”

Indie nodded. “I’ll put Herman to work on it now,” she said. Herman was a computer program she had written that could hack into most computer systems and databases, searching out information according to rules she entered into it. Before meeting Sam, Indie had been a rising star in the world of hackers, and she now used her talents to help him solve the incredibly difficult cases that seemed to always come his way. “With any luck, I can find his bank, phone and social media accounts, and those might give me some kind of clue about what kind of trouble he might have fallen into.”

Sam grinned at her. “Have I mentioned today that I love you?” he asked.

“Not nearly enough.”

2

Sam left the house a few minutes later, climbed into his Corvette and drove out to East Colfax Avenue, where Rocky Mountain Auto Parts was located. Sam had once been a regular customer of the store, back when he was working steadily on restoring the 'Vette, but that had been before Tracy would have worked there. The store specialized in performance and custom parts.

He parked in front of the building and got out of the car, his bad hip making him wince as he walked up to the door. A customer coming out held it open for him, and Sam offered his thanks as he stepped inside. A young man behind the counter looked up and smiled.

“Welcome to Rocky Mountain,” he said. “I’m Clayton, how can I help you today?”

Sam produced his ID and flashed it. “Sam Prichard,” he said. “I’m a private investigator. I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about Tracy Jensen’s disappearance.”

Clayton’s smile got even wider. “Mr. Prichard,” he said, “it’s an honor to meet you. I follow you on Twitter, man, you’re the best private eye since Mickey Spillane!” He extended a hand, and Sam shook it with a smile.

“Well, thanks,” he said. “Twitter? That must be something my wife does, I’m not all that into computers.”

“Well, she does it great! I love reading about your cases and how you solve them. That last one, with the Army dog who helped you catch the killer? That was awesome!”

Sam grinned, but made a mental note to speak to Indie about Twitter. “Thanks, I appreciate it. As I was saying, though, I’m looking into Ms. Jensen’s disappearance, and I was wondering if you can tell me anything that might help.”

Clayton toned down his smile a bit and leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “Way I got it, her and Marty Fletcher ran off together,” he said softly. “They were always huddling back in the racks, whispering to each other. I think they were having a fling, know what I mean?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that’s what the police think, too,” he said, “but I’m not so sure. Seems Marty may have gotten himself into some kind of trouble, and Tracy was trying to help him get out of it. Had you heard anything about that?”

Clayton frowned. “I didn’t,” he said, “but James might have.” He leaned back away from Sam and called out. “James? Can you come up here a minute?”

Another man stepped out from between the racks of parts and came toward them. “I’m James, the manager,” he said as he got close. “How can I help you, Sir?”

Sam showed his ID again. “Sam Prichard,” he said. “I’m looking into Tracy Jensen’s disappearance. Wondered if you might have any insight into what may have caused it.”

James glanced at Clayton, then motioned for Sam to follow him. “Come on back to my office,” he said. “Maybe we’d better talk there.”

Sam followed the man through the racks and into a small office that was barely big enough for the desk and two chairs it contained. James took the one behind the desk, and Sam sat in the other. The manager looked at him for a moment, then rose again and shut the door.

“Do you know Marty or Tracy?” he asked.

“I knew Tracy years ago,” Sam said without adding anything further. “I’ve never met Marty Fletcher, but I understand he was in some kind of trouble, and Tracy was trying to help him out of it. Would you know anything about that?”

James seemed to hesitate for a moment, then leaned a bit closer and spoke softly. “Way I got it, Marty was doing one of his YouTube videos, and ended up pissing off some powerful people. He actually claimed he was scared someone was gonna kill him, and I guess Tracy was trying to help him get it all straightened out.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “YouTube videos?”

James scowled. “Yeah, he was always making these videos, where he basically just runs his mouth about something, and I guess people like to hear what he’s got to say. Lately, it’s been stuff to do with politics a lot, and I told him more than once I better not find him talking up his crap to our customers. He was always going on and on about how the government is corrupt, or how the cops are dirty, that kind of stuff, and I didn’t need our store to be associated with it, right? I even told him he couldn’t make any more of them in our parking lot.”

“He was making videos here?” Sam asked.

James seemed to want to look elsewhere for a moment, but then turned his eyes back to Sam. “He made them in his van,” he said. “If you look at a lot of those video rants people do on YouTube, a lot of them are done in cars. I guess it makes ’em seem more real or something, from what Marty said. Anyway, he was making them in our parking lot and I made him stop.”

“And you think he got into some kind of trouble? Any idea what kind?”

“Not really,” James said. “Way I understood it, he must’ve said something that made people mad, but I can’t really imagine anyone would want to kill him over it, y’know? That sounds like pure paranoia to me.”

Sam nodded his understanding. “I can see how it would, yeah. Still, if he made the wrong people angry, I suppose it’s possible he could be looking at some kind of dire consequences. Any idea who it might have been?”

James shook his head. “Not a clue,” he said. “All I know is he was worried somebody might be after him, and he got Tracy mixed up in it. He disappeared about ten days before she did, but I got the impression she was hiding him out in some motel room and taking food to him after work every day. Then she didn’t show up for work day before yesterday, and the cops showed up that afternoon asking about her and Marty. They seem to think the two of ’em were havin’ a fling and ran off together, but I can’t help wondering if maybe something bad really has happened to the pair of them.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “If Marty was making political videos and actually aiming them at particular politicians or cops, I can see how he might be worried about repercussions. But afraid of getting killed? Did he have something on someone, something that proved some kind of corruption?”

“Not a clue,” James said. “I never paid a lot of attention to his rants, and I didn’t let him talk that crap around here at all. Tracy tried to tell me what was going on a few days ago, but to be honest, I didn’t want to hear it and I shut her down. It was bad enough trying to deal with our customers who followed him; they were always coming in and asking him about his latest video. I made him tell all of them he wasn’t allowed to talk about it here, but I’m sure he did whenever I wasn’t around.”

“So, he made somebody mad, and then he disappeared,” Sam said. “You haven’t heard anything from him since then?”

James shook his head. “Not since he just didn’t show up for work. That was just about two weeks ago, maybe a little less, and the funny thing was there was a couple of cops here asking about him that morning just when he should have been coming in. He never showed up, though, so they left. All I got after that was Tracy saying he was hiding and wouldn’t be back 'til it all got straightened out.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he simply smiled. “Well, listen,” he said. “I really appreciate this. I may need to come back and ask some more questions later, would that be okay?”

“Sure. Anytime.”

Sam left the store and got back into his car, pulling his phone from his pocket as he drove out of the parking lot. He dialed Indie’s cell number as he drove sedately up the street.

“Hey, Babe,” he said when she answered. “Looks like Marty was one of those guys who do videos that go viral, always complaining about the government and such. The way his boss understood it, he got some local politicians or cops mad at him, and even said he was afraid someone was out to kill him. Somehow or other, Tracy was trying to help him get out of whatever mess he was into, and might have been hiding him at a motel.”

“Well, that would account for the security video,” Indie said. “I let Herman go into the city’s database and find everything he could on both Marty and Tracy, so I’ve got all their cell numbers, credit card numbers and such. Marty’s phone went inactive about a week ago, but Tracy was calling him two or three times a day, usually around the same time each day. I took a look at her calls after that, and found another number she was calling around the same times.”

“Probably a throwaway phone,” Sam said. “She bought him one of those cheap ones and most likely tossed his usual one out on the highway somewhere.”

“Yeah, exactly what I figured. Unfortunately, I have no idea who the carrier is—it’s one of those that piggybacks on other carriers—so I can’t get into any of its records. All I know is that Tracy called it four times the night she disappeared, each call lasting only a few seconds, like she got voicemail. They were also very close together, like only five minutes or so apart. Sort of looks like they might have been frantic calls.”

“What about since then? Is Tracy’s phone still active?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Indie replied. “It hasn’t made any calls since the last of those four calls to the disposable. I tried getting a GPS trace on it, but it’s not even showing up anywhere.”

“Gotcha. Have you got hold of any recent pictures of Marty and Tracy?”

“Yep, got them from the PD file, and a few more from social media.”

“Send me whatever you think are the best ones,” Sam said. “I’m going to check some of the motels that are easiest to hide out in and see if I can find anyone who remembers either of them.”

“Okay, Babe. I’ll see what else I can find out.”

“Try to find out all you can on these videos he does, okay? Especially the most recent ones, from the past three or four weeks. Marty disappeared almost two weeks ago, so I’m guessing he probably got into this trouble not long before that. If we can see what he was talking about, it might give us a better idea of what was going on.”

“You got it,” Indie said. “Love you!” The line went dead.

3

Sam went to more than a dozen motels scattered throughout the metro area, but didn’t hit any pay dirt. He left the last one feeling frustrated and realized that it was getting close to lunchtime, so he headed for the house. Indie was just starting to make a lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches for herself, her mother and Kenzie, so she added another sandwich for Sam. He sat in the kitchen with her and told her what little he had learned.

“I wish you’d had better luck,” Indie said. “Now, as for me and Herman, we did a little better, I think. I tracked down Marty’s videos, and he does seem to have a lot to say.” She picked up a tablet from the counter and handed it to Sam. “Just hit play,” she said. “That’s his last two videos.”

Sam tapped the screen to wake up the tablet and saw that it was already on a YouTube app. There were two videos linked on the display, and he tapped the play icon on the first one.

Marty’s face appeared, sitting behind the steering wheel of his van. His voice began to come though the speakers as the video finished buffering.

“Hey, it’s Marty Fletcher again, and this time I’m gonna give you guys something I know is gonna get your dander up!” The last two words were said in a somewhat comical scream, and Sam’s eyes went a bit wide. “I’m talking about the terrible drug problems in our streets, and how it never seems to get any better. Come on, you all know what I’m saying is true, right? You hear about all the big drug deals and busts, and it’s a safe bet that pretty much everyone knows somebody who’s been affected by what drugs can do to a person’s life, right? So, how come, even though the USA has locked up more of its citizens than any other country on earth, and even though we have more cops and federal agents than any other country, the problem never seems to get smaller? If anything, it just gets bigger and bigger, year after year, and yet nobody wants to talk about why that is!”

A sudden camera cut made Marty’s face jump closer to the camera, and his voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Well, I’m gonna tell you! This is one of the biggest secrets our government has, and I’m probably gonna make somebody mad, but it’s got to come out. Are you ready?”

The scene jumped again, and Marty was back in his original position behind the wheel. “Here it is,” he said. “It all goes back to prohibition, when it was against the law to make or sell alcohol in most of the country. The Department of Revenue, those federal agents that old movies refer to as ‘revenooers,’ were tasked with the job of finding out who was making or selling booze, and taking them to jail. But then, in 1933, prohibition was repealed, and all those revenooers were about to be out of a job. Congress couldn’t have that black mark on their record, so they began enacting laws relating to the possession, use and sale of drugs, and all those federal agents began working on those laws. Sounds good so far, right?”

The scene jumped again, with Marty now sitting in the passenger seat. “Wrong!” he screamed. “What happened next was the realization that drugs meant lots and lots of money flowing through the country, and so the government began confiscating that money every time they made a bust! Millions and millions of dollars were confiscated every year, and a lot of that money never got accounted for. Instead, it went to the local offices of the agencies that confiscated it and was distributed to the agents as bonuses for doing the jobs they were supposed to be doing anyway!”

Back to the driver’s seat. “So, why does the drug problem seem to keep going and going and going like that famous pink rabbit with the bass drum? That’s simple! It’s because there is just too much money involved, and since a lot of the people whose job it is to end the problem are actually benefiting financially from it, they’re not about to work hard enough to kill their own personal golden goose!”

The video went on for several minutes, each scene cutting to a different view of Marty, until he ended it standing in front of the van and looking into the camera through the windshield. When Sam finally reached the end he looked up at Indie and shook his head. “He’s a conspiracy nut,” he said.

Indie nodded, then pointed at the tablet. “Watch the next one,” she said.

Sam touched the play icon and the video began with a short commercial, then Marty’s face appeared once again. This time, though, he was talking softly and his face appeared worried and frightened.

“Marty Fletcher here,” he said, “and this may well be the last video I make. If you’ve been following me for any time at all, you know I don’t pull any punches, but this time I’ve come up against something so bad I don’t know how to handle it. When I get it figured out, gang, I promise you the most explosive video you’ve ever seen, and it’s going to expose something so terrible that it may even lead to a federal investigation of the Denver Police! I can’t say what it is just yet, but I will soon, so just keep watching this space, okay?” He started to reach toward the camera and then froze. “But if anything bad happens to me, then I’m sorry. I just can’t post this up until I know how to handle certain aspects of it.”

He reached up and apparently turned off the camera at that point, and Sam looked up at Indie.

“What in the world?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “That was his last upload from two weeks ago, and it’s already gotten more than two hundred thousand views. The comments are filled with people demanding he post another one and reveal whatever he’s learned, but there’s been no response from him at all.”

“Okay,” Sam said after thinking for a moment. “I’m just not sure what to do, other than keep checking motels. I don’t suppose you found anything on which motel the security footage came from, did you?”

“No, and that was kind of odd,” Indie said. “There was mention that they had some footage showing Tracy and Marty going into motel rooms together going back several weeks, but none of the motels involved were named. Seems strange to me they’d be able to find so much in such a short time, unless maybe they were watching one or both of them before she disappeared?”

“Several weeks? What about the phone records? Have they been calling each other a lot?”

Indie shook her head. “Not until about two weeks ago. I scanned both of them, and there were occasional calls from Tracy’s phone to Marty’s, but none from his to hers. All of those were made during business hours, too, rather than in the evenings. Most people having affairs would have calls or text messages going both ways, wouldn’t you think?”

“Good point. What about texts? Can you track those?”

“Yes, and while both of them text a lot, they never texted each other. That’s another thing that seems off about the whole notion of them having an affair.”

Sam nodded, and then the sandwiches were ready, so they tabled the conversation and called Kim and Kenzie in to eat. Sam got to hear about Kenzie’s morning, with Kim spending time in the backyard playing with her granddaughter and the cat.

When lunch was over, Sam headed out again to keep checking motels. Indie had told him that Marty Fletcher drove a customized green Ford van, so Sam kept his eyes peeled for one like it as he drove from one motel to another throughout the afternoon, but once again he was having no luck.

Sam’s phone rang at just before three, and he glanced at the screen to see that the call was from a blocked number. “Prichard,” he said.

A gruff voice came on the line. “You the private dick who’s looking for Marty Fletcher and his girlfriend?”

Sam’s eyes grew wide. “I’m trying to locate Tracy Jensen,” he said. “Who is this?”

“Well, this is Marty Fletcher, and we don’t want to be found,” the voice said. “We’d appreciate it if you’d just leave us alone.”

Sam scowled. “Really? I’d like to hear that from Tracy, then.”

“She don’t want to talk to you,” the voice said. “She don’t like to talk to nobody she don’t know. She just wants you to leave us alone, okay?”

Sam whipped the Corvette to the curb and stopped. “Okay, listen, I just heard Marty’s voice on a video, and you aren’t him. And Tracy knows me quite well; we were engaged once, years ago, so if you’re really with her, put her on the phone—”

The line went dead, and Sam growled in frustration. If he had needed anything to convince him Tracy really was in trouble, this ridiculous attempt to make him back off had done it. He sat there and thought for a moment, then called the Denver PD again.

“Jerry Lemmons, please,” he said to the desk sergeant.

“Detective Lemmons.”

“Jerry, it’s Sam Prichard again. I know you said you don’t think there’s anything to the missing persons case, but I’m beginning to think differently. I’ve been looking into it, and someone just called me claiming to be Marty Fletcher and telling me to back off.”

“Well?” Lemmons said. “Maybe the happy couple just wants to be left alone.”

“Come on, Jerry,” Sam said with a growl. “I saw some of Fletcher’s videos, and the voice on the phone didn’t even sound a bit like him. He also told me Tracy wouldn’t talk to me because she didn’t know me, which tells me he doesn’t know Tracy at all. If he did, he’d know that she’s my ex-fiancé.”

“Your ex-fiancé?” Lemmons asked. “Maybe she just never told him about you, you think of that?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Jerry,” he said. “Assume Tracy ran off with this guy, and then somebody tells them that a private investigator named Sam Prichard is looking into her disappearance. Can you honestly tell me it wouldn’t cross her mind to say, oh, crap, I know who that is? If nothing else, they would use that little detail to convince me the call was legitimate.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. We’re dead certain the two of them ran off together. Maybe they got someone else to call you, and forgot to mention that little detail. Why don’t you just let us handle this, okay? If you’re just working for the kid, you’re probably not getting paid anyway. Now, I’m sorry if I seem a little brusque, but I got a lot of work to do. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Sam was holding a phone that was dead. He scowled at it for a couple of seconds, then shoved it back into his pocket.

Three lives to save, Sam thought. Sure would be nice if I had some idea who they are!

4

The rest of the day was the same. Sam checked more than three-dozen motels that were commonly frequented by people who might not want to be noticed, but none of the desk clerks showed any sign of recognition when he handed them photos of Tracy or Marty. He finally gave it up at five and headed for home.

Kenzie was waiting at the door for him, the way she always was when she heard the loud pipes of the Corvette pulling into the driveway. “Daddy!”

Sam scooped her up into his arms for a hug, and then noticed both of her grandmothers sitting on the couch. They had Kenzie’s entire assortment of Barbie dolls spread out between them, and his mother held one up and smiled. “Oh, look,” she said in a voice that was pitched two octaves higher than her own, “Kenzie’s daddy is home. Yay!”

“Yay,” said Kim, holding up the Ken doll. “I was feeling all alone as the only boy in a house full of girls.”

Sam couldn’t help snickering. “It’s great to be welcomed,” he said.

Indie came out of the kitchen with a smile. “Hey, you’re home,” she said. “Any luck?”

Sam put Kenzie down and followed his wife back into the kitchen. As soon as they were alone, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her quickly. “Nothing good,” he said. “I did have one interesting moment, though. Some jackass called me up and claimed to be Marty Fletcher, then told me that he and Tracy were happy together and wanted me to back off. The only problem was that it wasn’t Marty’s voice, and this idiot wasn’t aware that Tracy and I ever knew each other.”

Indy’s eyebrows shot up as she looked up at him. “Okay, that’s weird,” she said. “Did you get the number?”

Sam shook his head. “No, the caller ID was blocked. No idea who it could have been, but it definitely set off some alarm bells for me. I called Jerry Lemmons back and told him about it, thought maybe he’d agree that it sounded odd, but he says they’re absolutely certain that Marty and Tracy are simply having an affair and have run off together.”

Indy scrunched up her face. “Sam, that almost sounds like he knows something he’s not telling,” she said. “Can you think of any reason the police would be covering this up?”

“None that would make any sense. Just seems odd that somebody would try to throw me off the case, you know?”

Indy nodded. “Yeah. It makes Heather’s insistence that her mom wouldn’t run off willingly a lot more believable.”

“It does more than that,” Sam said. “It convinces me that Tracy must actually be in some kind of danger. There is something going on behind her disappearance, and it’s something that somebody wants to keep secret. Maybe good old Marty really did stumble onto something big.”

“So, where do you go from here? What’s the next step?” Indie asked.

Sam shook his head as he sank into a chair at the table. “I’m not sure,” he said. “What kind of magic can you work with that throwaway phone we think is Marty’s? Isn’t there some way you can figure out where it’s at?”

“I could if I could get into the account behind it, but it’s one of those cheap phones that just piggybacks on a major carrier. The carrier can’t give me any information about whose account it is, so that means I can’t get any of its electronic identification numbers. Without those, I can’t get a GPS ping on it.”

“What if I call the number? Can you get anything on it if I get it on the line?”

Indy shook her head. “That doesn’t really help. If it was actually on a major carrier, then I could identify the phone and trace its location, but the number it uses isn’t really assigned to that particular device. It’s like using a forwarding number—the carrier gives it a number to use, but then it’s bounced through a switcher for whatever company sold it. Their equipment sends the call to that phone, but it’s not sophisticated enough that I can follow it down to the device. That make sense?”

Sam grinned at her. “No, but I’m usually in the dark when you try to explain the technical stuff. I just hold onto my faith that you know what you’re talking about and leave it at that.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes and then looked back up at her. “Still, if I can get Marty on the phone, maybe I can get him to tell me what’s going on. You got that number?”

Indy picked up the tablet that was lying beside Sam on the table and poked at its screen for a moment. “Here it is,” she said as she handed it to him.

Sam took his phone out of his pocket and punched the number into its dial pad. It rang three times, and then Marty’s voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Marty? My name is Sam Prichard, I’m an old friend of Tracy’s.”

“You’re the private eye, right? She mentioned you once.”

“Right, that’s right. I’ve been hired to try to locate Tracy, and I’m hoping you might be able to give me some idea where she is.”

“Aw, crap,” Marty said. “I was hoping she told you to call and tell me it was safe to come home. No, I’m sorry, I have no idea where she could be. I haven’t heard from her in days, but the last time I talked to her she said something about asking you for help.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “When was that, Marty?”

“Would’ve been about three, maybe four days ago. She called and told me things were getting hot, and that she knew you and thought maybe you could help. She told me to stay out of sight and wait for her to call me again. I figured she must’ve given you this number, because as far as I know, she’s the only one who had it.”

“Actually, my wife is a computer whiz and she got it out of Tracy’s phone records. Marty, are you aware that the police are claiming you and she ran off together?”

“Yeah, bullshit,” Marty said. “They damn well know better than that. If Tracy’s actually missing, you can bet your ass they know where she is, at least some of ’em.”

“You think the police have something to do with her disappearance?”

“Hell, yeah,” Marty said. “That’s what this whole thing is about, man, dirty cops! I found out something so bad they want me dead, and all Tracy was doing was trying to help me stay alive, y’know?”

A chill ran down Sam’s spine. “Marty, what is it you know? Is it serious enough that Tracy might be in real danger?”

“Geez, man, we’re all in danger! All I can tell you is we got some of the worst cops in the world, and you can’t trust any of them!”

Sam thought for a moment. “Marty, I want to help you, and I want to find Tracy. Is there a place you and I can meet, to talk?”

Marty laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Sorry, man, but I don’t know for sure that you really are who you say you are. I’m not telling anybody where I’m at, you dig?”

“Yeah, I can understand,” Sam said, “but I don’t know how to help you. If you got something going on about corrupt cops, I can promise you I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe and get them off your back. How about this? You pick a spot, anywhere you like, maybe someplace where you can watch from a distance and see that I really show up alone. I’ll be driving a Corvette, it’s easy to spot.”

“No way, man, not gonna happen. I’m not meeting anybody right now. With Tracy gone, I have to figure I’m completely alone, I’m not sticking my neck out where it can get chopped off.”

The phone went dead and Sam let out a sigh of frustration. “He’s not talking, so I’m back to square one.”

“Okay,” Indie said, “so what is square two?”

“Square number two is where I put this whole mess on the back burner until tomorrow morning, and just spend this evening with my family.”

* * * * *

The following morning saw Sam checking more motels. He was getting discouraged after visiting so many, but since he had no other leads he kept going.

Sam pulled in at the Sunset Motel at a few minutes after ten and walked into its office. A young man of what looked to Sam to be Middle Eastern appearance smiled and spoke to him with no sign of an accent.

“Hi, there, need a room?”

Sam grinned and held out his ID. “No, thank you,” he said. “My name is Sam Prichard, and I’m a private investigator.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sir,” the clerk said, holding out a hand to shake. “I’m Pete Patel.”

Sam grinned and shook his hand. “Same here, Pete. Is that your real name?”

Pete put on a mock look of surprise. “Why, Sir, are you implying I don’t look American enough to be named Pete?” He broke into a big smile and chuckled. “Actually, it really is my name. My parents came over here from India shortly before I was born, and I was named Peter after the man who sponsored them for citizenship.”

Sam bowed his head slightly as an apology for his unintended stereotyping. “Pete, I’m looking for a woman who’s gone missing, and I’ve heard she might have been seen at a motel around here last week.” He took out his phone and called up the pictures Indie had sent him. He chose the photo of Tracy first, and held the phone out for the clerk to see. “Have you seen this woman coming and going?”

Pete looked at the photo for only a second, then smiled. “Yeah, that’s her,” he said. “She rented a room for her brother, or at least that’s what she said. He had a green van that he kept hidden in the alley behind the motel.” The smile became a conspiratorial grin. “I thought it was kind of strange the way she kept showing up and sneaking food into the room, and then there’s the fact that her so-called brother never even stepped outside. The police have already been here asking about them, they even took our security tapes.”

Sam nodded. “That figures. And you were right to think it was odd, since that wasn’t her brother. I need to ask, though, is there anything else you might have noticed, something you might not have thought to tell the police? I’m trying to find this woman for her daughter. The police seem to think these two ran off together, but her daughter doesn’t believe that.”

The clerk looked into Sam’s eyes for a moment, then leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. “There was one thing,” he said. “There was this one guy who came with her the day before the brother left. I was down in the room next door at the time, had to replace the ball valve in the toilet, and it sounded like they were all arguing. That made me curious, so I peeked out the window as she and the other man were leaving, and it looked to me like she was kinda scared of him. I didn’t get a good look at the guy until they were getting into his car, but then I knew I’d seen him before so I started trying to remember where. It didn’t hit me until later, but he’s a cop.” He turned and picked up a newspaper that was lying on the desk behind the counter and spun it around so Sam could see a photograph. The picture was attached to a very small story reporting Tracy’s disappearance, and repeating the police theory that she had simply run away with a boyfriend. “That’s the guy, right there.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. The picture was a photograph of Detective Jerry Lemmons.

“This is the man who came with the woman and argued with the guy in the room?”

Pete nodded gravely. “That’s him,” he said. “Paper says he’s the detective in charge of the case, and I thought that was a little weird. He didn’t come by here himself to talk to me, he sent a couple of regular cops in uniform.”

Sam looked into the young man’s eyes for several seconds. “And you didn’t mention to those officers that you had seen this detective with her?”

“No, Sir,” Pete said. “When they started asking questions like nobody knew anything about it, I got the funny feeling it might not be a good idea to admit I had seen that detective. He seemed pretty ticked off when he was here with that lady, and I didn’t think I wanted him to get mad at me, if you know what I mean.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I think that might’ve been a pretty smart decision on your part. I appreciate you telling me, and I promise you it’ll stay between us.”

Sam left the motel with more questions than he’d had when he arrived. Jerry Lemmons, a detective he’d known on the force for several years, could possibly be involved in Marty and Tracy’s disappearance. Sam thought back to Heather’s statement, saying that her mom had told her to come to Sam and tell him the police were involved and should not be trusted.

The problem was that Sam Prichard hated the thought of a crooked cop and would prefer to never have to deal with such a case, but he was also far too honest and stubborn to back down once it was dropped into his lap. If he became convinced Jerry Lemmons really was somehow involved in something criminal, Sam would do everything in his power to prove it and bring him to justice.

5

It was almost noon by the time he got back to his house and told Indie what he’d learned.

“How well do you know Lemmons?” Indie asked. “Would you have expected him to be involved in anything illegal?”

“We worked together in Vice a few times,” Sam said, “but I can’t say we were ever close. Would I expect this of him? I don’t think I would expect it of any cop, but I’m also a realist and I know that it happens.”

“I just wonder why Tracy would have taken him to see Marty,” Indie said. “And then, of course, you have to wonder what the argument was about.”

“And why Pete thought she looked scared when they were leaving. I can simply call him up and ask him, but somehow I suspect he’ll deny it, and then I’ve got the problem of betraying Pete’s confidence. I promised I wouldn’t let on that he told me about it.”

“Right. So how do you plan to find out?”

Sam grinned. “Actually, I’m going to call on our old pal Herman and ask him to start digging into Jerry a little bit. Think he might be able to do that?”

Indie gave him a grin of her own. “I think I can talk him into it,” she said. “But before we get to that, I’ve got some good news for you. Remember I told you I wouldn’t be able to track down that phone Marty is using? Well, after you left this morning I started Herman scanning through every cheap phone provider, looking for that number.”

“And he found something?” Sam asked, his eyebrows high.

“Yep. He got me the electronic serial number of the phone, which allowed me to ping its GPS location. That phone is sitting in Buckley Park in Montrose, over on the western side of the state.”

“Montrose,” Sam mused. “I know where that is. I’ll let you dig into Jerry, and I’ll head out to Montrose after lunch. If Marty is there, I intend to find him and get him to tell me exactly what’s going on, and maybe that will help me figure out what happened to Tracy.” He rubbed his eyes for a second. “If everything goes well, we might be able to clear this up pretty quick.”

Indie looked at him for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “As soon as we eat, I’ll go pack your overnight bag. If you’re gonna go that far, you might need to stay overnight somewhere.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, that thought occurred to me, too. You can check once in a while and see if that phone is moving, so maybe I can get right to it as soon as I get there. With any luck, I’ll find Marty early enough that I can come back home tonight, but you never know.”

Indie heated up a frozen pizza, and Sam joined his family at the table. Indie mentioned to Kenzie that Sam might need to be gone overnight, but the little girl was too excited to make a fuss. Both of her grandmothers were coming back over to play with her that afternoon, and she was busy planning Barbie’s next adventure.

When lunch was finished, Indie shoved their plates into the dishwasher and Sam followed her to the bedroom. It only took a few minutes for her to put together his overnight bag, and then he took advantage of the bedroom door to get a few minutes of privacy with his wife. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and gave her a kiss that lasted more than a minute.

“That’s just cruel,” she said, after she caught her breath. “You kiss me like that just before you’re leaving, all it does is leave me frustrated. If this guy Marty gives you any static when you get there, you tell him I’m going to beat his brains in for making you stay gone all night.”

Sam grinned and kissed her again. “I’ll be sure to tell him that,” he said. He stole one more quick kiss, then picked up his bag and went out to tell their daughter goodbye.

This time, Kenzie paid more attention. She ran to him and let him catch her up in a big hug, then kissed his cheek and made him promise to come home as soon as he could. “And, Daddy?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Don’t get shot again, okay?” The look in her eyes told her that she was genuinely worried for him, and almost brought tears to his own.

“I promise to do my best,” he said. “Is that okay?”

Kenzie sighed. “I guess it’ll have to do,” she said, bringing grins to all three of the adult faces. Sam hugged her once more and put her down, then kissed Indie one more time before stepping out the door and climbing back into the Corvette.

The fastest route from Denver to Montrose was to take I-70 to Grand Junction, then head south on US 50. The trip would normally take almost five hours, but he ran into construction on the interstate just after passing Glenwood Springs, and it added another forty minutes.

Sam enjoyed driving, especially in the Corvette. He had plugged in a series of his favorite CDs; the music kept him alert and focused on the road. Occasionally, in between CDs, he would call home and talk to his wife and daughter for a few moments, but Sam preferred keeping his mind on the road.

By the time he pulled into Montrose, it was almost six thirty in the evening. He took out his phone and called Indie one more time as he passed the city limits sign.

“Any movement on the phone?”

“Just a moment,” Indie said, “let me double check. No, right at the moment it’s still showing up in Buckley Park, on Nevada Avenue.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Does seem kind of strange that it hasn’t moved at all, though. If Marty is hiding out here, you’d think he’d be going to one of these restaurants to eat now and then, right?”

“Yeah, but maybe he leaves the phone in his van. If Montrose is like a lot of the small towns around Colorado, you can camp in the parks. Maybe he keeps the phone plugged in to keep the battery up.”

Sam grinned into the phone. “That’s one of the things I love about you,” he said. “You always tend to look on the brighter side of things. Me, I wonder if the fact the phone isn’t moving around might indicate that Marty isn’t capable of it. Hang on a second, I see a sign for the park. Let me take a look real quick while I’ve got you on the phone.”

Sam turned onto North Fourth Street and followed it two blocks up to the park. There were several vehicles scattered around the area, and it took him only a moment to spot the green and silver Ford van.

“Indie, I think I see his van. I’m gonna park a little ways off and try to stroll up there quietly without being seen. I’ll call you back when I know something.”

“You’d better,” Indie said. “Good luck, Babe.” She hung up without another word and Sam slipped his phone into his pocket as he parked the Corvette alongside the park on the street.

He stepped out of the car and felt his hip twinge, so he reached back inside to grab his cane. He usually didn’t need it much anymore, but sitting for so long in the bucket seat was enough to cause the hip to hurt when he started to put his weight on it. He leaned lightly on the cane, just enough to take a little pressure off the once badly damaged joint.

He had parked about fifty yards from the van, leaving the Corvette out of sight from anyone who might be inside it. He strolled along leisurely, as if he was merely enjoying the afternoon, meandering along the way so that it would not be obvious that he was trying to get a look through the windshield. He passed about 10 feet in front of the van and quickly turned his head toward it as he did so.

The interior was dark and Sam couldn’t tell if anyone was inside the van or not, so he continued walking for another moment. He stopped and leaned against a tree, then slowly turned himself around so that he could see the van again.

It rocked just a bit as he was watching it, but its darkened windows made it impossible to see any motion inside. Still, someone was moving around inside there, probably trying to keep an eye on him. He pushed off from the tree and started walking directly toward the vehicle.

It rocked again as the occupant moved to watch him through another window, so Sam stepped up his pace. 15 seconds later he was standing just beside the driver’s door, and he knocked softly on the window.

“Martin Fletcher?” he asked. “I’m Sam Prichard, we talked on the phone a while ago.”

There was silence from inside the van for half a minute, and then it moved again as a man inside climbed up into the driver’s seat. It took Sam a moment to realize that it was Marty, because his normally black hair had been dyed blonde and he was sporting a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He looked at Sam for a couple of seconds, then the window rolled down about three inches.

“You’re the private detective?” Marty asked.

“I am,” he said as he flashed his ID. “And I’m in no mood to play games. Let me in so we can talk privately.”

Marty looked at him for another moment, then pointed toward the passenger side. “Okay,” he said. “Climb in. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Sam nodded, then walked around the front of the van and reached for the passenger door. There was a click, and then the lock button popped up. Sam opened the door and climbed up inside, shutting it behind him.

“How did you find me?” Marty asked. “I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”

“It was actually pretty easy,” Sam replied. “We got into Tracy’s cell phone records and realized that when she stopped calling your phone every day, she started calling another one. Once we had that number, it was just a matter of time before we were able to get your GPS location. Now tell me, do you have any idea where Tracy might be? Her daughter is pretty worried about her.”

Marty frowned and shook his head. “Ain’t got a clue,” he said. “She told me to come out here while she tried to work some kind of magic, but I haven’t heard from her in a couple of days now. The last time she called me was two, no, three days ago. She said she was thinking about trying to get hold of you, and seeing if you could get it all fixed so I could come home, but not to leave where I was at until I heard from her. When you called earlier, I was hoping she was having you call to tell me everything’s okay.”

“I’m afraid not,” Sam said. “She didn’t come home from work the day you last talked to her, but the police seem to think you and she ran off together.”

Marty snorted, a derisive laugh. “Like heck they do,” he said. “Tracy brought this cop out to see me last week, a detective named Lemmons. I guarantee you, he knows exactly what’s going on. If Tracy is missing, I’d bet money he knows where she is.”

“I know Detective Lemmons,” Sam said. “He’s actually the one in charge of the non-existent investigation into Tracy’s whereabouts, and he’s the one who insists that you two were having an affair and ran off together. Care to enlighten me about why he would say that?”

“Because he’s scared,” Marty said. “He knows what this is all about, and it scares the crap out of him.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And just exactly what is it all about? What’s going on that would scare a police detective?”

Marty looked at him for a moment, then turned his attention to the steering wheel, where his fingers were picking at the horn button. He was silent for a few seconds, then turned back to Sam.

“Look, I know Tracy said we could trust you, but we’re talking about my life, here. I’m not sure how much I really want to tell you at this point, can you dig it? You may be the stand-up guy she thinks you are, but money and threats can make people do some pretty weird stuff.”

Sam shook his head in confusion. “Money and threats? Where does that come in?”

Marty gave him a sarcastic grin. “Let’s just say certain people are probably willing to pay a lot, or do just about anything, to get their hands on something I’ve got. That would include killing me and anyone else who knows too much about it.”

Sam leaned against the passenger door. “Marty, I’m here to try to help you, because right now you’re the only lead I’ve got on finding Tracy. The trouble is, I can’t help either of you if you keep stalling me. Just what is it you’ve got hidden away, and why is it so important?”

Marty stared at him for several seconds before he answered. “Okay, fine,” he said, “but just remember I warned you, this isn’t something you even want to get involved in. And if you’re thinking about trying to collect some reward, you can forget it right now. They might promise to pay a lot, but all you’d end up getting is a bullet in the head. They can’t take a chance you might talk about it afterward.”

“I’m not interested in any reward,” Sam said. “If Tracy told you anything at all about me, then you probably know she was once very important to me. I’m here for her, not for any money. Whatever you tell me will stay between us for as long as it needs to. I’m just hoping it’ll give me some kind of lead on how to find Tracy and keep her safe.”

“I think she’s safe enough at the moment. They won’t risk hurting her as long as they don’t have it, and she doesn’t know where it is.” He stared another moment and then sighed. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s a video recording,” he said. “And what makes it so valuable is that it shows five cops, including your pal Lemmons, murdering three kids.”

6

Sam’s eyes were about to fly out of his head. “Murdering kids?” he asked incredulously.

Marty shrugged. “Two boys and a girl, not one of them over sixteen. And now you’re gonna tell me there’s no way you believe it, right?”

Sam got his eyes back under control and stared at the other man. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I’m not going to say that outright, because I know how bad people can be. What I am going to say is that I’d certainly like to get a look at that video, but more important than that, I want to know how and why it happened. Can you tell me that?”

“I can tell you the how pretty easily, since I saw it all on the video,” Marty replied. “They beat the boys to death with their bare hands, but the girl was strangled. She was screaming, so one of them just wrapped his arm around her throat and started squeezing until she went limp, but then he just stood there and held on for another couple of minutes, staring at the others and what they were doing to those boys. A cop held one of the boys while Lemmons pounded on his face 'til there was almost nothing left, and the other boy got the same treatment, with one holding him while the other one beat on him.” He swallowed, and Sam could see the disgust in his face. “As for the why, I think it was just for the thrill of it. One of the boys got mouthy with a couple of the cops, and Lemmons punched him. He said they were gonna learn a lesson, but when they realized the girl was dead, they started to freak. Lemmons said they couldn’t let anyone find out what happened, so the cops choked the boys until they were dead, too.”

Sam shook his head in shock. “Good Lord,” he said. “What on earth started it all?”

“The kids were caught somewhere they shouldn’t have been, by two uniform cops. At first it just looked like they were gonna get chewed out and sent on their way, but then one boy started running his mouth, saying the cops didn’t have any right to tell him what to do, and how all cops ought to be shot, and one of them hit him in the face. The other boy tried to fight, jumping on the cop that punched his friend, so the other cop called for backup and grabbed that one and the girl, then they just stayed there until another squad car and that asshole Lemmons showed up. They asked the kids what was going on and one of them said the cops just attacked them for no reason, but then Lemmons started slapping that boy around. One of the first pair of cops was holding onto that kid, and the new ones started on the second boy while the other one was holding the girl. That was when the girl started to scream and it all went crazy. Lemmons said to shut her up, and next thing they knew, she was dead. After that, it looked like they all just decided the boys had to die to cover their own asses.”

Sam was staring at him. “How long ago did this happen? I haven’t heard anything about dead teenagers lately...”

“What about missing teenagers? On the video, you can see them loading the kids’ bodies into the trunk of one of the cars, and then they all drove away together. My guess is they took ’em somewhere they won’t be found any time soon, wouldn’t you think?””

Sam thought about it for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Couple of weeks ago, right? There was a story on the news about a teenage girl going missing, and her family thought she might have run off with a couple of boys she’d been hanging out with. News reports said the boys were missing, too, but they’d been known to disappear from time to time so no one was really worried about them. If the girl hadn’t been known as a pretty good kid from a money family, it probably would have gone unnoticed for a while.”

“I’d say that was probably them,” Marty said softly. “Timing’s about right.”

Sam looked at him. “And how is it that you have a video of all this?”

“I didn’t know I did until the next day,” Marty sighed. “I keep a camera in my van for these videos I do, a video blog thing. That evening, I made a new one down on Vine Street, in a parking lot, and then a buddy of mine called me and wanted me to go have a few beers with him, so I locked up the van right there and he came and picked me up.” He shrugged. “Thing is, I forgot to shut off the camera. It was pointed out the windshield from when I’d made my last vid, and I just didn’t notice the little light was still flashing, so I just forgot about it, right? When I got back to it about three that morning, I went home and took it in so I could download the video into my computer and edit it. That went fine and I uploaded it to YouTube, then went to bed. The next day, I noticed I still had several hours of video left in the download, and I don’t even know why, but I scanned through it at high speed, and that’s when I saw cops. I slowed it down and watched, and then I pretty much crapped myself. That’s a top-quality camera with a terabyte of storage and a super-sensitive microphone, and it caught the whole thing, audio and all. I trimmed out all the dead time, uploaded it to a private server nobody even knows I’ve got, then started wondering what the heck to do about it.”

He fell silent, so Sam asked, “And what did you decide?”

Marty shrugged again. “I didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t go to the cops, right? Everyone knows they cover for each other, so that would only get me killed. Couldn’t just broadcast it on YouTube, it would get shut down within minutes and no one would ever believe anyone who said they saw it. I thought about emailing a link to the news people on TV, but I don’t trust them anymore than I trust cops, so that was out. I’ve been trying to figure out how to use it to make those suckers pay for what they did, but I just don’t have any ideas that won’t get me killed.”

“I can help with that,” Sam said. “I can get it to the people who’ll prosecute the officers involved, trust me. The question for this moment, though, is where is Tracy? How did she get involved in all this?”

Marty grinned sadly. “Tracy’s a great gal,” he said. “We work together, y’know, and she cornered me in the racks a day or so after all that and said she could tell something was eating at me. I tried to brush it off, but she wouldn’t let me, so that evening after work, we went out for a bite to eat and I ended up spilling it all.” He sighed and the grin faded away. “She was shocked at first, of course, couldn’t believe I was telling the truth, so I used my phone to show her the part where they realized the girl was dead and she freaked. When she calmed down, she started talking about how the girl didn’t look any older than her daughter, and said she wanted to help me out. She even mentioned trying to get you to help us, but I was so scared I didn’t want to trust anyone, so she tried to talk me into letting her take it to the news or some such, but that scared me, too. We decided to just think about it for a couple days, and then I got a message on YouTube that said someone saw my van in that parking lot that night, and wanted to talk to me about anything I might’ve seen.”

“Did you reply?”

Marty nodded, his eyes closed. “Yeah,” he said. “I thought maybe it was someone else who’d seen it, and wanted me to back up their story, y’know? And sure as hell, he wanted to know if I had seen some cops doing something really bad that night. I told him I didn’t see it myself, but I’d got it on video, and that’s when he said it was worth a lot of money. He said he knew how to sell it to the news people, like CNN or somebody, and wanted me to give it to him. That’s when I started to get nervous about it, though, cause when I said I’d give him a copy, he got all pissed off. He said he could only sell it if he had the only existing copy, which is BS, and I stopped talking to him.”

“What happened then?”

“Couple of cops showed up at my work the next morning. I was late coming in and saw the squad car sitting there, so I went on by and called Tracy on her cell. She said they were asking about me, and I panicked. I went and hid in a buddy’s garage all that day, and that night Tracy got me a motel room to stay in while she tried to get hold of someone to help me. I was willing to do anything by that point, so when she told me she knew a cop who said he was willing to help, I told her it was okay to bring him over. I just about died when I saw who it was.”

“Jerry Lemmons,” Sam said flatly. “Any idea how she got involved with him on this?”

Nodding, Marty said, “Yeah. She knew him, but she didn’t recognize him on the video, cause the screen on my phone was so small, and I think she was freaked out about the girl, anyway. I guess she’d dated him once, back before she married her husband, but she remembered him while all this was going on and called him up. When she told him what it was about, I guess he made all the right noises. She brought him to the motel, and when I panicked and said he was one of the cops on the video, he pulled out a gun and said he’d shoot her if I didn’t hand it over. I told him I didn’t have it with me, and that it was in a place where it would be found by someone who’d do something about it if anything happened to me or Tracy.” He sighed deeply. “But then he stopped that gun against her head, so I promised to have it delivered to him if he’d promise not to hurt us. He said he’d give me twenty-four hours, and later that night Tracy called and told me to run. I said I couldn’t leave her stuck in it all by herself, and that’s when she said she had a plan, but if Lemmons got his hands on me it would all fall apart. I jumped in my van and came out here, and the last time I talked to her was when she said she was going to try to talk to you and would call me back. Never heard anything from her again, but the next night I saw she’d called while I was out scrounging some food. I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail.”

Sam thought over all he’d heard for a moment, then looked at Marty again. “You think Lemmons has her somewhere? Or do you think she’s dead?”

Marty shook his head emphatically. “She’s not dead,” he said. “Lemmons isn’t that stupid. I think he knows the only thing keeping me from spreading this all over creation right now is knowing he’d kill her if I do. I think he’s got her stashed somewhere, and he’s hoping he can use her to find me and get that video, but I never told her where I was.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. He’ll keep her alive until he’s got his hands on the recording, I agree. Can you show me this video? I want to see it.”

Marty looked at him for a long moment, then reached down under the seat and came up with a tablet. He held it so Sam couldn’t see it, tapped on the screen for a few seconds, then handed it over. “Just tap the arrow.”

Sam stared at the screen for a moment, then tapped the video play icon.

7

This video had not been edited, and Sam was amazed that chance had caused the camera to be facing precisely the right direction to capture the entire sequence of events. It opened suddenly, showing three young people walking into view in an alleyway. There were two boys, one of whom was black, and a girl. The other boy and the girl appeared to be Caucasian. Sam realized he was looking into the alley from a spot in a parking lot that abutted it. A lamp above the building illuminated the scene.

A police cruiser appeared in the alley, its lights flashing once as it stopped, facing the three young people. Two officers stepped out of it, and Sam heard one of them say, “Just stop right there. What are you doing back here, this time of night?”

The white boy, now visible in the light, flipped a finger up. “Screw off, pig, we ain’t doin’ nothin’!”

The officer who had spoken looked at his partner. “Pig?” he asked. “Did he just call me a pig?”

“Sure sounded like it,” the second officer said.

The first officer turned back to the boy and took a step forward. “What’s your name, kid?”

The boy fluffed up like a cat facing a dog. “I ain’t telling you, pig, what you think about that? You ain’t got no business hangin’ us up, we just walkin’ through here is all. Go find a donut shop, why don’t you?”

The two officers glanced at one another, then the first one spoke again. “Look, punk, I don’t have to take this crap from you. Just tell us who you are, okay, before we start thinking you three are behind all the burglaries around here lately. Give us your names and then go home.”

“Man, who you think you are, tellin’ me to go home? You ain’t shit, pig! You just like all them cops gettin’ shot nowadays, just a target in your flashy blue suit, and it’s about time people wise up and start blowin’ your asses away! Every time I hear about another cop gettin’ killed, I just think, yeah, that’s it! Kill ’em all!”

It happened so fast that even Sam didn’t see it coming. The cop who’d been speaking reached out and slapped the boy across the face so hard that he fell to the ground, and then the black boy jumped on him, punching him once in the mouth before he could react. Sam saw the second officer speak into the microphone on his shoulder, then reach out and grab the boy who’d struck his partner while holding onto the girl by an arm. The first officer had subdued the other boy on the ground, and placed cuffs on his wrists.

The two on their feet were muttering, but Sam couldn’t hear what was being said. The second officer told them both to shut up, then looked at his partner. “Slocum, we taking these kids in?”

Slocum, the first cop, got to his feet and dragged the handcuffed boy up beside him. “Wait 'til backup gets here,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s worth messing with it.” He looked at the boy he was holding onto. “So, what were you doing here? Waiting for someone to bring you something?”

The kid spat onto the ground. “Screw you,” he said. “We weren’t doin’ nothin’! You pigs just like to pick on anyone you can.”

A second squad car came into view and parked beside the first one. Two officers stepped out, and Sam recognized one of them as David Forsyth. Forsyth had worked with him for a short time when he was with Vice, but had decided to return to uniform patrol after his wife complained about the job he was doing.

Forsyth walked over to where Slocum was still holding the boy he’d cuffed. “What’ve we got here?” he asked.

“Got some punks who think the police can’t touch ’em,” Slocum said. “This one thinks we all oughta be shot, and his pal over there took a swing at me when I shut this one’s mouth for him.”

The black boy tried to yank free of the officer holding him. “Hey, he attacked Kevin for no reason,” he yelled. “You cops can’t just punch somebody when you feel like it, there was no reason to hit any of us!”

“Shut up,” Forsyth said. He turned to the boy who’d been named as Kevin. “Kevin what? What’s your last name?”

“Screw you,” Kevin said.

Forsyth turned at the sound of another car door that was out of sight of the camera and grinned. “What are you doing out this time of night?”

Jerry Lemmons came into view. “I was heading home from doing a scene report,” he said, “and heard the call for backup. What’s going on here?”

Slocum shook the boy he was holding. “Found some delinquents loitering in the alley, and asked them what they were doing here...”

The boy tried to yank away. “That’s bull,” he said. “We were just minding our own business and these two jackboots came up and started smackin’ us around! You think just because you got badges means you like God, or somethin’, you can do anything you want. That ain’t how it is, pig, and people gettin’ sick of it. That’s why all you mothers keep gettin’ shot, and I laugh every time I hear about it.”

Lemmons looked around at the other officers and then turned back to the kid. “Sounds to me like these punks need to learn a little respect for the law, don’t it?” The other officers nodded, and Lemmons instantly punched the boy in the mouth.

The other boy yelled something Sam couldn’t make out, but Lemmons struck again. “That one needs a lesson, too,” he said, and Slocum grabbed the black boy from behind by both arms. Forsyth’s partner immediately stepped up and punched the kid, and that’s when the girl began to scream.

“You punks think you’re pretty cool, right?” Lemmons asked. “You run around with this little tramp, she’s kinda hot, right? Make you feel like big men? Well, now she’s got you in some trouble you can’t get out of. We’re gonna make you wish you’d never seen her before.”

The punching and screaming went on for several seconds, but then Lemmons stopped and looked at the girl. “Driscoll, you want to shut her up?” he asked, and Sam’s wide eyes watched in horror as Officer Driscoll yanked the girl backward and tightened his arm around her throat. She reached up with both hands to try to pull the arm away, but it was obvious that she was having trouble breathing.

Lemmons and the other cop went back to punching their respective victims, while Driscoll held onto the girl and stared at what they were doing. The look on his face, Sam thought, would probably make a fitting illustration of sadistic glee. The girl struggled in his grip for only a few seconds, but then Sam saw her attempts grow more feeble until they finally stopped altogether. Her arms dropped to her sides and her face went slack.

Even knowing what he was seeing, Sam kept hoping that Driscoll would realize what was happening and release the girl, but it didn’t happen. As the two boys began to sag in the arms of the cops holding them, Lemmons glanced over at Driscoll and realized that something was wrong.

“God, Driscoll,” he shouted, “don’t choke her to death!” Driscoll released the pressure on the girl’s throat, but when he did she simply slid down him to the ground. He knelt down and felt for a pulse on her throat, then looked up at Lemmons with a face transformed into shock.

“Oh, geez,” he said. “Geez, Jerry, I think she’s dead.”

Lemmons took only a few seconds to take stock of the situation. He stared at the girl, then at Driscoll, then looked at the other policemen. “Well, hell,” he said. “This comes out, we’re all jacked.”

Forsyth appeared to be in shock, himself. He reached for the microphone on his shoulder, but Lemmons grabbed his hand before he could activate it. “What the hell?” Forsyth demanded. “We need to call for an ambulance, maybe it’s not too late, maybe…”

Slocum was staring at his partner. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “They’ll hang us all! What the hell are we gonna do?”

The other cops looked from one to another, then all of them turned toward Lemmons. They simply stared at him for a moment, until he nodded his head.

“We finish this,” he said. The others stared at him for a moment, then Lemmons and Forsyth’s partner put their hands around the boys’ throats. Forsyth only stood there, his mouth agape.

It was over in a matter of minutes, as both boys went limp and breathed their last. When it was all over, Lemmons motioned toward Slocum. “Got anything in your trunk we can use to wrap them up?” he asked coldly. “Last thing we need is any of their blood showing up inside a car.”

Slocum stared at him for a few seconds longer, then jogged over to the car and opened the trunk. He came back a moment later with an orange tarpaulin, and Lemmons helped him spread it out on the ground. They laid the three kids’ bodies on it, and then Lemmons and the cop who’d strangled the other boy wiped their hands off on the girl’s clothing. Seconds later, the four uniform officers picked up the unwieldy bundle and carried it to the trunk of the squad car.

The camera couldn’t quite see what was going on, but the faint sounds made it obvious they were pushing and shoving the bodies inside. Lemmons had followed them back behind the car, and while Sam could hear him speaking, he couldn’t make out the words.

Slocum and his partner got into the car and started it up, while the other two officers climbed into their own. Both cars drove away, leaving Lemmons alone at the scene. He pulled a small flashlight out of a pocket and shined it down on the ground, examining the scene for any signs of what had happened there. He kicked dirt over what must have been spatters of blood, then turned and started toward where he had left his car. For a brief moment, he glanced directly at the camera and seemed to stare at it for just a couple of seconds, but then he passed out of view.

The video ended, and Sam stared at the blank screen for several seconds before turning his gaze back to Marty.

“Lemmons is bad enough,” he said, “but you’re not just dealing with him. There are five city cops on that video, and any one of them would want you dead. I’m sure Lemmons has got them working with him, and I don’t even know who one of them is. If this gets out before we find Tracy, I expect at least one or two of them would disappear in a hurry, and we’d probably never find her at all.”

Marty nodded. “That’s why I haven’t even tried to do anything with it. It’s bad enough those kids are dead, but how many more will they kill to cover it up? I mean, my folks still live in Littleton, and there’s always Tracy’s husband and daughter. Sooner or later, they’re going to start thinking about who else they could use against me, so I figured the best thing I could do is make sure they can’t reach me. A threat like that wouldn’t help if they don’t know how to get it to me, right?”

Sam looked at him for a moment, then slowly turned his head and scanned the park around them. “The trouble with that is, if I could find you this easily then so can they. In fact, I’m kind of wondering why they haven’t done anything about you yet.”

8

Marty looked around nervously. “Geez, you think they’re watching me now?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t see any sign of it, but it’s possible. They have access to the same phone records I used to find you, though it’s possible they might not have realized the strange number these last few days must have gone to you. Sooner or later, they will, and you don’t want to be where they can find you if that happens.”

Sam took a pen and a small notepad out of his pocket and scribbled something down. He tore off the page and passed it to Marty, who glanced at it.

I’m driving the Corvette. Follow me when I leave, but toss that phone out here. I’ll take you to my dad’s old hunting cabin. You’ll hide there while I figure out what to do about this. Don’t say anything about this out loud. Possible to listen in on phone even when off. I’m trying to keep you safe.

Marty read through the note quickly, then looked up at Sam. He nodded without saying a word, then took the phone out of his pocket and tossed it out the window.

Sam stepped out of the van and walked directly to the Corvette, leaning on his cane as his hip gave him trouble. He heard the van start behind him as he approached the car, then climbed in and fired it up. He pushed in the clutch and put the car in gear, then glanced toward the van as he began to pull away. He nodded once to himself as the van pulled out and moved to fall in behind him.

As soon as they were out of town, Sam took out his phone and called his wife. "Hey, Babe," he said when she answered. "I found him, right where you said he would be."

"Okay," she said. "Did he have any idea what might have happened to Tracy?"

"He’s told me what he knows," Sam said. "I now have a pretty good idea what’s going on and who might be behind her disappearance. Has Herman come up with anything on Jerry?"

"Nothing special," Indie said. "He tends to spend a lot of time at the casinos in Black Hawk, and he’s been reprimanded twice this year for excessive use of force. Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?"

"Just anything that might be generally suspicious. I’m not going to go into it over the phone, but there’s something truly horrible involved in all this, and he has plenty of reason to want it kept quiet."

Indie frowned, and Sam could hear it in her voice. "Sam, should I be worried?"

"I don’t think so, not at this point at any rate. I doubt he knows that I’m on to any of this just yet. If he does, then you can definitely be worried about your hubby, but I think I can handle myself. I’m more concerned about the things your mom said. Marty and Tracy would be two of the lives I need to save, but I don’t have a lead on the third one yet."

"Unless it’s your own."

"I’ll confess that could be a possibility," Sam said, "and now that I think of it, I’ve changed my mind. I want you to take Kenzie and go somewhere safe. It’s probably not going to be long before Jerry knows I’m involved in this, and that could make you both targets. Take the grandmas with you, too." Sam chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. "Indie, how likely is it that the police can trace a phone as easily as you can?"

"How likely? They could probably do it even faster than Herman. Frankly, I’m surprised they hadn’t already found Marty. The only thing I can figure is that they didn’t realize the new number on Tracy’s list of calls had to be going to him."

"Let’s think about this for a moment," Sam said. "They had Tracy’s phone logs, because that’s where you got them, right? That means they could see everything you could, so what would be the chance they would miss a clue that big?"

"I grant you, that does seem kind of odd," Indie said. "But if they saw it, and really wanted to get to him, how on earth could you have gotten to him first? They would have either already had him, or someone would have been watching him when you got there."

Sam worried his bottom lip again. "Indie, get off the phone and get out of there, now. Leave your phone at home, leave all the phones at home, and get out of town. Get yourself a throwaway and call me once you’ve gotten somewhere safe. And don’t forget, I love you. Kiss Kenzie for me. Get moving, now."

"We love you too," Indie said and the line went dead.

Sam put the phone back in his pocket, then concentrated on his driving, heading north on Route 50 again. His mind was racing, trying to decide just how to handle the situation he had found himself in.

Marty stayed on his tail as he drove. They made it as far as Glenwood, and then Marty begin flashing his lights. Sam took the hint and pulled in at the next gas station.

"Sorry about this," Marty said. "I wasn’t expecting to take a trip today, so it didn’t occur to me to gas up."

"Don’t worry about it," Sam replied. "I could stand to top off myself." He slid a card into the reader on the gas pump, then opened his gas cap and pushed the nozzle inside. He squeezed the handle to start the gas flowing, then looked back at Marty. "You got gas money?"

"Yeah, I got it." Like Sam, he used a card to start the gas flowing. "So, this place we’re going. Nobody else knows about it?"

"Nobody outside my family. You’ll be safe there. The only neighbors are deer and rabbits, and I don’t think they’re going to bother you very much."

"Do I need to pick up any supplies?"

"Might be a good idea," Sam said. He glanced around at the store that was the office of the gas station. "We can probably get most of what you might need here. I think, once we get there, you might want to just stay put and keep that van out of sight."

"That sounds like a plan to me," Marty said. "I can get by with ramen noodles and canned spaghetti for a while, as long as I’ve got coffee and sugar."

They finished pumping their gas and went into the store. Marty gathered up several days’ worth of food and snacks, then took it all to the register. A bored clerk checked him out and stuffed it all into bags. Five minutes later, they were back on the road.

They were almost to the exit they would have to take to get to the cabin when Sam’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, so he answered cautiously. "Prichard," he said.

"It’s me," Indie said. "We’re going to…"

"Don’t tell me," Sam said quickly. "Jerry could have my number tapped by now, and I don’t want anyone to know where you are. Have you got the GPS turned off on that phone?"

"First thing I did. I’m also bouncing it through a couple of VoIP servers, something even Herman would have trouble tracing. Nobody can get a location on me, I promise."

Sam smiled into the phone. "That’s my girl," he said. "Let’s keep it that way. This thing is bad enough that there’s no doubt in my mind Jerry would try to use you against me if he got the chance."

"Can you tell me now what’s going on? This is scaring me, Sam."

"I’ll give you the short version. Marty is in possession of a video showing Jerry Lemmons and four other cops committing murder. The victims were three teenagers, and one of them is the girl who went missing a couple weeks back. I don’t have all the details yet, but somehow they found out the video exists and they want it pretty badly. Tracy got involved just to try to help Marty out, but when she went to a cop she knew for help, it turns out it was Lemmons himself. My guess is they’ve got Tracy stashed away somewhere, hoping to use her as leverage against Marty, to make him surrender the video."

"But if he does, then he and Tracy are both dead. Right?"

"No doubt about it," Sam said. "That video is the only reason they’re both probably alive right now, and Marty was smart enough to have a copy stashed somewhere that they can’t get to even if they kill him. He was supposed to surrender it a few days ago, but Tracy told him to run and hide. That would have been the day she disappeared."

"And with Lemmons running the investigation, it’s easy for him to keep saying that the two of them just ran away together. Heather was right, but no one is going to believe a fourteen-year-old girl."

"Exactly, and that’s what Lemmons is counting on. He’s the investigating detective, so his word will be final on it until the truth comes to light. I’m stashing Marty in the safest place I can think of, and then Lemmons and I are going to have a little talk. I hope to convince him that the copy I’ve got is the only one, get him to give up Tracy in exchange for it. Once I’ve got her out and safe, then I’ll deal with exposing the truth."

"Oh, Sam," Indie said, "you just be careful. Murderers are bad enough, but cops who murder are far more dangerous than anyone else.”

“Think I don’t know that? Trust me, babe, I don’t plan to give them a chance at me. As long as I know you’re safe, there isn’t much they can use against me. You just stay put, and I’ll call you when I know something more."”

“Okay, baby. Stay safe.” The line went dead again.

Sam turned off on the exit a few moments later, with Marty right on his tail. The smaller roads that led to his father’s old cabin slowed them down a bit, and Sam was able to watch the road behind them in the mirror. He saw no signs they were being followed, and begin to relax just a bit.

Forty-five minutes later, Sam winced as the bottom of the Corvette dragged over occasional rocks in the rutted gravel road that led to the cabin. Because it was in such bad shape, he was forced to move at a snail’s pace. When he finally got to the cabin and parked in its driveway, he breathed a sigh of relief that the mufflers still seemed to be intact.

Marty parked beside him and Sam let him inside, pulling the string that turned on the single electric light bulb in the combined living room and kitchen. The cabin was a little dusty, since no one had been there in almost a year, but at least it was solid and safe from the elements. Marty carried in the bags of groceries and snacks, setting them on the old wooden table in the kitchen area.

He stared at the old hand pump over the kitchen sink. “Rustic," he said. "I don’t suppose there’s any hot water for a shower?"

Sam grinned at him. "I’m afraid not," he said. He opened a cabinet, then pulled out a large kettle and set it on the counter beside the sink. “Fill that up from the pump and heat it on the stove. There’s a big washtub, almost as big as a bathtub, on the back porch. By the time you heat up a couple of kettles of water and add some cold water to get the temperature where you want it, you can take a pretty nice bath. There’s a bedroom through that door, and two more up in the loft."

Marty rolled his eyes but didn’t make any comments. Sam showed him around the rest of the cabin and got him settled in.

“I want you to stay here and keep out of sight until I come for you," Sam said. “Now that you’re hidden away, I’m going to try to convince Lemmons that you hired me to negotiate the surrender of the video. I’ll offer to trade it for Tracy, and once she and her family are also safe, then we’ll get it to the people who will actually take action on it. There’s nothing I hate more than a dirty cop, and these bastards are going down."

“Okay,” Marty said. “What makes you think he’ll go along with it?”

“Simple,” Sam said. “I need a copy of the video to show him. If I can convince him it’s the only copy, then there’s a chance this will actually work.”

Marty shook his head. “No way,” he said. “I told you, the only copy that exists right now is on a secret server on the Internet, and I’m the only one who knows the link. You might be a great guy and all, but if I give up that link I’m a dead man.”

“I don’t need your link,” Sam said. “I just need you to put a copy of it on my phone. You can do that, can’t you?”

Marty chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. He picked up his tablet and poked at the screen for a couple of minutes, then handed it over to Sam.

“You got lousy cell signal out here,” he said, “but I managed it. I downloaded a copy onto the tablet, but I’ve encrypted it so that it can’t be copied or shared. If you try to copy it off or email it to somebody else, it won’t work. You show him that and he might believe it’s the only copy.”

“Brilliant,” Sam said with a smile. “Listen, I don’t have any way to reach you except to come up here," he said. "I’ll make this happen as fast as I can, but you’ve got to stay here out of sight. Don’t go into town, don’t go driving around. This is the only place I can think of where Lemmons won’t be able to find you."

“Don’t worry," Marty said. "I think the last thing I want to do is leave this spot right now."

“Good. Just stay put. There’s a lot of books here, so it might be a good time to just catch up on your reading. There is no TV, and no internet, so that’s about all you’ve got."

“Trust me, I’ll be fine. Reading actually sounds like a good way to pass the time."

Sam promised to get back to him as soon as possible, then left him in the cabin and started the long, slow drive back down the mountain. Miraculously, the mufflers survived, and Sam made his way back to the interstate.

9

Sam rolled into Denver at just before three AM, but he knew better than to go to his own home. Lemmons was fully aware that Sam was on the case, and if he realized that Sam’s entire family had suddenly decided to leave town, he’d naturally figure it was to protect them from whoever was involved in that case. It seemed to Sam that it might be wise to find somewhere else to catch some sleep. He pulled the Corvette into the parking lot of a national chain hotel and walked into the office to get a room, specifically asking for one toward the back of the building. He paid cash rather than using his credit cards, didn’t bother giving his correct license plate number on the registration form, and moved his car to the darkest part of the parking lot. Hopefully, that would mean that no one would be able to find out where he was staying.

And then he slept. Sam had no sooner hit the pillow than his eyes closed and he drifted off into heavy sleep. He had managed to set an alarm on his phone for eight AM, and silently dared anyone to wake him before that time.

The nice thing, Sam thought, about being so tired was that he didn’t seem to dream. Dreams didn’t usually trouble him much anyway, but the sleep was so much more restful without it. When the alarm went off, he woke refreshed and ready to start formulating a plan for the rest of the day.

The first step was a shower, and as soon as he’d taken care of that, he made his way to the continental breakfast room. A place like this one always had waffles, and Sam considered waffles to be one of the four basic food groups. Two waffles and three cups of coffee later, he was ready to start letting his brain tackle the daunting task of finding a solution to a nearly impossible problem.

Item one: Detective Jerry Lemmons had participated in and perhaps even orchestrated the murders of three teenagers.

Item two: there were at least four other police officers involved in the murders and the resulting cover-up, including officers named Slocum, Forsyth and Driscoll.

Item three: Marty Fletcher had inadvertently caught the entire episode on video.

Item four: Marty had shared his fears and concerns with Tracy, who wanted to help him negotiate a solution that would keep him from getting killed.

Item five: Tracy had hidden Marty away in a motel, then approached Jerry Lemmons without realizing he was involved in the murders.

Item six: Marty had recognized Jerry Lemmons from the video, and had promised to deliver the video in exchange for their safety.

Item seven: Lemmons had left with Tracy, and the hotel desk clerk had said she seemed frightened.

Item eight: Tracy had called Marty that day and told him to go and hide, and hadn’t been seen or heard from since.

Taking all of these things together, Sam agreed with Marty’s conclusion that Jerry Lemmons was responsible for Tracy’s disappearance, and was probably holding her somewhere to keep her quiet and use her as leverage whenever he managed to locate Marty, a tool to help him get his hands on the video. If that was true, then it was very likely that Tracy had been questioned, and probably tortured to some degree to try to get Marty’s location from her. At some point, it was likely that the questioning would have turned to what else she might be planning, and it wasn’t likely she could manage not to give up the fact that she had hoped to get Sam involved.

Of course, she never called Sam, herself. There was a good chance her maternal instincts would prevent her from telling Detective Lemmons that she had told her daughter to contact Sam if anything happened to her. A mother can endure a lot when it comes to protecting her children, Sam knew.

But then Sam had called Lemmons and asked about Tracy. It would be difficult for the detective not to put two and two together. Someone, and Heather would be the most likely person, had contacted Sam about Tracy. Would that put the girl in danger?

It could, Sam realized, but he doubted it was likely at that moment. A teenage girl’s suspicions might be enough to engage a private investigator, but they wouldn’t interest any other cops. As long as Tracy was missing but presumed to be alive, there was no reason for Lemmons to take any action with regard to the girl. If her body were to be found later, however, there was always the possibility that the police might remember her daughter’s insistence that Tracy had been abducted. Heather would be in a lot more danger then.

* * * * *

Marty Fletcher was a coffee drinker, but that usually meant a trip to see the local barista. In the cabin, however, there was neither a microwave nor a coffee maker, so he scrounged through the cabinets until he came up with a jar of instant coffee, then fumbled around putting water in a teakettle and setting it on the old gas stove. It took him a minute to figure out that the gas wasn’t going to light itself, and by then he had to open a door to let some of the fumes out. Finally, he found the box of matches and managed not to singe his eyebrows getting it lit.

Once the kettle began to whistle, he made himself a cup of coffee and carried it out onto the cabin’s front porch. He’d never really been much of a nature buff, but he admitted to himself there was something serene about sitting in the wilderness, listening to the sounds of the mountain and forest around him. The morning breeze blew through the trees, squirrels scampered in their branches and what looked like a whole herd of deer wandered past. A couple of them looked directly at him, but they showed no fear as they gracefully strolled away.

There were many animal noises in the air, as well. He heard chirps and chitters, the bellowing of an elk and what he was sure must be the howl of a wolf. He leaned back on the rustic bench and closed his eyes, just taking in the various sounds.

Another noise broke into his consciousness, and it took him a second to realize that it was the sound of tires on gravel. A vehicle was coming up the road toward the cabin, and Marty hoped it might be Sam returning to tell him that Tracy was safe and everything was over. He sat forward on the bench and stared through the trees, hoping to spot the beautiful red Corvette.

It wasn’t Sam. The vehicle coming up the road was a car, a big silver one that should never have been on such a road. It was moving slowly, the driver being careful as he tried to avoid ruts and the bigger rocks. The hairs on the back of Marty’s neck suddenly stood up, and somehow he knew the car represented danger.

He was up and inside the cabin a second later, watching through the window as the car approached. He was fairly sure he hadn’t been seen by the driver, and kept telling himself it was possible the car was simply lost or going even further up the old road.

He didn’t truly believe that, of course. No one who knew that road would deliberately drive up it in such a low-slung automobile unless it was absolutely necessary, as it had been for Sam the night before. When the car came into clear view and turned into the driveway of the cabin, Marty spun and bolted out the back.

Fifty yards behind the cabin, he stopped and huddled behind a tree. He heard two car doors open and close, and knew instantly that the occupants were looking for him. He could vaguely hear one of them knocking on the front door, as a second man circled around the cabin and came into view. Marty knew the face; it was one he could never forget. Officer Driscoll was sneaking up toward the back door of the cabin, a revolver in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

“We found him,” Driscoll said into the phone. “He’s been hiding out in Prichard’s cabin. Yeah, his van is out front, and the lights are on in the cabin…”

Slocum suddenly came through the back door of the cabin. He looked out toward the woods, and for a moment Marty thought he’d been spotted. “He’s around here somewhere,” Slocum said. “Cup of coffee on the table was still warm.”

Driscoll looked around at the woods. “Looks like he took off into the forest,” he said. “Don’t worry, we’ll find him. Yeah, I know, I said don’t worry. We’ll take care of him.” He cut the call and put the phone in his pocket, then he and Slocum started walking toward the trees.

Doing his best to stay quiet, Marty turned and made his way through the trees, moving further up the mountain. He’d gone a dozen steps when he stepped on a dry, broken branch, and the loud crack that it made sounded almost like a gunshot in his ears.

“Marty?” Driscoll called out. “Marty, we know you’re here. Come on out, we just want to talk to you.”

Marty ran. Behind him, he could hear the two cops crashing through the forest in pursuit.

* * * * *

Sam decided it was time to put his plan into action, so he checked out of the hotel and got into his car. No one seemed to be paying any attention to him as he drove out of the parking lot, headed toward District One and the Major Crimes Unit. He took out his phone and dialed the number as he drove.

“Denver police, this is Sergeant Ragsdale, how may I help you?”

“Sergeant, this is Sam Prichard,” Sam said. “I’d like to speak to Jerry Lemmons, please.”

“Just one moment, sir,” the sergeant said. Sam heard the hold music for a moment, and then Lemmons’s voice came on the line.

“Detective Lemmons.”

“Jerry, it’s Sam Prichard. Remember that situation I called you about yesterday?”

Sam didn’t detect any nervousness in the detective’s voice. “Yeah, Tracy Jensen. Have you heard anything about her? We’re still thinking she just ran off with her boyfriend.”

“No you’re not,” Sam said. “I’ve got a hunch you know exactly where she is, and I’ve got what you’re actually looking for. Think maybe we ought to get together and talk this over?”

Lemmons chuckled. “Not sure what you’re thinking,” he said, “but I’d be glad to get together over a cup of coffee, if you want. Name the time and place.”

Sam spotted a Denny’s restaurant just ahead. “How about Denny’s on Federal? I’m pulling in now, I’ll get us a table off by ourselves where we can talk.”

“Sounds good,” the detective said. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Order me a cup of coffee, would you?” The line went dead, and Sam slipped his phone back into his pocket as he parked the car. He tucked the tablet into the back of his pants and let his polo shirt hang down over it.

Sam flashed his ID and told the hostess that he needed a table where he and a police detective could talk privately, so she showed him to a booth in a back room that was normally reserved for parties. There was no one else in the room, so the hostess took his order for two cups of coffee and brought them back just a moment later, then left him alone again.

Lemmons showed up in less than twelve minutes, told the hostess he was meeting someone, and was shown back to Sam’s booth in the far corner of the back room. Sam didn’t bother to rise as he approached and slid into the opposite side.

“I just love Denny’s coffee, don’t you?” he asked, smiling at Sam.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. He watched the hostess as she left the room, then turned his gaze directly onto Lemmons. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I’ve seen the video, and I know what you did. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you got Tracy stashed somewhere, so I’m here to negotiate for her release.”

The smile never wavered. “What video you talking about? I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Sam.”

“You, Driscoll, Slocum and Forsyth,” Sam said, “plus another cop I didn’t recognize. Three dead kids. Sound familiar now?”

Lemmons shrugged. “I’ve heard a rumor about something like this, but if such a video exists, I’ve yet to see it. I’m afraid that makes me wonder if you’ve actually seen it, or if you’re just hearing the same rumors I’ve heard.”

Sam shook his head. “Don’t try to play me, Jerry. We both know exactly what I’m talking about, and we both know what will happen if I take it to the right people. Now, my client only wants her mother back, she doesn’t give a royal flying you-know-what about you or anybody else. I’ve not only seen the video, I’ve got it, the only existing copy. You give me Tracy, I’ll give it to you and this whole thing fades into history.”

The detective leaned his elbows on the table and looked Sam in the eye. “Assuming for the sake of argument that what you’re saying actually makes any sense, would you really expect me to believe that none of these people would talk about what they saw on this imaginary video? I mean, it might be hard to prove, but it still wouldn’t be good for my career, now would it?”

“They’ll stay quiet,” Sam said. “While talking about it might be bad for your career, I think they understand it would be a lot worse for them and their loved ones, wouldn’t you think? Let’s face it, they know just what you’re capable of.”

Lemmons stared at Sam for a moment, then shrugged. “And what about you? Would you be content to just let it go?”

Sam grinned at him, but it was made of ice. “There was a time when Tracy was very important to me,” he said. “I’ve moved on since then, but I still don’t want any harm to come to her. You give me Tracy, unharmed, along with your word that none of us will ever be bothered about this again, and I give you the video. That’s the deal, take it or leave it. If we leave this table without an agreement, then I’ll do what I have to do. I think we understand each other.”

Lemmons sat in silence for a moment, his own smile slowly fading from his face. “I think we do,” he said. “The trouble is, Sam, I don’t think you can hold up your end of the bargain. See, the thing about a video is that it’s just too easy to make copies. Anybody in the position you seem to think you have me in would be stupid to give up whatever leverage he has, at least without being certain that no other copies were going to turn up in the future. Any idea how you could reassure someone about that?”

“There aren’t any other copies,” Sam said, “just one on a tablet. Marty said he was afraid to make copies, so he put it on the tablet and encrypted it so that it can’t even be copied or emailed to anybody. It’s the only one, and I have it put away safe. I’ll hand it over in return for Tracy and your assurance that none of you will ever bother any of us again.”

Lemmons’s phone rang, and he held up a finger to tell Sam to wait a moment, then took out the phone and answered it. “Detective Lemmons,” he said. “Yes? Well, that’s excellent news. All right, thanks for letting me know.” He ended the call and slipped his phone back into its case on his belt, then looked at Sam.

“Sam,” he said, “that call was from one of the men in a special unit that I run. It seems you and I might have something to talk about after all.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Really? And what might that be?”

Lemmons smiled broadly. “Well, it seems that Marty Fletcher was just found. Unfortunately, he’s dead, and since his body was found near a cabin that happens to belong to you, I’m afraid I’m going to have to place you under arrest for his murder.”

10

Sam’s blood went cold as his mind began racing. He cocked his head to one side and stared Lemmons in the eye. “You son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “What did you do, follow us there and wait for me to leave?”

“Nah, nothing so dramatic. It turns out Marty bought that van from one of those ‘buy here, pay here,’ used-car dealers. They put GPS trackers into every vehicle they sell, so they can find it if you decide not to pay and take off with it. We got the code for his tracker last week, and we’ve been keeping an eye on him ever since. When he suddenly moved off to the middle of nowhere, I sent one of my officers out to check on him. Imagine his surprise when he found Marty lying on the floor of your hunting cabin, his head all smashed in. Is that how you got the video from him? Beat on him until he gave it up?” He waggled the barrel of his gun. “Now, very carefully, take out your pistol and pass it to me, butt first. You try anything else, I’ll blow you away right here.”

Sam silently cursed himself for choosing a booth, leaving him trapped in between the table and the wall behind him. He carefully removed his Glock from its holster and handed it over. “We both know I didn’t kill him,” he said, “though I’m sure you’re going to do your best to make it look that way. Of course, if you take me in, then I’ll have more than an ample opportunity to turn that video over to the right people. Sure you want to take that chance?”

Lemmons’s smile was back and as bright as ever. “Well, let’s see,” he said. “You said you got the only remaining copy of the video, but you stashed it somewhere safe. Knowing you, I bet there’s no one else in the world who knows where it is right now. That means the chances of it turning up are pretty slim, right? All I’ve got to do is make sure you don’t get the chance to tell anyone where you hid it.” He moved quickly, and suddenly had his service automatic in his hand. “Slide out of your seat, Sam, and stand up slowly. Keep your hands up where I can see them and turn your back to me.”

Sam nodded. “Sure,” he said, “so you can let everybody here see you arresting me? Then, let me guess, somewhere between here and the jail, I’m going to try to escape, right? You had no choice but to shoot me, right?”

The detective nodded back. “You see, I knew you were smart. In fact, you’re smart enough to figure out that if you don’t cooperate with me now, there’s a good possibility that some of the innocent parties between us and the door might be hurt, too. I’m pretty sure you won’t want that to happen, so let’s just play this out by my rules. You get up, let me cuff you and take your gun, and then we go out to my car. But instead of me shooting you when you try to escape, how about you just take me right to that video? Once I’ve got that, you’re no longer a threat to me or anyone else.”

“And what about the murder charge? Does that go away?”

Lemmons shrugged at him. “I could probably see my way clear to saying I checked out your alibi and it was good. Sam, all I want is that video. You hand it over now, and I can let you walk. As long as you and I never cross paths on this again, you got nothing to worry about.”

Sam sighed and began sliding toward the end of the seat. “And what about Tracy? Let me have her in the deal, and I’ll go for it. That’s all I really wanted anyway.”

“Do you really think you can keep her mouth shut? That’s all that matters to me, and you know it.”

Sam stood, his hands held out to his sides and slightly raised. “Of course I can. She’s got a kid, she’d know how easily you could hurt her daughter if she ever talked. Believe me, she won’t say a word.”

Lemmons motioned with the gun for Sam to turn around. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to put my gun away, and you and I are going to walk out of here like two old friends. Hell, I’ll even pay for the coffee, how about that? When we get outside, you just climb into the car with me and we’ll go get the video, then we’ll go pick up Tracy. I’ll drop the two of you off back here at your car, and that’ll be the end of it. That work for you?”

Sam turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. “Sure,” he said. “At this point, you’ve got all the cards. We’ll do it your way.”

“Okay, but just remember,” Lemmons said. “You make one wrong move, you try anything, and some of these innocent folks are going to get hurt. Play it cool and everything will be over pretty quick.”

Lemmons slipped his gun back into the holster under his jacket, and he and Sam started toward the front of the restaurant. When they stepped through into the main dining room, they almost ran into the hostess who was on her way back to them with a fresh pot of coffee.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said. “I thought you guys might be ready for a refill.”

“No, thanks,” Lemmons said. “We got some things to go take care of, but we appreciate you letting us have the space back there.” They followed her back to the register, and Lemmons took out his wallet. “How much we owe you, sweetie?”

The girl picked up a ticket. “That’ll be three fifty-seven, altogether.”

Lemmons reached into his wallet and took out a ten-dollar bill, handed it to the girl and told her to keep the change. She smiled and thanked him, and then he followed Sam out the front door. “That’s my car,” he said, pointing at an unmarked Dodge. Sam started toward it, then leaned hard on his cane as his hip appeared to falter on him.

Lemmons stopped and looked at him, but Sam motioned that he was okay. Lemmons stepped past him, and that’s when Sam yanked the cane up off the ground and grasped it by the lower shaft. He swung it like a baseball bat, and the heavy metal handle caught Lemmons on his left ear.

Lemmons let out a squeal of pain, and fell to the ground. Sam’s pistol fell out of where he’d tucked it into his belt, and Sam snatched it up and aimed it at the detective’s head.

“We could have done this the easy way, Jerry, but you had to be the tough guy. Very carefully, I want you to take your pistol out and lay it on the ground. You even look like you’re going to try anything, I’ll blow your head off.”

“Shit,” Lemmons yelled. “You really think you can get away with shooting a cop in cold blood? People are staring through the windows, you idiot, they see you pointing a gun at an unarmed man. You shoot me, you go down for murdering a cop.”

“Not likely,” Sam said. “Remember that video? I’m pretty sure that’s all I need to convince a jury I was acting in good faith and self-defense. Now, put your gun on the ground, and I mean right now.”

Lemmons glared at him, but then he carefully inserted two fingers into his jacket and pulled the pistol out. He gave it a slight toss and it clattered on the ground near Sam’s feet.

Sam reached down and picked it up, shoving it into the waistband of his pants. “All right, now, get up slowly and put your hands on the hood of the car.”

Lemmons took his hand off his ear and glanced at it, scowling when he saw blood. “Geez, you split my freaking ear.”

“Shut up and spread ’em,” Sam said. “Hands on the hood, like I told you. Come on, you know the drill.”

Lemmons got slowly to his feet and put his hands on the car, scooting his feet backward and spreading them wide. Sam used one of his own to kick them a little further apart, then began patting the detective down, looking for other weapons he might have hidden on his body. All he found was a pocketknife and the keys to the Dodge.

He took the handcuffs that were in a case on the back of the detective’s belt. “Left hand, put it behind your back,” he said.

Lemmons suddenly thrust himself backward and Sam instinctively raised the barrel of the gun toward the sky, taking it off the detective’s head. Lemmons spun and grabbed at it; he missed, but he had thrown Sam off balance, and the bad hip screamed at being twisted in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. Sam fell back into a bush in front of the restaurant, and Lemmons took off running. By the time Sam got back on his feet, the man had raced around the end of the building. Sam hurried over the best he could, but Lemmons was completely out of sight.

Within seconds, Sam knew, Lemmons would be on the phone and doing everything he could to turn Sam Prichard into a target. It wasn’t even just the dirty cops Sam needed to worry about. Once the notion that Sam had killed Marty and then attacked a police detective started spreading around the department, just about any cop would consider him dangerous enough to want to shoot first and ask the questions later.

Sam hurried to the Corvette, but he glanced at the windows of the restaurant to see a dozen people staring at him. There would be squad cars on the way there any second, and the stories these witnesses would tell would not look good. His carefully laid-out plan in shambles, Sam decided the best thing he could do was simply get out of sight.

He got into the car and backed out of his parking space, then drove quickly out onto Federal Boulevard. Common sense told him to get off the main streets as quickly as possible, so he took a quick right onto Sixteenth Street and followed it a couple of miles, until he got to Meade. Another right turn took him up to Eighteenth, where he turned left toward West Lakeshore Drive. Lakeshore was more of a park road that simply followed the eastern edge of Sloan’s Lake, and didn’t get a lot of traffic. He pulled to the side of the street and parked beside a stand of trees.

After some of Sam’s previous cases had gotten a lot of press, there were probably very few cops in the entire Metro area who didn’t know who he was, or would fail to spot his flashy, candy-apple-red Corvette. There weren’t many ’Vettes like his in the area, anyway, but the custom paint job he had painstakingly applied made it almost a one-of-a-kind. There was no doubt the first squad car that spotted it would turn and give chase.

First things first, then, he thought, time to ditch the car. He knew it would be impounded as soon as it was found, which meant it would be safe for a while, so he climbed out and started walking away from the lake. Keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of police, he made his way back to Eighteenth and turned left. There was an RTD bus stop just a couple of blocks in that direction, and public transportation sounded like the best way to put distance between him and the car.

He made it to the bus stop with only minutes to spare, and climbed on as soon as it arrived. Sam still kept a valid bus pass, a habit he’d gotten into after his forced retirement. His motorcycle had broken down on him twice, leaving him stranded miles from home; the second time, he decided keeping a bus pass in his wallet would be a smart move.

He made his way down the aisle and plopped into a seat toward the rear of the bus. There was, of course, the risk he might be recognized; between the high-profile cases he’d solved that got his picture in the newspaper and his current moderate fame as a singer, there were plenty of people in the city who might know him on-sight, but buses are like elevators. Most people try not to notice who else is riding with them, and he was counting on that little tidbit of human nature to help him out at the moment.

Apparently, he still had some luck on his side. There were only a handful of people on the bus and all of them were busy reading or looking out the window. Sitting where he was toward the rear, there was a greatly reduced chance of anyone noticing him.

He took out his phone and started scanning local news stories. None of them seemed to pertain to him, or to Marty, so he assumed no announcement had yet been made concerning his being a murder suspect. Considering what he knew about normal police procedure, he figured the first public announcement would come with the noon news updates. That meant he had at least a couple of hours before everything hit the fan.

Sam leaned back in the seat and tried to think. If Lemmons was telling the truth, and Marty was dead, then it was likely the video on the Internet would never be seen again. That meant the copy on the tablet really was the only one, now. No matter what else happened, Sam had to see to it that it got to someone who would take the appropriate action against Lemmons and his dirty cops.

Sam Prichard trusted very few people in this world, and something this big made that list even smaller. He toyed with the idea of calling his old friend Harry Winslow, but Harry was a big shot with Homeland Security in DC, nowadays. Sam was certain he’d do whatever it took to help, but some residual loyalty to the Denver PD, where Sam had spent ten years of his life, made him want to keep this matter local. That left him with only one possibility: Karen Parks.

11

Karen was a homicide detective, but she had once been Sam’s partner in the juvenile division. Since his retirement and entry into the world of private investigations, they had worked together on several cases and Sam felt he could trust her completely.

He glanced down at his hand and realized he was still holding his phone, so he scrolled through his contacts and punched her name with his thumb. It rang twice before she answered.

“Detective Parks,” she said. “I saw the caller ID, so I know who this is. You want to tell me what in the Sam Hill is going on?”

She realized who was calling, but was carefully not using his name. That told him that Lemmons was already spreading the word that Sam was wanted for murder. He whispered a prayer of thanks that Karen knew him well enough to want to hear his side of the story before she accepted it as truth.

“You bet I do,” Sam said, “but you’re not gonna believe it. I just need to know something. Do you honestly believe I could do what I’m accused of?”

Sam heard her sigh. “If it was anybody but you on this phone, I’d lie and say what they wanted to hear. Since it’s you, though, I can be honest. Hell, no, I don’t believe it.”

“Thanks. You are about the only person in this whole city I trust at the moment, so that means a lot to me.”

“Glad I can help you feel better,” Karen said. “Now, what is this all about?”

“Right at this moment, telling you would only put you in danger. I know you, Karen, you’d want to do something about it the same way I do, but you have to believe me when I tell you this is too big to handle on our own. I’m not sure what to do with it just yet, but I needed to know that there was someone inside the department I can trust.”

“Well, you can trust me. Can you give me some idea of how I can help?”

“Not just yet. I’m probably going to need information pretty soon, though, things you may need to find out for me. For right at the moment, just don’t let anyone know you’ve spoken to me, okay? The people behind my current situation wouldn’t hesitate to try to use you or your kids against me, or they might just decide they want you out of the way.”

She was silent for a moment. “Okay, we’ll play this your way. I’ll keep all of this between us. But, Sam, if you’re worried about me and my family, what about your own?”

“I’ve already got them out of town, and even I don’t know where they are. You know Indie, nobody’s going to track her down unless she wants them to. They’re safe for the moment.” He thought for a few seconds. “What have you heard about what’s going on?”

“Jerry Lemmons says you were digging around in his missing persons investigation and somehow got crossways with some guy named Fletcher. Story is, you took Fletcher out to some old cabin you own and killed him, then hid his body in the woods. He’s claiming he’s got enough for a murder charge, but the DA hasn’t agreed to it yet.”

“Okay, that’s a relief for the moment, anyway. I’m gonna need to ditch this phone shortly, but I’ll round up another one as quick as I can and call you. Let me know if they decide to make it official, okay?”

“You’ll know as soon as I do, or at least as soon as I talk to you again. Just tell me why Jerry is out to get you, can you do that?”

“Again, the less you know, the better off you are. Let’s leave it at that for now, and I’ll tell you as soon as I possibly can.” He looked up and saw that they were approaching a stop at a shopping center. “Gotta go for now,” he said. “I’ll have a new phone pretty quick, call you then.”

He ended the call and stood as the bus came to a stop, turning off his phone and shoving it under the seat, jamming it into the framework. With any luck, no one would notice it for quite some time. He stepped off the bus and mingled with the milling crowd that was heading into the mall.

It took him only fifteen minutes to find Gadgets, a store that specialized in electronics. A young man with spiky hair smiled at him as he entered.

“Welcome to Gadgets,” he said. “My name is Joel. What can I do for you today?”

Sam gave him a grin and spoke in an accent that sounded like it came from somewhere in the Appalachians. “Hi, there, I’m Wendell. I’m here visiting my sister and my dad gum cell phone broke, can you believe that? I can’t get a new one until I get home, so I thought I’d come see about one of those cheap ones. Y’all sell those?”

Joel squinted one eye. “Uh, yeah. You want something simple, or a smart phone with a data plan?”

“Oh, nothing fancy. With my luck, the phone would be smarter than me. How about one of those easy ones that just make phone calls?”

Sam chose the simplest phone the store kept in stock, and it took another fifteen minutes to get it activated. Within forty minutes of entering the mall, he was making his first call as he walked out a rear entrance.

“Hello?” Indie said.

“It’s me, Babe. Just thought it was time to check in.”

“Sam? I didn’t know the number, what happened to your phone?”

“I decided to get rid of mine for now, too,” he said. “I’ll be using this one for the time being. You guys doing okay?”

“Me? I’m lounging beside a pool while our mothers are splashing in the water with our daughter. How are things on your end?”

“Same old things,” Sam said. “I confronted a killer this morning, and now I’m wanted for murder. Typical day.”

Sam could hear her eyebrows trying to crawl over the top of her scalp. “Wanted for murder? Sam, what on earth have you gotten into?”

“Well, I had stashed Marty Fletcher out at Dad’s old hunting cabin, I thought he’d be safe there. Unfortunately, Lemmons and his boys tracked him down by some GPS thing in his van. Lemmons is claiming he’s dead, and the word is out that I supposedly killed him. Probably be a good idea for you to stay wherever you are for a few more days, at least.”

“Oh, my God, Sam, did Lemmons kill him?”

“Not personally, but he’s definitely involved and it gets even worse than that. I’m not going into detail over the phone, but there is no doubt in my mind he’ll kill me if he gets a chance.”

Indie was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke. “What about Tracy? Have you found anything on her?”

“Not yet, but I think she’s still alive. Marty Fletcher had something Lemmons wanted, and I’m pretty sure he was using Tracy as leverage to get it. Now he knows that I’ve got it, and that he’ll never get it if anything happens to her. I’m hoping that will be enough to keep her alive until I can get to the bottom of this.”

“And just how on earth are you planning to do that, without getting yourself killed in the process?”

“Right now, I’m going to make myself the biggest possible thorn in Jerry Lemmons’s side. I’ve got somebody who’s willing to work with me on it, somebody I trust. The idea is to keep Lemmons and his accomplices hopping until I find out where Tracy is. I’ll give you a call in a few hours, let you know what’s going on, okay?”

Indie sighed. “Sam, this is scary. Beauregard said there were three lives to save, and if Marty is already dead…”

“I know. If that’s one down, who are the other two? I don’t suppose Beauregard has had anything more to say about it?” Sam heard the catch in Indie’s voice, as if she started to say something and then thought better of it. “What? Tell me.”

She let out an even deeper sigh. “I’m not sure it means anything,” she said, “which is why I hadn’t mentioned it. Mom says Beauregard told her a little while ago that you’re going to have to figure out how to solve this case all on your own.”

“All on my own? What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“Honey, like I said, I don’t know that it means anything. I mean, of course you got to solve it on your own, there’s nobody else who can do it, right?”

It was Sam’s turn to sigh. “None of this is making any sense at all,” he said. “I’ll call you when I can. Love you, Babe.”

“I love you too,” Indie said. “You be careful, okay?” The phone went dead.

His next call was to Karen Parks. “It’s me,” he said. “Keep this number. Any news?”

“Not just yet,” she replied. “I can tell you that every cop out there is keeping an eye out for you, but I bet you already knew that.”

“Standard procedure. Okay, just let me know if anything new develops.”

“Not so fast, there, Buster. Your car was located a few minutes ago, and is being towed in. How are you going to get around while you’re trying to clear your name?”

“Guess I’ll keep riding the bus. No other options, at the moment.”

“Well, I’ve got one for you. My dad’s old pickup truck is sitting behind my house. If you trust me, tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. You can use the truck for a while.”

“I trust you,” Sam said, “but are you sure you want to take the chance? If this goes sour, it won’t look good that you let me use a vehicle.”

“So don’t let it go sour. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

Sam sighed and told her to meet him in the parking lot of one of the big department stores at the mall. She said she’d be there in twenty minutes, and hung up the phone.

Sam leaned nervously against a dumpster beside the building until he spotted Karen’s unmarked Charger cruising slowly through the parking lot. He stepped out where she could see him and waited for her to pull alongside, then jumped into the passenger seat.

“Hunker down, would you?” Karen asked. “Last thing I need is for anyone to spot you in here with me at the moment. Damn, Sam, you get yourself into some of the worst messes. We’ve got a few minutes, why don’t you start telling me what the hell is going on?”

Sam slunk down low in the seat and grinned up at her. “Remember I said you weren’t going to like it? Well, here’s the short version. Long time ago, I was engaged to a girl who had been my best friend all the way through school. Things fell apart, for reasons we don’t need to worry about anymore, and the engagement got called off. Well, she disappeared a few days ago and yesterday, her teenage daughter came to see me. The girl says her mom told her that if anything were to happen to her, she was supposed to come and get me to look into it.”

“Missing woman? You’re talking about that Tracy Jensen? Jerry Lemmons has that case, and he’s the one claiming you murdered some guy named Fletcher. I’m guessing this is all connected, then?”

“Like a big jigsaw puzzle,” Sam said. “Marty Fletcher was a video blogger, one of those guys who talks to a camera and then posts it up on YouTube. Apparently, the more followers you get, the more money you can make doing that kind of stuff. Fletcher had a lot of followers, but a couple of weeks ago he made a video and then forgot to turn off his camera. He left his van in a parking lot facing an alley, and a few hours later that camera captured five cops murdering three teenagers.”

Karen’s face spun around to look at him, her eyes wide. “You can’t be serious!”

Sam nodded. “I’m dead serious, I’ve seen the video. There were four uniform cops, including Dave Forsyth who used to be in vice. Two of the others were named Slocum and Driscoll, but I never got a name on the fourth. The last one was none other than Detective Jerry Lemmons.”

Karen kept her eyes on the road, but the set of her jaw told Sam she was having a hard time accepting what he was telling her. “You got some idea why they killed these kids?”

“I think it was just something that got out of control,” Sam said. “Lemmons and some of the others were smacking two boys around, supposedly trying to teach them respect for law enforcement. Another cop was holding a girl that was with the boys, but she started screaming. Lemmons told that cop to shut her up, and I think he just meant to put her to sleep but he didn’t let go quick enough. They suddenly realized she was dead, and then Lemmons said they had to finish the boys off and get rid of the bodies. They strangled the boys as well, then wrapped them up in a tarp and loaded them into the trunk of one of the squads.”

Karen made a turn, then glanced at Sam again. “You think they killed Fletcher and the woman?”

“I’m sure they must’ve killed Fletcher. I tracked him down yesterday, and that’s when he showed me the video. He was scared to death Lemmons and the others were going to kill him, so I took him to my dad’s old cabin to hide him out. I was hoping to keep him safe, but they found him there and killed him, and Jerry wants to pin it on me. I’m still holding out hope that Tracy is alive.”

“Let me guess,” Karen said, “you told Lemmons you saw the video, right?”

“Yep, but it gets even better. I also told him that I’ve got the only copy. My plan was to try to convince him to give up Tracy in exchange for it, but Fletcher had another copy stashed on the Internet somewhere, don’t know where. If he’s dead, the one I’ve got really is the only one that’s accessible. After I escaped from Lemmons at the restaurant, I’m sure he’s telling everyone how dangerous I am, and that they need to shoot first and ask questions later. He’s hoping I hid that video so well no one can find it, so if he can get rid of me, the problem goes away.”

“And did you hide it?”

Sam pulled the tablet out from under the back of his shirt. “Not exactly,” he said. “To be honest, I’m afraid to let it out of my possession.”

12

Sam could see Karen’s mind working hard, trying to make sense of everything she’d been told. Karen Parks was a good cop, and Sam knew that she’d have a hard time dealing with the idea of cold-blooded killers wearing badges.

She suddenly slowed the car down and turned carefully into an alley. A moment later, she pulled into her own backyard and parked next to an old Ford pickup truck.

“We’re good here,” she said. “Nobody can see inside my yard. Bring that damn tablet and follow me.”

She climbed out of the car and Sam followed her into her house. She called out to be sure neither of her kids was home, then motioned for Sam to follow her into the living room. They sat down on the couch and she looked at Sam. “Show me.”

Sam turned on the tablet and poked the icon. A chime went off, and then the image of the alleyway appeared on the screen with a Play Button superimposed over it. Sam touched it to start the video running, then turned it so Karen could also see what was on the screen.

The video played through just as it had before, and Sam realized that he was noticing little details that had escaped him the first time. He hadn’t noticed, for instance, that the girl was wearing clothes that suggested her family was well off, while the boys were dressed in what his mother would have referred to as “Salvation Army rejects.” He couldn’t help wondering how the three of them had ended up in that alley that night, but those were answers he could look for at a later time.

Sam pointed out Forsyth when he arrived, but told Karen he didn’t know his partner’s name. She leaned forward as the man came into view and said, “That’s Mark Wright. He asked me for a date last week, but I turned him down. It’s funny, he and Forsyth just got transferred to the day shift about ten days ago. In fact, so did these other two.” She felt a shiver run down her spine. “Sure glad I didn’t go out with him.”

Sam kept watching and noticed something else. At the point where Jerry Lemmons arrived on the scene, Officer Driscoll’s face broke into a smile, and the man actually winked. He was holding the girl’s right arm in his right hand, but his left arm was already curling around her throat at that point. It almost looked like that he knew what was coming and was excited about it.

Karen sat perfectly still as the video played through, and when it finished she simply stared at the screen for another full minute. When she finally turned her face toward Sam, he could see the tears that were brimming over and beginning to run down her cheeks.

“Dear God, Sam,” she said. “Dear God, they were just kids!”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they were. I remember a couple of weeks ago, there was mention of a missing girl on the news. Her parents seemed to think she had run away with a couple of boys she was hanging out with. I suspect we’ve just seen the truth of what happened to her. As for the boys, I gather no one thinks much about them going missing.”

Karen shook her head. “I vaguely remember something about the girl disappearing with two teenage boys, but that’s all. From the look of those two, though, they might be the type that don’t get noticed a lot. Boys like that can vanish without anyone raising too big a fuss.”

“The problem is that this really is the only usable copy of the video, now. I need it to get Tracy back, but somehow we also have to get it to a prosecutor. Trouble is, the way he encrypted it, I can’t even make a copy.”

Karen grinned. “Someday when your daughter is a teenager, you’ll learn a few tricks like the one I’m about to show you. Start that video again.” She took out her phone, turned on its video camera app and pointed it at the screen of the tablet. When the video finished running, she saved the recording she had just made and then played part of it back. “It’s a little grainy, but I bet we can find a computer guy who can clean it up pretty good, enough to show the grand jury.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m married to a computer whiz, but I never would’ve thought of that. What are you going to do with it?”

“Monica Purvis is still bucking to run for governor one of these days,” Karen said. “She’d be all over this. I’ll get it to her and get her started on it. What are you going to be doing in the meantime?”

Sam thought for a moment. “Do me a favor and hold off on going to Purvis for a few hours. As far as Lemmons knows, I have the only existing copy. That’s still the best hope I have of getting Tracy back alive to her family.”

Karen looked up at him and smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s almost eleven, now. I’ll give you until four o’clock, okay? That way I can catch her before she gets out of her office.”

Sam nodded again. “Okay. Hopefully, that will be enough time. Just make sure nobody finds out you’ve got that video until after you talk to her. Lemmons won’t hesitate to kill anyone he thinks is standing in the way of putting this behind him.”

“Yeah,” Karen said. “And at the moment, he figures that’s just you.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a set of keys, then grabbed a baseball cap that was lying on the coffee table. “Put this on and take the truck,” she said. “It’s not the most beautiful thing you’ll ever drive, but it runs great and has plenty of power. Got a plan in mind yet?”

Sam put on the hat, added his own sunglasses and gave her his most evil grin. “The only one that ever really seems to work,” he said. “I’m just going to use myself as bait.”

Karen stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “You know your wife is going to kill you if you live through this, right?”

Sam chuckled. “Let’s just hope she gets the chance,” he said as he walked out the back door and headed toward the old Ford. He glanced around to be sure no one was looking, then slid in behind the wheel. Lemmons’s gun, still tucked into his waistband in the back, was pressing on his spine. He took it out and put it in the glove box.

Sam slid the key into the ignition and started the truck, backing out into the alley and following it for a couple of blocks before turning onto a side street. He made his way along between rows of houses with manicured lawns for about twenty minutes, putting distance between himself and Karen’s house, then punched in the code to block caller ID and dialed the number for the Denver Police Department.

“I need to speak to Detective Lemmons,” Sam said with a growl. “Tell him it’s Sam Prichard.”

The desk sergeant almost seemed to choke for a second, but then Sam heard the hold music. It took a couple of moments, but finally the call was transferred to Lemmons’s cell phone.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“Same thing I wanted before,” Sam said. “I’ve still got what you want, safely stashed away. I’ll make the same trade we talked about earlier.”

Lemmons was quiet for a moment. “We can negotiate. Since I’m sure you don’t want this conversation recorded, give me your direct number and I’ll call you.”

“Very funny,” Sam said. “You give me yours. I’m not going to let you have time to track my GPS signal.”

Grudgingly, Lemmons told Sam his number and ended the call. Sam waited a few seconds and then punched it into his throwaway phone.

“So how do you want to do this?” Lemmons asked. “Face-to-face? There’s an old empty apartment building at Wadsworth and Florida. That’s where you’ll find me in fifteen minutes.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “Come alone. Otherwise, I vanish and the video goes to the DA.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Lemmons said. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be alone. No guns, right, Sam?”

“That part’s entirely up to you.” Sam ended the call and took the next left. The intersection Lemmons had mentioned was to the south, and Sam was less than fifteen minutes from it. He pushed the old truck and made it there in ten.

The old four-story building was surrounded by a chain link fence, and signs announced that traffic would be rerouted two blocks around it the following day because it was scheduled to be demolished in order to make way for a new medical clinic. Lemmons wasn’t there yet, so Sam parked the truck behind a large excavator on a trailer and shoved the tablet up under the seat of the truck, then got out and stood where he could look around the trailer and watch for Lemmons.

He took out his cell phone and dialed Indie, to let her know where he was and that he was meeting to talk with Lemmons, but nothing happened. He held the phone up and waved it around, but it was getting no service for some reason. He put it back into his pocket, frustrated, and continued to watch for Lemmons.

The detective arrived a few minutes later, and Sam peeked around the excavator long enough to be sure the man was alone and that no other cars were following. He waited a full minute, then stepped put and walked directly toward Lemmons’s car.

Lemmons opened his door and got out, then closed the door and leaned on it as he faced Sam. “Well,” he said, “here we are again.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Where we could’ve been several hours ago, if you weren’t such an idiot. I told you, Jerry, all I want is Tracy. She’s not going to talk, simply because I can convince her it’s the only way to keep her daughter safe. This whole thing can end without any more bloodshed.”

Lemmons stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I wish I could believe you, Sam,” he said, “but there’s just too much at stake. I can’t risk everything on the notion that none of you will ever talk about this.”

“Then give me another option,” Sam said. “Give me something that’ll let me bring Tracy home to her kid. Any idea what that might be?”

The detective stood there in silence for another few seconds, then nodded. “First off, you need to understand that this isn’t quite what you think it is. Nobody wanted those kids to get killed, that wasn’t the idea. It was supposed to go down different, with nobody really getting hurt at all. Driscoll just got carried away, and then it was too late.”

Sam was surprised, but then he suddenly remembered the look on Driscoll’s face when Lemmons had appeared, and how he’d thought it odd the officer already had his arm wrapped around the girl’s throat at that time. From what Lemmons was saying, it almost sounded like the kids had been set up, somehow.

“It was planned,” Sam said. “How? What was the whole point of it? Some way or another, you knew those kids were going to be there. What was supposed to happen, Jerry?”

Lemmons hesitated for another moment, but then went on. “The girl. She’s been running with them boys lately, getting herself into trouble. They were smoking dope, stealing stuff, the usual kinds of trouble kids get themselves into, you know? Well, a couple days before that went down, I get a phone call. Her grandpa is a very powerful man in the city, and he wanted her to get scared straight, right? He went to somebody who calls me and tells me if I can pull that off, it’ll be made well worth my while, and we’re talking not just money, but some pretty good career incentives, you might say. I said I’d see what I could do, then I talked to a couple guys and we started keeping an eye on them. When we found a way to get them off by themselves, we were planning to rough the boys up and scare the girl real good, make sure she wouldn’t risk letting any of us catch her out on the streets again. That was all it was supposed to be, I swear.”

“But Driscoll got a little overzealous,” Sam said. “Let me guess, he was supposed to put her in a sleeper hold, put her to sleep, right? By the time she woke up, those boys would be pretty bloodied, and you figured she’d run home to Mommy and Daddy and stay off the streets?”

Lemmons let out a sigh. “That was the idea,” he said. “Then it just all fell apart. There was nothing I could do but try to clean up the mess.”

“Oh, bull, Jerry,” Sam said. “You could’ve called nine one one and told the truth. Paramedics might’ve been able to revive the girl, maybe it wasn’t too late.”

“You try to think at a moment like that!” Lemmons shouted suddenly. “I made the call that came to me at that moment, and if you want to know whether I regret it or not, hell, yes, I do. Every minute since then, I’ve tried to think of what else I could have done. If I’d just looked up at Driscoll a minute sooner, it all might have been different. You know how many times I wished I’d never agreed to get involved in this at all?”

“Okay, but now it’s too late to undo it. Now we’ve got a total of four dead bodies. There’s no point in anyone else having to die over this, Jerry. Tell me where Tracy is, let me at least bring her home to her daughter. I’ll keep her quiet, I promise you.”

“Stop saying that!” Lemmons yelled. “There’s no way in the world you can guarantee she won’t talk sooner or later, so if I give her up to you, I’m out of leverage. You want her, fine, let’s talk about that. If I give her up, what will you give me in exchange? What do I get, a head start, maybe? A chance to run?”

“Would that be enough? Would that get me Tracy, alive?” Sam asked.

There was a moment of silence, and then Lemmons spoke again, waving a hand for emphasis. “What if—what if there was another way? What if we could clean this whole thing up without that video ever seeing the light of day?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the detective. “I’m listening,” he said.

“You want Tracy Jensen back alive? Well, here’s my offer. Without that video, there is no way to actually prove who did or said what that night. The tragedy of it all is that those kids are dead, right? Somebody needs to pay for that, right? How about this? I’ll give you Driscoll and his partner. The rest of us will swear the kids were dead when we got there, and that Driscoll said they’d claim we were all in on it if we didn’t help them cover it up. We panicked and screwed up, but that’s all it was, just a big mistake. Driscoll and Slocum go down for the murders, the rest of us lose our jobs, maybe get some probation or something, and you get another big feather in your cap for cracking the case. How about it, Sam? I screwed up, I know it, but I don’t want to throw my whole life away over it. I’ve got a wife, I’ve got two kids. I don’t want to lose everything!”

Sam’s gut was rumbling as he listened to Lemmons trying to twist the story into something that would keep him from facing the penalty he deserved. Still, it was a chance to get Tracy out alive. Sam tried to make it look like he was seriously considering the offer.

“All three of you would have to be able to tell the same story,” Sam said. “How long would it take you to arrange that?”

Lemmons’s voice suddenly had hope in it. “I can fix that up in a matter of minutes,” he said. “Let me make a couple of calls, explain to them that this is the only way we get through this, and the three of us will meet you somewhere. I’ll tell you where to find the woman, and you can take us in. It’ll be your bust, and I can even set up Driscoll and Slocum so you can arrest them, too. All you gotta do is keep that video from ever turning up, and then if the Jensen woman ever decides to talk, it’ll be her word against ours. Without any serious evidence to back it up, it won’t even matter that Driscoll and Slocum would say she was telling the truth. What do you say, Sam?”

13

The window behind Lemmons suddenly exploded, and the detective’s face took on a look of surprise. A bright red spot appeared on the front of his shirt and began spreading, running downward from the center of his chest. Sam stared in shock as Lemmons looked down at himself, then slowly sank to the ground.

The shot had come from a side street, and Sam spun and bolted around the building. A quick glance around the corner at Lemmons told him the man was dead, so Sam pulled his own pistol and leaned back against the old brick wall. His mind was racing, trying to figure out just what had happened.

Either Lemmons hadn’t really come alone, or someone had followed him. Sam figured it was the latter, that at least one of the other cops—probably either Driscoll or Slocum—had somehow tailed him to the meeting and heard him trying to give them up.

Of course, that meant they also heard that Sam had the video. His own life was now on the line, he knew, and it wouldn’t be long before the shooter came looking for him. He glanced around the corner again but saw no one, then hurried along the side of the building to the back and ducked low as he peeked out once more. There was still no one in sight, so Sam stood again and pressed his back to the bricks.

Straight in front of him was more of the chain link fence. It was at least six feet high, but there was a barrel standing beside it. Ignoring the pain in his hip, Sam hurried over and leapt up onto the barrel, then threw himself over the top of the fence. He landed hard in somebody’s backyard and went down, but scrambled to his feet and began a limping run across it.

There was a wooden fence on the other side of the yard, but it was broken and Sam managed to climb through a hole. The yard he entered then was unfenced, but a large Rottweiler began barking at him and straining at the heavy chain that secured it to a doghouse. It couldn’t reach him, so he kept moving from one backyard to the next until he came to the street at the end of the block.

He grabbed at his phone and looked at it, but it was still showing no bars. He tried calling Karen Parks anyway, but when it only beeped in failure, he shoved it back into his pocket once again.

From back toward the apartment building, he heard an engine and squealing tires, so he turned to the left and found an alley leading back the way he’d come. He made it back to the chain link around the building, found an open gate and rushed inside, then hurried to where he’d left the pickup.

It had worked; the shooter hadn’t expected him to double back. He made it to the truck and jumped inside, started it up and whispered a prayer of thanks for the big 460 that roared to life under the hood. He yanked the shifter into drive and floored it, racing out the exit from the apartment parking lot and onto South Wadsworth. He turned right at the first intersection, praying that he was moving away from the direction the shooter had been driving.

Five minutes later he saw no sign of pursuit, so he made a couple of turns and slowed to normal driving speeds. He took the phone out of his pocket, saw that it had service again and called Karen Parks.

“How’s it going?” Karen asked nonchalantly as she answered.

“Lemmons is dead,” Sam said. “We met at an old apartment building in Lakewood, and somebody shot him while we were talking. He told me that someone had contacted him a few weeks back and wanted him to scare that girl so she’d stop running the streets, and that he’d be rewarded if he succeeded. The others were supposed to help him with that but it all went wrong. He was trying to make a deal with me to hang Driscoll and Slocum for the murders and let the rest of them off as accessories after, and I suspect the shooter was one of them.”

“Accessories? How did he figure to get away with that?”

“He wanted to tell a story that Driscoll and Slocum killed the kids, then threatened to involve the rest of them if they didn’t help cover it up and they panicked and went along with it. Without the video, it would be their word against him and the other two, who would back him up.”

“Oh, Geez! Where are you now?”

“Just driving around,” he said. “The shooter was looking for me but I’ve shaken him, I think. I’m trying to think of what to do now, some other way to find Tracy.”

“Okay, but try to stay out of sight. Lemmons was the one accusing you of murder, so if anyone saw the two of you together, you’re going to be the number one suspect in his killing. Wait a minute, hang on…”

Her voice stopped and Sam could hear radio chatter in the background, but then she came back on the line. “Sam,” she said, “I think maybe you’re right about the shooters. Officers Driscoll and Slocum are currently securing the scene where Lemmons was shot. They claim he told them to follow him and watch from a distance while he tried to take you into custody, and that they saw you shoot him in cold blood. They say they fired shots at you, but you got away.”

Sam shook his head, the impact of her words hitting him like a punch in the gut. “Karen, I swear I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I never…”

“Knock it off, Sam,” she said. “I saw that video, remember? I know damn well you didn’t kill Lemmons. Apparently they followed him on their own and overheard him talking to you. Of course they wanted him dead; if he was trying to set them up for the fall, that would be all the motive they could possibly need. Listen, I’m gonna call Monica and try to get this to her now, we can’t wait any longer. I show her this video, she’s going to get arrest warrants for all of these bastards within minutes, and we can question them then. One of them will undoubtedly know where your old girlfriend is being held. You just stay out of sight until I call you, got that?”

“I’ll do my best,” Sam said. “Or would it be better if I came with you, let her see that video on the tablet?”

“Nope. I want you to keep that one safe, just in case this blows up in my face. That video is the best chance you’ve got to clear your name if I can’t get this done.”

“Karen? What are you talking about? If you show that video to Monica Purvis, it’s going to be pretty obvious who the killers are, I think.”

“I think so, too,” Karen said, “but we’re talking about some weird kind of corruption, here. While he may not have intended for anyone to die, Lemmons took instructions from someone to commit a crime—physically assaulting those kids—and agreed to do it, even involved other officers. We don’t know who that might have been, or how deep the corruption goes, but that means there’s a risk even in going to the DA with this. I’m going to call Monica now and tell her what I’ve got, and find out how soon I can meet with her. All I need you to do is stay completely out of sight somewhere until I call.”

Sam opened his mouth twice with no sound coming out, but finally managed to speak. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got your back. You just be as careful as you can, okay?”

“Count on it. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know something good.”

The phone went dead in his ear and Sam put it back into his pocket. He made a couple more turns to randomize his route, but his mind wouldn’t stop wrestling with the situation. Now that Karen had mentioned the possibility that high-level corruption might be involved, the whole case was taking on even more ominous overtones.

Karen had been correct. The first crime involved in this whole mess had been Lemmons’s agreement to rough up those kids and frighten the girl. In fact, just knowing that someone wanted it done quietly made it worse; there were numerous legitimate ways to deal with rebellious teenagers, but somebody hadn’t wanted whatever issues she had to be made public. Maybe that was just a family afraid of public scorn, but what if there was something going on with the girl that needed to be covered up? What if the kid was suffering some kind of abuse and was acting out because she didn’t feel safe at home?

All of these thoughts built up into a frustration that finally boiled over. There was one person he could think of who had the power to recruit someone like Lemmons, and he decided it was time to take the bull by the horns.

He took out his phone again and dialed his wife’s number. Indie answered on the first ring. “Sam?”

“It’s me,” he said. “Baby, things are getting a little hairy. I need you to look up a number for me, okay?”

“What do you mean, hairy? What’s going on, Sam?”

“Jerry Lemmons is dead. He was shot and killed by another cop, and I’m pretty sure they had planned on killing me at the same time but I got away. Lemmons admitted he’s got Tracy stashed somewhere, and I was trying to negotiate her release with him when he was killed. The problem is that there’s somebody else involved, and I don’t know who it is yet. The killings were an accident, Lemmons and his crew were supposed to just rough the kids up and scare the girl into straightening up her act, but she ended up dead. They killed the two boys with her just to cover everything up, but the whole thing is unraveling. I need to find out who recruited them for this, because it may well have been somebody powerful in local government. Karen Parks has a copy of the video and is taking it to the DA right now, but that means she’s sticking her neck out. If the wrong people want this covered up, she could be in just as much danger as I am.”

“Oh, my God,” Indie said. “Whose number do you need me to find?”

“Randy Whitaker,” Sam said, “the city attorney. But I don’t want his office number, I want his cell.”

“I know who you mean,” she replied. “He’s the one who was mixed up with Candy’s ex-husband. Hang on a minute, my computer is right here.” Sam heard her set the phone down and then he could hear the clicking of keys on her laptop. A moment later, she returned to the line. “I’ll text you the number,” she said. “Sam—Sam, just be careful.”

“Ain’t I always? I love you. Give Kenzie a kiss for me. Hopefully, this will all be over soon and you guys can come home.”

He ended the call, but his phone beeped a moment later when the text message came in. He looked at it and then punched the number into the dial pad.

“Hello?” Whitaker said as he answered.

“Remember you promised me a couple of favors?” Sam asked. “I need to collect on one of them.”

“I promised you what? Oh—Prichard?”

“Yes. I need to know if you were involved in something, and I need a straight answer.”

“Okay, shoot. If there is one man in the world I won’t lie to, it’ll be you.”

“Couple of weeks back, Detective Jerry Lemmons was approached by someone about doing a ‘scared straight’ bit on a young girl, and he was promised what he called career enhancements if he pulled it off. I don’t remember the name, but she was from an influential family and was running the streets with a couple of punk boys. Shortly after that, she disappeared and it was all over the news. Was it you who recruited Lemmons for that job?”

“No,” Whitaker said. “Think about everything you know about me, and you should realize I don’t involve the police in any of my activities. If someone had come to me with this, I would have sent someone a lot scarier than a cop to have a talk with the kid.”

Sam mulled over what Whitaker had said and concluded that he was probably telling the truth. “Okay,” he said, “I believe you. So, tell me this: who else is out there that might have made Lemmons an offer like that?”

“Hell, I don’t know. If we’re talking about the girl who disappeared a couple weeks ago, I can tell you that her grandfather wields a lot of power, but I doubt he’d go straight to the police himself. He’s a lawyer, his name is James Wilfrid Weintraub. My guess, if he wanted cops to do something like this, he’d either go to the DA or somebody big at the police department.”

“Weintraub,” Sam said. “Thank you. Got a number for him?”

“Hang on a second,” Whitaker said. A moment later he recited a number that Sam committed to memory.

Sam ended the call and then immediately dialed Weintraub’s number. The phone rang three times before it was answered by a secretary.

“Morris, Weintraub and Gill,” she said. “How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to Mr. Weintraub, please,” Sam said. “My name is Sam Prichard.”

“One moment.” Classical music began to play, and a moment later a gruff voice came on the line.

“This is Jim Weintraub. Mr. Prichard? How can I help you?”

“Mr. Weintraub, I’m a private investigator. In the course of my current investigation, I’ve come across information regarding your granddaughter, the one who’s missing.”

“Alyssa? Do you know where she is?”

“Not exactly,” Sam said. “Mr. Weintraub, it’s my understanding that you asked someone to arrange for her to be scared by police officers. Is that correct?”

The old man hesitated for a moment. “I think there may have been a conversation along that line,” he said cautiously. “What do you know about my granddaughter?”

“Mr. Weintraub, I need to know who you approached about that. It’s very important, sir.”

Another hesitation. “First, tell me what you know about my granddaughter. Where is Alyssa?”

Sam let out a sigh. “Mr. Weintraub, I’m sorry to tell you that your granddaughter is dead. It was during the attempt to scare her straight, one of the police officers involved accidentally strangled her. He and other officers then killed two boys that were with her, and their bodies were disposed of. I don’t know where at this point. I’m trying to bring those officers to justice, but I need to know who you spoke to that recruited them to do this.”

There was a strangled cry on the other end of the line, and then Sam could hear muffled sobs. It took almost a minute for the old man to compose himself enough to come back onto the phone. “Mr. Prichard, are you certain she’s dead? Is there any chance…”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but there’s no doubt. By a strange stroke of fate, there was actually a video camera that recorded the whole thing. I’ve seen the video, and there’s no doubt that she is dead.”

Somehow, the old man managed to hold himself together. “Can you assure me that the officers responsible are going to pay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to accomplish right now, sir. That’s why I need the name. I need to be certain that we don’t run afoul of someone who can cover this up.”

The old man took a deep breath. “One of my firm’s former associate attorneys works for the District Attorney’s office,” he said. “We were having lunch together, discussing a case she was prosecuting when the subject of my granddaughter came up. She told me she knew of a way to make Alyssa straighten up but that it would cost, and I said I didn’t care what it cost me. I gave her 100,000 dollars, which she said would be passed on to those who would actually do the job.”

She? Sam thought, and a chill ran down his spine. “Sir, the name?”

“It was Monica Purvis, Mr. Prichard,” the old man said, “and I will pay you three times that amount if you can include her in the charges you are pursuing against the officers.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Sam said, and hit the button that ended the call. He dialed Karen’s number with his thumb, and listened to the ringing of the phone in his ear.

After six rings, it went to voicemail, and Sam pointed the truck downtown.

* * * * *

He hadn’t heard any sign of pursuit in quite some time, but he was sure they’d never give up completely. There was no telling how long he’d been running through these woods, but every step had made him angrier and angrier. They were treating him like a criminal, but he wasn’t the one who had murdered three teenagers.

Marty had been avoiding roads and houses, but now he was getting tired. When a big house suddenly loomed ahead of him, he started to think about asking someone, anyone, for help. After listening for several minutes and hearing nothing, he carefully made his way to the back door of the place and knocked.

There was no answer, and Marty felt a despair start to set in. It was almost like he was the last man on the planet, out here all alone, and he was feeling desperate in ways he’d never experienced before. He was a hunted man, Tracy was still missing and God only knew if she was alive, and suddenly it was all too much.

He went off the porch and found a rock, then threw it through the glass on the door. A moment later, he reached in and unlocked it, then walked inside slowly. If anyone was there, they hadn’t reacted to the crash.

A few minutes later, Marty knew he was all alone.

He looked through the kitchen and found some crackers and cookies, enough to at least curb the hunger that was starting to hurt, then washed them down with water from the tap. It was cold and good, and he started to feel just a little better. Refreshed, he began looking around again and found a phone hanging on the kitchen wall.

He grabbed it up, but there was no dial tone. This was apparently a vacation retreat, and the owner didn’t leave the phone on when he wasn’t present. He hung it up and explored the house further, and that’s when he saw the desk.

He yanked open a drawer and looked through it, not sure what he was hoping to find, but was surprised when he saw the Colt .38 revolver. He picked up the gun and saw that it was loaded, then stuffed it into his waistband.

He found a ring of keys in another drawer and noticed that there were car keys on it. A quick glance through the windows showed him a Chevy four-wheel drive pickup, and when he tried the key, it fired right up.

He had wheels, and he had a gun. It was time to stop being the hunted and become the hunter. He put the truck into gear and started down the mountain.

14

Monica Purvis was sitting in her office when Karen called, and listened intently to the story Karen told. “So, this whole thing was recorded on video?”

“Yes,” Karen said. “I have a copy of that video that I need to show you, but Sam and I are pretty sure a couple of these cops have already gone rogue. You heard about Jerry Lemmons being killed?”

“Yes, just a few minutes ago,” Monica said, “but the story I got is that your friend Prichard killed him. We’ve got two officers who witnessed it.”

“Yeah, yeah, Driscoll and Slocum. Those two have starring roles in the video I’m going to show you. Driscoll is the one who actually killed the girl, and then the rest of them worked together to kill the two boys. Lemmons had just told Sam he’d give up those two and let them take the fall for the murder when he was shot. Pretty safe bet they heard it and decided to shut him up while they could, wouldn’t you think?”

Monica made a snap decision. “Okay, look, it’s eleven thirty right now, and I’ve got to meet with my boss in ten minutes. I’ll go over this with her, but you be here at twelve and bring me that video. I’ll go ahead and get started on the paperwork by then. You said it’s Driscoll, Slocum, Forsyth and Wright?”

“That’s them, yeah. I’ll be there at one o’clock.”

“Okay,” Monica said. “And listen, don’t let anybody else know about this yet. With dirty cops involved, you have to be careful. I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, then picked it up and dialed another number.

“Precinct 3, Sergeant McLean.”

“Sergeant, this is Assistant District Attorney Monica Purvis. Are officers Forsyth and Wright on duty?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant said. “They’re on patrol. Would you like to speak to their supervisor?”

“Yes, please.” He was placed on hold for a moment, and then another man picked up the line.

“Lieutenant Stevens, how can I help you?”

“Lieutenant Stevens, this is Assistant District Attorney Monica Purvis. Would it be possible for me to borrow a couple of your officers for a special assignment? I’m talking about Officers Forsyth and Wright.”

“Just one moment,” the lieutenant said. “Yes, ma’am, they’re both on duty right now. Shall I have them call you?”

“Yes, have one of them call Monica Purvis at the DA’s office as soon as possible, and thank you.”

She hung up the phone again and leaned back in her chair to wait. A moment later, it rang again and she snatched it up. “Purvis.”

“Ms. Purvis? This is David Forsyth, I was told to call you immediately?”

“And it’s a damned good thing you did,” Monica said. “Remember that mess about those kids a couple weeks ago? Did you know it was freaking caught on video?”

The cop on the line stuttered for a moment, but she cut him off. “Don’t even bother trying to deny anything,” she said. “Karen Parks has a copy of that damned video, and she’s bringing it to me at noon. I need you here when she arrives, we’ve got to make sure no one ever sees that damned thing.”

Forsyth seemed shocked. “Make sure what? I don’t…”

“Who the hell do you think handed you guys that job? Those kids are dead, Jerry Lemmons is dead…If it gets out that I set this mess up, I’m going down with you, so right now I’m your guardian angel. Where’s your partner?”

“He’s right here with me,” he said. “Why…”

“You get your ass up here to wait for Parks, and send him to go and find James Weintraub. It’s lunchtime, so he’ll be at Marconi’s. Tell Wright to say he found Weintraub’s granddaughter and needs to take him to her, and he’ll go along. And tell him to make sure his body won’t be found anytime soon.”

It took Forsyth a moment to regain his voice. “Ma’am,” he said, “you want us to kill them? Karen’s a fellow cop, and Weintraub’s a pretty big man…”

“You want us all to go down for murdering those kids and Lemmons and God knows who else? These people know just enough to make that happen, so you’re going to get a little more blood on your hands, got that? And once you’ve got Karen Parks, you can use her to get Sam Prichard, because that bastard has the original video. You’ve got to find him, too, and then shut all of them up for good.”

There was muffled whispering, and then Forsyth came back on the line. “Um…All right, we’re in. I’ll—I’ll be there shortly.” He hung up, and Monica slammed the phone back into the cradle once more.

Forsyth’s partner, Mark Wright, was driving their patrol car, so he dropped Forsyth off about ten minutes later. The cop looked around for a moment, then spotted some bushes in front of the building and went to stand behind them. He knew Karen Parks, and the thought of doing her any harm was making his stomach churn, but he also knew what happened to cops who went to prison.

Karen pulled in a few minutes before noon and eased the car into an empty parking slot near the front of the building. She dropped the keys into her purse and started to get out, but suddenly the front passenger door was yanked open and she looked around to see who was getting in.

It was David Forsyth, and he had his service automatic in his hand. “Just sit down, Karen,” he said nervously. “Get back behind the wheel and start the car.”

Karen stared at the gun for a moment, then pulled the door shut. “Dave, hasn’t this already gone far enough?”

“Start the car, Karen,” he said. “We’re just going for a little ride. All I want is the videos you and Prichard have, and then you can go home. Just start the car and let’s go out towards Arvada for the moment.” He kept the gun aimed at her head as he reached across her and took her own pistol out of the holster she kept clipped to her belt.

She carefully reached into her purse for the keys, but then looked up at him again as she inserted them into the ignition. “Monica Purvis already knows,” she said. “She’s expecting me any second.”

“Who do you think called me?” Forsyth asked. “What, did you think I stumbled across you out of luck? Now let’s go. Start the car and put it in gear.”

Realization dawned on her, and she started the car. She backed out of the parking space and drove out onto the street, turning in the general direction of Aurora. “So, is this it? Are you going to kill me?”

“Hell, no! That’s what I was told to do, but all I want is the videos. You give me those, and drop all this, and no one will ever believe it existed. You and Prichard let this go, and it’s all over.”

Karen swallowed once and indicated her purse with a nod of her head. “It’s on my phone,” she said. “Right there in my purse, you can take it now.”

He glanced into her purse on the seat and saw the phone sticking out of it. Keeping the gun trained on her, he reached in and picked it up. “Okay, that’s half the problem. Now, let’s go find your buddy Prichard. I understand he has a copy of it, too.”

Karen’s heart sank, but she tried to keep it from showing on her face. “Sam Prichard? I don’t know where he is, I haven’t talked to him in weeks.”

Forsyth laughed. “Don’t play games, Karen,” he said. “You must’ve told Monica about him, because she said I got to get one from him, too.”

The phone in his hand suddenly began to ring, and it startled him. His eyes went to the phone for a split second, but then he raised them back up to watch Karen as he turned the phone to let her see the display. “Is that him?”

Karen glanced at the number and saw that it was Sam’s throwaway, but she shook her head in the negative. “I don’t know who that is,” she said. “I ignore calls from numbers I don’t know.”

The ringing continued for a moment, then stopped. Forsyth called up the phone app and looked at its recent calls. “That’s funny,” he said, “the same number shows up several times today.” He poked her arm with the barrel of the gun. “It’s Prichard, isn’t it?”

“I told you, I don’t know who that is. Probably one of those sales calls, I get those all the time.”

Forsyth watched her for a moment, then grinned. “You’re sweating, Karen,” he said. “Awful lot of stress in your voice. Tell you what, I’m going to call that number back and put it on speaker. If it’s Sam, you tell him you need to meet up. Tell him to meet you at that old appliance factory out on Jamison, in Arvada.”

Karen looked at him for a second and then cut her eyes back to the road. “And if I don’t?”

“Look, all I want is the videos, but I have to get them. If you don’t do what I tell you, or you try to warn him in any way, I’m gonna do what I have to do. You got kids, Karen, don’t you want to go home to them tonight?”

Karen swallowed hard and looked at Forsyth again. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I do.”

Forsyth nodded, then hit the call-back icon. On speaker, the phone rang only once before Sam answered.

“Karen, don’t go to Monica! I just found out she’s the one who set this all up with Lemmons.”

“Yeah, I know,” Karen said, “I found that out, too. Sam, we need to meet up. You know that old factory in Arvada, where they used to make refrigerators? How soon can you get there?”

“I know the place. I’m probably thirty minutes away.”

Karen glanced at Forsyth. “Okay, so am I. I’ll see you there, and we can talk this over and decide what to do.”

“I’ll be there,” Sam said, and then he was gone.

Forsyth grinned. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Relax, Karen, this will all be over soon.”

* * * * *

James Wilfrid Weintraub was a creature of habit. When he had hung up the phone from talking to Sam, he had sat at his desk for only a few moments before rising and heading for the door. Twice each week he had lunch at Marconi’s, and this was one of those days. Letting his body operate on autopilot allowed him to think about what Prichard had told him, and he was already out on the sidewalk in front of his building before he even realized it. His feet carried him three doors down and turned into the restaurant without even consulting his conscious mind.

The maître d’ smiled at him and led the way to the table he always used. A waiter set the customary chilled water glass in front of him and handed him a menu. Weintraub waived it away and ordered the veal that he loved without thinking.

Alyssa was dead. That thought kept rolling over and over, and though he wanted to reject it with every fiber of his being, the fact that she had not been seen in more than two weeks just seemed to confirm it. He let his memory show him a collage of images from his granddaughter’s life, from when she was just a newborn to the last time he’d seen her almost three weeks earlier.

She was a beautiful girl, and so full of promise for the future. His daughter had been so proud when Alyssa was born, so proud to show the baby off to her grandpa, and Weintraub had lavished gifts on the child since that day. She was his precious little angel, he’d always thought, and it was to him she would run when that lousy father of hers would go into one of his moods.

George Russell, Alyssa’s father, had seemed like a fine young man when he had become Weintraub’s son-in-law. He was a dentist who had recently opened his own practice and seemed to be doing well. For the first few years, George was nothing but a blessing to the family, but then Alyssa was born. For most men, having a child will cause them to suddenly take life more seriously. For George, it seemed to represent only a greater burden.

The doctors said George had always suffered from depression, but he had managed to keep it under control for most of his life. It wasn’t until he became a father that it really became obvious and began to affect those around him. When Alyssa was a baby, he would occasionally slip into a funk and begin to worry about things that shouldn’t have been any kind of serious issue, but as she grew, his depression got worse.

By the time she was ten years old, George’s depression reached the point that it was interfering with every aspect of his life. His wife and daughter had given up trying to reach him during those periods, and were avoiding him as much as they could. His dental practice began to suffer due to constant rescheduling of appointments, and it wasn’t long before even his most loyal patients were going elsewhere. Weintraub had convinced him to take on a couple of other young dentists, and limit himself to a managerial capacity. That, at least, preserved the family’s income.

In the last couple of years, however, George had started to become belligerent during his episodes. The slightest insult could set him off, and he would often go into a verbal rage that would last for hours. The whole thing had come to a head six months earlier, when George had grown angry at Alyssa for closing her bedroom door while he was talking to her, and literally kicked it down.

Weintraub had pulled strings to get George into a hospital in California, a place that was known for its treatment of depression and anger issues, but with sufficient discretion to keep the treatment from ever becoming publicly known. George had spent three months there, and seemed to be doing better when he got home.

Unfortunately, his anger and belligerence had already taken their toll on Alyssa. During his absence, she had begun acting out, getting into minor trouble and running with kids who demonstrated a lack of respect for authority. She had begun to display a similar attitude, even to her grandfather.

It was during lunch at Marconi’s that he finally opened up about the issue to someone he thought he could trust. Monica Purvis had been a rising star in his law firm, but she had become disillusioned after successfully defending a man who had been charged with the rape and murder of a young woman. Her duty as an attorney was to provide the best defense she possibly could, and she had done that duty despite the fact that she was personally certain of his guilt.

A month later, she had tendered her resignation from the firm and accepted a position with the Denver District Attorney’s office. She and Weintraub had remained friends, and often met for lunch to discuss cases before facing each other in court.

They had also become lovers, carrying on an occasional affair that had already lasted more than two years. That was why Weintraub had confided in her; he felt that she could be trusted, and that she genuinely cared about him and his family.

And now he had to face the fact that that confidence had led to the death of the granddaughter he loved more than anyone or anything else in the world. Tears were slowly running down his cheeks as he waited for his lunch to be delivered, but then a motion to his left caught his eye.

A police officer was approaching his table, directed by the maître d’. Weintraub looked up, and his heart began pounding as he wondered if this officer was bringing him the official news of Alyssa’s death. The look on the officer’s face was grim, reinforcing Weintraub’s assumption, but he never got to hear the words themselves.

James Wilfrid Weintraub blinked furiously several times, and then both hands went to his chest. A strangled cry came from his mouth as he pitched forward, and then his final breath exited with a rattling sound.

He had never told anyone what his doctor had said only a few weeks before. He had never shared the fact that his heart was enlarged and exhibiting signs of congestive failure.

He hadn’t even told Monica.

A few people screamed, and paramedics were called immediately. They worked on the old man for a few minutes, but it was quickly apparent that he was gone. A patrol officer who happened to be present when Weintraub collapsed watched long enough to be sure there was no hope, then turned and hurried out the door.

When he was away from the restaurant, he took out a cell phone and dialed a number. “It’s Wright,” he said. “Talk about a stroke of luck. The lawyer, Weintraub? He just keeled over of a heart attack, he’s dead.”

On the other end of the call, Forsyth shook his head as he watched Karen pull into the parking lot. “Somehow, I don’t think my end of this is going to be that easy. I’ll call you once I’m done, okay?”

“Yeah,” Wright said. “Let me know where to pick you up when it’s over.”

15

Sam hung up the phone and took the next left turn. Arvada was off to the north, and Jamison was on the west end of town. Hopefully, he and Karen could figure out a next move that would bring this mess to a conclusion.

Sam glanced at the clock on the truck’s fancy radio and saw that it was already ten minutes after one. He had expected some sort of announcement by the police regarding the murder of Marty Fletcher to be released around noon, so he turned on the radio and tuned it to the local all-news station.

The first two stories he heard were about the antics of the new president and a celebrity who had passed away. The third story began, but was suddenly interrupted by the ominous music that always accompanied a breaking news announcement.

“We interrupt our regularly scheduled news broadcast to announce the sudden passing of prominent Denver attorney James Wilfrid Weintraub. Mr. Weintraub collapsed only minutes ago at Marconi’s restaurant, where he had just ordered lunch. Witnesses said he was apparently clutching his chest, and paramedics on the scene believe he may have suffered a massive coronary. We’ll bring you more information as it becomes available.”

Sam was so stunned he had to pull the truck over. He had spoken to Weintraub less than twenty minutes earlier, giving him the terrible news of the death of his granddaughter. Apparently it was too much for the old man to handle.

There wasn’t time to worry about it, though, so after a couple of minutes he put the truck back in gear and continued on toward the old factory. The frustrating thing was that, without Weintraub, it might not be possible to implicate Monica Purvis. Sam would have to wait and find out how Karen learned of her involvement, but bringing her to justice might have to wait for another time.

The Rayburn Appliance company had gone out of business nearly 8 years earlier, and a couple of their facilities in other locations had been bought up by some of their competitors. Their factory in Denver, however, was the oldest one they’d had and was already in poor condition when the company folded. As a result, it had sat empty all this time.

The police made occasional sweeps of the building, rounding up or running off the homeless and drug dealers who tried to use it as shelter. Normally, they would have left the homeless alone, but the building was so bad that it was considered unsafe. Two sections had collapsed already, and a couple of old veterans had lost their lives. The city tried to keep it boarded up, but some people always found a way to get inside.

The big parking lot was occasionally used for car shows, swap meets and as a hangout for kids at night, but during weekdays it was usually abandoned. When it came into view, Sam saw Karen’s car sitting far toward the back and gave the truck some throttle as he headed toward it. He pulled up with her on his left, and leaned out the window as he put the truck in park and shut off the engine.

“Got here as fast as I could,” he said. “I gotta tell you, I was scared to death when I found out Monica was involved. How did you—”

A sudden movement caught his eye as David Forsyth rose from where he’d been crouched on the other side of Karen’s car. He had a gun in his right hand, and Sam was staring down the barrel.

“Hey, Sam,” Forsyth said. “Sorry we have to meet again under conditions like these, but I need you to keep your hands where I can see them and step out of the truck.”

Sam thought about going for his own gun, but then he saw that Forsyth had another pistol in his left, and that it was pointed through the window at Karen. If he made a move, Karen was certain to be shot. He held his hands out the window and used the outside door handle to pop it open.

“Hey, Dave,” he said as he stepped out onto the concrete. “What’s this all about?”

“Give it up, Sam. I’ve already got Karen’s copy of the video, now I just need yours. You hand it over and this can all end peacefully.”

Still keeping his hands visible, Sam grinned at him. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Once I let Karen make a copy, I figured keeping that video with me might be a mistake. It’s stashed away somewhere safe, and if anything happens to either of us I can guarantee it will go straight to the FBI.”

Forsyth’s face suddenly went sour, and he tightened his grip on the gun aimed at Sam. “Now, that was stupid, Sam,” he said. “Aren’t you already in enough trouble? I hear they’re looking for you on a couple of different murder charges at the moment, right? If you’d just hand that video over, you might have a chance to get away. I’m sure not going to try and take you in, and I know Karen won’t. How about you come over and get into the car, and tell Karen where it is. She can drive us there and let you fetch it, and then you guys can drop me off and go your merry way.”

When a man has a gun pointed at you and you’re certain he’s willing to use it, the only thing you can do is try to keep him calm and look for an opening. Sam bit his bottom lip as if thinking it over, then shrugged his shoulders. “And if I do, you’ll let us go? No sudden bullets in the back of the head?”

“You have my word,” Forsyth said. “Let’s face it, Sam, without the video there’s nothing you can do to tie us to what happened. You can talk all you want, but it’ll be your word against four cops, so it’s not likely anyone’s going to believe you. Hell, especially when you’re already wanted for murder. You give me that video, Karen can go on with her life and you can get back in that truck and head for Canada, for all I care.”

Sam shrugged again. “What about Tracy Jensen? I tried to give the video to Jerry Lemmons, to get her back. Will you let her go?”

Forsyth looked confused. “Who the hell is she? I don’t know any Tracy Jensen.”

Sam’s heart sank. “She was working with the guy who made the video, trying to work it out with Lemmons so nobody else would get hurt. She disappeared a few days ago, and I’m pretty sure Lemmons has her locked away somewhere. Any idea where that might be?”

It was Forsyth’s turn to shrug his shoulders. “I’m afraid not, old buddy. Tell you what, though, let’s take care of our business, and then I’ll see what I can find out.”

Sam looked him in the eye for another moment, then nodded slowly. He walked carefully around the front of Karen’s car, then turned his back when Forsyth ordered him to do so. A moment later, he felt his Glock lifted from its holster and Forsyth told him to climb into the front seat.

Sam opened the door and got in as Forsyth slid into the backseat. The car was an unmarked, which meant there was no divider between the front and back seat. With three guns, Forsyth could easily kill either or both of them whenever he chose.

“Okay, now tell her where to go,” Forsyth said.

Sam looked over at Karen, who gave him a rueful smile. “It’s at my friend Harry’s place in Northglenn,” he said. “Jump on I-25 and head north, I’ll tell you where to get off.”

Karen started the car and left the parking lot, then turned right onto West 52nd Avenue. She followed it for a mile and then merged onto Interstate 76, which would lead to I-25.

Sam turned his head enough to look into the backseat. “Dave,” he said, “you know I saw the video. It was pretty obvious to me you didn’t really want to be involved in that whole thing, so how about you change sides and help us do this the right way? It was Driscoll and Slocum and Lemmons who were really to blame for all this. Lemmons is already dead, but he had the idea of letting Driscoll and Slocum take the heat. We could still do that.”

“Yeah? And how would that work?”

“Simple enough,” Sam said. “We forget about the videos completely. Lemmons said Driscoll and Slocum killed all three of the kids, and then blackmailed the rest of you into helping to cover it up by threatening to claim you were involved. If you back up my statement that one of them heard Lemmons giving me his confession, that’s enough motive for them to kill him, and would get me off that hook. As for Fletcher, I’d say we could probably find some evidence that Lemmons sent them out to get him, too. You and Wright just admit that Lemmons ordered you to go along, but now you want to come clean. If the four of us stick together on it, it can work.”

Forsyth was watching him as he spoke, but Sam could read his face. The man wasn’t going for it.

“Trouble with that, Sam,” Forsyth said, “is that I don’t trust you not to change your story at the last minute. The way it is now, you give me that video and no one is ever going to believe anything you two say about it, anyway. I think we’re going to stick to my plan. You give me the video, and then you hightail it out of town. Karen here is smart, she’s not going to talk about this at all, are you, Karen?”

Karen didn’t answer, so Forsyth poked the back of her head with a gun barrel. She flinched, then said, “I won’t say a word.” She flicked her eyes in Sam’s direction, and he could see just how frightened she really was in that glance.

Sam turned back to face the windshield, his mind racing. He didn’t believe for a second that Forsyth was going to let them go; despite what he was saying, both Sam and Karen had sterling reputations, and it was unlikely their statements would go unheeded. If both of them told the same story, there was a very good chance the FBI would launch an investigation, and sooner or later one of the four dirty cops would crack under questioning. The only hope they had was to eliminate everyone who might know the truth, and he was certain that was what Forsyth had been told.

The only question was whether the man was actually capable of murder. Sam wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think Forsyth had ever fired his gun in the line of duty, and he kept thinking about the way he had reacted when the girl had died. He was the only one there who had wanted to try to save her, so there was a chance...

The car merged onto the northbound interstate, meaning that Sam had maybe another twenty minutes to come up with a miracle. He thought of Lemmons’s pistol, still tucked into the glove box of the truck, and suddenly wished he had stuffed it into his sock.

Might as well wish for Bruce Lee to come to my rescue, Sam thought. Damn thing wouldn’t have stayed in my sock, anyway.

Sam’s old friend Harry Winslow really did have a house in Northglenn, but Sam didn’t have a key to it. It had been locked up since Harry got his big promotion and moved off to DC, but there was another destination in Northglenn that Sam had in mind.

Harry had once been the Denver station chief for the Department of Homeland Security. That was before DHS genuinely considered Denver a potential terrorist hotbed, but Sam had been instrumental in breaking up a terrorist cell that operated from there a little over a year before. Back then, Harry’s entire office consisted of a couple of guys who were essentially just a pair of computer hackers, operating out of a rundown building in the back streets of the suburb.

When Harry’s budget for the office was increased after that near disaster, he had gotten a nicer place downtown, but he had kept Ron Thomas and Jeff Donaldson in the same location they had used for three years. And then, when Harry had gotten the big promotion and moved up to DHS headquarters in DC, Ron and Jeff had decided it was time to enter the private sector. Still operating from the same building, they now hired their services out to clients all over the world who had a lawful use for them. Their specialties were network security and industrial and corporate counterespionage, and they were very good at both.

Sam knew them both to be extremely intelligent and resourceful, and he’d been known to drop by and say hello once in a while. They always welcomed him, and often asked if he might need their help someday.

It seemed to Sam that day had finally arrived. When they got off the interstate, Sam directed Karen toward the old building. She parked in front of its only door a few minutes later, and Sam turned to look at Forsyth.

“My buddy Harry runs this place,” he said, “and I left the tablet with one of his employees. All I’m going to do is get out of the car and knock on the door. I’ll tell them I need it, and they’ll get it for me. Soon as they do, I’ll come straight back.”

Forsyth nodded. “Be sure you do,” he said, “because Karen is going to stay here and keep me company. I’m sure you don’t want anything to happen to her, now do you?”

“Like I said,” Sam said, “I’ll get it and come right back. You can watch me the whole time, I won’t even step inside.”

Forsyth nodded again, and Sam stepped out of the car. He walked up to the battered old door and knocked three times, then twice more.

A thin young man who was already losing his hair opened the door and smiled at him. Sam winked once, and saw Ron Thomas throw a split-second glance at the car.

“Hey, Sam,” Ron said.

“Hey, Ron. Listen, remember that tablet I dropped off a while ago? Sorry to be a pain in the butt, but I need it back. Can you grab it for me?” Sam hadn’t dropped off anything, of course, so the ruse instantly told Ron that Sam was in trouble.

Ron grinned. “Sure, no problem. I put it on my workbench, give me just a minute.” He turned around, leaving the door open, and disappeared from view. He was gone about a minute, then returned and handed Sam an iPad. “Here you go,” he said. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Sam glanced over Ron’s shoulder and saw Jeff Donaldson and another man he didn’t recognize. Both of them were holding submachine guns. “Nope,” Sam said. “I think that’s it. Thanks a lot, and I’ll see you later.”

Sam turned and started to step toward the car, but Ron leaned out. “Hey, is that your wife? Tell her I said hi.” He waved and gave a silly grin toward Karen, who smiled and waved back.

Sam laughed and continued toward the car. He opened the door and slid inside, noticing that Ron was still standing in the open doorway. He waved back at the young man, then turned and handed the tablet to Forsyth.

It came off like precision clockwork. Forsyth lowered his eyes for only a couple of seconds to look at the tablet, as Ron jerked back inside the door out of the way. Donaldson and the other man exploded out the door, their guns pointed directly at Forsyth as they both started yelling at him to drop his weapons and raise his hands.

Forsyth had put down the pistol in his right hand when he took the tablet from Sam, but the other one was still pressed against the back of Karen’s seat. He looked up in shocked surprise at the two men aiming machine guns at him, and Sam twisted suddenly and grabbed Karen, dragging her across the seat and onto himself.

Forsyth squeezed the trigger in reflex, and the bullet passed through the seat, creasing Karen’s left buttock before lodging in the dashboard. He stared at the machine guns that were pointed at his face, then quickly dropped the gun and raised both hands.

Ron stepped out calmly and walked over to open the back door of the car. “Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, sir? We get really upset when people point guns at our friends.”

16

With a pair of wicked-looking automatic rifles pointed at him, Forsyth carefully got out of the car. Sam retrieved his Glock and passed Karen’s gun back to her, then gave her Forsyth’s pistol, as well. Karen was sitting on her right cheek, pressing a sanitary napkin to the gouge in her butt.

“Damn, Sam,” she said shrilly, “this freaking hurts!”

Ron and Sam each took one of her arms and helped her walk into the building, while Jeff and the other man, whose name was Mike, escorted Forsyth. They marched him into a room that was set up as a holding cell and locked him inside, then Jeff brought a first aid kit into the break room, where Karen was now seated on the couch.

“If you think I’m dropping my pants with you guys in here,” Karen yelled, “you can all think again. Give me the damn first aid kit and get out!”

They got. The four men stepped out into the hallway, and Mike unlocked the holding cell door and opened it. Sam stood in the doorway and looked at Forsyth, who was sitting on a bunk mounted to the wall and simply staring at the floor. A glance over his shoulder told him Karen had left the day room door partly open, and could hear everything clearly.

He turned to Forsyth again. “It’s all over for you, Dave,” Sam said. “There are only two ways you can help yourself, right now. One is to roll over and turn state’s evidence against the others, and the second is to help me find Tracy Jensen.”

Forsyth looked up at him. “I told you,” he said, “I have no idea who she is or where she is. If Lemmons did something with her, I never heard about it.”

Sam stood there in silence for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Then you’d better hope we find her alive some other way, or you’re going to be looking at yet another murder charge. If she dies, I’ll see to it that all of you are charged. Understand me?”

Forsyth spread his arms wide. “Look, Sam, this whole thing got out of control, I admit it. You want me to roll on the others? I will, no problem. But when I tell you I don’t know who this woman is, I’m telling you the truth. Believe me, right now I wish I did know where she was. Helping you find her might give me a shot at staying out of prison.”

“Then think, man. Where would Lemmons put someone he wanted to keep on ice, but keep alive? I still think she might be okay, because Lemmons was talking about letting her go. Can you come up with any idea where I might look?”

Forsyth looked at the floor again, but after a moment he shook his head. “I wasn’t close to Lemmons,” he said, “not like Driscoll. They were tight, really tight. Driscoll and his partner were the regular muscle Jerry used. Hell, they were into a lot of things you don’t even know about. Drug shakedowns, robbing dealers—after that mess with those kids, Wright and I got brought into it, and it wasn't like we were given a choice. I even heard Driscoll say once that they had a fantastic place to get rid of bodies, but I never asked where it was.”

Sam stared at him for another minute, thinking. “What about your partner? Was he involved in these things?”

Forsyth shook his head. “No way,” he said, “up until this, he and I were both pretty clean. Hell, we weren’t even supposed to be there that night. We were driving by and saw something going on, and just stopped out of curiosity.” He looked up at Sam and grinned. “Purvis, she told me to take you two out and kill you, but I couldn’t have done it. When Mark killed that boy, it was all I could do not to start crying. I wanted to run, I wanted to stop it somehow, but I—I was scared. If I hadn’t gone along with it all, I think they would’ve killed me.” He lowered his eyes again. “I couldn’t have killed you guys. I really was gonna let you go.”

Sam thought about what he’d seen on the video. Other than watching, Forsyth had not actively participated in the murders, and it was possible he was telling the truth. Unfortunately, when a wrongful death occurs during the commission of a criminal act, everyone involved is considered to be liable for murder. Good intentions would not be enough to save him.

Appropriate actions, on the other hand, could potentially mitigate the punishment he would receive.

“Dave, the way I see it, you got two choices. You can try to throw yourself on the mercy of the court and hope for the best, or you can work with me and Karen to bring the truly guilty ones to justice. Are you willing to do that?”

Forsyth raised his eyes to Sam’s face. “What have you got in mind?”

“I want to bring these children’s murderers to justice, and that includes Monica Purvis. In addition, I want to find Tracy Jensen and bring her home safely. There’s at least a chance that Slocum or Driscoll might know where she is. If you’re willing to help us accomplish that, I think Karen and I could say that you approached us for help. You’d have to claim that you were keeping quiet while you tried to gather evidence against Lemmons and the others, but came to us when Purvis told you about the video. It Karen and I back up that story, you could conceivably get immunity. You might even get to remain a cop.”

Forsyth stared at him for a long moment, and then Sam saw tears brim over his eyes and start down his cheeks. “You just tell me what you want me to do, Sam,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Wait here a minute,” Sam said. He closed the door and turned to Ron. “Could you…”

Ron held up a finger to shush him and motioned for him to follow. They went into another room, with Jeff and Mike trailing along.

“I think I’ve got a hunch where you’re about to go,” Ron said, “but I thought we ought to discuss it where he couldn’t hear us. You really think you can trust that guy?”

“I’ve seen people in bad situations before,” Sam said. “Sometimes, it’s really hard to decide what’s the right thing to do, but if you give them a little direction most people will jump at the chance to do the right thing. I saw the video we were talking about, and Dave is right. It was pretty obvious he never meant to be there or in that situation.”

“Okay, I can see that, I guess. Still, at the moment you’ve got at least two murder charges hanging over your head. If I’m understanding what you’re planning, you’re going to have to turn this guy loose for a while. What happens if he turns on you?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, just as Karen hobbled into the room. “Actually, I was planning to let Karen take him in. Since he can confirm that an assistant DA is involved and tried to send him to kill us, she’s not going to have any trouble walking him straight into the head lady’s office. Between him and the video, I’m pretty sure we can close the case.”

“Yeah, maybe, but you’ve still got five loose ends at the moment. There’s the other three cops, the assistant DA and the missing woman. If any of the first four twig to what you’re doing, you’ll never find them, and even if you do, there’s no guarantee any of them knows where the lady is or that you’ll get to her in time.”

Sam cocked his head to one side, glancing quickly at Karen before giving his attention back to Ron. “Okay, you’ve obviously got something in mind. What is it?”

Ron grinned. “Why don’t the two of you play dead? We can fix it up in seconds, and then your boy in there can show pictures of your dead bodies. I can make a copy of the video on a tablet so he’s got everything he’s supposed to have, and we’ve got everything we need here to wire him up. With him talking about how he knocked you guys off and even showing proof, the others will think they’re in the clear and talk about it. We can get clear, perfect recordings of their conversation, and if we play it right, we might even get the location on the woman who’s missing. At least one of them should know where she is, right? The other guy couldn’t have done it all alone.”

Sam looked at Karen. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “I heard the deal you offered him, and I agree that he didn’t look like he really wanted to be involved. I can go along with your story, but I do want some insurance of some kind. If he wears a wire and can convince them he’s all theirs, we can nail all three of the dirty cops and Monica. I’m just not sure he’s going to be able to find Tracy for you.”

“That’s because you’re not as devious as we are,” Ron said. “What we do here is devise ways to get the information we want. All he’s got to do is say that you were going on and on about this Tracy, that you were sure Lemmons had her put away somewhere, and that she’s another loose end that has to be tied up. If they know where she is, one or two of them is going to head out to take care of that problem. All we’ve got to do is follow.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, “if they spot a tail…”

“They won’t. Mikey over there is our resident drone man. He’s got some of the neatest little toys you ever saw, little gizmos that can fly along out of sight and follow any target they’re given. You and Ms. Karen can ride along with us in the van as we keep track of the drone, and we won’t be more than a minute behind it at any time. When they stop, we’ll know where she is and can move in.”

Sam looked at Karen again, and she shrugged. He crossed his arms and turned back to Ron. “Okay,” he said, “let’s do it. We just need to move quick.”

Ron smiled and turned to look at Jeff. “Jeff! Two fatal head wounds, right now.”

The next ten minutes were extremely busy, as Jeff and Ron hurriedly had Sam and Karen climb into the trunk of her car and took pictures, then hurried inside and loaded them into a computer. When it was done, the photos showed gaping wounds in their chests and faces, with blood everywhere. The work was so well done that, even though the pictures were taken from two different angles, the wounds and bloodstains matched perfectly.

Meanwhile, Mike and Sam got Forsyth wired with a highly sensitive microphone and transmitter. Every spoken word within twelve feet would be picked up clearly, though background noises would be eliminated. The signal would be transmitted to a receiver in the van they would be using to follow the drone, so Sam and Karen could hear it all even as it was being recorded.

“We put the pictures onto Karen’s phone,” Sam told him. “Once they see those, they should be ready to trust you completely. You should tell them it made you sick, since they know you never killed anyone before. If you seem too calm about it, it may look suspicious.”

Forsyth nodded. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, “they’ll be able to tell I’m upset, because I really am. Those damn pictures made me feel sick, even though I know they aren’t real. I think I can pull this off.”

“Then all we have to do,” Sam said, “is get you together with all of the others. We’re going to take you down the street to a convenience store, and you can call for a ride from there. If anyone asks where the bodies are, just say you ditched the car in a parking lot behind one of the apartment complexes. There are a lot of them, so it’s believable.”

Forsyth agreed, and climbed into a car with Ron. They drove only a few blocks to a convenience store, and Ron let him out. He immediately took his phone from its pouch on his belt and called his partner, Wright.

“I’m all done,” he said. “I’m out in Northglenn, the Pick-N-Go at Huron and 116th.”

“Nobody saw you?”

“No. I did it out on some farm road out east. Nobody around, nobody saw nothing. Left the car in some parking lot, way back in the back. I don’t think anyone will pay attention to it 'til it starts to smell.”

Wright was quiet for a moment. “You okay, Dave?”

Forsyth hesitated, his genuine anxiety making him breathe hard into the phone. “I’m okay,” he said. “Gotta do what we gotta do, right?”

“Okay. Be there as fast as I can.”

Ron had circled the block and parked his car on the street, then climbed into the van with the others. High overhead, one of Mike’s drones was hovering, its camera trained on Forsyth. He’d been instructed to remain in plain sight, so he was leaning against a light pole near the corner of the lot.

It took almost 30 minutes for his partner to arrive, and he slid into the car as soon as it pulled up beside him. Mike focused the camera on the top of the car so that it would follow the vehicle, and then they turned their attention to the receiver.

17

“I wasn’t sure you had it in you,” Wright said. “You’re sure it’s done, right?”

Forsyth held up Karen’s phone and brought up the photo gallery. He tapped on the first photo, showing Sam and Karen lying obviously dead in the trunk of the car, and handed it to his partner. “I hated it,” he said, “but I don’t want to go to prison, either. I told them I was just going to lock them in the trunk and leave them for someone to find, so they got in.” He swallowed hard. “Then I shot ‘em.”

Wright looked over at him. “Guess you’re a little tougher than I thought,” he said. “Don’t beat yourself up about it, Dave, it had to be done.”

“Yeah, but can we stop talking about it? This whole thing makes me kind of sick.”

“What about the videos?” Wright asked.

“One’s on that phone, and the other is on this iPad.” He held up the tablet Ron had given him. “There aren’t any more.”

“Okay,” Wright said. “That means it’s all over, then. Why don’t you call Purvis and let her know?”

Forsyth nodded and took out his own phone. He found Monica’s number and hit redial.

“District Attorney’s Office,” the receptionist said. “How may I direct your call?”

“Monica Purvis, please,” Forsyth said. The girl put him on hold for a moment, and then Monica answered. “This is Dave Forsyth,” he said. “It’s all over. We took care of everything, and I’ve got both the videos.”

He could hear her sigh of relief. “That’s excellent,” she said. “The lawyer is out of the way, too, so I think that wraps it up.”

“Okay. Just wanted to let you know.” He hung up the phone without even saying goodbye, and then turned to his partner. “We need to meet up with the other two. Prichard kept going on and on about some woman, said Lemmons had her hidden away somewhere. If one of them knows where she is, we need to take care of her, too. That’s the last loose end, and we need to make sure there aren’t any others.”

Right nodded. “Call Driscoll,” he said. “Tell him to meet us in the parking lot at Torchy’s.” Torchy’s was a popular Mexican restaurant in downtown Denver.

Forsyth made the call and Driscoll and Slocum agreed to meet them twenty minutes later. High overhead, the little drone flew along with its camera focused on the roof of the car, while the van followed from half a mile behind. When the squad car pulled in at the taco place, Jeff parked the van at a burger joint a block away.

Driscoll and Slocum arrived two minutes later, and the four cops stepped out of their cars and leaned against them. The sensitive microphone Forsyth was wearing picked up the conversation clearly.

“We think it’s all about over,” Wright said. “Monica Purvis, the assistant DA, she called us a while ago and told Dave to deal with Karen Parks and Sam Prichard, while I took care of that old lawyer, Weintraub. I got lucky and the old fart dropped dead of a heart attack before I could get to him, but Dave took care of Karen and Sam the hard way.” He handed over Karen’s phone so the other two could see the photo of their bodies.

Slocum let out a low whistle. “Way to go, Dave,” he said. “So, that gets rid of everybody who knew anything?”

“Not quite,” Forsyth said. “Prichard was talking about some woman that knew about the video, and he thinks Lemmons had her locked up somewhere. I don’t know anything about it and neither does Mark, we’re hoping you do.”

Driscoll scowled. “Yeah, I know who you mean. She was trying to work with Fletcher to hang us all. Jerry stashed her in someplace in Lakewood. The way he talked, she knows everything. I guess we better get rid of her, too.”

“Do you know where she is? We don’t.”

“Yeah, I know where. It’s a place we use now and then when we need to hide something.”

Forsyth nodded. “Okay, we’ll let you guys do that. You already took care of the guy who made the video, right?”

Slocum made a grimace. “Well, actually…He sort of got away. He’s a chicken-shit, though, I figure he’s long gone by now. If we got the videos, he’s nothing to worry about.”

Wright cursed loudly. “I’d say he’s definitely something to worry about,” he said. “Video or not, he knows what he saw. If he talks, we could end up in another mess.”

“He’s a coward, he isn’t going to talk. Hell, he had that video all this time and never bothered to do anything with it except give it to that PI. He’s probably on his way to Canada about now.”

Forsyth shook his head, trying to keep up the act. “We better hope so. The last thing we need is for people to start asking questions about all this.”

The four of them got back into their respective cars, and left the parking lot in different directions. Overhead, Mike had refocused the drone on to Driscoll’s car, and the van pulled out a moment later.

Inside the van, Sam was staring wide-eyed at the receiver. “Marty’s still alive? Lemmons sounded certain he was dead.”

“Just means those two lied to him,” Karen said. “Are you really surprised?”

Sam shook his head as the van rolled along the streets toward Lakewood. “Just that he isn’t dead,” he said. “I mean, I’m glad, maybe the guy can actually get back to his life one day soon. Right now, all I care about is staying close enough to these guys to make sure we can stop them before they do anything bad to Tracy.”

* * * * *

Marty had made only one stop on his way into town, pulling into a truck stop to gas up. While he was pumping gas, though, he saw a sign advertising a special sale on police scanners in the store, and hurried inside to get one. He also picked up one of the cheap cell phones they sold, before getting back on the highway and driving on into Denver.

He found the frequency used by the Denver PD, but he didn’t know the unit number for Driscoll and Slocum. He listened for a while, hoping to hear one of their voices and recognize it, but finally he had an idea.

He stopped the truck at a gas station and took out the cell phone and dialed the number for the police department. When the desk sergeant answered, he put on his best ethnic accent. “Yo, man, I’m trying to get hold of Officer Driscoll. Any chance you could tell him to meet me at the 7-Eleven at Colfax and King?”

“And who is this?” the sergeant asked.

“Man, this be Tyrone, I’m his snitch! I got some stuff he need to know!”

A minute later, he heard the dispatcher call out, “3-21, see a man called Tyrone at the 7-Eleven, Colfax and King.”

Driscoll’s voice came back on the radio. “3-21, 10-4.”

Marty parked the truck on the curb on King Street, half a block away from the store. He only waited about ten minutes before the squad car pulled then, and he watched as Driscoll went inside, looking for whoever had called to meet him. He came out a few minutes later, looked around the lot and then got back into the car. When it pulled out onto Colfax, Marty took his foot off the brake and hurried to the stop sign.

Traffic was clear, so he pulled out and followed the squad car down the road. He didn’t have a concrete plan, but he intended to put a stop to these two killers, no matter what it cost him.

The squad car followed Colfax for a while, but then made a sudden turn. Marty turned as well, but then hung back some distance. He didn’t want them to realize they were being followed. He stayed on them as they took a convoluted route, cutting through residential areas, obviously on their way to somewhere important.

“Somewhere important” turned out to be a taco restaurant. Marty cruised past and pulled into another parking lot where he could keep an eye on the squad car, then was startled to see a second squad waiting in the back of the lot. Driscoll’s car pulled up near it, and four officers climbed out of the two cars and stood facing each other.

Right there in front of him were all four of the uniform officers he’d seen on the video, he knew it. He tightened his grip on the revolver and told himself it was time to take them out, but he couldn’t quite make himself put the truck back into gear. He reasoned that it would be smarter to wait until he could get them alone or in pairs, rather than trying to take on the foursome. He would only have the element of surprise for a second, and he didn’t know if he could shoot them all before they could start shooting back.

Other than in video games, Marty had never actually fired a gun. His determination to become a killer started to waver on him. He sat and watched as the four talked, and when they finally got back into their cars and drove away, he continued to follow Driscoll and Slocum. Sooner or later they would stop, and Marty was determined to force himself to aim the gun and pull the trigger.

* * * * *

The van was following, as well, and it wasn’t long before Jeff Donaldson realized that the pickup truck in front of him was also tailing the squad car. He leaned back in his seat and motioned for Ron to look ahead.

“See that truck? It’s been right in front of us for the last five minutes. Every time the cops make a turn, he makes the same one.”

“Interesting,” Ron said. He turned around and looked at Sam. “Any idea who else might be tailing these guys? There’s a Chevy 4x4 up ahead that’s staying right on them.”

Sam climbed up toward the front of the van and looked through the windshield. “No, not a clue,” he said. “Can you run the license plate?”

“I can,” Mike said. “What is it?”

Sam read the plate number off, and Mike tapped it into one of the three computers sitting on a shelf in front of them. A moment later, he got a response. “Belongs to someone named Albert Linden, lives out in Colorado Springs.”

Sam squinted his eyes and pursed his lips. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Colorado Springs? I don’t think I know anybody there.”

“Well, whoever it is, he seems to be just as interested in our quarry as we are. Let’s keep an eye on him and see what happens.”

“Agreed,” Sam said. He turned and looked at Karen. “This has got to be the weirdest case I’ve ever had.”

“You won’t get any argument out of me,” she said. “It’s the first case I’ve ever seen that got me shot in the ass!”

Because of traffic and stoplights, the drive to Lakewood took nearly half an hour, and Sam began to wonder if Driscoll and Slocum had spotted the pickup truck that was tailing them. Whoever was driving it seemed to have some idea of what he was doing, though, because he was keeping a number of vehicles between them and switching from lane to lane whenever possible.

Suddenly, the squad car whipped into the parking lot of a convenience store, and Slocum got out of the passenger seat and went inside. Sam and the others watched on the screen displaying the drone’s camera image as the pickup truck approached the lot as if it were going to go on past, but then turned in at the last moment. It screeched to a halt just behind the squad car, as Donaldson pulled the van over into another parking lot almost a block behind.

Sam leaned toward the screen. “What on earth is he doing?” he asked, but then a hand was extended from the driver’s window and they saw two flashes of light. Sam blinked once, then yelled, “Oh, dear Lord, I think he just shot Driscoll!”

The truck shot forward and raced around the building, but they couldn’t see where it went after that. The drone stayed in position as Officer Slocum came running out of the store with his pistol drawn. He pointed it in the direction the truck had gone, then turned and looked into the driver’s seat of the car.

A moment later, he took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number frantically.

“Let’s get up there,” Sam said. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

Ron looked at him. “Um, you and Ms. Karen are supposed to be dead, remember?”

“Well, what else can we do? If Driscoll’s been shot, I may have just lost my last chance to get Tracy back safely.”

“Then let’s do this right,” Karen said. “Somebody give me a phone.”

Mike picked up a cell phone that was lying beside one of the computers and handed it to her. She quickly dialed the number, then spoke into the device. “This is Denver Homicide Detective Karen Parks,” she said. “I need to speak with the District Attorney immediately.”

Sam looked at her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s better than charging into a potentially deadly situation. Hang on.” She focused on the phone again. “Ma’am, this is Detective Karen Parks. I’m calling to notify you that I am currently conducting an investigation into criminal activities of ADA Monica Purvis and several Denver police officers, including orchestrating and concealing the murder of three teenagers. Those include Detective Jerry Lemmons, who was killed earlier today by one of the other officers.” She listened for a moment, then looked into Sam’s eyes. “Actually, ma’am, we have video and audio recordings to back up what I’m telling you, and one of the officers who was involuntarily involved has approached us and is willing to testify, but the situation has taken another turn. Mr. Prichard and I are currently following patrolmen Driscoll and Slocum, and it appears that one of them has just been shot.” She listened for a moment, then nodded at Sam. “Ma’am, I would prefer if no one but you knows I’m coming. I had approached ADA Purvis with this earlier today, and she actually tried to have one of these officers kill me and Private Investigator Sam Prichard, who is working with me.” She listened for another moment, then said, “Yes, ma’am,” and then ended the call.

She looked at Sam. “She wants to see us as soon as possible, with the video and audio. I don’t know her very well personally, but I get the feeling Monica is about to find herself in a whole world of trouble.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And just what am I supposed to do about Tracy? Those two are probably my last shot at finding her alive, I can’t just forget about her.” He punched the wall of the van, and then looked at Ron. “You got another copy of that video you can give her?”

“Yeah, it’s on the computer.”

“Then take her to the DA’s office. I’m going to go find Tracy.” He yanked open the side door of the van and stepped out, then began walking as quickly as his bad hip allowed toward the squad car two blocks ahead.

Karen called after him a couple of times, but Sam kept walking. A moment later, the little drone zipped by Sam’s head and flew right into the van. A few seconds after that, the van started up and drove away.

18

Several people had gathered around the squad car by the time Sam arrived, and Slocum was leaning against the building as he spoke into a phone. Sam glanced into the car and saw that Driscoll was alive but bleeding at his left ear and shoulder. The injuries did not appear to be life threatening, so Sam stepped around the crowd and walked directly to Slocum.

The officer was speaking frantically into the phone, but Sam reached out and snatched the phone away, cutting off the call, and then grabbed Slocum by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

“Where the hell is Tracy Jensen?” Sam asked, his voice cold and full of menace. Slocum stared into his face for a second, and then his eyes went wide in terror.

“Jesus,” he cried out, “you’re dead!”

“Not nearly as dead as you’re about to be,” Sam said, “if you don’t show me where Tracy is right now.”

Slocum shook his head as if to clear it. “You mean the woman Lemmons was holding? But I don’t know, I don’t know where she is. Hank knows, but I don’t. That’s where we were going, but somebody—oh my God, did you shoot him?”

Sam stared at the man in shock, then turned and looked back at Driscoll. Even as he did so, sirens were growing loud as police cars approached, and Sam knew he was running out of time. The sirens were growing a lot louder, and Sam wasn’t sure what would happen when the new cops arrived. The word was still out that he had supposedly killed Lemmons, and cops don’t like to arrest a cop killer. They figure the world is much better off if such a person never makes it to trial.

Sam let go of Slocum and backed away, then turned and hurried toward the back of the building. A man had just climbed out of a car and left it running, so Sam jumped in and threw it into reverse.

The car’s owner began shouting at him, but Sam paid him no attention. He dropped the shifter into drive and floored the car, shooting out the back exit of the parking lot and turning onto a residential street. He drove three blocks, then made a left and was planning to make another right turn when he suddenly saw the Chevy truck sitting parked at the curb.

Instinct took over and Sam whipped the car in just ahead of the truck. He threw it into park and jumped out, drawing his own gun and aiming it at the windshield as he walked toward it, but then his eyes went wide. The driver of the truck was Marty Fletcher.

“Marty? What the hell are you doing?”

Marty looked up at him and Sam saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I had to stop them,” he said. “They came out to your cabin and wanted to kill me, so I had to stop them.”

Marty held up the revolver and Sam carefully reached out to take it from him. Marty surrendered it without a problem, and Sam laid it on the hood of the truck.

“Oh, geez, Marty,” he said. “We were getting it all under control. It all would’ve been over in just a few minutes, and we were following them to where Tracy is. You can calm down, though, you didn’t kill anyone. Driscoll is wounded but it’s not serious.”

Marty stared at him for a moment longer, and then hung his head in shame. He began to weep—great, wracking sobs that shook his entire body. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t take anymore. I couldn’t keep hiding, I couldn’t keep waiting for them to find me and kill me…”

Sam took a deep breath. Under the circumstances, and especially since it appeared Driscoll would survive, there was a good chance Marty would get off on self-defense, or at worst, a temporary insanity plea. He hooked a finger into the trigger guard of the revolver and picked it up again, then told Marty to slide over. Sam got behind the wheel, shoving the revolver behind the seat of the truck, and then started it up and put it in gear.

Beauregard had said that Sam would have to solve the case all on his own. If that were true, then somehow Sam must be able to figure out where Tracy was being hidden. He drove Marty’s stolen truck around the area slowly, trying to think of any way he might find her.

Marty was still whimpering on the passenger side, leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Sam glanced over at him and had a sudden thought. “Marty,” he said, “that time Tracy brought Lemmons to see you, did he say anything about Lakewood?”

Marty shook his head, but didn’t speak. Sam reached over and shook his shoulder gently. “Marty, think for a minute. We’ve got to find Tracy, and we need to do it soon. Did he say anything at all about having a place in Lakewood?”

Once again, Marty only shook his head. Sam slammed a hand on the steering wheel and then turned another corner.

“… someplace in Lakewood…” That was what Driscoll had said, that Lemmons had stashed Tracy in someplace in Lakewood. Sam racked his brain, trying to think of anyone who might have known Lemmons well enough to make an educated guess about what old house it might have been. There were lots of old houses in Lakewood, and it would probably take weeks to search them all.

Well, it would take weeks for humans to search them all. Sam reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, then dialed the number Indie was using.

She answered before the first ring had finished. “Sam? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Babe,” he said. “We are actually getting close to wrapping this up, I think, but I still haven’t found Tracy. And incidentally, Marty isn’t dead. In fact, he’s right here with me at the moment.”

“Oh, Sam, that’s a relief. That’ll at least get rid of that murder charge, right?”

“Yeah, it gets rid of that murder charge,” he said, “but there’s still the one where the local cops all think I killed Jerry Lemmons. Don’t worry about that one, though, Karen Parks is getting that straightened out right now. The reason I called is because I got just a little information about Tracy. It turns out Lemmons was holding her in what’s been referred to as ‘someplace in Lakewood.’ Can you get Herman to start digging and find out if there are any old houses in Lakewood that Lemmons might have been connected to? Maybe he owned one, or someone in his family did?”

“Yeah, I’ll put him on it right now. Are you sure it’s in Lakewood?”

“I’m not hundred percent sure of anything, but the one cop who knew something about it said that’s where Lemmons stashed her. Unfortunately, that was Officer Driscoll and Marty just shot him. I don’t know how soon we’re going to be able to talk to him, so I’m trying to figure out any other way possible to find her, and I’m kinda grasping at straws.”

“Wait a minute, Marty shot one of these cops?”

“Yeah. I guess Driscoll was the one who went out to my cabin and tried to kill Marty. Somehow Marty got a gun and came out looking for him. Lucky for Driscoll, Marty isn’t really all that good a shot.

Sam could tell she was confused, but all she said was, “Okay, I understand. Let me put Herman to pounding on this, and I’ll call you back as soon as I get a result.”

“Thanks, Babe,” Sam said. “I love you, and tell Kenzie we should all be back home soon.”

He ended the call and dialed a number Ron Thomas had given him. Ron answered on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Ron, it’s Sam. Is Karen still with you?”

“Yeah, just a minute.” Sam heard a bit of shuffling, and then Karen came on the line. “I thought you’d like to know that Driscoll isn’t dead, just got nicked on his ear and shoulder. In a strange twist of fate, the shooter was Marty Fletcher, and I’ve got him with me now. I’m driving the pickup truck he was in, which I assume is probably stolen, and doing everything I can to try to figure out where Tracy might be held.”

“Well, why don’t you just wait a little bit?” Karen asked. “I’ve been back and forth on the phone with the DA again, and she’s issued warrants for Monica, Wright, Driscoll and Slocum. I’m sticking to our deal with Forsyth; as far as anyone knows, he volunteered to work with us when Monica told him to get rid of us. She went down the hall and arrested Monica personally, and already sent out the order to pick up the others. I’m having Forsyth brought to her office to corroborate my story.”

“Good,” Sam said. “Maybe Driscoll will give up Tracy in the hope of leniency. What do you want me to do now?”

“Why don’t you bring Marty and come on over to the DA’s office? Since he’s the one who actually saw the video first, he’s going to be an important witness.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam said. “Think there’s any chance he might get immunity over shooting Driscoll? Any half-assed lawyer could probably get them off on self-defense anyway, don’t you think?”

Karen chuckled. “Just bring him,” she said. “I’ll twist the DA’s arm for that immunity, I think we can swing it.”

Sam cut the call and looked over at Marty. “Well, this may all work out after all,” he said. “Friend of mine, a homicide detective, thinks she can get you immunity on the shooting, because they’re going to need you to testify against the cops who killed those kids.”

Marty slowly turned his face to look at Sam. “You mean they’re really going to go after them?”

Sam nodded his head. “They are,” he said. “One thing you need to know, though, is that one of those cops has turned informant against them. It was Forsyth, the one who never touched those kids.”

Marty’s red-rimmed eyes looked at him for a moment, then he nodded. “He was the one who wanted to call for help, right?”

“Right. It’s a long story, but it turns out there was an assistant district attorney involved in all this, and she actually told him to kill me and my friend in homicide. That’s when he came to us and told us everything, so he’s working with us now. You and I are going to go to the DA’s office right now and help to get all this straightened out.”

Sam made another turn and realized that he was about to go right past the convenience store where Marty had tried to kill Driscoll. He glanced into the parking lot as they drove slowly past and was delighted to see Slocum in handcuffs, bent over the back of the squad car. An ambulance was there, and he assumed that Driscoll was inside it. He focused on the road ahead, and made a slight detour into Arvada, where he locked up the Chevy truck and put Marty into Karen’s Ford before going on to the DA. He retrieved Marty’s tablet from under the seat as he drove.

Thirty minutes later, he was seated at a conference table in the DA’s office, in the beginning of a meeting that lasted nearly three hours. Indie called him once, telling him that Herman had found no property in Lakewood that was connected to Jerry Lemmons. Sam relayed that information to everyone else in the room, which somehow even included Ron, Jeff and Mike. Three other ADAs were there helping to take notes, and Sam watched David Forsyth as he admitted to being terrified after what he’d seen. Sam and Karen both swore that Forsyth had voluntarily offered to help them after Monica Purvis told him to kill them, so the DA granted him full immunity on the murder charge.

Marty was also given immunity, since the DA said she could understand his fear. She did warn him, however, that taking the law into his own hands was always a mistake. He apologized several times, but hearing the whole story of how he had discovered the video and his terror of what might happen if it were discovered was enough to satisfy everyone there. Arrangements were even made to return the pickup truck he had “borrowed.”

Slocum and Wright had been arrested and were currently sitting in the county jail. Driscoll had also been arrested, but he had been taken to St. Joseph’s Hospital where he was undergoing surgery to reattach his left ear and remove a bullet from the joint of his left shoulder. The doctors said it would be at least another twenty-four hours before he could be questioned, and Sam almost had to be restrained.

“Mr. Prichard,” the DA said to him, “I understand your concern about Ms. Jensen, but there are certain protocols I have to follow when a suspect is wounded. We have to defer to the doctors on this, and there’s nothing else I can do. I’m sure Ms. Jensen is probably uncomfortable, but I doubt another day will cost her her life.”

Sam stared at her. “Is there anything else you need from me at this moment?”

“Just your signature on your statement,” the DA said. Sam scribbled his name and then stormed out of the conference room.

By the time Sam stepped out the front door of the building, it was a little after eight PM and the sun was getting low in the sky. The DA had announced that Sam would not be facing any murder charges, and the word had spread quickly through the police department. A couple of officers standing in front of the building congratulated him and shook his hand as he walked toward the parking lot.

He climbed into Karen’s old pickup truck and started it up, then took out his phone and called Indie.

“Sam? How’s it going?”

“Well, I’ve been cleared on the murder charges,” he said. “Driscoll had surgery, and the doctors say we won’t be able to question him about Tracy until sometime tomorrow afternoon. How far away are you? I think it’s safe to come home now.”

Indie giggled. “We’re at the Holiday Inn in Boulder. Your mom charged the room to her office credit card, so we wouldn’t be that easy to find. I doubt they’d think of checking your mom’s boss’s card, right? I’ll get us checked out and we can be home in a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Sam said with a smile. “I’ve missed you.”

“Ditto,” Indie said.

“It’s just frustrating about Tracy. I wish I had my phone, I could at least call Heather and let her know there’s a good chance we’re going to find her mom tomorrow.”

“I’ve got her number,” Indie said. “I grabbed our notes before I left the house last night. Want me to give it to you?”

Sam grinned and shook his head. “Baby, I should’ve known you’d have it. Yeah, what is it?”

Indie told him the number, and Sam ended the call and dialed it immediately. The teenager answered the phone cautiously. “Hello?”

“Heather? This is Sam Prichard.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Prichard! Mr. Prichard, did you find my mom?”

Sam grimaced. “Well, not yet,” he said. “We did get to the bottom of the trouble she and Marty were in, but it turns out there was a police detective involved and he apparently locked her up somewhere. We’ve got one guy who knows where she is, but he got hurt today and had to have surgery. We won’t get to talk to him until tomorrow, but I’m sure your mom will be all right until then.”

Sam could tell the girl was crying when she spoke again. “Oh, please find her,” she said. “My stepdad just sits and stares at the wall, he doesn’t know what to do without her, and neither do I.”

“I can understand that,” Sam said. “I don’t know what I’d do if my wife was missing like this, but I promise you I’ll do everything I can to bring her home by tomorrow. Just hang in there, okay?”

The girl promised her that she would try, and said goodbye to Sam. He put the phone back in his pocket with a heavy heart.

Sam headed for home. In the morning, he would see about getting the corvette out of impound, but it had been an awfully long day and he was ready to relax with his family.

19

Indie, Kenzie and the grandmothers all rolled in just before eleven, and found Sam asleep on the couch. Kenzie decided there was simply no sense in that, so she ran over and threw herself on him, giving him a hug that woke him with a smile. He sat up and held her tight for a moment, then wrapped one arm around his wife.

Indie let Kenzie wind down for a few minutes, letting the excitement of seeing her daddy help the child burn up her last burst of energy for the day, and then walked her up the stairs to her bedroom. She was back down only a few moments later, and announced that Kenzie had gone right to sleep.

The four adults sat and talked for a little bit, while Sam brought them all up to date on his adventures. It was obvious that he was frustrated, and finally it boiled over.

“Kim,” Sam said, “I want you to tell Beauregard that the next time he sticks his nose into one of my cases, he’d better have more information. I don’t know which three lives he felt I needed to save, but Marty is okay, and I hope to bring Tracy home tomorrow sometime. Assuming they were two of them, I sure would like to know who was the third.”

His mother-in-law looked at him sheepishly. “I know, Sam,” she said. “Sometimes he just drives me crazy. Like tonight, we were on the way here and all of a sudden he pops up and says, ‘Tell Sam he isn’t done.’ I mean, what is that supposed to mean?”

Sam stared at her for a long moment. “Can you talk to him whenever you want?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “Well, I can talk to him, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to answer me. He only talks when he wants to.”

Sam’s mother, Grace, turned around and looked at her. “Kim, now you know that’s not true. You know how to make him talk.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Sam said. “Mom, what are you talking about?”

“She’s full of it,” Grace said. “She can go into that weird trance of hers whenever she wants, she just hates to do it.”

Sam turned back to his mother-in-law. “Kim? Is there a way you can ask him point-blank questions?”

Kim was giving Grace what could only be called a nasty look. “Well, there’s a way, but it’s really—it’s just really uncomfortable.”

Sam sat there in silence for a moment and counted to ten in his head. “But you love me, right? So, you help me out with this, right?”

Kim frowned at Grace, then turned to face Sam with a sigh. “I guess I can try,” she said. “No promises, though, he can be pretty cantankerous when he wants to be.” She settled back into her chair and got comfortable, then turned to Sam again. “What do you want to know?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “The same thing I wanted to know all along,” he said, “I want to know where Tracy is.”

Kim rolled her eyes, then leaned her head back and closed them. Just a moment later, her face seemed to go slack. They all watched her as her breathing deepened, and a minute passed in silence. She took a deep breath all of a sudden, and her eyes popped open. They rolled around for a moment, and then focused on Sam.

“Samuel,” she said in the deep, southern drawl that meant Beauregard had taken control. “Your work is not yet finished, son. You have saved two of the three lives, in Mr. Fletcher and Officer Forsyth, but you must still save the woman. You are not done.”

Sam felt the eerie chill down his spine that always came whenever he was face to face with Kim’s subconscious alter ego. “What is that supposed to mean? And don’t give me any of your vague hints, I want you to spell it out, this time.”

There was something about the look in Kim’s eyes that made Sam feel as if he were being scolded, and then that voice continued. “The woman is still in grave danger,” it said. “You cannot wait until tomorrow, you must find her before sunrise.”

Sam gave an exasperated gasp. “And just how the hell do you propose I do that? Can’t you just tell me where she is?”

“Samuel, it does not work that way. Where I exist, there are only thoughts, and sometimes they reach me. I know that she is in danger, but I do not know what kind of danger it is. I do not know where she is, only that you must find her before it is too late. I do not know how you will find her, but I know that you already possess the knowledge that can lead you to her.”

Sam shook his head. “I already possess…What are you talking about? I don’t have the slightest idea where to look for her, except that it’s supposed to be in Lakewood.”

“Then I suppose you must consider what you know about Lakewood and this man who took the woman. Somehow, you already know what you need to know; now all you must do is find out what it is that you know.”

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Well, hell,” he said. “What did you mean about me having to find her before sunrise? Can you at least tell me that?”

Kim tilted her head to one side, and her eyes bored into Sam’s own. “If you do not find her before the sun rises over this city, she will not be survive. I do not know exactly what will happen, but something at that time will cause her death.”

Kim shook suddenly, and a second later her eyes opened. She looked around as if confused, then focused on Sam.

“Did he come?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Sam growled, “but he left me just as much in the dark as I already was.”

“Sam,” Indie said, “think! What could you possibly know about any connection between Lemmons and Lakewood?”

“I don’t know!” Sam said, exasperated. “He never mentioned anything about Lakewood at all, and the only one who knows anything is Driscoll, and he’s in the freaking hospital under anesthesia!” He sat for a moment, and then got to his feet. “I’m going down to talk to him,” he said.

“Sam, they’ll never let you get near him, not this late at night.”

Sam grinned at his wife. “Who said I was going to ask permission?”

He stalked out the door and got into the truck, then headed for St. Joseph’s Hospital. It took him nearly twenty minutes to get there even with the light nighttime traffic, and he had to go in through the emergency room entrance.

Driscoll had been in surgery a few hours before, but he should have been out of recovery by the time Sam got there. That meant he’d be in a regular room, but since he was a suspect in multiple murders, Sam knew he’d have no trouble finding the right room. He’d just look for the one with a cop on guard outside.

He found it ten minutes later, on the third floor. A uniform officer was sitting in a chair beside the door, and he looked up with a smile as he recognized Sam.

“Hey, Sam,” he said. “A little late to be coming to visit anyone. What’s up?”

The cop was one Sam knew pretty well, a guy named Larry Wyant. Larry had been a close friend of Sam’s old partner, Dan Jacobs, and Dan had brought him to Sam’s house during a few of the barbecues he’d thrown after his retirement.

“Hi, Larry,” he said. “Yeah, it’s late, but I need to talk to your guy in there. He’s the only one who knows where a woman is being held, and I need to find her as soon as possible.”

Larry frowned. “Sam, I’m not supposed to let anyone in.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said, “but this is kind of urgent. I’ve been told that if I don’t find her before morning, it may well be too late, and I promised this lady’s little girl I’d bring her home safe. All I need is a few minutes, I just need him to tell me where she is, and then I’m gone. I promise.”

Larry chewed his cheek for a second, but then he grinned. “Okay, but just a few minutes. Come on.” He turned and opened the door into the room, and then he suddenly froze. “Oh, crap,” he said, and Sam leaned around to look past him.

Driscoll was lying on the bed in the room, but something was obviously wrong. His eyes were wide open, and his face had a bluish cast, but what caught Sam’s eye instantly was the fact that the entire bed and part of the floor were covered in blood.

Larry and Sam entered the room cautiously, but it was clear that Driscoll was dead. Somehow, he had managed to break a glass quietly enough that no one had heard it, and used the sharp edge to cut his own throat. Since he was not considered to be in any danger after his surgery, he hadn’t been connected to a monitor, so no alarms had gone off to alert anyone.

“Jesus,” Larry said. “I just checked on him like half an hour ago, and he was sleeping just fine!”

Sam pointed at the broken glass. “Looks like he woke up and realized what was going on, and decided he didn’t want to face what was coming. He killed himself to get out of going to prison.” Sam looked at the cop. “You better notify the nurse’s station.”

Larry nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “And you better go on. I don’t really want to explain that I was breaking rules and letting you in to talk to my prisoner.”

Sam took one last look at Driscoll, then turned away without another word. He made it to the elevator without being seen and hurried back out to the truck.

He looked at the clock on the stereo and sighed. Sunrise was less than six hours away and he had no idea how to find Tracy. As much as he refused to believe that Beauregard was really an old civil war ghost, he couldn’t deny that he’d been right on many occasions; Sam felt a sinking in his heart as he thought about Tracy, about her daughter and how he was going to live with himself if he failed to find her in time.

Think, he told himself. Beauregard says I already know what I need to know, so what do I know about sunrise? What could possibly happen at 6:08 AM that would mean Tracy wouldn’t survive?

There were very few things Sam could imagine that would work on such a timetable and could cause someone to die, but he tried listing them off. Could it be that she was chained to a bomb that would go off then? That sounded like something out of an old movie, not like something Jerry Lemmons might actually have done. That would make as much sense as tying her to a railroad track and waiting for a train to come along, and Sam just couldn’t imagine something like that happening in real life.

Timetables, timetables…What else operated on a timetable that was set ahead of time? He thought about everything he could possibly identify as being set on a timetable as he drove around the city, but nothing he imagined seemed to be applicable to the situation.

Okay, he thought, let’s forget about the timetables themselves, what about the way they’re set up? Trains and buses run on timetables, but those are set by operators who calculate the time it takes to get from one point to another. TV and radio programs run on timetables, but they’re set by program managers. What else, what else?

A light ahead of him turned red and Sam came to a stop. He continued thinking while he waited for it to turn green, and the thought crossed his mind that traffic lights fit the bill. Their scheduling was flexible and changed throughout the day, depending on traffic patterns and such, but those were handled by computers. Was there something controlled by a computer that could possibly relate to this situation?

The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he got. What on earth could possibly happen precisely at sunrise that could result in Tracy’s death?

Sam glanced at the clock again and saw that it was almost two in the morning. Slightly over four hours to go, and he was no closer to figuring it out than he had been two mornings before, when Heather had come to him. Sam could barely recall the feelings he had once had for Tracy, but that didn’t change the fact that she deserved to live, that her daughter deserved to have her back. Sam’s stomach was tying itself in knots as he tried desperately to figure out his next move.

20

The ringing of his phone startled him. Sam snatched it out of his pocket expecting to see Indie’s number on the display, but it wasn’t. The number looked familiar, though, so Sam answered.

“Hello?”

A soft voice spoke. “Mr. Prichard, I’m sorry to bother you so late…”

Sam recognized Heather’s voice. “It’s no bother, Heather,” he said. “Just want you to know, I’m still out looking for your mom.”

“I just—I couldn’t sleep, so I was listening to the radio in my room and I heard the news. They’re talking about my mom, about how that detective hid her somewhere and nobody knows where.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Don’t give up on me yet, though. I won’t stop 'til I bring her home to you.”

“I never did like that guy,” Heather said. “He was always going on and on about how he was going to get rich someday, but I think he didn’t like it when I was around.”

Sam’s eyebrows lowered, as he tried to figure out what she was saying. “What guy is that, Heather?”

“That Mr. Lemmons, that detective. He dated my mom for a little while, but that was before she met Gary. I think he always just wanted Mom to himself, because he was always trying to take her places where kids couldn’t go. It just makes me sick to know that he’s the one who did this to her.”

Sam started to nod and express his sympathy, but then another thought occurred to him. “Heather,” he said, “did he ever talk about anything in Lakewood?”

“Lakewood? Not that I can remember. Why?”

“I just wondered,” Sam said. “Earlier today, one of the people involved with him said something about how he might have hidden your mom in Lakewood, but I don’t know where.”

“No, I don’t remember anything about Lakewood. He never really talked about places, just about how he was making a lot of money with his side business.”

A tingle started at the back of Sam’s neck, and he felt those little hairs began to rise. “What kind of side business was he in, Heather? Do you know?”

The girl laughed softly, but there was a sadness in it. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “That was pretty much all he talked about whenever I was around. I guess he used to blow stuff up when he was in the Navy or something, and he says he’s really good at it. He started a business where he works for different companies that want to tear down buildings. He could set it up so they kinda fell down, just by the way he put his bombs inside. He even took us to watch a couple times while he blew up a building. I guess it was kind of interesting, if you like that kind of stuff.”

“There’s an old empty apartment building at Wadsworth and Florida…” “Traffic will be rescheduled during the demolition of this building…” “Making Way For Progress.”

South Wadsworth Boulevard met West Florida Avenue in Lakewood!

“Heather,” Sam said, “I think you may have just given me an idea. I don’t want to get your hopes up too high just yet, but I think I might know where your mom is. I’ll call you back in just a little bit and let you know if I was right, okay?”

The girl’s voice suddenly had hope in it. “Really? Okay, I’ll be right here.”

Sam checked the signs at the next intersection and realized he was almost into Littleton, so he whipped the wheel to the right and fishtailed around the corner. The big 460 roared as he shoved his foot to the floor, but three miles later he had to brake again so that he could make the next turn. That put him on Wadsworth, going north. He kept his foot down on the accelerator, flashing his lights constantly to make the traffic signals think he was an ambulance. Each light turned green as he approached, and Sam flew around the few vehicles that were on the street.

There! The next intersection was Florida Avenue, and there was the abandoned apartment building. Sam heard the brakes squeal as he slid the truck into the parking lot. As soon as he was stopped, he slammed it into park and was out and running toward the boarded-up front doors.

The streetlights on the corner were bright enough to illuminate the warning signs that were screwed to the building. They warned that the building was scheduled for implosion at 6:15 in the morning, and repeated the information that traffic would be diverted away from the intersection for a few hours.

The plywood over the doors was secured with heavy screws, and Sam couldn’t get a grip on them. He ran limping back to the truck and started digging through it, shouting with excitement when he came up with a tire iron. Taking it back to the door, he managed to jam the pointed end in behind one edge of the plywood, and then began the painstaking task of prying it a little at a time away from the structure.

It was slow going, but after fifteen minutes he managed to get one side lose. He dropped the tire iron and grabbed it with both hands, wrenching backward and finally snapping it free. The original doors had been removed, and he was looking into a dark hallway.

Sam reached into his pocket and produced the small LED flashlight he always carried. He flicked it on and shined it into the dark, gaping maw ahead of him, then slowly began following the hallway.

“Tracy?” Sam shouted. “Tracy, it’s Sam Prichard! If you can hear me, make some noise, I’m trying to find you.”

There was no response. Sam moved through the first floor, shining the light into each apartment he came to, and hurriedly searching through several of them. The building had been stripped of fixtures like doors, windows, lights and plumbing, leaving mostly just bare walls. That made it easy to look into every room, but the building was four stories high and almost a block long. At a rough guess, Sam figured there could be as many as eighty apartments inside.

Sam followed every hall, made every turn and checked every apartment he came to. When he had finished the first floor, he climbed up the stairs to the second and repeated his search pattern, calling out for Tracy the whole time. After nearly 40 minutes, he had finished searching the first two floors and moved to the third.

As he moved from apartment to apartment, Sam had to fight down the doubts that began to assail him. Realistically, he knew, there was no way to be sure that this was one of the buildings Jerry would demolish, but it fit completely with everything Beauregard had said. Jerry had suggested it as a meeting place, which implied he had some connection to it, so Sam already possessed knowledge of this building, and it would certainly be a dangerous place to be around sunrise. If Tracy was not out by then, she would almost certainly die and her body might not even be found in the rubble.

He found nothing on the third floor, and forced himself to climb up to the fourth. He’d been in the building for more than an hour, calling out to Tracy the whole time with no response. By the time he finished clearing the fourth floor, he was beginning to feel like there was no hope of finding her in time.

When he returned to the stairway, Sam leaned on it for a few moments and tried to fight off the despair that wanted to settle in. It was probably close to four by then, which meant he had barely more than two hours to go. He made his way slowly down the stairs and toward the door he had ripped open.

He walked outside and circled the building, looking for anything big enough to hold a person. Considering everything Lemmons had done, Sam wouldn’t put it past him to have locked Tracy into a barrel beside the building, but there was nothing. He made a complete circuit but didn’t find anything that might conceal anything bigger than a small child.

He started back toward the pickup, trying to think of where else he might look, when a piece of plywood that seemed out of place caught his eye. Both the front and rear doors of the building were raised a few feet above the ground, and there were steps and a small porch at each one. This piece of plywood looked like it might be covering a door, but it was flush with the concrete walkway that circled the building. Sam stared at it for a moment, then walked as quickly as he could back to the front door. He retrieved the tire iron he had dropped there and hurried back again.

This particular sheet of plywood was secured even better than the other one, and it took Sam another half-hour to rip it free. Sure enough, there was a low open doorway behind it, but this one opened on stairs leading down.

It was a maintenance cellar, a partial basement that allowed plumbers and electricians to access the pipes and wiring and such that made it possible for so many people to live in a single building. Sam shined his light down the stairs and moved down them as quickly as he could.

When he reached the bottom, he saw that most of the plumbing and wiring had already been removed. There were stanchions all around, supports to help hold up the floors above, but little else, and each stanchion had a small barrel strapped to its base, and each barrel had a timer sitting on top of it.

Those barrels, Sam knew, would be the explosives that would bring the building down when they were detonated. Each of the timers was counting down, and they all indicated there was less than ninety minutes to go.

Sam thought about trying to disarm or disengage the timers, but that wasn’t something he actually knew how to do. He forced himself to ignore the explosives and began searching the room. It was just big enough that the light couldn’t quite reach from one side to the other, so he walked through it, shining it everywhere he could.

“Tracy?” he shouted again. “Tracy, it’s Sam, yell out if you’re here!”

She had to be there somewhere, he kept telling himself. This was the only possible place that fit everything. It was in Lakewood, as Driscoll had said, it was scheduled for demolition at dawn as Beauregard had hinted, and it was the only thing connected to the entire case that might fit Beauregard’s insistence that Sam already knew something about the place where Tracy could be found. She simply had to be there.

The maintenance cellar was under one whole half of the building, but there was a solid concrete wall at the point where he thought the center of the building should be. He put his ear against it and listened, but heard nothing.

Sam turned and shined the light around, and it appeared to him that all of the pipes and conduit of the building might have come into this one section. If that were the case, then Tracy was nowhere to be found in the structure.

On the other hand, it was possible there was a separate basement for the other side of the building. He didn’t remember seeing another access door, but with just over an hour to go before sunrise, he felt he had to be certain. He made his way back to the stairs and out into the parking lot, then began walking around the building once more. He kept the light shining on the wall as he walked, and this time he carried the tire iron with him.

There it was! On the back of the building, there was another sheet of plywood screwed to the wall, just over the walkway. Sam attacked it like a madman, but this one was just as solid as the other. He tried to pry it off for a couple of minutes, then grabbed his phone to call for help.

Still no signal! he thought in frustration, but then the reason for it became obvious. The explosives that were all in place were probably controlled by a computer that would send a signal at the pre-set time, so there was something set up around the building that would cancel out any other kind of signal. He’d read an article about that once, how cell phones could be blocked in situations like that.

Sam looked down the street and thought about trying to go far enough to get out of the damping field, but with his hip screaming and the truck away on the far side of the building, he couldn’t risk the time. If Tracy was in there, she didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so he decided to keep at it alone and hope the demolition crew would show up early enough to help, or stop the explosions. He worked at the door for almost half an hour before he finally got one side loose enough to hook his fingers into it.

This sheet was also thicker than the other one. Sam couldn’t tear it completely free, so finally, he pried it out as far as he could and slipped between it and the doorjamb.

The light illuminated the stairs, and he held onto the handrails as he made his way down. He started yelling for Tracy before he ever got to the bottom, and stopped to listen for any response.

Nothing. Still, he wasn’t going to leave without checking, so he began walking around the big empty space. Like the other one, the stanchions had barrels of explosives strapped to their bases, and he could see the timers counting down until the explosion—less than forty minutes to go. All of the pipes and wiring had already been removed, but there were pieces of conduit hanging from the ceiling, and he had to dodge around them. There was also ductwork, probably from the old air conditioning and heating system. It struck him as odd that those things had been removed from the other side and left in this one, but he supposed it was possible the workers had simply run out of time. He kept calling Tracy’s name as he made his way through the cellar, but she didn’t respond.

His heart sinking, he finally turned around to start back for the stairs. This site had been such an obstacle course that it had taken quite a while to go through it, and he figured he had less than half an hour to go before the police and demolition crew would arrive to block the streets and supervise the blast. He swung the light around as he walked, silently praying for an answer.

21

There was a metal box over against one wall, and Sam had initially dismissed it as part of the ductwork, but when the light shone on it again he thought it seemed out of place. He turned away from the stairs to inspect it more closely, and he noticed a foul odor as he got closer.

It was hollow, and not very heavy. Sam shoved it sideways and it slid away with little resistance, and suddenly the odor was worse. He gagged once and covered his face with his arm, and that’s when he saw that there was a square hole in the concrete wall. He squatted down and pointed the light inside, and a pair of frightened eyes looked back at him.

Tracy was sitting at the back of a cavity that had been dug into the dirt, her arms and legs secured with zip ties to the wooden framework that kept it from collapsing. A cloth was wrapped around her face, and Sam was sure that she was gagged as well.

He turned the light to the side, and then he gagged again. Only a few feet away from Tracy, Sam could see what he was certain were the decomposing bodies of the teenagers he’d seen murdered in the video. He turned the light away from them and focused it back on Tracy’s face, and that’s when he saw the tears running down her cheeks.

“Been looking for you,” Sam said. He stuffed the flashlight into his mouth, reached into his pocket for the Swiss Army knife he always carried and began crawling into the putrid space. Cutting the zip ties loose took only a few seconds, but when Tracy reached for the gag, he told her she should wait. She glanced in the direction of the bodies and then looked back at him and nodded.

Her arms and legs were weak, and Sam ended up half dragging her out of the cavity. Once they got into the maintenance cellar, he reached up and took the gag away, and she started working her jaw. Sam glanced at the nearest timer and saw that it was down to only twenty-two minutes until detonation.

“Think you can stand?” Sam asked, and she nodded her head. Sam got to his feet and extended a hand, but he had to help support her once she was up. He led her to the stairs and helped her get up them, then walked her around the building to the pickup truck, dropped its tailgate and helped her to sit down. .

“Hey!” Sam looked toward the sound of the voice and saw a man wearing a hard hat standing outside the fence. “What are you doing in there? That building is about to blow up, get out of there!” There was a squad car sitting in the intersection, and Sam figured there were others not far away.

Sam hobbled quickly over to the fence and looked the man in the eye. “Is there any way to stop the explosion? My name is Sam Prichard, I’m a private investigator, and I’ve just found the bodies of three murder victims in there.”

The man’s eyes looked like they were going to explode, and he grabbed a walkie-talkie out of his pocket. “George? George, we have to abort! Kill the countdown and get in there and disconnect everything, and send one of those cops over here to me right now!”

Suddenly there was a flurry of activity, as a couple of men ran into the sub basements of the building, and two police officers hurried over to where Sam was standing with the demolition man. Sam explained quickly what was going on, and one of the officers started issuing orders.

Within ten minutes, six more squad cars converged on the place, and a few minutes later there arrived a pickup truck bearing the markings of the Medical Examiner.

Another man from the demolition company came over to them as well, holding what looked like a laptop and tapping on the keyboard.

“I deactivated the timers, it’s okay,” he said. “Our guys have gone in and completely disconnected everything, so it’s all safe now.”

Sam leaned against the fence and breathed a sigh of relief. “Any chance you can shut down whatever it is that keeps cell phones from working? I need to make a couple of calls in a hurry.”

“Already did,” said the man with the computer. “That was one of the first things the cops asked for.”

Sam thanked him, and hobbled a little more slowly back to where Tracy was sitting on the tailgate. He took out his phone and tapped Heather’s number, then just handed it over. Tracy held it to her ear, and tears suddenly began streaming down her face when she heard her daughter’s voice.

The construction company officials were informed that their building was considered a crime scene, and they didn’t argue. One of them even thanked Sam for getting Tracy out and calling police. Had she died in the explosion, they would have been exposed to lawsuits that could have cost them millions.

Tracy reached out and tapped Sam on the shoulder, then handed him his phone. “Thank you,” she croaked. He knew it was going to be a while before her voice would sound normal, but the police had said there was an ambulance on the way to take her to the hospital to be checked out. Heather and her stepfather would meet up with her there.

Sam looked at the phone in his hand and called Indie. He wasn’t surprised when she answered on the second ring, but he could hear the residue of sleep in her voice.

“Sam? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Babe,” he said. “Tell your mom’s spooky old friend that we did it. I found Tracy, and I also found the bodies of those poor kids.”

Indie hesitated for a moment. “And Tracy—is she okay?”

“She’s stiff and sore, and she’s been trapped in what amounted to a grave for several days. She will survive, but I’m sure it’s been pretty rough on her.”

“You sound pretty worried about her,” Indie said. “Anything I should be concerned about?”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up and tried to climb over his forehead. “About Tracy? Baby, that was over long before I ever met you,” he said.

“Yeah, but sometimes an old flame can flare up when you least expect it.”

Sam shook his head, but he was grinning. “Indie, I’ll let you in on a secret. If things had ever worked out between me and Tracy, I probably would’ve been reasonably happy, but it was destined to come to an end anyway.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Sam smiled into the phone. “Because sooner or later I would have run into you,” he said. “I’m absolutely certain that God wanted us together, babe, so He would’ve made sure I was available when that happened.”

“Awww,” Indie said, “that’s so sweet. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam said, “and we’ll discuss that in more detail when I get home in a little while.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely,” Sam said. “Just let me finish up here, and I’ll be on the way.”

Sam put the phone back in his pocket as the paramedics arrived and loaded Tracy into the back of their ambulance, then went in search of whoever was going to be handling the crime scene. One of the police officers pointed him toward a man in a suit, but another car came roaring in before Sam got to him. Karen Parks jumped out, her hair looking un-brushed and with no makeup on, which told Sam she’d been sleeping soundly when she got the call.

“Sam Prichard,” she yelled as she stomped toward him, “what in the world have you done now?”

“Not a lot,” Sam said. “Found the missing woman, located the missing bodies of our teenage murder victims, saved the day—you know, the usual.” He couldn’t help grinning at her, and the scowl on her face slowly faded as a grin of her own appeared.

“They called me out because of joint jurisdiction,” she said. “Since the original murders and abduction happened in Denver, but the bodies and victim were found here, I’ve got to work with Lakewood detectives on this. We’re going to need statements from you, but we can do that later. I gather you been up all night?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, and it’s been a long one. You know how to reach me, so I’m going home and going to bed.”

Karen shook her head, still grinning. “Go for it,” she said. “I promise not to call until at least after lunchtime.”

Sam nodded, climbed into the pickup truck and drove away.

22

Two days had passed since he had dragged Tracy out of that pit, but Sam didn’t think he was ever going to get the smell of decomposition out of his sinuses. That thought rolled sleepily through his mind as he lay in bed, once again trying to catch the opportunity to sleep in.

There was, he thought, some sort of conspiracy that was designed to make sure he didn’t get the chance. That conspiracy was evidenced on this particular morning by the ringing of the house phone. He started to roll out of bed to go and answer it, but the thunder of tiny, running feet rolled down the stairs and Kenzie beat him to it. Sam slid his feet into his slippers and listened as she answered the phone.

“Hello,” she said. “Yeah, but he’s asleep. Who? Just a minute, I’ll go see if he’ll wake up.” The receiver thumped as she dropped it onto the table, and Sam caught her up into a hug as he stepped out of his bedroom.

“Daddy! There’s a man on the phone who wants to talk to you, his name is—I can’t remember.”

Sam chuckled and kissed her on the cheek. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll see who it is.” He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. “Sam Prichard.”

“Sam? It’s Travis Bittner.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Travis Bittner was a Grammy-winning country singer, and Sam and his band had recently opened for one of his concerts in Denver. It’d been a wonderful experience, and Bittner had even sung a duet with Sam on one of the songs he had written.

“Yes, sir,” Sam said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, there’s actually a couple of things I want to talk to you about,” Bittner said. “First, I want to record a couple of your songs, so I was wondering if you’re available to come to Nashville for a couple of weeks.”

“Seriously? Man, that would be fantastic. When would I have to come?”

“We’ll be in the studio all the rest of this month, and I’d like to work on your songs next week if possible. Could you make it by then?”

Sam felt a hand on his back and turned to see Indie looking up at him, curious. He winked at her and said, “Sure, that’s no problem. We could use a bit of a vacation, anyway.”

Bittner chuckled. “Well, it’ll be a working vacation, but I think I can show you and the family a good time while you’re here. But that brings up the other thing I need to talk to you about, so you might want to sit down.”

“Sit down? Well, okay…” Sam sat down on a chair beside the kitchen table, and Indie sat beside him. Little Kenzie, who was watching both of her parents, climbed into her mother’s lap. “Okay, I’m sitting. What’s up?”

Bittner took a deep breath. “Sam, I want to steal your band.”

Sam blinked. “Steal my band? What, all of them?”

“Yeah, if I can get away with it. Listen, Sam, you are a very good singer, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. If I’m going to be truthful, however, you’re not quite an incredible singer, and that’s what it takes to really make it in country music today. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or insult you, I’m just trying to be completely honest.”

“You’re not hurting my feelings,” Sam said. “To be completely honest, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. But what’s this got to do with the band?”

“It’s got to do with the fact that I have stumbled across an incredible singer, a young woman with a unique voice and more talent in her pinky than I got in my whole body. The only thing she needs is an incredible band, and I believe she can make it to the top. I’ve given this a lot of thought, Sam, and I think your band is exactly what she needs to have a shot at making it all the way.”

Sam shook his head in surprise. “They’re definitely good,” he said. “Have you talked to Chris or any of them about this yet?”

“Of course not, Sam,” Bittner said. “They’re your band, I wouldn’t go to them behind your back. If you’re not willing to let them go, they’ll never even know I asked.”

Indie was sitting close enough to be able to hear both sides of the conversation, and her eyes were locked onto Sam’s own. He winked at her, and she broke into a smile. “Travis, I like being a country singer,” he said, “but I know I’m not any kind of superstar. The band, on the other hand, those guys are great. Chris has had a shot at stardom before that he missed out on, partly because he didn’t want to leave the others. If you are telling me you want the whole band, then I’m all for it. They deserve this kind of break.”

Bittner laughed. “Sam, I was pretty sure that’s how you feel,” he said, “and that’s why I’m calling you from the Denver airport. I flew in this morning on a ridiculously early flight. Think maybe you could get the band together today, so we can all sit down and discuss it?”

“I’d be delighted. How about I come on out to the airport and pick you up now, and you can hang out with me in the family until they all drag their lazy butts out of bed? I don’t think any of them gets up before eleven, but we can probably get them all over here for lunch and spring it on them then.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Bittner said. “Don’t come get me, though, I can take a taxi to your place. Want me to pick anything up on the way?”

Indie pantomimed cooking, so Sam grinned. “Nope. But bring your appetite, Indie is in the mood to cook a big breakfast.”

“Oh, now that sounds good. I’ll be there in thirty minutes!”

Indie hurried back to the bedroom and got dressed, then went to the kitchen and set the oven for biscuits while Sam shaved and dressed. By the time Bittner arrived, he was treated to biscuits with sausage gravy, scrambled eggs and bacon, and he shortly proclaimed it the best breakfast he’d had in years.

Bittner had brought a guitar, and it wasn’t long before he and Sam were jamming in the living room. “Hey, Sam,” Bittner said, “I’ve got this song I’ve been working on, but I’m stuck. Maybe you can help me finish it off.”

He played and sang a verse, then the two of them talked about where the song was going, and Sam suggested a new approach on the chorus.

“Sam, I think that might be exactly what it needs. Sing it once, let’s see how it goes.”

Sam strummed his guitar for a moment, finding the melody, then began to sing. (Click Here To Listen)

“Wasn' that long ago that we made love,

Lying ‘neath an open sky with just the stars above,

A blanket for a pillow and a sad song playing on the radio,

Wasn' that long ago that we said I do,

I couldn't believe that my own dreams were coming true,

Now you say you’re leavin' and you need a little time,

Is there nothing I can say to keep you by my side?

But wait! I know you heard that sound,

Like a southbound freight train, it shakes the ground,

Did you hear the earthquake, and tell me,

How could you tell with all the noise you were makin'?

Did it open up your ears and spin your head around?

Did you ever wonder how the sound of silence can feel like thunder?

Tell me, are you hurtin' now?

Come on, baby, tell me what you’re thinking,

Now that you've heard the sound

Of my heart breaking

I asked God for an angel with broken wings,

So I could take care of her and mend a few things,

Now that you're strong enough I guess that I can let you fly,

Just listen closely one more time ‘fore you say goodbye,

Did you hear the earthquake, and tell me,

How could you tell with all the noise you were makin'?

Did it open up your ears and spin your head around?

Did you ever wonder how the sound of silence can feel like thunder?

Tell me, are you hurtin' now?

Come on, baby, tell me what you’re thinking,

Now that you've heard the sound

Of my heart breaking

Of my heart breaking”

Indie and Kenzie both burst into applause, and Bittner’s smile couldn’t have been wider. “You did it, Sam,” he said. “That twist was exactly what it needed.” He turned and looked at Indie. “You’re not going to get mad if I show up on your doorstep now and then, are you? Every once in a while, I get stuck on a song that I know has potential, and Sam seems to know how to make them work.”

“You’ll always be welcome here,” she said with a smile of her own.

They continued playing and singing through the morning, and then Sam called Chris Lancaster, Stan Bennet and Janice Peet and invited them over for what he called a very special lunch. Candy McAlester, the bass player, lived with Chris and would be arriving with him.

They all arrived shortly after noon, and found Sam on the back deck with burgers on the grill. They were all surprised to see Travis Bittner sitting there, but Sam brushed it off by saying Bittner had showed up begging for help in finishing off a song he was trying to write, and Bittner played along with the gag.

It wasn’t until they had finished eating and were sitting around the picnic table sipping root beers that Sam called them to attention.

“Okay, guys,” he began, “this isn’t just a lunchtime get together. Travis flew in this morning because he got something important he wants to talk to you all about, and I thought getting you all together here was the best way to handle it.” He turned to Bittner. “I think you ought to take it from there, don’t you?”

Bittner put a smile on his face as he looked at the band. “I came to Sam first,” he said, “because he’s your front man. We talked this morning, and he’s okay with what I’m about to propose, but it’s something you each need to think about.” He took a deep breath before he went on. “Country music is a big business, and it’s not always easy to make it. I told Sam this morning that he’s a very good singer, but he’s not an incredible singer, and that’s why I don’t think he would find terrific success in Nashville.”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but Sam held out a hand. “Hold on,” he said. “Just hear the rest of what he’s got to say.”

“Thanks, Sam. Look, guys, and girls, I’ve discovered a new singer. She’s got the talent, she’s got the looks, and now she needs the music behind her, and for the style she’s developed, I can’t find a better band than you guys. Like I said, I’ve already talked this over with Sam and he’s okay with it. If you’re all interested, and I do mean all of you, I’m ready to sign you to contract today. You will be the new girl’s band, you’ll spend the next couple of months in rehearsals and studio cutting an album, and then you’ll be on tour for eight months after that. You will start out with her as my opening act, but by next year she’ll be out on her own with you guys, and you’ll all be topping the charts.”

It took a full minute before anyone was able to speak, and then they all tried to talk at once. There were some initial protests about leaving Sam, but Sam shut those down quickly. “Look, guys,” he said, “I’ve had a lot of fun singing with you, but Travis is right. You guys are great, you’re a great band, and you need a great singer out front. That just isn’t me, and we all know it.”

“But, Sam,” Chris began, but Sam cut him off.

“Chris, stop. Being a singer was just a hobby for me, but music is what you guys are all about. Me? I’m a private eye, that’s what I am. But you guys, you are professional musicians. Some of the best I’ve ever heard, by the way, and I’m glad that someone like Travis Bittner agrees with me on that.”

There were a few more feeble protests, but it was pretty much a done deal at that point. Bittner looked at Sam and smiled, and the conversation turned to negotiating points in the contracts. Sam leaned back in his chair and sipped his root beer, and his wife pulled her own chair over close enough to lean her head on his shoulder.

“So,” she whispered, “you really ready to give up the music business?”

“Yeah, I think I am. It’s been fun, but it really isn’t me. Besides, all the applause in the world can’t compare to the thrills I’ve gotten when I’ve solved a case, maybe saved a life.” He turned and looked at her. “What about you? Are you okay with this decision?”

“Oh, yes,” Indie said. “It was a lot of fun at first, but some of those late nights really got to me.” She looked at their friends, the members of what was likely to be the hottest new band in Nashville. “Besides,” she went on, “we can always say we knew them when, right?”

Sam slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “That we can, my love,” he said. “That we can.”

BOOK 12

ACES AND EIGHTS

PROLOGUE

The halls of Washington DC are often full of twists and turns, no matter how straight the architects may have meant them to be. The ones in the Nebraska Avenue Complex, where the Department of Homeland Security still rested in the “temporary headquarters” it was assigned when it was created by President Bush, were often the most convoluted of all.

Harry Winslow mused about those convolutions as he walked up the hall to the office of the current director. This would be the last time he would make this walk, he knew, and even though his old bones wouldn’t miss the hard marble floor, he knew he was going to feel a loss when he had to get up in the morning and not come to work here.

Or anywhere else, for that matter. Harry was being forced into retirement.

Well, he figured, what could you really expect from these new upstarts who run the world nowadays? Before, when DHS and NSA and CIA and the rest were run by former military and intelligence people who knew what it was like to put their own lives on the line, a guy like Harry was always there in the background, always the one that got called in when things got too messy for the “public persona” to handle. Donovan, Hoover, Bush Sr.—almost every leader since the formation of the FBI and the other alphabet soups had called on Harry, or someone like him, at one time or another.

Sometimes it takes the guy who knows where the bodies are buried to make things work. Especially if he’s the same guy who put some of them there, and everyone knows it in an “unofficial” sort of way. Over the span of his long career, Harry had buried an awful lot of them, so when one group had a problem with another one, he was often the one called upon to smooth things over.

But that wasn’t why he was on his way to see Danuel Doherty, stomping through the halls for what he was sure would be the very last time. Callie, the girl who served as his office assistant down there in the dungeons they’d tried to bury him in, had come in that morning with a copy of a memo that had gone from personnel to building security, letting them know that Harry was being retired and that his access codes would need to be deleted after the end of the day. She’d been fighting back tears as she showed it to him, even though she knew she could be fired and possibly even imprisoned for possessing a classified interoffice memo.

Harry had read through it, then set it afire with his cigar lighter and dropped it into the dirt that held the fake potted tree some idiot had put in his office. Then he’d called upstairs and told Doherty he needed to see him. Doherty had told him to come up around ten, but Harry didn’t like to set appointments.

“Classified Interoffice Memo!” Harry snorted at the very thought that such a thing could ever exist. How the hell could you work with people that you wouldn’t trust to know who was being fired and who wasn’t? Since when did retiring an old guy come under the heading of National Security?

Since they started using social media as a means of obtaining intel, that’s when. Who during the 70s and 80s would ever have believed that the country would consider something like Facebook to be a reliable source of anti-terrorism intelligence? Not Harry Winslow, that’s for sure!

Doherty’s secretary saw Harry as he entered the office and looked up at him with her smile in place. “Mr. Winslow,” she said, “you’re a little early. Have a seat and I’ll let the director know you’re here.”

“Why?” Harry demanded in his slow, southern drawl. “He got a girl in there he don’t want me to know about?” He walked past her desk as her face took on the expression he liked to call “befloozled” and opened the big oak door into The Inner Sanctum.

Doherty was behind his desk, speaking into a telephone, and looked up at Harry with what actually looked like amusement in his eyes. “What’d I tell you?” he asked. “Just came barging in without even being announced, and he’s more than an hour early. I’ll call you back.”

He set the cordless handset on its base and pointed at a chair in front of his desk. “Harry,” he said, “to what do I owe...”

“Cut the bull crap, Danuel,” Harry said. “I bounced you on my knee when your momma was in my analysis unit forty years ago, remember? There ain’t any pleasure in this and we both know it. I want to know why you’re kicking me out on my ass, boy, and I think I’m entitled to an explanation.”

There, he’d said it. Harry felt the tiniest bit better as he sat in the chair Doherty had offered.

The director smiled at him. “Harry, I haven’t forgotten, and just in case you didn’t know, I learned an awful lot from you during those years. You and mom were always talking, ignoring little Danny on the floor, but I was listening. Why do you think she used to say I was destined to become a spy? Any idea what kind of hell I put her through during my teens, using tricks I picked up from you?”

“I ain’t got time for reminiscences, boy,” Harry said. “I want to know why I’m...”

“You’re being retired, Harry,” Doherty said, “because we finally figured out that you’ve been getting someone to manipulate your personnel file for the past fifteen years. That’s the only way a man could serve with SEAL Team One more than four years before he supposedly enlisted in the Navy. Did it never occur to you that just changing your birthdate wouldn’t hide the fact you’ve been active in one way or another since before you officially joined up?”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “That’s ridiculous, Danuel,” he said. “One of your clerks has made an error, that’s all. I’m not ready to retire yet, and you still need me, so let’s forget all this and go back to work, shall we?”

“Nice try, Harry,” Doherty said, “but you’re busted, old man. We found the original birth certificate you used the day you joined, showing when you were actually born! You’re not going on sixty, Harry, you’re already almost seventy-six years old!” He sighed and leaned forward, softening his voice. “Harry, don’t make this harder than it has to be. You’ve served your country for far longer than you should have had to, and I know that we’d have ended up in a world of hurts more than once if it wasn’t for you, but this is a younger man’s game, nowadays. There was a time when you’d have given James Bond a run for his money, but I’ve got dozens now who could have run rings around you even then. Don’t be bitter about being put out to pasture, Harry; think of it as being able to finally take time for yourself. Let the rest of us shoulder the responsibility, while you go out and enjoy the years you have left.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. “Enjoy the years I have left? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Danuel, if you had actually read through my file, you’d know why retirement is the last thing I could ever want. What the hell could I do with myself? What is there in this world for me outside of this job?”

Doherty sighed deeply. “Harry, Harry,” he said. “Of course I read your file, but there was nothing in it I didn’t already know. No one is immune to tragedy, Harry. You were talking about Mom a few minutes ago? Were you even aware that she and my father were on flight eleven when it crashed into the World Trade Center? We all suffer loss, Harry, it’s part of living. It’s terrible, it sucks, but we still go on.”

And that’s how it happens, Harry thought later that day, as he cleaned out his desk and packed up the few things that really mattered to him. He had the photo of him and Ian Fleming, taken during a chance meeting at Heathrow Airport a few weeks before the author’s death, and another taken with Ronald Reagan during his presidency, but there was little else he might have considered mementos of his career. Those were mostly in his memory, and consisted of faces and names of those he had worked alongside.

Callie couldn’t stop sniffling as she tried to help.

“I think it’s just so unfair,” she said. “These past few months, working with you, they’ve been fantastic. I love hearing the stories you tell, of all the adventures you had and the things you accomplished. It won’t be the same with you gone.”

“Well, my dear, just try to make do with whoever replaces me,” Harry said. “I'm sure it’ll be someone who has stories of his own to tell.”

And then it was time to go. Harry picked up the small box he was taking with him and started out his office door, but a young man took it from him and offered to carry it down to his car. Harry only sighed, and gave Callie a smile as he walked down the hallway for the very last time.

He surrendered his badges and keys to the security desk, and the officer there was kind enough to say he was going to miss him. Harry made a point of getting his name—David Wells—and promising to mention him if he ever got around to writing his memoirs, but he thought they all knew that wouldn’t happen. He’d have to let CIA go through the manuscript, and by the time they got done redacting parts of it that would reveal things better kept secret, there wouldn’t be anything left!

He got into his car, a 1969 Lincoln Mark III that he had found for sale on a collector car website and bought on a whim. It was one of the very few flights of fancy he’d ever taken, but there was something about the car that reminded him of when things were most right in his world. He’d driven one like it when he had been transferred from the SEALs to Naval Intelligence in 1979, and that had been one of the best times he could remember.

He’d been a ladies’ man, back then, and was always dating one beautiful woman or another, always had what his friends called “arm candy” hanging off him. They were all superficial relationships, though, not one of them lasting more than a few dates, until he’d met Kathleen. She’d first noticed him because of that car, that Lincoln, telling him that it seemed to be some sort of compensatory possession for a man who didn’t have everything he wanted out of life, and it had dawned on him that she was correct. He’d always thought he was doing fine, but her words made him take personal stock, and he realized that he was, to put it bluntly, quite lonely.

Kathleen was only twenty-two, a secretary who had managed to get a high enough clearance to allow her to sit in on the highest-level meetings of the command. Harry’s own clearance was just as high, but there was a very strict policy that prohibited dating between employees of the National Maritime Intelligence Center. Still, despite the age difference—Harry was thirty-eight—they carried on a flirtation for most of the first six months they knew one another. But Harry wanted more. One night, when she had to stay late, Harry disabled her car so that it wouldn’t start. Then, of course, he “just happened” to be leaving the parking area at the right moment to offer her a ride home.

She’d climbed into the car with a smile, and started looking through his glove box as soon as they left the parking lot.

“Looking for something?” Harry asked her.

“The rotor from my distributor,” she said without looking up. “Where did you hide it?”

Never one to avoid the truth, Harry grinned. “Inside the air filter housing on your engine. Figured me out that fast, did you?”

She looked at him and smiled. “Harry, I’ve been waiting two months for you to get up the nerve to try something like this. I was starting to wonder if I was gonna have to be the one to seduce you.”

That had led to a clandestine relationship that lasted three years, culminating in their marriage when Harry was finally transferred to the Joint Military Intelligence Training Center as an instructor, removing the prohibition. Harry knew full well that his superiors had been aware that he spent many of his nights at her apartment, and that she spent equally as many at his, but that was just another area where knowing where the bodies were buried came in handy. As long as they made at least a moderate effort to keep it hidden, nobody wanted to risk having Harry Winslow pissed at them.

And then had come the best news of all: that Kathy was pregnant. No one paid any attention to the fact that Harold David Winslow, Jr. was born only seven-and-a-half months after his parents were married, and Harry couldn’t have been a prouder papa. Harry, Jr.’s sister Elizabeth was born the following year, and the family lived happily and comfortably in a suburb of Arlington.

In 1986, only three weeks after their second anniversary, Harry was called up for a special mission into Cambodia. Intel had come across information indicating that there were at least eighteen former American soldiers still being held as POWs in the country, and Harry would lead a mission to go and find out if it was true. The mission would last a month, and he kissed his family goodbye as he left to go and rescue those good American boys who deserved to come home.

The mission was a bust, because it turned out the only American ex-soldiers there were those who had remained after deserting. They were living together in a rural area encompassing several villages, where they’d set themselves up as tin bosses over the people. Harry was so disgusted that he almost killed them, but he called it in and waited for the MPs to arrive from Germany to arrest them all. He couldn’t wait to get home to his wife and kids, but while he was waiting to board the transport plane that would start him on the journey home, he was called to the field office and handed a telephone receiver.

“Harry?” said a voice he recognized. It was his best friend, Michael Watkins, another former SEAL who worked as an instructor at the Training Center. “Harry, it’s Michael.”

There was something in Michael’s voice that told him the news wasn’t good, and the sensation that went down Harry’s spine felt cold, but it wasn’t like a chill. It was more of a sudden knowing, a sudden hunch that life as he knew it was about to be over.

“Harry—Listen, they said I should be the one to call you because of what we’ve been through together, y’know?”

“Is it Kathleen, or one of the kids?” Harry asked.

There was a moment of silence on the line, and then Michael cleared his throat. “Harry, it’s all of them. There was a fire, Harry, it looks like something went wrong with your wiring and a short caused a fire...”

He made it home without falling apart, and the funeral was handled quickly with Michael’s help. The coffins were all closed, of course, because the bodies were terribly burned, but he’d known that they would be. The only weakness Harry Winslow had ever allowed himself came then, when he looked at the closed caskets and told himself that they weren’t really in there, that Kathleen had actually taken the kids and run away for reasons of her own. The bodies inside them weren’t his wife and children, they were someone else, just corpses shoved into the burning house to make it appear that his family was dead.

Of course, that only lasted a few days before he got past denial and into acceptance and grief. After that, Harry just didn’t talk about them, didn’t even think about them if he could avoid it. Michael got transferred to someplace overseas, Harry buried himself in his work and built a name for himself, and when he was tapped in the 1990s to form a new department to watch some upstart terrorist group called “Al Qaeda,” he dedicated himself to his duties with every fiber of his being.

Now, on the day of his retirement, Harry let all the memories come back in, and he couldn’t help wondering if Kathy and the kids would have been proud of all he’d accomplished. Sure, there were things he’d have never wanted them to know about—every intelligence agent had things he wasn’t proud of—but in general? Would they have been proud of the times he’d saved lives, or even helped save the world?

Harry shoved those thoughts aside and came back to the present as he pulled into the parking garage of his apartment building in Annapolis. None of that would help him, now. He had to think of what to do next, and how he was going to make his moments continue to count, or else he’d be one of those who merely wasted away after retirement.

And Harry Winslow didn’t like to waste anything.

He carried the box up to his apartment and let himself in, dropping it on the couch and walking on to the kitchen to get a glass and some ice. The whiskey was on the table beside his chair where it always was, the same bottle that had been untouched since the day he’d buried his family. He’d kept it to remind himself that he didn’t want to drink and forget, he wanted to always remember them, but today he had decided it was time to get himself rip-roaring drunk.

That ancient bottle of Jim Beam was about to become his best friend. He fetched the glass and added ice, then went into the living room again and picked it up.

The envelope that fell over had been leaning against the bottle, and Harry knew it hadn’t been there when he’d left that morning. He set the bottle back down and picked it up, then reached into the drawer of the table and took out the Colt .45 he always kept there. Another pass through the apartment convinced him he was alone, so he sat down on the sofa and looked over the envelope.

It was gray, and obviously old. The only words on it were handwritten, and even after all these years, Harry knew the handwriting was Kathy’s. This envelope had been written a long time before and been stored somewhere ever since, but for some reason it had been delivered to him at this time, on this day. What possible cruelty could have been behind such a plot, he wondered?

He stared at it for more than five minutes, but then he had to know what it would mean. He took out the Swiss Army Knife that Kathy had given him as a gift on their anniversary, only a few weeks before he left on that mission, and slid its blade under the edge of the flap. The glue was so old and dry that it popped free instantly, and he opened it to take out the contents.

There were three photos inside, along with a single sheet of paper. He looked at the photos first, and his breath caught when he realized that the first one showed Harry, Jr. He looked at the second and saw Elizabeth, and the third, of course, was Kathleen herself—but something was wrong, because Harry Jr. looked like he must have been at least seven or eight, and Lizzie was around six or so, and Kathy…

Kathleen was sitting on a beach, and there was another man beside her. She had also aged, though it wasn’t so obvious in her case. The look on her face said that she was happy, and Harry looked closely at the man beside her.

It was Michael Watkins.

Harry turned to the sheet of paper and unfolded it, and the words he saw written there caused him to forget the bottle and take out his phone. Harry Winslow had a number of calls to make, and there was no time to waste.

Too much of it had already been wasted.

1

“Daddy, wake up,” Sam Prichard heard his little daughter say, so he rolled over and grabbed her, pulling her up onto the bed beside him. She shrieked and giggled as he began tickling her, but then she pushed his hands away just enough to gasp out, “Daddy, Uncle Harry’s here!”

“Uncle Harry?” he asked, the surprise evident in his face and voice. The announcement brought him to full wakefulness in an instant, for the last time “Uncle Harry” had shown up unannounced, Sam had been involved in an international manhunt for a would-be dictator.

“Yeah,” his wife said as she stuck her head into the bedroom. “I told Kenzie to wake you up while I start breakfast. He’s in the living room.” She glanced down the hallway and then came into the room. “Sam, he’s been forced to retire, and I don’t think he’s handling it very well. Seems upset, you know?”

Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her down for a kiss, then let her go. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” he said, as he pushed Kenzie gently off the bed and rolled to a sitting position. The two girls got out while he went into the bathroom and took care of morning necessities, then pulled on a pair of athletic pants and a t-shirt he used for when he was hanging around the house.

Harry was on the couch when Sam walked in, and Indie was right; he looked like he'd aged ten years since they’d last seen him a little over a year earlier. There was something about him that almost suggested defeat, but Sam knew with certainty that “defeated” wasn’t a word in Harry’s vocabulary.

“Harry!” Sam said boisterously, and the old man got to his feet, showing that he was still as spry as ever. The two of them hugged the way men who love and trust one another do, and then Sam sat down beside him. “What’s this about retirement? I didn’t think you’d ever give up your work.”

“Wasn’t my choice, Sam,” Harry drawled. “Seems some smart-ass with a computer managed to find out that I’d been making some adjustments to my 201 file over the years. Apparently, there was a digital image of my original enlistment that showed my birth certificate, so they no longer believe I was only ten when I joined the Navy.”

Sam stared at him. “Just how much of an adjustment had you made, Harry?”

The old man grinned. “Let’s just say I managed to stay on the job for eleven years past mandatory retirement age and leave it at that, shall we? And that isn’t why I’m here, anyway.” He glanced toward the door that led to the dining room and kitchen. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately, Sam? It’s not that Indie can’t know about this, it’s just that I need to go over it with you, first.”

Sam looked at his old friend for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go out to the office,” he said. “We can talk there for now.” He told Indie where they were headed, and the two of them walked down the hall to the room behind the garage.

Sam sat down at his desk and let Harry take the comfy chair in front of it. “Okay, Harry,” he said, “what’s really going on?”

Harry reached inside the leather jacket he was wearing against the late-autumn chill and extracted an envelope. He held it in his hand and looked at it for a moment, then looked up at Sam again.

“Three days ago, I walked my ass into the Director’s office and got handed my walking papers,” he said. “He told me about finding out how old I really am, gave me a speech about how I’d done more than my duty and should take the rest of my time to relax, and such, and sent me packing. I’ve got a pension that’ll keep me comfortable for the rest of my life, a couple of hidden nest eggs that even the gubmint doesn’t know about, and more free time than I can stand, but I’ve also got one of the most unusual problems I’ve ever even heard about. Sam, boy, I need to hire you.”

Harry started talking, then, and over the next few minutes he told Sam enough of the story to give him an idea of what he would be going up against: a woman and two children apparently died more than thirty years before, but there was now evidence that their deaths had been falsified. Photos of the children a few years older than they would have been when they died, a photo of the woman with a man who wasn’t her husband, and a note in her own handwriting that almost seemed like an attempt to explain but that left more questions than it gave answers.

“Harry,” Sam said after hearing the short version of the story, “you have any idea who could have put the envelope into your apartment?”

“Oh, probably about 100 names could easily spring to mind. Remember, Sam, I’ve spent my life in a world of people who can get in and out of places without leaving a trace. I checked the apartment; there was no sign of any forced entry anywhere, no scratches on the keyholes, absolutely nothing to suggest this could have been the work of any amateur. Whoever put that envelope on that table knew exactly what he or she was doing. We’re talking about a spook, Sam. The big question in my mind is the old how and why. How did this person come into possession of it, and why the hell did they bring it to me now?”

“I’m pretty sure that finding the answer to either one of those questions is going to answer the other one,” Sam said. “If we can find out the how, we’ll get the why; if we find out the why, the how will almost certainly become apparent.” He looked at Harry and raised his eyebrows. “What does the note say, Harry?”

Harry was still holding the envelope, turning it over and over in his fingers. He glanced down at it for a moment, then leaned forward and handed it to Sam.

Sam opened it and let the contents fall out onto his desk. An old policeman’s instinct made him want to avoid touching the photos and paper, in order to avoid contaminating any fingerprints that might be found, but he was sure Harry had already thought of that. If there were prints on it, Harry would already know whose they were, and he wouldn’t be sitting across the desk.

The first photo showed a young boy playing with a small dog. The boy appeared to be somewhere around ten years old, in Sam’s estimation. The dog was a dachshund, and the two of them seemed to be dancing around. “You ever own a dachshund?” Sam asked.

“No. Kathy always wanted one, though.”

The second photo was of a little girl. It was the kind of photo often taken in a department store, with the child posed in front of a fake backdrop of scenery. This one showed the girl in a bright yellow dress, holding a small parasol. The background was a field of sunflowers. The child had a happy smile on her face.

Sam looked at the third photo. A couple was sitting in beach chairs, and they seemed to be very happy together. The woman, who looked like she might be close to thirty, was looking at the man with eyes that were twinkling. Her hand and his were intertwined, their fingers linked together in the way couples do when they’re happy with each other. The man, who had short hair and the build of a professional soldier, was also smiling. The two of them were looking at each other, rather than toward the camera. It appeared to have been a candid shot.

“This is probably a stupid question,” Sam said, “but you’re certain that this woman is Kathleen? There’s no doubt in your mind?”

“Absolutely none,” Harry said. “Look at her left thigh, where it’s lifted the tiniest bit and you can just see the back. She had a pair of moles right there, and you can see them in the photo. Believe me, as illogical as it would be after seeing the photos of the kids, I’ve tried to convince myself that Michael just found himself a look-alike, but there’s no doubt, Sam. That woman in that photo is my wife.”

Sam looked at the photo for another moment, then dropped it on the desk and picked up the note. He unfolded it carefully and looked at the words that had been written almost thirty years earlier.

Harry,

I wish you could see them growing up. Harold is so much like you that it’s spooky sometimes, and Lizzie has all the grace and poise of a royal princess. I look at them sometimes and wonder how they could be our children. Let’s face it, you and I were both a little rough around the edges in a lot of ways, but these two are about as perfect as perfect can be.

I miss you, Harry. The kids miss you, too, in some ways, though it’s been long enough now that they don’t truly remember you. Michael tries to keep me happy, and for the most part he does pretty well, but he understands that he can never be Harry Winslow. Let’s face it, you were a very tough act to follow.

I don’t know what I would have done without him. Michael came to my rescue when the world was falling in on me. He helped me accept that you were gone and when he explained the dangers to me and the kids, how could I refuse his help? It hurts to know that we had to walk away from everything we ever knew, but I guess that’s the price you pay for being in our world. I just count my blessings and thank God that I’ve still got the kids safe and sound, and while Michael knows I still love you, he makes it clear that he’s always going to be here for me. I guess I should just be grateful for what I’ve got.

I guess that’s all for now. I’ll write you again next month.

Love,

Kathy

Sam looked up at Harry. “I see what you mean,” he said. “She wrote this as if it was something she would mail out to you at the time, and yet it almost sounds like she didn’t expect you to ever see it at all.”

“I’m quite sure she didn’t,” Harry said. “I’ve read that note 100 times, and the only way I can make sense of it is to believe that she thought I was dead when she wrote it. That’s the only possibility I can see. See how she refers to me in the past tense, and talks about wishing I could see the kids grow up, as if that’s not a possibility? Then she mentions Michael helping her accept that I was ‘gone’ and coming to her rescue when the world was falling in, and something about dangers to her and the kids that she needed his help with. She said after that she had to leave everything they ever knew behind them, which sounds like witness protection or something, and then she talks about how she still loves me, even though she and Michael are obviously together.”

“Yeah, I caught all that,” Sam said. “And you’re right, that’s about the only interpretation that makes any sense. I’m just trying to figure out how she could possibly have believed that.”

“She believed it because it’s almost certainly what she was told, and God alone knows what kind of proof she might’ve been shown. Nowadays, they can use computers to make a picture look any way you want, but back then we had to do things the hard way. I thought it over, and it wouldn’t have been all that difficult for Michael to show her pictures of what looked like my dead body, but it wouldn’t even really take that. All he’d have had to do would be to hand her a CCL, a Command Condolence Letter. Nobody ever doubted those. When you got one, it meant your husband or father or brother or whatever was dead.”

Sam shook his head. “I see your point,” he said. “So, you think this guy Michael made it look to her like you were dead, then—what? Talked her into running away with him? Harry, that would mean she never even got to go to your funeral. How can any of this make any sense?”

“Remember the reference to danger? Every spook knows that there’s a risk to his family if the wrong people find out who he is; hell, you’ve gone through that yourself. Some of my missions were under deep cover, which means I stopped being Harry Winslow when the mission was assigned to me, and became somebody else. Some of those, if the people I went up against learned who I really was, Kathy and the kids really would’ve been in danger. Michael must have told her that I had been exposed and killed, and that he had to get her and the kids into deep cover of their own. Believe me, seeing me put into the ground wouldn’t be nearly as important to her as protecting those children.”

“Was there a plan for that kind of thing?” Sam asked. “Let’s say your cover identity really was compromised, was there some protocol in place to protect your family?”

Harry shook his head. “No, nothing official,” he said. “Needless to say, the first thing I did after I saw all this was to find out whatever happened to Michael Watkins, and that was a very interesting trip down memory lane, let me tell you. While I was in Cambodia looking for POWs, old Michael was transferred to the Foreign Asset Management section, Brazil Division. I remember that he went to Brazil, but after he had just helped me bury my entire family, he wasn’t exactly the guy I wanted to exchange Christmas cards with. We lost track of each other—I should say, I lost track of him rather quickly. When I got to digging into this, though, I found out that about six months after he left, he married a woman named Katherine Baker that he met in Brazil. A month later he retired and dropped off the face of the earth.”

“So the woman he married, you think, was actually Kathleen in a new identity. He took her and the kids to Brazil as part of some plan to keep them safe? Harry, forgive me, but it just seems odd that your wife would fall for that.”

“It’s a different world, Sam, boy,” Harry said. “People like me had to live with the knowledge that there was always someone out there who wanted us dead. There were at least two dozen loaded weapons hidden around the inside of my house, so that if the day ever came when some of those people tried to take me out, no matter where I was in the house I’d be able to reach a weapon. Kathleen knew where they were, in special hideaways where the kids couldn’t reach them. Now, you think about what it would be like for Indie if she had to live like that, and tell me whether protecting that little girl in there might be more important than seeing your body come home in a box.”

Sam chewed his bottom lip as he looked off toward the kitchen. “Okay, I’ll give you that point.” He turned back to look at Harry. “So, here’s the big question, Harry. You said you wanted to hire me. What do you want me to do?”

“Well, hell, Sam,” Harry said, staring at him. “What would you want if you were in my shoes?”

Sam looked into his eyes for a long moment, then smiled sadly. “I’d want to know if my wife and children were still living, and I’d want to find them.”

2

The two men got up and went into the house for breakfast, and Harry made a point of keeping little Kenzie entertained while they ate. As he often did on his rare visits, he had brought her a present: a set of magic tricks that, despite their simplicity, were actually quite amazing when he demonstrated them. Five-and-a-half-year-old Kenzie was fascinated by them, but got even more excited as she began to learn how they worked. She had mastered a couple of them by the time breakfast was over.

Afterward, with Mackenzie safely installed in front of the television, the three adults remained in the kitchen while Harry brought Indie up to speed. Like Sam, she was initially shocked at the thought of a woman who would vanish under such circumstances, but it wasn’t long before she was ready to accept it. “It makes sense, Sam, if you think about it,” she said. “I love you, but if it came down to being able to say goodbye to you as you were buried or keeping McKenzie safe? I’d be gone just as fast as she was.”

“Okay, I get that,” Sam said, “but would you take off with my best friend? If you look at the photo of the two of them, they look pretty cozy.”

“Look at the letter, Sam,” Indie said. “This is a note written by a woman to a husband she believes is dead and gone. She included some photographs that she would have liked to be able to show him, and since the kids are each several years older than when Harry saw them last, it’s a safe bet the picture of her and Michael was taken at around the same time. She’s had at least a few years of accepting that Harry is gone, and that her life with Michael is not any kind of betrayal, so as far as she’s concerned it’s all perfectly acceptable. She was, at least as far as she knew, a widow. Do you think she wouldn’t get married again someday? Or that she wouldn’t accept the very man who, as far as she knows, gave up his own private life to keep her and her children safe?”

Sam nodded. “I see your point,” he said. “Take a look at the last line, too. She talked about sending another letter the next month.”

“Yes. Basically, these are little short love letters to a husband she lost, the one she never expects to see again, and she probably intended them to go to her children, sooner or later. Maybe she felt they would help them understand just who their father had been.”

“That sounds remarkably like her,” Harry said. “That’s the sort of thing she would think of…”

“All right,” Sam said, “then let’s use that as our working hypothesis. Now we’ve got to figure out what questions need to be answered, and the first one that comes to mind is who could have done this? Who would have known enough about the situation to get hold of this letter and realize that it was meant for Harry? It has to be someone who knew both him and Kathleen, and somebody who knew that she thought he was dead, even though he wasn’t.”

“And then there’s the why,” Indie said. “Why bring this to Harry now? He hasn’t seen his wife or children in more than thirty years, so why would anyone want to open those wounds afresh? Is this just someone being cruel, or is somebody trying to actually put him back in touch with his family?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question since the moment I found it,” said Harry. “Even assuming whoever it was is trying to do something good, here, what sort of person would think this was a kindness? I’ve spent the last thirty-one years thinking Kathy and the children were dead, for God’s sake, and now this? And why isn’t there more information, like where I can find them? This is enough to drive an old man mad.”

“We’ll find out why,” Sam said, “when we find out who, and I think that’s going to be critical to the actual desired outcome. We want to know if they’re still living, and where. Harry, Kathleen was younger than you? How much?”

“Oh, I was thirty-eight when we met, Sam, and she was twenty-two. What’s that, sixteen years? She’d just be sixty now. And Michael was only a few years older than she, so he might be sixty-five or so. They could still be together.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “But where? I doubt they ever came back to the States, simply because she’d have almost certainly gone to see your grave, and when she didn’t find it...”

“It wouldn’t mean a thing, Sam,” Harry said. “There are always ways to explain something like that. I was buried under my mission identity as part of the plan to protect my family, or maybe I was lost on the mission, my body never recovered. Michael would have known how to handle such things.”

“Okay,” Indie said, “but what about the fact your name’s been in the news off and on? Wouldn’t she have noticed that? Wouldn’t she think it odd that there’s a Harry Winslow who’s the right age doing all the things you’ve done for the country?”

“Sweetie, my name has made it to the news stories maybe twice in the last ten years, and before that everything I did was classified to the point it could only be denied. It wouldn’t be hard to believe she would have missed it, even if she’s in the country. She had no family other than me and the kids. Her parents died in a car crash while she was in college, and she didn’t have any other relatives. That’s part of the reason she got such a high clearance; she wasn’t a potential extortion risk because there was no one who could be threatened in order to make her reveal a secret.”

“So she had no reason to come back,” Sam finished. “That means we need to start looking where she was last known to be, and that sounds like it was in Brazil.”

“Rio, in fact,” Harry said. “That’s where they were when they were married, and that’s where Michael took his retirement. I managed to get the address, an apartment on Rua Garibaldi, but there was a notation that mail sent there was being returned only a few weeks later. No forwarding address was ever received by our government.”

“Wait a minute,” Indie said. “You said he retired; didn’t he get a pension or something?”

“Took a lump settlement,” Harry said. “Because he only had eight years in, he was allowed to take his pension fund as a single lump payment of sixty-eight thousand dollars and change. In Brazil, that would have lasted a couple of years and let them live pretty well, or he might have put it into some kind of business venture that they could live on.” He sighed. “Listen, as much as it hurt to find out my best friend stole my wife and children, there’s no doubt in my mind that once he got them, he’d have been a good provider. Michael could blend in anywhere; he could always find a way to make people like him, no matter who they were. We went into Cuba once on an intel-gathering mission and he had the peasants risking their necks to help us. If he took that money and set himself up in business, he probably got rich at whatever it was.”

“Okay, that’s something to use in looking for them, then.” He looked at Harry, then turned to Indie. “What can Herman do to help on this, Babe?”

His wife smiled as she got up. “I was just working out the search parameters I want to feed him. Be right back.” She went out to the office and came back a minute later with her laptop and set it on the table. “I’m giving him the names we’ve got, Michael Watkins and Katherine Baker, and the address on Garibaldi...”

“It’s 422B Rua Garibaldi, number 4,” Harry said.

“Okay, and what was the last date you can establish him living there?”

“That would have been December 11th, 1986. The wedding was on November 10th.”

“Okay, so I’m also searching anything to do with weddings on November 10th, and any reference to Katherine Baker having children, checking on American children in schools in the area…That’s all I can think of for now, but more will occur to me as Herman runs.” She tapped a couple more keys and then hit the enter button, and the screen started displaying lines of code.

Harry leaned over and looked at it. “What’s it doing?” he asked.

Indie smiled sheepishly. “Things that will get me in trouble if he gets caught,” she said. “Right now, he’s searching for any web-connected databases that are likely to contain information about residents of Rio during 1986. Once he finds one, he uses a hacking routine to get into it and look for information related to the things I just fed him. It takes a little time, but he’s a lot more thorough than any human can be. He looks at almost everything that could possibly be relevant, and then checks it against what he knows to see if it’s important. The results come up when he’s made some progress, but the program keeps running until it either runs completely out of possible sources of data, or I tell it to stop.”

Harry shook his head. “Why is it I never recruited you, I wonder? You seem to be doing things our own computer geeks haven’t thought of.”

“You didn’t need me, you had Gary Stone, remember?” Indie asked. “The kid who helped us with the Grayson Chandler thing, in Rome? He’s every bit as good as me when it comes to code.”

“Yes, but you’re smarter than he when it comes to how to use the programs you’ve written. Never mind, let’s just figure out where we begin on this.”

Sam grinned at him. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to begin in Rio de Janeiro,” he said.

Harry nodded his agreement. “Yes, no doubt. You’ll need your passport, of course.”

“It’s good. Let’s see what Herman comes up with and we’ll figure out when and where to go from there.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, and the computer chose that moment to chime.

“Okay,” Indie said, “let’s see what we’ve got here.” The page that opened up on the screen held about a dozen links, each of them titled by a word or phrase that Herman had deemed relevant to the search he was conducting. The very first one read, “Watkins-Baker marriage.”

Indie clicked on it, and a web page appeared. It was on the Globo Daily News website, drawn from its archives, and showed a photo of the couple posed without the children.

Senhor Michael Dale Watkins, an immigrant to Brazil from the United States who is now working as a security advisor to Mayor Saturnino Braga of Rio de Janeiro, will wed Dona Katherine Baker on 10 November. Dona Baker is the widowed mother of two children, Harold, aged 3 years, and Elizabeth, aged 2 years.

“That’s it,” Indie said, “just the announcement, but it tells us where Michael was working at the time. Let me add that to the parameters…And, while I’m at it, this gives me a good photo of their faces to work with, too.” She called up a program and used its tool to indicate the features of the two faces, and then entered a command.

She went back to looking through the links Herman had provided, most of which were only references to the one they’d already looked at. After seeing the same story appear for the fourth time, she skipped a couple links, and the next one that came up caused her to pause.

“Um, guys,” she said, “you might want to see this one.” Harry and Sam both leaned close and looked at the screen.

It was another news story on the same website, dated a month later, and showed a photo of Michael Watkins wearing a suit. “Security Supervisor and Family Killed in Crash,” the headline read.

Senhor M. Watkins, Security Supervisor for Mayor Saturnino Braga, was aboard the airplane that crashed at Roberto Marinho Airport on Monday, along with his wife Katherine and their children, Harold and Elizabeth, and the pilot, Jorge Mendes. The airplane suffered the loss of a wing and crashed into an empty hangar, where it exploded, killing all aboard.

Harry stared at the screen for a moment, but then shook his head. “That’s another fake death,” he said. “The date shows it has to be. We’ve got the photos of them all alive and healthy at least five or six years after that.” He glared at the computer. “What I want to know is why I didn’t find that story when I was looking. I was calling in favors from Company researchers who should be able to find anything at all, especially when it’s archived on the internet.”

“I can tell you that,” Indie said. “It’s because of relevance. I told Herman to search anything that contained the name Watkins in Rio for that time period. Your people probably searched for the entire name, Michael Watkins. This one didn’t use his first name.”

“Then they should know to do it your way. Idiots!”

The computer set off another chime just then, and Indie called up the latest page of search results. This time, there were more than fifty links, and she clicked on the first one.

The page was part of a business section of the same newspaper, and showed a slightly different Michael Watkins, with a different nose and darker hair, smiling into a camera and waving a hand toward a building in the background. The building was two stories high and boasted neo-Roman architecture. A sign over the front entrance proclaimed it to be ‘Roma de Angelina,’ while the story below described it as ‘the finest in Italian cuisine to be found in Leblon!’

Senhor Michael Reed is proud to announce the opening of his new restaurant, which he named for his mother. With his wife, Katherine, he hopes to entice the patrons of Leblon to enjoy a dining experience that can only be equaled, they say, by a journey to Rome.

Harry stared at the picture. “There’s nothing about Michael Watkins there,” he said. “How did you find it?”

Indie shrugged and winked at him. “Facial recognition program. I copied the four best pictures of them and made a few tweaks of my own. When I told Herman to run their faces through it and look for matches, he seems to have found quite a few.”

“I’d say so. Is that restaurant still in existence?”

A quick Google search found that it was not, although the building was still standing. It was now owned and occupied by a clothing retailer.

Harry nodded. “What else do we have?”

3

Across the city, a man sat at a folding table in the tiny room he considered his office. Thick fabric had been hung over the windows to prevent any light from escaping, but the only light in the room came from the bank of computer monitors he was facing.

A man’s voice coming through the speakers said, “There’s nothing about Michael Watkins there. How did you find it?”

A female voice replied. “Facial recognition program. I copied the four best pictures of them and made a few tweaks of my own. When I told Herman to run their faces through it and look for matches, he seems to have found quite a few.”

The man’s voice came once again. “I’d say so. Is that restaurant still in existence?”

The man at the table, another local private investigator named Frank Hornsby, was reading the transcript that was scrolling across the screen. The transcription program identified the male voice as “Voice 1,” a second male voice as “Voice 2,” and the female voice as “Voice 3.” When it was completed, Frank would use a simple word processor command to replace those labels with the names of the speakers. He knew Sam Prichard, though not well, and had identified the other two voices simply by listening in to their conversation. The woman’s name seemed to be Indie, but the other man was the one he was hired to watch for. That was Harry Winslow, and he was being paid quite well to keep tabs on him while he was at Prichard’s place, and to report regularly to his employer.

Frank was getting quite a kick out of this job. He was learning an awful lot about surveillance techniques he’d never even known existed before taking it, and one of them was letting him listen in on this particular conversation. A simple program, essentially a virus, had somehow been inserted into almost every electronic device in Prichard’s house. His cell phone, his wife’s, all of their computers, even their smart TV were transmitting every sound through the Internet into a server which then sent it to one of the computers on Frank’s table.

It was a beautiful system. Frank had made it a point of thanking his employer for providing him with them. He had been watching Prichard’s household this way for nearly two months already, following his instructions by copying the entire hard drive of Mrs. Prichard’s computer and sending daily transcripts of their conversations and activities. His employer had come to visit once during that time, but the money arrived in his bank account every week on schedule. As long as he was getting paid, Frank would continue to do the job.

Thinking of following instructions, he reached over and picked up his cell phone. He tapped the icon that dialed directly to his employer and smiled when the line was answered. “You were right, sir,” he said. “Mr. Winslow showed up this morning.”

“Of course,” his employer said. “And what do you think brought him to Denver?”

“Well, personally I think he’s nuts. He’s been telling the Prichards this really wild story about how his best friend up and stole his wife thirty years ago by convincing her he was dead. You don’t think there’s any truth to it, do you?”

“Of course not. This is why we hired you, Mr. Hornsby. When a former espionage asset like Mr. Winslow reaches such an advanced age, the risk of dementia causing him to release classified information is too high to ignore. He’s been telling some unusual stories like this off and on for some time now, which is what alerted us to his condition. Just keep me posted on any new developments, especially if Prichard decides to involve himself in any of it.”

“Yes, sir,” Frank said. “Happy to oblige.”

He cut off the call and laid the phone back on the table, then allowed himself a moment to gloat. Everybody knew that Prichard had worked for the Feds a few times, and it seemed like he was some sort of superstar among the PIs in the area. Well, just wait till they found out that the National Security Agency had hired none other than Frank Hornsby to watch Prichard. According to the agent he was working under, there was a lot of suspicion in Washington that Prichard had been manipulating old Winslow for some time. Naturally, that would be a pretty major crime, and required that they find a man of Frank’s skills and character to come up with a solution.

Besides, Prichard had only been in the PI game for a couple of years, if that. Frank had been at it for more than three decades, paying his dues by chasing the cheaters and doing the skip traces that were the bread-and-butter of the business. He had come up the hard way, and it was rewarding to know that Uncle Sam had finally noticed just what he was capable of.

Prichard, on the other hand, had blundered into something high-profile in his very first case, finding a missing child and bringing her home safely, and then busting a pretty large drug ring as a result. He’d gotten a lot of good press, something that didn’t usually happen to a private eye. That was the reason he got tapped for some of those government jobs, Frank figured. It certainly didn’t have anything to do with experience or skills.

That was all right. Now that Frank was working with NSA, the country would be a whole lot safer.

* * * * *

The man who had answered Frank’s call tucked his own phone back into a pocket and kept his eyes on the street in front of him. He’d been working on this plan, or at least thinking about it, for more than a year now, and it was all about to come together. Using Frank had been a stroke of genius, he thought. There were a number of private investigators in the Denver area, but he had specifically sought out the one who seemed to be the most disreputable gumshoe of them all.

Frank had given him a sales pitch, claiming to have solved a number of major cases in his career, but the truth was a lot simpler. He was the guy people called on when they thought their spouses were cheating, the one men called when the wife they had abused for so long finally got fed up and ran away. He would tail or track down anyone as long as he was getting paid, and he never let himself be bothered with wondering what might happen after his report was made and delivered. In two cases, women he located for angry husbands had ended up dead, but Frank never felt any remorse. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t up to him to worry about what the clients did with the information they received. His job was just to report it. After all, they didn’t hold the carmakers responsible when a drunk driver killed somebody, right?

He was definitely making money on this job. His current client was paying him nearly three times his usual daily rate, and all he really had to do was sit in front of a computer. The machine was doing all the work, but the client considered it well worth the money. When the job was over, hopefully soon, Frank was also the kind of PI whose death wouldn’t be considered too great a surprise. Arrangements for his elimination had already been made and paid for, and he thought that they might be implemented rather soon, now. Frank had outlived his usefulness, or he would as soon as Harry made his next move.

He put those thoughts out of his mind and made the turn into the apartment complex that was his destination, then got out of the car and walked into Building A. There weren’t any elevators in the old structure, but he took the stairs two at a time and quickly found himself in front of Apartment 214. He knocked twice, then once more, and the door was opened by a man who seemed rather glad to see him.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up again,” the man in the apartment said. “We’re getting pretty close, so if this is going to happen…”

“It is,” said his visitor. “Everything’s in place now, should all come to a head in the next few days. I can’t say exactly when just yet, but keep yourself at the ready. And, Ron, I want you to know how much I appreciate this.”

Ron chuckled, but there was a sarcasm to it. “You don’t appreciate it nearly as much as my family does,” he said. “As crazy as your little scheme might be, it’s been a godsend for us. The worst part of this whole ordeal has been worrying about my kids going hungry, but now they never will.”

The visitor watched his eyes for a moment. “You haven’t told them anything, have you? I told you, no one can know anything about our arrangement.”

Ron shook his head and grinned. “No, no, they don’t know anything. In fact, whenever I go to visit them, the wife keeps telling me how much better I look, how well I’m handling it all. It’s amazing how much stress you’ve taken off of me, and I mean that. You’ve been like a miracle to us. To me.”

“Well, you’re doing an awful lot for me, too. You’re giving me a whole new lease on life, you know? I’m sure this hasn’t been the easiest job to cope with, but you’re certainly the right man for it. I’m more than happy to pay what it’s worth, and if that gives your family the security they need, then it’s all been worth it.”

Ron nodded. “Definitely worth it on my end,” he said. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but I was honestly contemplating suicide the day we met. I just didn’t know how to handle everything that was happening to me, just couldn’t cope with it all. When you told me what you wanted me to do, it was like the weight of the world fell off of my shoulders. This job has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me, especially under the circumstances.”

“I’m very glad. Listen, it’s like I told you, and we may have to move quickly. I thought I’d go ahead and bring the suit over, so when I call you can be ready and dressed for the part.” He handed over the suit bag that he had draped over his shoulder as he got out of his car. “It’s Armani, so don’t let it get messed up between now and then.”

Ron took it and pulled the zipper halfway down to look at the suit inside. It was gray and probably one of the finest suits he had ever seen. “No problemo,” he said. “Soon as you call, I’ll get into it and grab a cab your direction.”

“No, no, don’t take a cab to the house. Do you know where the Gator House Restaurant is, at Sunset Point and North Fort Harrison? There’s a boat dock just across from it; meet me there, and I’ll take you over by boat.”

“Gator House, yeah. No problemo, just say when.”

The visitor smiled. “Sounds good, Ron. We’re all paid up for now, right? The most recent payment came through okay?”

Ron nodded enthusiastically. “It sure did, sir, and I’m ready. I’ll grant you this job seemed a little odd at first, but with all you’re doing for my family, and with me coming up to my own deadline, I’m really quite comfortable with it.”

The two men shook hands and the visitor turned to leave. Ron watched him for a moment until he disappeared down the stairs and then closed the door.

The other man got into his car and drove away, heading back to his office. Seeing Ron so seemingly ready to play his part had brightened his day, but he still had work to do. Uncle Sam wanted him to babysit someone on a long trip the next day, but with everything coming together the way it was, he didn’t want to be leaving the country. It wasn’t that big a problem; he had plenty of people he could assign to the task.

Hell, if he hurried he might even have time for a little fun with the secretary.

4

“One of the things Herman can do that most search-bots can’t,” Indie had continued, “is learn as he goes. When he found a couple of stories about Michael Reed that had photos of Michael Watkins attached, he added that name to his parameters. I’ve got a number of small articles that mention the name, but I’m not certain they refer to the same one. There are a couple that are definite, though. Here’s one that talks about Reed selling the restaurant in 1990, and another from the same year saying that he and Katherine are proud of Harold, who won some sort of award at school. Unfortunately there are none mentioning him after that, so I’m expanding the search to the rest of Brazil.”

“It just amazes me that I couldn’t find anything about Reed,” Harry said. “One of the things our government is famous for is keeping track of former agents, and Michael went on some very deep missions. There should have been a file on him more than a mile thick, but there was nothing after he got married. I didn’t even find the report of his death, and that’s just about out of the realm of reasonable possibility. There’s no way it wouldn’t have been recorded and added to his file.”

“What about if he was still working for the government, but under cover?” Sam asked. “Would they have kept that out so he could start a new life under another name?”

Harry looked at Sam for a moment without saying anything, then shook his head. “There should have been at least a mention of his reported death, and possibly even a cross-reference to a new file. No, I get the feeling that Michael had the files laundered. There’s always someone in the Company who can do such things, and will if the price is right. That’s how I kept getting my files altered, so I could stay on active duty.”

The computer chimed. Indie called up the results page and looked at the five links that appeared.

“This first one is a newspaper article from Sao Paulo saying that Reed was just opening another restaurant there. Date is June 16th, 1990. Next, we have an article about the restaurant—it’s called Katherine’s, by the way—and here’s another one saying it was rated the best restaurant for tourists in the city. A few more mention it, always with something about Reed, and there are a couple of photos of him. This restaurant was smaller, but a lot nicer than the one in Rio.”

Harry nodded. “As I said, Michael would be some sort of success at anything he chose to do. And he loved to cook, I might add, so I suppose I should not be surprised that he went into restaurants.”

“The last article I’ve got here is dated in August of 1995. He sold out again, and this one says he and his family are moving to Italy, specifically to Rome.”

“Scratch Brazil,” Sam said. “We need to think about going back to Rome, I guess.”

“Don’t start packing yet,” Indie said. “I’m feeding all this to Herman. I’m gonna tell him to search the whole country, though, cause this guy is slippery. And I’m having him do the facial recognition again, just in case of another name change.”

“Harry,” Sam said, “if we find them, what are you planning to do?”

“Are you asking me if I’m going to kill Michael, Sam, boy? You can relax on that score. First off, I think the fact that Kathy will find out he lied to her all those years ago will be enough punishment, but even without that, I wouldn’t want to put my children through the trauma. It is quite possible they believe he’s their father, and they didn’t do anything wrong.” He ran a hand over his white hair. “As for Kathleen, I really just want to see her and know that she’s alive, if she is. I spent most of the last thirty-one years regretting the fact that I never got to say goodbye, you know? I need some closure, I suppose.”

* * * * *

Herman was running a much larger search, and it took almost twenty minutes before he chimed. Indie took a look and groaned.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I mean, Herman got nothing. There are no accessible files related to Reed and family in Italy at all, and no photos of him or her.”

“So we’re back to square one,” Sam said. “Try running just the photo recognition back in Brazil again. Maybe he changed names and stayed in the country.”

“I’m already on it,” she replied. “I’m running them through Google, so it’ll be a worldwide search. Every image you upload anywhere gets indexed, and Herman can look at one in just a few nanoseconds to see if there’s a match. Still gonna take a few hours, but we’ll see what he finds.” She hit the enter key and turned to Harry. “You do know I have to call our moms, right? They’ll kill us if they find out you were here and I didn’t tell them.”

“Bring them on,” Harry said. “And invite the old soldier, too, if he’s still making the occasional appearance. Maybe he can shed some light on this mystery.”

Sam groaned. “Beauregard,” he said. “That alter ego of my mother-in-law scares the hell outa me at times, but he certainly can make life interesting.”

“And longer,” Indie said. “Don’t forget how many lives he’s saved working with you, including your own!”

“I know,” Sam said, “but I still refuse to believe in him, just on principle! I do not believe in ghosts, and especially ones who claim to have known me in a past life, which is something else I just plain don’t believe in!”

Indie chuckled at him, as she picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey, Mom? What are you and Grace doing this morning?” She listened for a moment, and then went on. “Well, Sam and I just thought you’d like to know that we’ve got company. Harry Winslow showed up on our doorstep bright and early, and he’d love to see you both.”

She chatted with her mother for a couple of minutes and then hung up the phone. They’d be right over, she reported, and Harry smiled.

The computer suddenly chimed, and Indie looked surprised. “That was awfully fast,” she said, but she looked at the results page. “Sometimes, if there’s a lot of results coming up, he’ll give them to me in groups. Let’s see what he’s found so far.

Most of the links that came up were from the names being searched, and Indie could dismiss most of them easily. Apparently, there were a number of Michael Reed’s in the world, but none of them seemed to be the one she was looking for. She went through about eighty of them in under three minutes, but the next link was to a photograph.

The picture was of both Michael and Kathleen, but they were both noticeably older. Their hair was graying, and there were lines visible in their faces, but they were still quite recognizable. In the photo, they were sitting in the stern of what appeared to be a large sailboat, and smiling happily.

“Hang on,” Indie said, “I’m sourcing the photo. Oh, this one came off of MySpace back in 2005. The page itself is gone, but let’s try the Way-Back Machine.” She went to archive.org and entered the link that had come up in the metadata of the photo.

A copy of the page appeared on the screen, and they were able to read the caption that had been typed under the photo. “Taking the yacht out on her maiden voyage. Cruising down to St. Kitts for the weekend.”

“That entry was added on May 20th of 2005, but here’s the interesting thing. The page is obviously Kathleen’s, but it’s not under the name of Katherine Reed. She’s going by the name of Kathleen again, Kathleen Reed. I’m seeing a lot of references to Mike, the kind a woman makes to her husband. Hey, here’s a photo of both of them, and the caption says she and Mike are going to buy a new car for their daughter, Beth. That one’s in June. The last entry I can find is on January 22nd of 2007.” She went back to the results page and began scanning the links, then broke into a smile.

“January of 2007, she switched over to Facebook. Here’s the page, and it’s still active.” She turned the computer a bit so that Harry could see it clearly, and he was suddenly looking at a clear photo of Kathleen that had been taken quite recently.

“Oh, dear heavens,” he whispered. “How long ago...”

“That selfie was posted a week ago, Harry,” Indie said softly. “Look at this.” She clicked a link, and the page changed, showing her home location as Clearwater Beach, Florida. A telephone number was displayed, as well. “She’s still alive, Harry, but she seems to still be with Michael. There are pictures of the two of them, and she refers to him as Mike now and then.”

Harry stared at the screen for several seconds, then looked up at Indie with tears in his eyes. “I came here expecting to be starting a months-long search that might never turn up any real results,” he said, “and you found her in a matter of minutes. I don’t how to thank you, Indiana.” He looked back at the screen.

“Harry,” Sam said softly, “What are you going to do?”

The old man looked at him and smiled. “Why, Sam, boy, I’m going to burden you with my lazy presence for a few hours, so that I can come to grips with this incredible turn of events, and then I’m going to go to Florida and see my wife.” He turned back to Indie. “Is there any mention of the children?”

“Well, let’s scan her posts,” Indie replied. “There are a lot of mentions of a daughter named Beth and a son named Harold. Harold Reed and Beth Reed, and Beth is short for Elizabeth, no doubt. Each name is linked to a profile, so…” She clicked on one of the links to Beth, and they were suddenly looking at the profile of a lovely woman in her early thirties, surrounded by four kids who looked as though they ranged from about ten to mid-teens. There were three girls and a boy, and the boy seemed to be the eldest.

“Great jumping Jehoshaphat,” Harry said with his eyes wide, “I’ve got grandchildren! Does it tell their names?”

Indie laughed out loud. “Well, I’m just looking through the things she’s posted,” she said, “but it looks like the boy is Reggie, then there’s Vicki, Susie and Danielle. Last name for all of the kids is Jacobs, and that’s her name, too.” She smiled over at Harry. “Elizabeth grew up into a fine woman, Harry.”

“She sure did,” he said. “Any sign of a husband?”

“Well, I don’t see one mentioned. Wait, here’s a reference to the kids going to spend a week with their father, so it sounds like maybe she’s divorced.”

Harry shrugged, but he was still grinning. “That’s the world we live in today,” he said. “What about Harold?”

Indie popped back to Kathleen’s page and clicked on a link to Harold. His page came up, but there was very little information on it. Most of the photos were of cars and motorcycles, but there were a few that showed a man who looked the way Indie figured Harry must’ve looked when he was younger. Some of the older photos included shots of him in a Navy uniform.

“It looks like he’s living in Largo,” Indie said. “Elizabeth, or Beth, is in Florida, too, in Tampa.”

Harry was nodding his head. “Well, naturally, I can’t wait to see them,” he said, “but I think it should wait until after I’ve spoken with their mother. I’m not sure how well that’s going to go over, you understand.”

Sam nodded his head. “Yeah, that might be intense,” he said. “It’s definitely going to be a shock to her, and probably to Michael. From the look of things, he’s gone to great lengths to cover his tracks, trying to make sure you couldn’t track them down.”

“Did a hell of a job of it, too, didn’t he? All the resources of the Department of Homeland Security, and I couldn’t even find a picture of him after he left the Company. If our government had anything comparable to Herman, we might be a viable player in the field of cyber intelligence. As it is, I think we’re just a big joke.”

Indie motioned for Harry to pull his chair closer to hers, and helped him navigate through the various Facebook pages. Gradually, Harry learned that his daughter had been divorced for the past three years, and that she wrote young adult novels for a living and loved taking her kids to visit her parents now and then. Harold, they found, had spent twelve years in the Navy as an airframe mechanic, serving several tours on aircraft carriers. Since receiving an honorable discharge, he had turned his mechanical aptitude to restoring antique automobiles and motorcycles. He was still single, but there were quite a few posts about his live-in girlfriend, whose name was Janine. The two of them had one child together, a three-year-old boy named Christopher.

They were still perusing the pages when Grace and Kim came in, and both of them hurried to the old man who had so often helped to protect them and their children. Fortunately, Harry enjoyed being hugged.

5

Harry had decided to let the ladies in on his situation, so Indie let them take over the table with Harry and Sam while she got up to make lunch. She was interrupted periodically when Harry asked her to show them one picture or another, but she didn’t mind. There was something in the way Harry was acting that made her feel good. It was like he had been on the verge of giving up on life, but suddenly had a reason to keep living.

Of course, a lot of that would depend on how Kathleen reacted. If they were right in their suspicion that she didn’t know Harry was alive, then she probably wouldn’t have any objection to him making contact with their children. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that she would want to avoid that contact, rather than have the children find out what their stepfather had done. Little Kenzie’s father had died some years before, and she wasn’t sure how she would feel if he suddenly turned up alive today. Kenzie never actually knew him, and Sam was the only daddy she’d ever had, as far she was concerned. Trying to explain the truth now, even without all of the backstabbing drama of Harry’s situation, could confuse the child to no end.

“Oh, God,” she suddenly heard Grace say, and she turned quickly to see what was going on. Her mother was swaying in her chair, with her eyes closed and her head thrown back. This was a sure sign that Beauregard was about to drop in for a visit.

Kim suddenly stopped swaying and brought her head up, opening her eyes and looking straight at Harry.

“Hello, old buddy,” Kim said in a voice that sounded a lot like Harry’s own. “Good to see you again.”

Harry grinned and nodded hello. “Beauregard,” he said. “It’s been a little while.”

Sam was rolling his eyes, but Harry held up a hand to shush him before he could say anything. “What brings you out, Beauregard?” Harry asked.

“This whole mess of yours. I was listening in, hope you don’t mind, and it suddenly dawned on me that I know a little bit about this. It’s not much, you understand, but it could be important.”

“I’m listening,” Harry said. “Go ahead.”

“Well, it’s good you get to see your wife and little ones again, but you need to understand that not every story has a happy ending. I don’t know how this will all turn out, but it’s not going to be an easy one. I think you’re going to get what you want, but it’s going to be up to Sam to make sure you live long enough to enjoy it.”

Kim turned her face to look at Sam, who was staring at her with his own eyes wide. “Samuel, you’re going to play some poker, but each hand you lose is going to cost a life. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I can see.”

“Whose lives are we talking about?” Sam demanded, but Kim’s eyes had slowly fallen closed again. Her head fell forward as if she was dozing off, then snapped upright. She blinked as she looked around, then quickly looked at Grace.

“Beauregard?”

“Oh, God, yes,” Grace said. “He said Sam has to keep Harry alive, and he’s got to play poker to save other lives!”

Kim blinked a couple of times. “Poker?”

“Metaphorically, I’m sure,” Harry said. “As for keeping me alive, Sam, that could have many meanings. At my age, it could simply mean keeping your phone ready to call 911 if I’m overwhelmed.”

“Or it could mean your old pal Michael is still dangerous,” Sam shot back. “After all, Harry, we’re talking about a man who stole your wife and kids right out from under your nose, in a way. He made each of you believe the other was dead for decades, and he’s been enjoying them as if they were his own family for all these years. He may put up a fight.”

Harry looked at Sam with a sadness that made him look even older for a moment. “He won’t have anything to fight, Sam,” he said at last. “The evidence of his sins will be standing before him. I can’t imagine that Kathy will accept what he’s done without shock and anger. Even if she loves him today, this will mean a betrayal of the deepest kind, and women don’t handle betrayal well.”

“But it could be,” Kim said softly, “if she does love him, she might see your sudden return as a danger to the life she’s lived all these years, too. She might not want to put the kids through it, Harry.”

“I’ve considered that possibility,” Harry said. “I’m afraid I’m not going to leave that choice to her, for that reason. I may be willing to refrain from taking any action against Michael, if that is what she wishes, but I want at the very least to come to know my children, and for them to come to know me, if they’re willing.”

Sam sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m with you. How do you want to handle it, Harry?”

Harry grinned, and looked a bit more like his old self. “Well, I need a little bit of time to process this,” he said, “and I think it might be wise to at least look into the legal ramifications, but I expect we’ll leave tonight sometime for Florida.”

“Okay, that sounds good,” Sam said, “but I meant, how do you want to handle letting Kathleen know that you’re still alive, and that she was lied to all these years. That doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you do on a phone call, but it might be too much of a shock to her if you just ring her doorbell, don’t you think?”

“He’s got a good point,” Grace said. “She’s how old now?”

“She’s sixty.”

“I’m getting close to that, and I can tell you it’s no picnic! Doctors are always talking about slowing down, watching your heart, all that stuff. She answers the door to find a ghost standing there, it could be too much for her.”

“She’s strong,” Harry said. “And I need to see her face when she realizes it’s me, I’m afraid. As much as it appears she didn’t know I was alive, I have to see her face to be certain. Can you understand that? I have to know.”

There was silence at the table for several seconds, and then Indie laid a hand on his shoulder. “Of course we do,” she said softly. “And we’re with you, Harry.”

The conversation turned then to the legal ramifications Harry had mentioned, and he took out his phone. He scrolled through the contacts for a moment until he found the number he wanted, then hit the send button. He waited a moment, and then grinned.

“Jared, you old goat,” he said. “Harry Winslow…Fine, but I got kicked out, you know. Seems they got upset about me fudging my date of birth to remain on active duty longer than allowed. Yeah, but I know where too many bodies are buried, they’re not about to try to prosecute me. Listen, I’ve got a situation, and I need the kind of legal advice I can only get from someone as despicable as you. Well, it’s like this...”

Harry told Jared, who was a lawyer used by Homeland Security when their actions appeared to overstep the bounds of the law and their authority, about what they had uncovered, and how convoluted it seemed to be. When he was finished, the lawyer asked several questions, then said he’d call back in an hour. Harry thanked him and ended the call.

“Now I wait,” he said. “Hey, did I hear something about lunch?”

Indie laughed. “I’m working on it,” she said. “Leftover roast beef from Sunday’s dinner, okay? Mashed potatoes and gravy, and I’m heating up some corn to go along with it. Mom, you want to make some tea, please?”

Kim got up to help her daughter, and Grace reached across the table and put a hand on one of Harry’s. “Listen, Harry, I know you’re going through a rough time,” she said, “but if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

“Why, thank you, Grace,” Harry replied. “I do appreciate it. At this point, though, I’m still just trying to come to grips with the fact I’ve been a fool all these years. I recall at the funeral, something was telling me that it wasn’t right, that my family wasn’t dead, but I didn’t listen. If I had, maybe things would have gone a different way.”

“Yeah,” Sam growled, “you’d have ended up dead!”

“Dead? How do you figure that, Sam?”

“Simple. You had Michael telling you that your entire family had died in a house fire, right? Thing is, he knew it wasn’t true because he already had them stashed away somewhere safe in Brazil or someplace. He couldn’t run the risk of Kathleen finding out what he’d done, that would mean full exposure and probably get him a long term in prison, so if you had refused to accept what he told you, he would have been forced to kill you to protect himself. And if you’d gotten to Kathleen before he could stop you, he probably would have killed her and the kids, too.”

Harry’s eyes took on a sadness again. “I don’t want to believe that, Sam, boy,” he said slowly, “but you’re probably right. Good Lord, he could be just as dangerous today. Perhaps that’s what Beauregard meant about you keeping me alive.”

“Could be, and I’m going with that for the moment. I’m your bodyguard for the next few days, 'til we see how the dust is going to settle on this mess. Agreed? You’ll duck when I yell?”

“You can count on it, Sam,” Harry said. “After all, I came to you for help, didn’t I?”

Lunch was ready a few minutes later, and they all sat down to eat. Sam had to go to the garage and bring in the two extra chairs so there would be enough, and Harry was on the phone when he came back in.

“Yes, Jared,” Harry was saying. He listened for a moment, then interrupted the lawyer. “Jared, wait a minute,” he said. “I’m with a private investigator friend of mine who’ll be working with me on this, and I want him to hear what you’re saying. I’m going to put you on speaker.” He poked the speaker icon, and set the phone on the table. “All right, say that again, please.”

Jared seemed to take a deep breath. “I’ve been saying that there is no legal action that can be taken against Michael Watkins at this time, because the federal statute of limitations would apply. There is nothing about this case that would negate the statute. Harry can file a civil suit for being deprived of his family, but there are no criminal charges that can be brought against Watkins after so many years.”

“Wait,” Sam said, “what about kidnapping? He took Harry’s children completely out of the country, and kidnapping has no statute of limitations.”

“Actually, Watkins didn’t kidnap them. The children left the country in the company of their mother, who almost certainly would have thought she was taking them away for their own protection. Since she thought Harry was dead, we can’t even say that she wasn’t within her rights to do so. And since Watkins was not a beneficiary of any of the life insurance Harry collected, there isn’t any fraud charge that can be brought against him over faking their deaths.”

“Changing their names and faking his own death? What about that?”

“Watkins is a former field agent of the CIA,” Jared said. “As Harry can tell you, there are situations when such a person can change his or her identity with impunity, and it’s likely he’ll have set up one of those situations to cover his ass on this.”

“Okay, then what about the remains found in the ashes?” Sam asked. “There were apparently some bodies there. Would there be any applicable charges from that?”

“Not unless there is evidence that Watkins actually murdered whoever they were in order to place them there. The only charge that might stick in this case would be a murder charge, but then only if we can prove he killed or arranged the killing of the people whose bodies were found. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

Sam shook his head, and Harry thanked Jared and said goodbye.

“Well, isn’t that just ducky,” Sam said. “I guess we just need to go and take this head on, Harry, but the way it looks so far, it stinks to high heaven.”

“Doesn’t it, though?” Harry asked.

6

Harry, it turned out, had flown in from DC late the night before, and had simply hung out at a coffee shop until he figured they’d be awake and caught a taxi to their home. By the time lunch was over, the lack of sleep was showing. Indie overruled his arguments and led him upstairs to their guest room, threatened to undress him herself if he didn’t cooperate, and then left him alone. When she checked on him ten minutes later, he was snoring peacefully.

She went back down to Sam and their mothers, who were all playing Old Maid with Kenzie. The little girl was winning, and all three adults swore she was cheating, which only made Kenzie laugh. Indie convinced her that they should all watch a movie instead, and they moved to the living room.

As Turbo played on the TV for the fiftieth time, Sam and Indie snuggled in his overstuffed recliner and talked about Harry’s problem.

“Sam,” Indie began, “I’m worried. As much as I know you hate Beauregard, he’s usually right and you know it. This thing about playing poker for people’s lives is scary.”

“I know,” Sam said. “The thing that frustrates me most about that old soldier is that he’s always so vague. If he’d say things clearly enough to make sense, it’d help a lot.” He sighed deeply, and Indie caressed his face in sympathy. “The only way I can take the first part, about keeping Harry alive, is to assume that Michael is gonna be a problem. Even if they can’t prosecute him for what he did back then, what’s to keep him from trying to blame it all on Harry?”

“On Harry? How could he, he’s the one who lied to Kathleen...”

“I’ve been thinking about it, trying to figure out how I’d handle it if I were in his shoes, and if I was that kind of liar. Seems to me the only move he could make would be to try to convince Kathleen that Harry put him up to it. If Harry had told him he wanted out of his life, for example, and gave Michael an outline of how to pull it off, then old Michael might claim he saw it as a chance to find his own happiness. All he’d have to do is swear up and down that Harry threatened him if he ever told the truth, and with Harry’s reputation back then, a threat like that would be one to take seriously. It’s possible Kathleen would believe him, and turn against Harry.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Indie said. “Or it could be even more subtle than that. We don’t know who put that letter in Harry’s apartment; what if Michael arranged it? Sent it to Harry to make him do exactly what he’s doing, then just follow him or lay in wait until he shows up and shoot him as a stalker or something?”

“The problem with that would be that Harry’s body would be identified, so Kathleen would find out. That would start the whole thing Michael wants to avoid...”

“Yes, but then he can use the scenario you came up with. Harry wanted out of his marriage, Harry gave me the whole plan, Harry convinced me I should be with you, et cetera. If Harry showed up after all these years and Michael said he was being threatening, she might fall for it, then. It’d be a lot easier to convince her with Harry dead and unable to deny it, right?”

Sam looked at his wife and, not for the first time, was thankful she hadn’t decided to go into a life of crime. With her brains, she’d have been a criminal mastermind unlike any the world had ever known. “You do have a point,” he said. “This is going to be a mess, I know that. I wish there was a way to know in advance what’s going to happen.” He cocked his head to one side and looked at her again. “What about Herman? Could he find anything that might give us some idea of what Michael is like nowadays?”

Indie blinked, then jumped off him and hurried to the kitchen. She grabbed her laptop off the counter and brought it back, crawled onto him again and started typing. “I’m just going to go after him for a full background check, the way we would any other suspect. We saw what Kathleen talks about on Facebook and such, so I’ll set Herman to look for any posts by Michael Reed, so we can see what kinds of things he puts out for the world to see. We should be able to track down his email address, and then Herman can hack his way into it. Between all of those, we should be able to get a picture of what kind of man he’s turned into.”

“Go for it,” Sam said, and Indie hit the enter key.

The computer program that was Herman began crunching data, and Sam let his attention be caught by the movie for a moment while they waited, and found himself laughing softly at “the White Shadow.” He returned his attention to the computer when it chimed a moment later.

“Sam,” Indie said, “this is weird.”

“What?” he asked, and she turned the computer so he could see the screen. There was a page from the National Security Agency website displayed, and it contained a warning that the person viewing it was not authorized to access the information requested.

“One of the things Herman always looks for is hidden links, because a lot of people—especially black hats and criminal types—try to hide things that way. He found a post Michael made to a message board about yachting,” she said, “and when I clicked it, this came up.”

Sam scowled. “That means he’s still connected to the government, and that link must be some sort of hidden access to something they use. What about other links?”

She clicked the back button and chose another one. It opened up to a website for Gulfwind Yachts, a company that sold luxury boats ranging from thirty-foot sailboats to five hundred million-dollar private ships that need a crew of fifty just to go from one place to another. Michael Reed was listed on the front page as the Sales Manager, and the bio with the photo said he’d been in the business for eight years. There was a whole list of awards he’d won for Sales Excellence.

She went back and clicked on another. This one led to a Facebook post, with a picture of Michael standing in front of a motorcycle. Harold was standing beside him, and they were both grinning at the camera.

Look what I got for my birthday, the post said. Harry found this old Indian rusting away in a barn and completely restored it for me. What an awesome kid!

“He obviously gets on well with them all,” Sam said. “This is going to come as a shock to the whole family, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Indie said, going back and clicking on another link.

This one led to a news story. There was a photo of Michael, as Michael Reed, standing in front of two policemen.

Michael Reed of Clearwater Beach was arrested early this morning after police were summoned to the home of his daughter, Elizabeth Reed Jacobs. Ms. Jacobs had called police after an altercation with her former husband, Daniel, but they arrived to find Daniel unconscious and Michael Reed standing over him. Paramedics were called, and Daniel told police that Reed had assaulted him while he was trying to talk to his ex-wife. Ms. Jacobs denied his version of events, saying that Daniel had threatened her with his fists as Reed arrived, and that her father had intervened. The resulting fight left Jacobs with non-life-threatening injuries. Reed was taken to the county jail, where he was released on his own recognizance.

Indie looked at Sam. “That sounds like he’s got a violent streak,” she said.

“Or a protective one,” Sam said. “I’d probably react the same way if I saw a man threatening my daughter. What else?”

The next link was to another blog post on a yachting site, but it went directly to the actual page it was supposed to. The post was about his Beneteau Oceanis forty-six-foot sailboat, and was posted in answer to another person’s question about the vessels. Michael wrote that the boat was the best he’d ever owned, and that he’d sailed it throughout the Caribbean for the past seven years. It required far less maintenance than other boats he was familiar with, and was always comfortable for his family, including kids and grandkids.

“Hmpf,” Sam said. “He definitely loves boating, doesn’t he.”

“Well, he was Navy at one time or another. Makes sense, I guess.”

There were no other links that indicated any kind of violence in his nature, but Sam was bothered most by the link that had redirected to the NSA site. Indie suggested letting Herman try to find a way inside, to see what kind of thing Michael might be involved in with them, but Sam didn’t like the idea. “The last thing we need is for the NSA to spot you trying to get into their clandestine site,” he said. “That could get pretty ugly real fast.”

Indie rolled her eyes. “Sam, do you know how many times I’ve hacked the NSA? Herman won’t get caught, even if they see him trying to get in. I wrote some of the most comprehensive defensive subroutines that have ever existed; if he’s spotted, he starts backing out and leaving smokescreens all over the place, and since he goes through more than forty different ghost servers along the way, it’s impossible to track us back to here. Trust me, Sam, he can get in there! Whatever Michael’s up to with the government, Harry needs to know about it!”

Sam tried to get another word in, but Indie wasn’t having it, so he finally threw his hands into the air and gave in. She spent the next forty minutes typing, as Sam watched the conclusion of the movie that saw a snail become one of the fastest racers in the world.

“It’s gonna take a while,” Indie said when she finally finished, “but sometime tomorrow I’ll know what that back door leads to. If you and Harry leave tonight, I can call you as soon as I get it, okay?”

“I’m betting he’ll want to leave as soon as he’s up,” Sam said, “so I think I should go and get packed now. My gut says he isn’t going to wait until later tonight.” They climbed out of the chair and left Kenzie explaining the movie to her grandmothers while they went to the bedroom.

Indie grabbed Sam’s favorite carry-on from the closet while he got out his Glock and checked it over. He loaded three extra magazines and slipped them into one of the big pockets on the bag, then added a box of ammunition. The gun itself went into a holster that would be clipped to his waistband and hidden under a light jacket.

Sam still had valid DHS credentials, which would allow him to carry the weapon even on a commercial airplane. Harry’s, on the other hand, would have recently been revoked, since he was retired. The old man could probably handle a gun better than ninety-nine percent of the population, but he wouldn't be allowed to take one on an airliner.

There were some things, Sam felt, that just shouldn’t be allowed to happen as you got old.

Forcible retirement was one of them. As long as a man could contribute to the field he had chosen, he should be allowed to do so, in Sam Prichard’s opinion.

Indie took charge of packing his clothes, so Sam went to his office and dug out the little Kel-Tec P-32 Harry had once given him. The little gun was light but powerful, and had the added benefit of having been fitted with a silencer that cut its noise down to barely above the sound of an asthma inhaler. The silencer was both thicker and longer than the gun itself, but if it came down to a need for a stealth shot, Sam would trust it over any other gun he’d ever used. He dismounted the silencer and shoved it into his shaving kit, then added the pistol to the pocket with his extra magazines and ammo. Two extra seven-round mags and a box of .32 ACP for the P-32 went in, as well. He could slip the gun to Harry later.

A noise caught his attention and he stuck his head out of the bedroom. Harry had just come down the stairs and was looking for him.

“Down here, Harry,” Sam called out, and the old man turned toward him and smiled.

“I suspect you might be anticipating me,” he said when he came into the room and saw the bag on the bed. “I’m afraid I can’t seem to stay asleep, so I think we might as well start planning on leaving this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Sam said. “Indie and I thought you’d feel that way, so we went ahead and packed my stuff.”

Harry smiled sadly. “Does it make sense to you, Sam,” he asked slowly, “that a part of me dreads this journey? As much as I have missed Kathy and the kids all these years, I’ve at least known where I stood and who I was. Now, I’m not so certain anymore. Will this trip give me peace and answers, or will it cause me to doubt who I’ve been for so long?”

Sam shook his head. “Harry, I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” he said. “To me, this would be the worst nightmare I could ever have, and I don’t know if I could handle it at all, let alone as well as you’re doing. Don’t look to me for advice or opinions on this one; I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Harry nodded. “Of course, Sam,” he said, “but at least I know I’ve got the best man possible at my side.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, “but I’m no Navy SEAL or secret agent, which reminds me. While you were sleeping, Indie and I tried to find out a bit more about your old buddy Michael, what he’s like these days, and we stumbled across something interesting. There was a hidden link in something he posted on a yachting board that turned out to be some kind of back door into the NSA website. Indie’s got Herman working on finding out what it’s for, but it’ll take a while. Maybe a day or so.”

Harry’s eyes became brighter suddenly, but they didn’t actually register surprise.

“So,” he said, “the bastard’s still running with the spooks, is he?” He was silent for a moment, then grinned at Sam. “Sam, it could mean anything, but I have a feeling, a gut feeling, that we may have just stumbled upon the first hand of that poker game Beauregard mentioned. Play your cards close to your vest, Sam, and don’t be afraid to bluff if you have to.”

7

Sam had expected to have to book a flight, but Harry surprised him. “I didn’t want to have to fight with airline security,” he said, “and the TSA is a royal pain to anyone who ever worked in intelligence, so I chartered a private jet. It’s not one of the really big ones, just a six-passenger job, but it’ll get us there. A lot faster than a Delta flight, too, by the way.”

“Harry, I know you said you’re not hurting for money, but isn’t that a bit over the top? A private jet can’t be cheap.”

“No, they’re not, but the owner is an old friend who owes me a favor or two. I’ve got it for a week, and all he’s charging me is the operating costs. It’s not as bad as you might think.” He took out his phone and called the pilot, who agreed to have the plane fueled and ready by four that afternoon.

Sam told Indie they’d be leaving at three, and she insisted on getting some pictures of them all together in the backyard before then. Harry was delighted to sit with little Kenzie on his lap in her swing, with Sam and Indie standing alongside him while Grace and Kim took the photos, and then he demanded one with the two older ladies, as well. Grace and Kim both giggled and blushed, but then they got into a minor fracas about who got to stand on which side. Indie settled it by grabbing her mother and putting her on Harry’s left, while Grace stood on his right.

Neither of them was silly enough to argue, and the picture came out fine.

Once the pictures and the goodbyes were over, Sam and Harry climbed into the Corvette and drove away. It was a twenty-mile drive to the airport, but Sam knew how to avoid the busiest roads and got them there in less than forty minutes. The small jet and its crew would be waiting, Harry had told him, on the tarmac beside the terminal, and they were able to find a parking spot in the long-term lot that was not too far away.

Sam carried both bags slung over his shoulder, despite Harry’s protests, and they made good time. His hip was giving him a little trouble, probably because the sky was so overcast, but he simply leaned a little harder on his cane and ignored it, as usual.

“Mr. Winslow,” said the pilot as they got to the plane. “We’re ready to go as soon as you’re on board.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Harry said, then pointed at his companion. “This fellow is also a Sam,” he said. “Sam Prichard, meet Sam Kilgore, our pilot. If you need someone to hustle a plane around the sky, Kilgore’s the best there is. And Sam Prichard is the best private detective I’ve ever known. You guys ought to trade phone numbers or something, find a way to keep in touch. Never know when one of you might need the other one!”

Sam and Sam laughed, but then swapped business cards. The co-pilot, Jerry Wolford, took the bags from Sam and carried them inside while Sam and Harry climbed up the small flight of steps that folded down.

The hatch was closed, and the flight crew went into the cockpit. A moment later they heard the sound of the starter motor whining on the left engine, and once it had caught and was running smoothly, the left one fired up. Kilgore’s voice came over a speaker in the ceiling.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said, “we’re going to taxi out to the runway now. We’re number four for takeoff, so we’ll be in the air in about five minutes. Seat belts on, please, and stay put 'til we level off, then there’s soft drinks and snacks in the cooler up here by the cockpit.”

Sam and Harry were sitting on opposite sides of the small craft, so they each had a window. They watched out through them as the plane made its way out to the runway, and a few minutes later they were pressed back into their seats as the plane accelerated and launched itself into the air.

Sam loved to watch the city recede as a plane took him up into the sky, so he watched it for the brief few minutes before they were too far away to see any more, then turned to Harry. He started to say something, but then realized that the old man was asleep again, so he leaned back in his seat and smiled.

The flight lasted just under four hours, but with the time zone factored in, it was almost nine PM by the time they landed. Harry had awakened as they descended, and Sam wondered if it was something that came from all the flying he must have done in his years of service.

“Absolutely,” Harry said when he asked. “We all learn it, eventually. Rest while the plane is on the way, then make sure you’re wide awake by the time it’s on the ground again, because you can’t be sure what kind of welcome you’re going to get. Been more than once I got off a plane ducking, because someone really objected to my arrival.”

“Well, hopefully we won’t run into that this time,” Sam said. “And that reminds me...” He picked up his bag from the seat in front of him and withdrew the Kel-Tec. “Brought along a friend for you,” he said as he handed it and the spare loaded magazines to Harry. The old man looked at it for only a second before making it vanish into an inside pocket of his jacket. The mags went into another one, and he didn’t look at all like he was carrying a weapon.

“What’s the plan, Harry?” Sam asked as they disembarked and walked toward the car rental agencies near the front of the terminal building.

“Well, a part of me wants to go straight to their house, get it all over with, you know? Another part says we should do this fresh in the morning. What do you think, Sam?”

“Tomorrow morning would suit me better,” Sam said, “but I can understand your need to get some kind of closure. It’s your call, Harry. You tell me.”

Harry let out a sigh that sounded even older than he was. “Tomorrow morning, then,” he said. “I want to get some rest tonight and get up early, though. I want this face to be the very first thing they see when they open the door in the morning.”

They rented a Buick Enclave and Sam googled directions to a local motel. By ten o’clock, they were checked into a room and Sam was on the phone with Indie.

“Any news on Herman?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” she replied, “but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s buried pretty deep. Herman’s gone through a few dozen proxies already, so there’s no telling where the server is located. Could literally be anywhere.”

“And it could be tied to just about anything. Are you sure it can’t be traced back to you, if they see Herman trying to get in?”

“Yes, babe, I’m sure,” Indie said, and he could hear the grin. “Herman takes good care of me, he won’t let anyone trace him back home. But while I’ve got you on the phone, I did think of something else, and it didn’t take long to find what I was looking for.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “And what was that?”

“Well, when we were looking at Michael earlier, I didn’t think about maybe running a similar background check on Kathleen, because we’ve been thinking of her as another victim in all of this, right? So I started one, just to see if there’s anything you and Harry ought to know, and I found something interesting. Kathleen has a habit of taking trips without Michael, and she’s been doing it under her daughter’s name. I can tell it’s her, because the trips happen at times when Beth is somewhere else, and the ID she’s using has Kathleen’s picture on it, rather than her daughter’s. She’s been making these trips for about a year and a half, at least, and always when he’s out of town on business, like when he has to go somewhere to deal with a big boat sale.”

Sam grinned into the phone. “You’re not gonna suggest we start taking separate vacations, are you?”

“No, butthead,” she said, but he could hear the giggle. “No, the thing is, she always goes to the same place. Care to take a guess where?”

“Um…Disney World?”

Indie sighed. “You could have at least tried, Sam,” she said. “No, she goes to Annapolis, Maryland. Sam, that’s where Harry lives, and guess where she was at last weekend.”

Sam looked over to where Harry was flopping around and trying to get comfortable. “I’m going with the same place, right?”

“Yes. She flew in on a Delta flight last Friday evening and came back on United Monday night. That was the day Harry was told he was out, Sam. And it was the day that envelope was left in his apartment.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Let me think about this for a bit, and I’ll decide what to do with it.” They talked for a few minutes more, most of it in romantic whispers, and then Sam hung up the phone and turned to Harry to tell him what Indie had found, but Harry hadn’t waited for an update; he was snoring.

Sam smiled and got ready for bed. It was actually still a little early for him, since it was only around eight back home, but he felt like he could stand a little extra sleep.

The alarm Sam had set on his phone woke him at six-thirty local time in Florida, and he sat up to find Harry already awake and in the shower. Sam waited until he finished, thinking over his conversation with Indie the night before, but the cold light of morning made it seem that her trips to Annapolis were coincidental. She was probably going there to visit a friend, or for some purpose completely unrelated to Harry. That had to be it, Sam thought, for surely if she knew the truth, she would have actually made contact with him rather than break into his apartment and leave a single letter from years before.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Harry, to get his hopes up that she was reaching out to him. The mystery of the way the letter had been left was just too vague. When the old man came out, he smiled at him as he went to take care of his own morning necessities, and then the two of them went to the continental breakfast room for waffles and coffee.

“I’ve often said,” Sam said as they ate, “that waffles should be considered their own food group. I mean, they’ve got to be the most nourishing and energizing breakfast food there is, right? And they must have existed in the wild at some point, because I can tell you that my nose came from some ancestor that evolved to hunt them. I can smell a waffle from a mile away, even inside a closed vehicle with the air running and moving at forty miles an hour.”

Harry laughed. “Well, I’m not sure about hunting them in the wild,” he said, “but I’ll concede they’re about the best thing you can eat when you’re on the road. I’ve eaten waffles in just about every country I’ve ever been to, can you believe that? Even some of the best hotels in the Ukraine serve them at one time of day or another.” He pushed the last bite of his waffle into his mouth, then grinned at Sam. “I think I’ll have another.”

It was close to seven-thirty by the time they checked out and got into the Buick. Sam hadn’t called Indie yet, because it would have been only four-thirty back home, but he figured she’d call him as soon as Herman gave her anything to report. For the moment, he was merely steeling himself for whatever the coming confrontation might bring.

Sam googled the address Indie had found and poked the icon for directions, and they took off. The ride was shorter than he’d expected, and it was only a quarter of seven by the time he pulled onto Bay Esplanade where it met Iris Street. A moment later, he parked in front of a beautiful Spanish-style house, with white stucco walls and red tile roof. They got out of the car and made their way slowly up the curved walkway, and then Harry reached out and rang the doorbell.

How many ways can a man prepare himself to see someone he thought was dead for so many years? Sam wondered. Harry seemed completely at ease, but Sam suspected he was trembling underneath. After so many years of playing one part after another, though, it was probably second nature to him to put his emotions on hold while he assessed a situation.

The door was opened after only a minute, and a lovely woman with dark hair stood there. For a moment her face bore a smile of welcome, but then there was a sudden transformation to surprise, and her mouth made a perfect “O” as she stared at Harry.

“Hello, Kathleen,” Harry said. “It’s been an awfully long time.”

8

“Oh, dear God,” Kathleen whispered. “How in the world did you find me?”

Harry’s smile faltered a bit, and he cocked his head to one side as he stared at the face that had held the highest place in his memory for more than three decades. “That’s odd,” he said. “I would’ve expected something more on the lines of, ‘Harry, you’re alive?’ Never would have thought of ‘How the hell did you find me?’ Tell me, is Michael here?”

She swallowed a couple of times, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “He had to leave early this morning for Japan, and won’t be back until next week.” She shook herself, and then stepped back a pace. “Would you like to come in? I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I do,” Harry said, watching her closely as he stepped into her home. Sam followed him, keeping his eyes open, and she closed the door, then led them into the large living room. She invited them to sit on a white leather sofa, and asked if they’d like coffee. Both of them declined.

“Well,” she said softly. “Where would you like to begin?”

“The truth is always a good place,” Harry said. “I need to know, Kathy—did you know that I thought you were dead all these years?”

She looked him directly in the eye and shook her head. “Not all along, no,” she said. “I only found out you were alive a couple of years ago, when I saw a news story about the terrorists who tried to set off a nuclear bomb in Lake Mead. It mentioned ‘Homeland Security Station Chief Harry Winslow,’ and my first thought was that it was an awfully wild coincidence. But then I saw a photo, and I knew instantly that it was you.”

Harry’s eyes were sad. “And you didn’t contact me?”

Kathleen’s own eyes suddenly went wide. “Contact you? Harry, I didn’t dare! Michael—Michael was right here beside me when I saw the news, and I turned around to ask him what the hell was going on, and that’s when he told me everything. He told me he’d faked everything about you dying, because he said you didn’t really love me or the kids, and how he faked our deaths so you wouldn’t ever look for us. He told me that Russian death squads had killed you in Cambodia, Harry, and that they’d broken your cover and were going to come for me and the kids, that that was what they did. If they caught or killed an agent, they always killed his family, too, so that other agents might think twice, he said. He had all these documents, papers that gave us new names and identities in Brazil, and I was so afraid I—I just went with him when he said he’d been sent to get me and the kids out of the country.”

She had tears streaming down her cheeks, and Harry’s eyes had softened. “Kathleen,” he said, indicating Sam, “This is Sam Prichard. He’s the man who actually stopped that bomb from getting into the lake and saved a good part of the country. He’s also my dearest friend in the world, and the best private eye there is. He and his wife managed to figure out most of this, and I’m comforted to find that they were correct.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said, sobbing softly. “I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as I saw that story, but Michael said I couldn’t. When I asked him why not, he said it was because he wasn’t going to give up the life he’d built over you. If I made any kind of contact, he said, he’d know and he’d have you killed. Harry, I didn’t dare let you know.”

“But you did,” Sam said suddenly. “You’ve been going to Annapolis whenever Michael was out of town, haven’t you? You’ve been watching Harry, trying to think of some way to let him know you’re alive, and so you thought of the letters you wrote to him when the kids were young.”

“Letters?” she asked, and Sam felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He turned to Harry. “Show it to her,” he said, and Harry took the envelope out of his jacket pocket and passed it over.

Kathleen looked at it for a moment, then almost tore it to get at its contents. “Oh, my God,” she said, “how did you get this?”

Harry had been staring at Sam as he spoke of her trips to Annapolis, but now he was locked on Kathleen. “I found that on an end table in my living room last Monday night,” he said. “Someone had gotten into my apartment and left it on the same day I was forced to accept retirement from government service.”

Kathleen was staring at the pictures and the note. “When I wrote this,” she said, “I thought you were dead and gone, and it was just a way to try to keep you alive in my memories. I always thought that someday I’d let the kids see them, tell them about you, but they were so close to Mi-Michael, and they were so young when it all happened that they thought he was their father. I didn’t want to dishonor your memory, Harry, but I was dealing with a reality none of us could ever have predicted, so I never told them...”

“I can understand that,” Harry said. “What I want to know about now is what he said to you about having me killed.”

She nodded. “He said if I contacted you, if you found out I was alive and what he’d done, he’d have no choice but to kill you, and that he loved me, but he’d kill me, too, in order to protect what he’s got. Harry, I didn’t know what to do...”

“You could have come to me!” Harry said suddenly. “Did you think I couldn’t protect myself, or protect you and the children? Kathy, do you know how long I have thought, over and over, about how if I’d only turned down that mission, you might still be with me?” He forced himself to calm down and softened his voice. “Kathleen, did you know that Michael is still with the government? Sam’s wife Indiana found evidence that he’s still involved with the NSA.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. “He’s never actually been out. It was all part of the deal he made with them to let him take charge of me and the kids, he said, that he had to remain on call for special missions, for NSA, CIA, whoever needs him. I knew that some of his business trips were actually on those jobs, but it was just like you and me. We never talked about what happened when he went out on one, because knowing could put me in danger.”

Sam leaned forward. “Okay, we understand the position you were in at that point,” he said, “but now the situation is different. We know the truth, now, and it won’t be long before he knows we know. As it turns out, there’s no legal action Harry can take, but we can definitely get you and your kids out of danger.”

Kathleen looked at him. “Mr. Prichard, is it? Yes, I remember your name from those same news stories. Mr. Prichard, forgive me if I doubt you, but I don’t think you know the kind of man Michael has become. There was a time when he was a lot like Harry. But he has changed, and some of the changes began long before I found out about Harry being alive. There have been times—there have been times when I thought I was likely to be found dead in some accident, because his anger would flare over something so trivial that I couldn’t believe it made him mad. I’d try to laugh it off, but that turned out to be a mistake, and I finally learned to be very quiet when he reached that point. He would stay angry for hours, sometimes, and I’d have to listen to him rant and rave until he got it all out of his system.” She sighed, then, and a fleeting smile came across her face. “And then he’d suddenly be the sweetest man you could imagine. He would tell me how sorry he was, and the next few days would be absolutely wonderful.”

“Is that what it was like when you found out about me? About what he’d done?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “When I questioned him about how you could still be alive, he became colder and angrier than I’d ever seen him. He pushed me down on the sofa and put his hands on my throat, and told me that if I said one word, even one word, to anyone else about it, that he’d kill me. He said if I tried to contact you, he’d know, and then he’d just make one phone call and you would be killed. I promised not to do anything, Harry, so that he’d calm down, but it took another two days before he let me get up off that sofa.” The tears were falling again as she spoke and she closed her eyes. “He wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom, Harry. When the kids called, I had to tell them I wasn’t feeling well and they couldn’t come over. I sat right there where you’re sitting right now, stinking and filthy, until he got past it all.”

“Dear God, Kathy...”

“And then it was over. He started crying and telling me how much he loved me, how he hated the things I’d made him say and do, and all I could do was beg him to forgive me. He took me to the bathroom, then, and he washed me so lovingly that I honestly wondered if I was losing my mind, if I’d imagined the whole episode, but I knew better.” She reached across a small table beside the chair she was in and found a tissue. She wiped her eyes with it, but the tears didn’t actually stop. “I made myself a promise, then, that I’d find a way to see you, even if I couldn’t talk to you. I stole some tricks from his own book, and got myself a credit card he didn’t know about, so I could travel without him seeing the bills. I put it in Beth’s name, and even got a driver’s license with her name and my photo, and it took a hell of a lot of makeup to convince the examiner that I was only thirty-three, let me tell you! And I went to look for you, and I found you. I followed you sometimes, Harry, followed you and hoped you’d feel it, hoped you’d know I was there, but you never saw me.” She grinned at him through the tears. “Guess I was too good at it.”

Sam waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. After a few seconds, he leaned toward her again. “But you’re saying you didn’t put this envelope in his apartment?”

She seemed to suddenly remember that she was holding the photos and note, and the look on her face became frightened. “No,” she said. “No, I didn’t. I hadn’t even seen any of these letters for the longest time, I had put them all away when we came back to the US. As far as I know, they’re all in a box in the attic...” She looked up at Sam suddenly. “Michael was in the attic last week, looking for some old paperwork on one of our boats. Harry, if he put this there, then he’s figured out I’ve been going to watch you.”

Sam nodded. “I came to the same conclusion a few minutes ago. You said he’s gone to Japan. Is there any way to verify that he actually left?”

“The plane was due to take off at three this morning,” Kathleen said. “I know the plane was fueled and ready, because we drove out and spoke to the pilot last night.” She thought hard for a moment. “I can’t reach anyone until it lands, and that won’t be until about six this evening, our time.”

“Where was he last Monday?” Sam asked.

“He was in England, as far as I know,” Kathleen said. “He didn’t get back until Wednesday night.”

Sam turned to Harry. “Harry, if he put that in your place, then this whole thing has been a setup. He’s undoubtedly been watching you ever since, or having someone else do it. That means he knows you came to me, and...”

Sam’s phone rang at that moment, and he snatched it out of his pocket. “Indie?”

“Yeah, it’s me! Sam, listen...”

He cut her off. “Indie, grab Kenzie and get out of there, right now! Take cash out of the safe and go, anywhere you can think of where no one would find you! Michael may have been the one to put the letter into Harry’s place, and if so, then he’s probably had him followed. He’d know Harry came to us, so I want you and Kenzie out of there now.”

“What? Okay, Sam, I’ll go, but I’ve got to tell you something now! Herman went off a little bit ago, and it woke me up, so I looked. That website, the one from that alphabet group? It’s an assignment board, I guess you’d call it. There are links on it with different codes, and each one looks like maybe it’s a mission outline. The one he seems to have looked at most recently is a mission to get someone, some foreign person, out of the US and into Japan.”

“Okay, that fits,” Sam said, “because we just heard he was supposed to be on a flight to Japan right now. If he’s using the business flight as a way to smuggle someone over there, that would all fit pretty well. Now, get Kenzie and go, and call me from a burner when you can.”

“Okay, Sam, I will,” Indie said, and the line went dead. Sam looked at Harry and Kathleen.

“Michael is on an assignment to smuggle some foreign national out of the US and into Japan. I’d say the odds are good that that person is the real passenger on that flight, and Michael—”

“Is standing right behind you, Mr. Prichard,” a voice said, “with a gun aimed at your head.”

9

Frank Hornsby had almost panicked. Sitting there and listening to the conversations at Prichard’s house was boring, so he had a tendency to get up and wander around periodically. It wasn’t like he could conceivably sit there twenty-four hours a day, anyway, right? A man’s got to have a break now and then. For Frank, that meant letting the computer run while he went into the living room and watched TV, or drove down to Excelsior, his favorite strip club. A few drinks and the chance to stuff some of his newfound wealth into the G-strings of some pretty girls was all it took to relax him so that he could spend another few hours.

The day before, after listening to half an hour of some animated movie, the boredom had hit like a nine-pound sledge. That old man had been up all night and was sleeping, so it wasn’t like he was going to be jumping up and starting any kind of trouble anytime soon. Frank figured it was safe to take a break, so he headed for Excelsior.

The girls were particularly friendly all afternoon, and the drinks were cold. It was after eleven by the time Frank got back to his house, staggering into his office and falling into the chair. He stubbed out the cigarette he’d been smoking into his overflowing ashtray and forced his eyes to focus on the screen.

The most recent recorded voice had been Mrs. Prichard, and it sounded like she had been on the phone with her husband. Frank shook his head a couple of times and forced himself to focus, then scrolled back in the recording and listened at various points. Sam Prichard’s voice was missing until he got back to the early afternoon.

Prichard had told his wife that he and the old man, Winslow, would be leaving at three o’clock in the chartered jet the old man was using. Their destination was Clearwater, Florida, which meant they would have already arrived. Frank dug through his pockets until he found his phone and called his employer immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Hornsby?”

“Sir, I…” Frank stammered. “I think my blood sugar got a little low, sir, I think I passed out for a little while this afternoon. I’ve been going over the recordings since then, and I needed to let you know that Prichard and Winslow have left on a plane for Clearwater, Florida. They’re probably already there. Sir, I’m really sorry about this, I won’t let it happen—”

“Relax, Mr. Hornsby,” his employer said. “These things happen. Have you checked Prichard’s phone yet?”

Frank breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m actually doing that right now, sir,” he said. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the window that would show him the recording from Sam Prichard’s cell phone, and played the most recent file. It was the phone conversation between Prichard and his wife.

“The only thing I’m hearing right now is snoring,” he said. “Prichard’s wife called him just a little while ago and said something about the old man’s wife sneaking around and taking trips to where he lives, but then there’s nothing but snores.”

“What about location? What does the GPS reader say about where the phone is at?”

Frank clicked on the GPS coordinates that were displayed and then grinned. “They’re at the Sunset Motel on West Waters Avenue in Tampa.”

“All right,” said the man on the other end of the line. “No harm done. It’s pretty late, why don’t you go and get some sleep. Just be sure to let me know about their movements tomorrow, okay?”

Frank nodded, the relief overcoming the momentary sobriety that anxiety had brought on. “Yes sir,” he said, his words slightly slurring. “Yes sir, I’ll be back on it in the morning.”

The call ended, and Frank sat there for a few more minutes as he scanned through the recordings from Prichard’s house. Being able to listen in on someone this way, even through their cell phones when they weren’t even in use, this was almost a godlike power. Frank grinned to himself as he thought of the ways he would be able to use it in the future.

Damn, what a crazy story. This old man actually believed that someone had conned his old lady into leaving him years before. Frank scoffed at the idea, because his own experience had taught him that women are fickle. If his wife ran off with his best friend, it wasn’t because his buddy pulled a scam; it was because she was a woman, and women couldn’t be trusted.

A soft sound from another part of the house managed to get through the alcohol-soaked regions of his brain. Frank looked through the office door but saw nothing, so he got carefully to his feet and slowly staggered toward the living room. Whatever he had heard had come from that direction, so it was probably nothing but that blasted mouse he’d been unable to lure into one of his traps.

He stepped into the living room and reached for the switch on the table lamp beside the door, but that’s when the arm went around his throat. Frank grabbed at it and pulled frantically, but it was too strong. He felt another hand on the back of his head, and then a brief moment of searing pain in his neck, and then his body seemed to have faded away. His head struck the floor, facing upwards, and he looked up at a large man standing over him. His mind was already foggy from the booze, but he could tell that it was getting even foggier as he looked up at the man he suddenly realized was his killer.

His neck was broken. That was the pain he felt, he knew, and despite the ravages of alcohol in his brain Frank realized that he was already dead. Snapping the spinal cord meant that his heart was not beating, so blood was not getting to his brain—that’s why he was feeling so foggy…

Without fresh blood coming to the brain, unconsciousness set in within forty seconds. Frank’s vision faded out, and he slid into a slumber from which he would never awaken.

The man who had killed him looked down at his body in disgust as Frank’s sphincters relaxed in death. Foul odors began to permeate the room, but the killer simply stepped over him and made his way to Frank’s office. He sat down in the chair and carefully wiped all of the files off of the computers, then cleared the IP address of the relay server from its history. When he was finished, he picked up Frank’s phone and redialed the last number Frank had called.

“It’s done,” he said. “No traces left.”

“Excellent. I’ve already transferred the money to your account. Keep yourself ready for another job; I’m not sure how things are going to go at the moment. It might be necessary to use Prichard’s wife and daughter as leverage.”

“I’ll be ready,” the killer said. “Just give me the word.”

He ended the call and dropped the phone back on the desk. He’d worn gloves through the entire operation so there were no prints to worry about. He got up and walked through the house again, pinching his nose as he stepped over the body, then walked right out the front door. He strolled quietly down the street until he got to the place where he’d left his car, then got in and drove toward his own home.

After the last phone call had ended, Frank’s employer had rolled over and gone back to sleep. His alarm was set for three AM, and he knew that the morning was going to bring a busy day. One of the things he had in common with Harry Winslow was the ability to simply shut down and go to sleep, especially when he knew it might be a while before he could truly rest again.

When the alarm went off, he rolled over and kissed his wife goodbye, told her he’d see her in a few days and got out of bed. His clothes were already laid out so he put them on quietly, then made his way through the darkened house to the garage. He pushed the button to open the overhead door, got into his Lamborghini and backed out, carefully closing the door behind him. He drove down the street a short distance and turned into another driveway, using a second remote to open the garage door on this house. He pulled the car inside and got out, then walked around the other car, a nondescript Chevy sedan, and got behind the wheel. He drove out and used the remote once more to close the door behind him.

The trip across the causeway was uneventful at this time of morning, and he found the Sunset Motel with no trouble. The parking lot wasn’t very full, so he pulled into a slot toward the back and picked up a tablet from the center console. He tapped on it a few times, and it displayed a page of information. Harry Winslow had rented a Buick Enclave a few hours before, and he looked up to see it sitting just a dozen spaces away.

Like most motels lately, this one had security cameras on the parking lot. A few more taps on the tablet got him into the servers that recorded the video from them, and it was the work of only a few minutes to turn them off and delete the last hour of video from them. He put the tablet down, reached into the glove box and pulled out a small magnetic device, then got out of the car and walked up to the Buick.

The biggest problem was where to put it. So many parts of the car were nothing but plastic that he finally had to reach up underneath and stick the magnet to a piece of its frame. His thumb pressed a button on the side, and the little tracking device began transmitting its location every eight seconds. He stood up and walked back to his car, leaned the power seat back as far as it would go, and went back to sleep.

When the sun finally began to peek over the horizon at a quarter to seven and tickled his eyelids, he woke again. The Buick was still sitting where he had left it, but he was sure Winslow and Prichard would be up and about.

He opened a small case from the console and pulled out two small, plastic rings. He squeezed them and put them into his nostrils, which caused his nose to flare and look bigger, then put on a pair of fake glasses and got out of the car.

This was one of those motels that offered a free continental breakfast, and the nice thing about those was that the people on duty in the mornings hardly ever recognized the guests who had come in the night before. He walked into the breakfast room like he owned it, and went directly to the waffle maker. By the time it signaled that his waffle was done, Prichard and Winslow had entered the room.

He sat down at a table and proceeded to eat, watching them only with his peripheral vision. The two of them sat at a table close by and he heard some ridiculous conversation about waffles in the wild. A couple of times, it was all he could do not to chuckle, but that would draw their attention. They weren’t expecting to see him, so the simple disguise was more than sufficient as long as they didn’t look closely.

He finished his breakfast and rose quickly, turning his back to them as he did so. It wouldn’t be long before they were ready to leave, and he wanted to be in his car by then so he went directly out the front door without looking back.

Sure enough, they came walking out at just a little past seven-thirty, bags in hand. They loaded them into the back of the Buick and Prichard slid behind the wheel. He started the car up and backed out of his slot, then left the parking lot and pointed the car toward their destination.

The man who was watching them didn’t bother to hurry to follow. The tablet beside him would let him know every turn they made, so he waited another few seconds before starting his own car and going out onto the street.

It was just as he had expected. The Buick was headed for his house. He cruised along at the speed limit, ready to set this portion of the plan into action.

Apparently, he was having better luck with traffic lights than Prichard was, because as they got onto the causeway, he was only three cars back. He let a few more cars get between them, then took a couple of slight detours in order to give them a few more minutes of lead time. By the time he got back into his neighborhood, the Buick was parked in his driveway and the two men were nowhere in sight.

Excellent. That meant she had let them in, which was one of the variables he could not predict with 100 percent certainty. Yes, he was fairly sure she would invite them in, but there was always that small possibility that fear would make her insist that they leave. If that had happened, he had backup plans in place, but he was glad to see that he wouldn’t need to use them.

He parked the car in the garage of the vacant house a block away, one that he had quietly purchased through a dummy company. Like his own home, the backyard opened on the water and there were privacy fences that prevented any of the neighbors from seeing what he was doing back there. He left the Chevy in the garage beside the Lamborghini, then went through the house in the backyard and stepped into the boathouse. He carefully climbed into the fishing boat he kept there, then slipped on the hoodie he’d left in it. The electric trolling motor took him out of the boathouse silently, and he cruised along the coastline until he got to his own boathouse at home and silently entered it. He tied up the boat inside and dropped the hoodie back into it as he started toward the house.

They were all too occupied to notice the slight drop in air pressure that resulted from him opening the back door, and he was able to slip inside and make his way through the kitchen and bathroom to get into position.

“Michael is on an assignment,” he heard Prichard say, “to smuggle some foreign national out of the US and into Japan. I’d say the odds are good that that person is the real passenger on that flight, and Michael—”

“Is standing right behind you, Mr. Prichard,” he said suddenly, “with a gun pointed at your head.”

Now, if only Prichard could be half as smart as his reputation seemed to suggest. It was all up to him.

10

Kathleen was the first to react physically, leaping to her feet. “Michael!” she said in shock. “Michael, don’t—”

“Sit down and be quiet, Kate,” he said. His eyes were on Harry and Sam, and the barrel of his gun remained aimed where it had been. “You didn’t actually think I wasn’t watching you, did you? I knew the moment you got your fake ID, and I knew right then why you wanted it. I’m no fool, you know.”

He moved around to stand close to her, but his eyes and his pistol stayed on Sam. Slowly he sank into the chair beside the one she was in, and Sam began taking stock of the situation.

I’m facing a cold-blooded killer who has a gun aimed at my face, and it’s one hell of a gun. What is that, a small machine gun? He’s the same man who manipulated an entire family more than thirty years ago to satisfy his own desires, putting them all through the hell of thinking they had lost loved ones in order to gain what he wanted. He’s the same man who told his wife he’d kill her and Harry if she tried to contact him, and now he’s looking at the two of them together in his own living room. He has no intention of allowing Harry or me to leave here alive, but he probably hasn’t decided what to do about her yet.

Poker, Beauregard said I’d have to play poker! Those are the cards I’ve been dealt, so how do I play them to win?

The thoughts flew through his mind in the space of a single breath, and Sam fought the urge to go for his gun. With Michael already aiming a gun at him, there was no chance he could draw and fire before being shot. A trained gunman can react to sudden movement and squeeze a trigger in less than an eighth of a second, but it would take more than half a second for Sam to lean forward, reach back under his jacket and grab the butt of the Glock, snatch it free of the holster, swing it around and point it at Michael and fire. He’d be dead before his hand closed on the grips.

Old police training kicked in, and Sam started thinking. One of the first things he had been taught to do in a confrontation like this was to evaluate his opponent. He looked closely at Michael, trying to examine every facet of the man.

This man is thin and wiry, but there are muscles hidden in there. He’s about the same height and build as Harry, but about twelve years younger. His suit is clean and expensive, probably uses a professional drycleaner who can keep the creases nice and sharp. Hair is thick and still showing some color, even though the sides have gone pretty gray. Hands are clean, nails neatly trimmed—looks like he’s had a manicure. His shoes are sharp and freshly polished. All of this says he’s a man who stays in control of himself, doesn’t ever like to let someone else have the upper hand. If I make the wrong move, he will react instantly. Got to think everything through, can’t make a mistake with this guy.

“I’ve been expecting this to happen for more than a year now,” Michael said. “Ever since your face showed up on CNN, Harry, she’s been acting out, and I knew it was only a matter of time before she’d defy me and make contact with you. That could have so many, well, unpleasant consequences that I thought I’d better nip it in the bud, right?”

“Michael,” Kathleen said, “I wouldn’t have contacted him. All I wanted was to see him, from a distance, just know he was alive and okay.”

“I know, Kate, and that would have been enough for a while,” Michael said. “But you said it yourself, you kept hoping he’d notice you, spot you. Sooner or later you would have started getting bolder, you would’ve begun stepping out in front of him, and if that didn’t work, you’d finally just bump into him. I know how this goes, Kate. I had it all figured out that night we saw him on TV, and I knew what was going to happen.”

He turned and looked at Sam. “Prichard, I’ve got to commend you. After that Lake Mead incident, I followed your career. Hell, I even bought some of your CDs and went to two of your concerts in Denver. You should have stayed in music. As a private detective, though, you are very, very good. I’m not surprised Harry went to you once he found out about all this. I will confess that I’m surprised you found us so fast. That wife of yours, she’s really quite good with a computer, isn’t she?”

“You had him followed,” Sam said, with a sinking feeling building in his chest. “You had an accomplice watching my house?”

“Of course not,” Michael said, grinning at him. “I bugged your house months ago; all I had to do was have someone listen in to the recordings now and then, send me transcripts, things like that. I heard all about your discussions with Harry yesterday, and with your wife, so I knew you were coming. I had to scramble a bit yesterday to rearrange my ‘business trip’ and make a few changes, but Kate didn’t suspect anything, so it didn’t matter. And yes, since I know you’re wondering, I heard you tell her to take your daughter and leave this morning. It won’t matter, though, because I’ve got trackers on all of your vehicles. I have them in some of your daughter’s toys, in your wife’s computer, your mothers’ cars. No matter where she goes, I’ll find her.”

Time to ante up, Sam thought, and he grinned. “Assuming you can,” he said. “I’ve wondered for a while if we were bugged, so I tend to make some arrangements away from the house and on a burner phone. You didn’t think we’d come in here with no backup, did you?”

Michael smiled and let out a loud laugh. “Oh, Mr. Prichard,” he gasped through his laughter, “you and I would have been friends if we’d met under other circumstances. That was one of the boldest bluffs I’ve ever heard.” He took a second to get himself under control. “I know you’re alone, Pri—may I call you Sam? I know you’re alone, Sam, because I followed you from your hotel. And Harry, I’ve got to say you’re slipping. I sat two tables away while you ate breakfast, and all it took to disguise myself was a couple of nostril pluckers and a pair of cheap reading glasses. No, Sam, you can’t bluff your way out of this one. We just have to make a few hard decisions, the four of us, and then we’ll find out how this will all end.”

“What kind of decisions?” Sam asked. Harry sat beside him, his mouth shut and his face blank. At the moment, that was exactly what Sam wanted him to do. “And what kind of endings are you seeing for this mess? What kind of ending is there that lets us all walk out of here alive, Michael?”

“Oh, I can see one, perhaps two. That’s something we learn in the intelligence services, Sam, how to look at the current situation and extrapolate from it the possible outcomes. I can see six distinct possible outcomes from where we are at this moment, and two of them leave us all alive. One leaves only me alive, one leaves only me dead, one has me and Kate surviving, and one has Kate and Harry being the only ones left alive.”

Sam nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk about the ones that leave us all alive and well. What needs to happen to bring one of those to pass?”

“That’s easy,” Michael said. “You need to understand that I’ve got a life I enjoy, and I don’t plan to give it up. All it will take is for the two of you to walk away, right now, and never come back here, never tell anyone what you’ve learned, and never, ever attempt to contact me or my wife again. Of course, the real problem isn’t getting you to agree to do those things; the real problem is how you’re going to convince me I can believe you when you do. Any suggestions?” He looked from Sam to Harry and back. “Now, you, Sam, I can probably get your cooperation pretty easily. All I’ve got to do is remind you that I can reach out and touch your wife and daughter at any time, and that there’s no way in the world you can protect them from me. I can find you no matter where you go, and I can kill all of you without ever being close enough for you to see me. I think that would be sufficient, don’t you?”

He turned to Harry. “You’re being awfully quiet, old friend. I find it very difficult to believe you don’t have anything to say about all this. Maybe we should leave the possible futures alone for a bit and let you vent. What do you want to say to me, Harry?”

Harry sat and looked into his eyes for a long moment, then leaned forward slowly. “I once thought you were my best friend, Michael. I trusted you with everything, literally with my life on more than one occasion, and I trusted you with my wife, even though I was fully aware that you were infatuated with her. I knew, down deep inside me, that you would never betray me, not while I was alive. I also knew that if anything happened to me, you’d be there for Kathy and the kids, you’d see that they made it through everything and you’d take care of them. I even suspected that, should that ever happen, you might even win her heart one day and end up with her, but since it would mean I was dead, I saw that as a good thing.” He sighed and shook his head. “What I never suspected was that you might try deception to make her vulnerable to your charms. You had to have convinced her I was dead, and that wouldn’t have been all that hard to do, since we weren’t allowed any contact with home when on a mission. I’m sure you brought her a condolence letter, properly signed by the director and the president, and told her that she was in danger and had to leave the country immediately. You took her to Brazil, I know, and left her in some kind of safe house or something, while you came back and arranged for my house to burn down with three bodies that would be identified as those of my wife and children, so that you could hand me the final report and walk me through their funerals. And then you took a transfer, went away and left me all alone, but that was what I needed for a time. I needed to be alone and come to terms with the grief and the anger and the bitterness, and I did so, over time.”

He sat back again, and shook his head once more. “No, I never believed you could be capable of something like this.”

Michael looked at him and had the decency not to smile. “You want to know the ironic thing, Harry? I got the whole idea from you. Remember the German woman, her husband was a leader of the Red Army Faction and we wanted to get her away, turn her against him? You suggested a plan just like this. You would go in deep and befriend them, then have him sent away and convince her he’d been killed, and that she’d be next if you didn’t hide her away somewhere, remember that?”

Harry’s face became dark, and it was clear to Sam that he did indeed remember. “That was in seventy-six,” he said. “The director turned down the idea and you went in to assassinate him, instead.”

“Yes, but I never forgot about it. It sort of sat in my mind, and one day I just fantasized about using it to make Kate mine, and it took root. Eventually, I realized that I had worked out every little detail, and I put it into action. Ever wonder why you were called up for the Cambodia mission? You had been out of that kind of work for four years, but suddenly only you could be trusted with it, did you never wonder why? It was because I just happened to be on the planning committee for it, and I made the comment that I wished you were available, because you were by far the best man for the job, and the director overheard me. I made sure he did, Harry, because he was such a guppie it was easy to lead him around like a little kid. He decided to call you up, and I knew you’d follow orders without a single protest. You were gone, and eight days later I put through a CCL for someone else. It was a simple matter to wash out the original name and put yours in, and then Kate was so scared she’d have done anything I wanted her to do. After all, I was the only thing protecting her and her children, right?”

Michael shook his head at Harry and turned back to Sam. “See my problem, Sam? I can get you to go along with me, but Harry’s got thirty-odd years of grief and anger to let out. He’s never going to agree to my demands, and if he did, it would last as long as it took him to get to a gun.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Sam said. “You put the letter in Harry’s apartment to lure him here, right? Why? All you had to do was let Kathleen know you were onto her, and she would have stopped what she was doing. Harry would have been none the wiser, and we wouldn’t be sitting here playing games. Why did you do that?”

Michael looked at him for a moment, and Sam sensed some doubt in the man, as if he hadn’t really figured out himself why he’d done it. “I needed to bring it all to an end. Harry was a big shot in the intelligence community, and I spent years worrying that he and I might run into each other. Suppose he wanted to renew the old friendship? I couldn’t exactly take him home to meet the family, now, could I? And then there was Kate; like I said, sooner or later she would have taken things a step too far, and Harry would have seen her. He’d have found out all about what I’d done, and it all would have blown up in my face. I couldn’t afford that. While there might not be any legal charges to bring against me, the government alphabet groups I work with would take a dim view of it, I’m sure. Do you know how much documentation I had to forge in order to keep the government from figuring out that my wife was the same woman who died in that fire? Yeah, I think they might have been just a little upset if it all came out, now. I’d have lost everything, even if they didn’t decide I was rogue enough to justify termination.” He looked at Harry. “And I owed Harry something, even if it was only a glimpse of the truth. He had the right to know Kate and the kids were alive, and to die with that knowledge was the greatest favor I could do him. It was a fitting end to his long life and career, I thought. When I heard the word he was being retired, I knew the time had come.”

11

“Michael,” Kathleen said, but he cut her off.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t you beg for his life, I won’t have that! Harry did damned well for himself, and he’s a hero several times over. He doesn’t need anyone to beg for his life. That would demean him, make him less than he is, so don’t do it.”

“Then what’s next?” Sam asked. “What are we going to do now? I can’t imagine you want to kill us right here in front of your wife, do you? That would be messy, and it might lead to police being called in.”

“You’re right about that,” Michael replied. “I can’t have that sort of thing, even though I could easily make it appear that you were intruders. I could even say that you murdered my wife, and I was acting in self-defense when I shot the two of you.”

Kathleen’s eyes were wide, and Sam realized that she knew they were all likely to die. Unfortunately, at the moment he didn’t see any way to avoid it.

Poker! I’m playing poker, and the cards have been stacked against me, but there’s always a way to win. I’m in the game, so what’s the next bet?

“But you’re supposed to be in Japan,” Sam said. “Wouldn’t it seem odd if you just happened to be here when these intruders broke in?”

Michael shrugged. “Plans get changed all the time,” he said. “As it happens, I ended up sending a new employee at the last minute. Kate and I had been fighting, you see, and I just felt that it would be best for me to be at home, right now. Imagine my shock when I came in to find her bleeding on the floor, with two strange men standing over her. One of you was holding a gun, so I grabbed one of my own and managed to take you both in a shootout. Do you really think that will be hard to sell? Especially with three dead bodies as evidence? I’m certain at least one of you is carrying a weapon, so it wouldn’t be difficult to kill both of you, find it and use it to kill Kate.”

“Michael, please...” Kathleen said, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to do any of this! All I wanted was to see Harry, to know he was all right, I won’t do it again, I swear! Harry, tell him you’ll let this go, tell him…”

“Harry can’t do that,” Michael said. “He’s seen the truth now, and nothing will do for him but to reclaim you from me. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry looked him in the eye. “If I could kill you right now,” he said, “I’d do so with not a moment’s hesitation. I’d face the kids and tell them the truth, and leave the choice of whether they wanted me in their lives to them, but yes. I want Kathleen back. She is my wife, Michael, not yours. She always was.”

“That’s debatable, Harry, but it’s no longer important. I have always cared for her, but I confess that watching her lie to me about what she’s doing when I know she’s been shadowing you has worn my feelings thin. If she dies today, I’ll still have the kids. They honestly love me, you know; I’m the only father they’ve ever really known, after all.”

Harry tensed, but Sam put a hand on his arm. “Easy, Harry, he’s trying to goad you into making a foolish move. He wants to kill us, but he wants it be our own fault.” Sam thought for a moment as Harry settled back again, then turned to Michael.

“How about if I make a proposition,” he asked, “one that you haven’t considered?”

“And what would that be?”

“You want to keep all this from coming out, I understand that. Still, there’s no reason to kill anyone if you can do that without resorting to violence, and I think I may know a way. You’re a spook; as Harry says, you can do things that no one else can. You’ve already started over more than once. Why not just create another new identity and walk away? The intelligence people won’t care who you are, and I can get Harry to keep his mouth shut, if for no other reason than to protect Kathleen.”

Michael’s eyes went wide. “Are you insane, Sam? Do you know how much I’m worth in this life? I’ve been buying and selling yachts for twenty years, and now I’m the number one salesman for all of the biggest yacht builders in the whole world! I make more on one sale sometimes than you’ll earn in your entire life. I’m not walking away from that. Try again, maybe there’s something else in that crazy brain of yours that could make me laugh. I could use a good laugh about now.”

“Then let’s try another variation,” Sam said. “How about if Kathleen leaves you? She found another man, you caught her cheating, but she agreed to let you have everything in the divorce? Harry won’t talk, because he knows you could always come back and hurt her. It’s a way out that lets you keep everything you really want. How about it?”

Michael rolled his eyes. “And you honestly think Harry Winslow could honor that sort of deal? That he’d let me get away with what I’ve done, just so he can have his last few months or years with her?”

“He’s right, Michael,” Harry said. “We both know you were always better than me; there’s no way I’d ever risk you taking your vengeance out on Kathleen. If you agree to Sam’s idea, we all win, and we all survive. I give you my word, and you know I never break my word. If you’ll go along with this plan, I won’t ever tell anyone what I know about you.”

Michael looked at him for a long moment, and then turned to Kathleen. “What about you?” he asked her. “Would you want to go along with this scheme? Leave me and go off with Harry? You couldn’t ever tell anyone the truth, you know. I’d know instantly if you did, and all bets would be off. Both of you would die, and within hours. Would you agree to keep your mouth shut for the rest of your life?”

Kathleen stared at him, her eyes revealing just how scared she was. Did she dare say she’d agree to it, or would that push him to the point of killing them all? “I—If it’s what you want, Michael, of course I’d agree. But it’s up to you, of course.”

He stared at her for a moment, then looked back at Sam. “I know you’re armed. Take it out, carefully, and toss it over here onto the carpet.”

Sam reached slowly behind his back and took hold of the Glock with two fingers. He had to tug a bit to get it to come free of the tension holster, but then he withdrew his hand and let Michael see the gun dangling from it. He swung it once and let go, and it landed on the carpet near Michael's feet.

Michael turned his gun on Harry. “What about you? Let’s have yours.”

Harry didn’t even try to claim he was unarmed. He reached into his jacket and took the Kel-Tec out the same way Sam had done, with two fingers, and gave it a toss to land beside the Glock. “That’s all I have,” he said.

Michael slowly lowered his own gun, but kept it in his hand as he narrowed his eyes and looked at the three of them. “Okay, now, let’s talk about this. Kate, even the kids have felt the tension between us lately. They’ve asked me about it. I always say it’s just that we’re both getting old, but I think they know there’s something. If you were to admit to having an affair and deciding to leave me for your”—he smirked—“much-older boyfriend, that would be believable. Are you willing to do that, let the kids think that was all it was? You couldn’t ever tell them the truth, you know. They can never know who Harry really is.”

Kathleen licked her lips nervously. “If that’s what you want, Michael, I’ll do it. And I’d never tell them, I swear. Just promise me you’d never hurt them, will you do that?”

“Of course,” Michael said. “None of this is their fault, now, is it? They probably wouldn’t believe it, anyway, but they’d come and ask me about it, so I’d know. So, we’re agreed on that, then?”

She nodded her head vigorously. “Yes, no problem, if this is what you want.”

Michael looked at Harry. “And you? No problems later, down the road? Are you going to come after me yourself, or send someone else to try to kill me?”

“As I said, you have my word,” Harry replied, looking Michael straight in the eye. “I won’t bother you as long as you don’t bother us. The kids will only know me as their mother’s new husband. You won’t ever have a reason to harm any of us.”

Michael looked him in the eye for a few seconds before turning to Sam. “You won’t be a problem, will you, Sam? Knowing how easily I can find your family?”

“Look, it was my idea,” Sam said. “All I’m trying to do is get us all out of this alive, Michael, and this is the best shot I could come up with. You keep your money and everything else, and you can stop worrying about any of this ever coming to light. It’ll be a non-existent problem.”

“Uncontested divorce,” he said, turning back to Kathleen. “I keep the business, the houses, the yachts, everything. No alimony, but I suppose the court will insist on some kind of a settlement, so I’ll give you five hundred thousand dollars, and you can keep the Bentley, I suppose. Other than that, you take nothing but your own clothes and mementos. Deal?”

She was still wide-eyed, but there was hope beginning to show in her face. “Uncontested, you can have it all. Yes, Michael, I agree to all of it.”

He stared at her for another moment, then pointed with his pistol at the guns lying near his feet. “Pick those up, carefully, and put them in the cabinet under the entertainment center.” He kept his gun angled at the floor, ready in case she decided to try anything, but she did exactly as she was told and then came back to her chair and sat down.

“Okay, here’s how we’re going to do this,” he said. “Kate, you’re going to call the kids and ask them to come over. I think the time to do this is now, don’t you?”

She looked at him for a moment, then reached down and picked up a cordless phone from the end table beside her. “All right, Michael,” she said, and then pressed a button on the phone and put it to her ear. A moment later, she smiled cautiously.

“Beth? It’s Mom. Listen, are you busy with anything right at the moment? Well, um—your dad and I would like you to come over, please. Yes, I’m afraid it’s pretty important. Please? All right, honey, we’ll see you then.” She hung up, and then pressed another button. “Harry? It’s Mom, honey. Dad and I need you to come over. It’s something important, Harry, and Beth is already on the way, so please? Okay, thank you, honey. Okay, we’ll be waiting.” She hung up again and looked at Michael. “They’re both coming. Harry says it’ll take him an extra few minutes, he’s got to run by his place and drop something off, but he should be here by the time Beth arrives.”

“Good. The more I think about this wild idea of yours, Sam, the more I like it, and the sooner we get it started, the better.” He turned to Kathleen. “You’ll leave today, you and Harry. You can make arrangements to come and pack your things next week, one day while I’m at the office. I’ll have someone here to watch, of course, but that’s just to keep up the pretense that we’re having hostilities between us over your affair with old Harry, here.”

“That’s fine,” Kathleen said. “I’ll want to pack a bag, of course.”

Michael nodded. “Go on,” he said. “I know you’re not gonna try anything, Kate. Go pack what you need for a few days, you can get more later if you need to.”

She looked at him for a moment, then slowly rose from her seat and walked out of the room.

Michael looked at Harry. “You never remarried, did you? Still in love with Kathleen?”

“I always was,” Harry said. “Did you think that would change?”

“Everything changes with enough time. I was crazy about her myself, even though she was married to you. Crazy enough to go to some wild extremes to have her, obviously. But that was then, and let me tell you, this is now. She’s been difficult, and since long before she found out about you being alive and kicking. She was always trying to hold me back, keep me from building the business. Her whining about me being gone all the time cost me two of the finest restaurants, but I put my foot down on the yacht business. Built it up from nothing, buying older sailing yachts and restoring them, then selling them for a big profit. Got one that had sunk in the bay, an old hundred-eighty-foot Perini Navi from back in the ’90s, and raised it all by myself, then rebuilt her from stem to stern. Turned fifty grand invested into eight million in profit, and I was made. I could give her anything she wanted, but was she ever happy? Not even a bit. Still whined all the time about me working too much, but you know damn well, if you’re gonna make it in business, you can’t be loafing around. You’ve gotta keep at it, right, Sam?”

The more he talks, the crazier he comes across, Sam thought. This is a man who has driven himself mad with the things he’s done and his own fear of being caught out. He drives himself in order to feel like he’s still in control, and that’s the way I’ve got to play him now. He has to be in control, or he’ll decide it’s all going wrong. That’s when things will get really bad.

“Sometimes you do, yeah,” he said. “Listen, should I be gone when the kids get here? I don’t really fit into this scenario, you know.”

Michael grinned. “Oh, the hell you don’t,” he said. “You are a famous private investigator. You’re the thing that’s going to pull this all together and make it work. See, I was suspicious that Kate might be having an affair, but I didn’t have any proof. What does a husband do in a case like that? He hires a private eye to follow her around. That’s you, Sam. You been following her around for the last couple of months, and you were able to tell me when to catch the two of them together here at the house. I had you come along as a witness, to make sure nothing got out of hand. That’s your story, and you’d better stick to it.”

Sam swallowed, but he managed to keep his expression straight. “Okay,” he shrugged, “I’ll play my part. Let’s just get this over with.”

12

Indie had hung up the phone and hurried up the stairs to wake Kenzie. When Sam said to move, she had learned, there was usually no time to waste. She wanted to be out of the house within ten minutes.

Fortunately, she had gotten into the habit of keeping what she called ‘bug-out bags’ ready to go at all times. These were small sports duffels that were always packed with clothing for one of them, just in case of circumstances like this one. She had Kenzie up and dressed in only two minutes, and had snatched up her and Kenzie’s bags on her way back downstairs.

She set the still half-asleep Kenzie on her bed and hurriedly dressed herself, then grabbed her purse and computer, slung the bags over her shoulder again and took Kenzie’s hand. They were out the door and in the Ridgeline with only seconds to spare on her original deadline.

The truck started instantly, and she backed out and headed down the street. Her eyes were scanning the street and the rearview mirrors, watching for any sign that they were being followed or observed. From what she could tell, no one was paying them any attention.

After some recent events, Indie had begun keeping a cheap, throwaway phone in her purse, charged up and activated, but never used. She’d left her own cell phone lying on the bed, and would use this one only when she needed to. At the moment, she wanted to let Kenzie’s grandmothers know what was going on. She dialed her mother’s number and listened for an answer.

“Hello?” Kim said, half-asleep. “Indiana? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Mom, get Grace up and both of you stuff some extra clothes into something fast. Leave your phones at home, I’m coming to get you now.” She didn’t bother waiting for a response. While it was possible to trace a cell phone even after the call ended, keeping it short might mean it wouldn’t even be noticed by anyone watching her mother’s phone activity.

She raced through the streets of Denver, barely keeping her speed close enough to the limit to avoid getting pulled over, and made it to Grace’s house without any problem. Her mother rented a room from Grace, and the two had become best friends. They were standing on the porch, waiting, when she roared into the driveway.

“Get in,” she yelled through her open window, and neither of them stopped to ask questions. Kenzie was in her car seat in the back, and Kim slid in beside her while Grace took the front passenger side. Indie spun the truck around and took off down a side street, trying to randomize her path so no one would be able to anticipate it and get ahead of her. She filled the women in as she drove.

“Oh, my God,” Grace said. “How does he always get into these kinds of messes?”

“Well, sometimes it comes with the territory,” Indie said. “I mean, he’s dealing with spies and secret agents at the moment, so you really don’t know what to expect, you know?”

“But this is no way to be raising a family! I’m going to talk to him. He’s just got to give up all this private eye stuff, that’s all there is to it!”

Indie rolled her eyes. “Grace? Shut up, would you? I’m trying to think of where to go, and you’re not helping anything with your mouth running off with oral diarrhea!”

Grace turned and stared at her, but didn’t say anything. Indie kept driving, and then turned onto I-70 and pointed the truck west.

Kim cleared her throat from the back seat. “Um...”

“What, Mom?” Indie asked, her face turning sour as she dreaded the answer she knew was going to come.

“Um—Beauregard says we need to go back to your place.”

Indie’s eyes went wide, and she looked at her mother in the rearview mirror. “Sam just told me to get out of there,” she said. “The guy they’re dealing with is probably the one who left that letter for Harry, so he probably was following him and knows he came to our house...”

“Yes, but Beauregard says we’re not in any immediate danger. Something’s going to happen with Sam and Harry, though, and you’ll need to be at home when it does.”

Indie rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lord,” she said. “He better be right, or I’m going to find a way to kill him. He can go and haunt all the other ghosts.” She took a left turn into a parking lot and then headed back toward home.

* * * * *

Harold arrived a few minutes before his sister, and was surprised to find his parents sitting there with two other men. He tried to find out what was going on, but Michael told him to wait until Beth arrived. She obliged by showing up only a few minutes later, and then the six of them were all seated in the living room.

Michael had put his gun beside the cushion of the chair he was sitting in, so there were no weapons visible. Once both of the kids had settled themselves onto one of the sofas, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together as if he was upset.

“Kids, what we are about to tell you is probably going to upset you,” he began, “but something is happening that—no, I’d better let your mother tell it.” He looked at Kathleen, and nodded.

She lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment, then looked up at her grown children. She took a deep breath, then opened her mouth to speak. “I think you guys have both known that your dad and I were having problems,” she said. “What you didn’t know is that—that I’ve been having an affair.” She indicated Harry with a wave of her hand. “This is—this is an old friend of mine, from years ago. He and I ran into each other a while back, and we started talking about old times, and that’s when we both realized that the old attraction we had felt long ago was still there. We started seeing each other, quietly, and sometimes I would take trips to be able to see him, and…”

“Mom!” Beth yelled. “Mom, how could you do this?”

Kathleen swallowed, and looked her daughter in the eye. “I know you may not understand,” she said, thinking fast. How would a woman having an actual affair say this? she asked herself, and the answer came out of romance novels she’d read years before. “The truth is, things haven’t been all that good between me and your dad for some time. When I ran into Harry and we started seeing each other, I started to feel better. I felt better about myself, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I want to be with Harry. Your dad—well, I guess he was suspicious, because he hired this other man who’s a private investigator to follow me, and that’s how he found out Harry was coming to see me today while he was supposed be out of the country. He pretended to leave for Japan, then came home and walked in on us.”

Harold was looking from one face to the other, and his eyes seemed to linger on Harry’s. “Do we know you?” he asked. “Me and Beth, I mean?”

“Your mother and I knew each other when you were very young,” Harry said with a straight face. “I can remember seeing you both many, many times. If I look familiar, that’s probably all it is.”

Beth scoffed, shaking her head. “And were the two of you having an affair back then? Kind of hard not to notice that he and my brother have the same name. Is that just a coincidence?”

Michael held up a hand to interrupt the conversation. “Not entirely,” he said. “See, Harry and I used to be good friends. We were so close that we named our son after him.”

“Fine,” Harold said. “So what happens now? You guys getting a divorce?”

“Yes,” Kathleen said. “With it all out in the open now, your father and I have agreed. I’m leaving the house today, and it will be an uncontested divorce. I don’t want to drag our names through the mud, so we’ll do this quietly. I hope you guys can understand, and not hate me over this.”

Beth only glared at her, but Harold gave her a lopsided grin. “No one’s going to hate you, Mom,” he said. “I’m sure this isn’t going to be easy on anyone, but you’re still our mother.” He looked at his sister and scowled. “Lighten up, Beth,” he said. “You and Danny got divorced, and Mom stood by you the whole time, even though a lot of it was your fault. Don’t forget that.”

“I never had an affair,” Beth grumbled.

“And I’m sure Mom never thought she would, either, but sometimes life throws you a curveball.” He turned and looked at Michael. “Dad? How are you handling this?”

Michael looked at the man he had raised as his own son for a moment, then shrugged. “Of course it hurts,” he said, “but if your mother is that unhappy, then I’m not going to try to make her stay. If she wants to be with Harry, so be it. I just don’t want it to affect our relationship.”

“It won’t,” Beth said emphatically. “We’ll both be here for you, Dad.” She turned and glared at Harry. “Forgive me,” she said, “you may be a great guy, but I have a hard time finding any respect for someone who would steal another man’s wife. Don’t expect me to like you anytime soon.”

Sam tensed, half-expecting Harry to explode, but the old man simply nodded to his daughter. “I understand,” he said.

“Beth!” Harold said sharply. “Come on, you’re better than this! Remember that old line about not judging someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes?”

“Sorry, Bro,” she shot back, “but civil is about the best I’m going to be able to manage for a while. Take it or leave it, I really don’t care.” She looked at her mother. “Your mind is made up?”

Kathleen nodded. “Yes,” she said simply.

Beth got to her feet. “Dad, I’ll call you later. I just can’t stay here right at the moment.” She turned and walked out of the room, and they heard the front door open and close a moment later. Her car started and drove away, while the rest of them sat in silence.

“She’ll get over it,” Harold said. “I know my sister, she can’t stay pissed off forever.” he turned and looked at Michael again. “Divorce isn’t the end of the world, Dad,” he said. “Don’t worry about any problems between us, there won’t be any.”

He turned and looked at Harry. “Harry, I’ll say the only thing a son can say in this situation. If Mom loves you, then all I ask is that you don’t hurt her. If you do, you’ll find I can be one mean son-of-a-bitch.”

“I would expect nothing less—especially considering who your father is,” Harry said. “And I can assure you that I never will.”

The younger man stood and said his goodbyes, then left. The motorcycle he had ridden in on roared to life when he got outside, and then faded into the distance as he rode away.

“Well,” Michael said, “I think that went very well, don’t you? And as long as everybody remembers the conditions of this little arrangement, everybody stays happy.” He turned to Kathleen. “You can go now,” he said, and then he rose from his chair, picking up his machine pistol and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. He walked over to the entertainment center and withdrew the two guns Kathleen had put there earlier, quickly removed their magazines and cleared them, then handed them to Sam.

“I imagine these are yours,” he said. “You can have them back, but I’ll hang on to the magazines. Kate can pick them up next week for you when she comes to pack her things.”

“No problem,” Sam said as he and Harry stood.

Kathleen picked up the small suitcase she had hidden behind her chair and walked toward them. She turned and looked at Michael, and managed a small smile. “Michael,” she said, “thank you. This really is the best solution, I think.”

The look he gave her could only be termed a smirk. “It certainly works for me,” he said. “And Heather is likely to be happy.”

Sam lowered his eyebrows. “Heather?”

Kathleen looked at Michael for a moment, then turned her eyes to Sam. “Heather Keller is his secretary,” she said. “If I remember correctly, she’s about twenty.” She reached out and took Harry’s hand, and started toward the front door.

Sam looked at Michael for another moment, then turned and followed them. He couldn’t help wondering whether a bullet was going to hit the center of his back at any second, but then he closed the front door behind him and slid behind the wheel of the rented Buick. Harry and Kathleen were in the backseat, and Sam smiled at them in the rearview mirror as he backed the car out of the driveway.

“That was some good thinking, Sam,” Harry said. “You got us out of there in one piece. If I had suggested the same thing, Michael probably would have started shooting.”

“Or me,” Kathleen said. “Yes, Sam, thank you so much. But what’s going to happen now?”

“Now, we’re all going to hold up our ends of this bargain,” Harry said. “Michael is right about one thing, and that’s the fact that he could easily harm any of us if he chose to. I’m afraid we have locked ourselves into a lifetime commitment. As long as we do what we’ve agreed and never let the kids, or anyone else, know the truth, then we ought to be safe.”

“Well, that sucks for you, Harry,” Sam said. “I think it would kill me to never be able to let my own children know I was their father.”

“Yes, but you’d do it under the circumstances. Sam, boy, there’s no doubt in my mind that Michael would kill me and Kathy, and probably you and your entire family, if those kids ever find out the reality behind this. If they ever meet your family, which isn’t outside the realm of possibility once they get used to me being in their mother’s life, you’ve got to make absolutely certain that Indie and your mothers don’t let anything slip. And, for God’s sake, make sure Beauregard understands that.”

“Beauregard?” Kathleen asked.

“You don’t want to know,” said both Sam and Harry at the same time.

13

Indie was keeping herself busy in the kitchen while Sam’s mother, Grace, was watching television with Kenzie in the living room. Her own mother, Kim, was sitting at the table and watching her as she scrubbed and cleaned.

“Indiana,” she said hesitantly, “how are you and Sam doing?”

Indie looked up at her in surprise. “Me and Sam? Fine, why?”

“Well, what I mean is—are you getting along okay? Are there any problems between the two of you?”

“Problems? Mom, where is this coming from? Why are you asking something like that? And no, we’re not having any problems, we get along great.” She actually giggled. “I think we both fall more in love with each other every single day.”

Kim smiled at her. “Oh, I’m so glad,” she said. “But then, with situations like this coming up all the time, I just worry that there might be some stress in your relationship. You could tell me if there was, you know. You can talk to me about anything.”

Indie carried her dishcloth to the sink and wrung it out, then dropped it into the sink and sat down at the table across from her mother. “Okay, stop beating around the bush,” she said. “Tell me where this is really coming from. And if you say Beauregard…”

Kim grimaced, and Indie groaned. “It’s not what you think,” Kim said. “You know, bad news isn’t all Beauregard ever gives. Sometimes there’s—sometimes there’s good news, but good news isn’t always good news if it isn’t news you’re ready for.”

Indie shook her head. “Wait, what? What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

Kim let out a deep sigh and looked her daughter in the eye. “Beauregard told me last night that you’re going to go from three to four.”

Her daughter made a face and squinted at her. “Three to four? Mom, stop being so vague and tell me what on earth this is…” Indie’s eyes suddenly shot wide open, and her mouth stopped moving in the shape of an O. She tried to speak a couple of times, but nothing would come out and then she almost seemed to collapse onto the table. She caught herself on her elbows and stared at her mother.

“Three? To four? Mom, come on, how could Beauregard possibly know…” Once again, her mouth stopped wide open, but it didn’t take her as long to regain her composure this time. “You’re telling me that he says Sam and I are going to have a baby?”

Kim nodded slowly. “He wanted me to call and tell you last night, but I was chicken. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love Sam to pieces. He’s been wonderful to you, and he’s a great daddy to Kenzie, there’s no doubt about that. I’m just wondering, you know, how it’s going to affect him if he actually has a child of his own?”

Indie stared at her for a long moment, then finally closed her mouth. “First, let’s get one thing straight,” she said. “Sam Prichard already has a child of his own. Her name is Mackenzie, and she’s in the living room right now watching Scooby Doo. Believe me, Mom, that child is his through and through, and anyone who tries to suggest otherwise is liable to be looking down the barrel of his gun.” She paused to take a breath and cleared her throat. “Now, as for this—prediction of Beauregard’s, all I can tell you is that we recently talked about maybe trying to have a baby brother or sister for Kenzie, and—so I stopped taking the pill.”

Kim’s face suddenly broke into a huge smile. “You did? You are? Oh, Indiana, that’s wonderful! If you already talked about it and decided to try, then there’s really nothing to worry about, is there?”

“Mom, there wouldn’t have been anything to worry about even if it happened by surprise. Trust me, Sam and I love each other very much, and we love Kenzie with all our hearts, but there’s plenty of love in this family to go around.” She dipped her head and looked at her mother from under her eyebrows. “I don’t suppose Beauregard happened to mention what we’d be having, did he?”

“Now you come on, Indie,” Kim said. “When does he ever give any clear, concise information? Besides, I think it ruins everything when you find out early what sex the baby is. It used to be that you never knew until it was born, and that sounds to me like the best way to handle it.”

“Yeah, well, that was before the days of ultrasound. I don’t know anybody who waits for the surprise anymore. Besides, if you know what you’re going to have, it’s easier to get the nursery all decorated in advance.”

“Nursery? And where would you put a nursery?”

Indie giggled at her. “I told you, Sam and I have talked about this. Our bedroom has two huge closets, and either one of them would be plenty big enough to make a nursery. Neither Sam nor I have enough clothes to fill one of them out, so we’d just move all our stuff into one and Sam said I can decorate the other one anyway I want. If it’s true and I do get pregnant, I want to know what it’s going to be so I can decorate properly.”

Kim laughed. “Indiana, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that you’d be happy about it. I honestly worried about this all night long, and all day today. I can’t wait, now, to hear what Sam has to say.”

“Oh, I think we’ll wait on telling Sam until I can show him a plus sign on a stick. Somehow, I don’t think he’d take too kindly to Beauregard being the one to make the announcement.”

Kim’s face seemed to fall a bit. “That’s something else,” she said. “Beauregard says Sam thinks he isn’t real, like he’s something I just made up. Is that true? I mean, why would I make up something like that? I certainly don’t have any way to know the things he tells me, especially when he talks about things that haven’t even happened yet.”

Indie tried to lighten the mood. “Oh, Mom, Sam always says things like that, but he doesn’t mean any harm by it. And for the record, all he ever really said was that he thinks it’s really you that can see the future, and that you subconsciously made up Beauregard so you wouldn’t have to admit that to yourself.”

Kim leaned on the table and fidgeted with a napkin. “Is that what you think? That it’s really me?”

Sighing, Indie reached over and laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “I think it doesn’t matter. No matter where it comes from, the things Beauregard says have saved so many lives that I’m just thankful. I don’t know that anyone could say for sure if he was real or not, but the only thing that really matters, I guess, is what you think. Have you ever wondered?”

Kim flicked her eyes up at her daughter for a second, then lowered them back to the napkin in her fingers. “Maybe. I mean, I admit there’s been a few times when I thought I was just going crazy. But then it always turns out he’s right, no matter what he says, so that makes it pretty hard to not believe in him. And it isn’t like I ever really got into any of that Spiritualism stuff, I never played with Ouija boards or séances or anything like that. Beauregard just sort of showed up one day, back when you were just a baby.”

Indie cocked her head to the side and looked at her mother. “Really? I thought he was always with you, your whole life.”

Kim shook her head. “No, the first time I ever heard him was right after we moved into that old house in Kentucky. Do you even remember that place? It was like almost 200 years old, all the wiring was just stapled to the walls right out in the open. The only reason we moved into it is because the rent was cheap enough I could afford it, or I never would’ve bothered.” She shrugged and grinned at Indie. “Anyway, I had you in a playpen in the living room while I was in the kitchen trying to cook something, I can’t remember what, now, and all of a sudden this voice told me that if I didn’t take you out of the playpen you were going to get hurt. Well, at first I thought it was God talking, so I ran in the living room and snatched you up, and I was just walking around and cuddling you when all of a sudden a big chunk of plaster fell out of the ceiling and landed right smack in the middle of your playpen. I was so shocked I couldn’t even think, but I got down my knees and started praying and saying thank you to God, and all of a sudden I heard that voice again.”

Ken fell silent for a moment, and Indie motioned for her to go on.

“It said, ‘How do you do, Madam? My name is Beauregard, and I welcome you to my home.’ Well, it was so clear that I spun around, trying to find out who was talking, and I think I yelled out something about who was there or something, and then he said, ‘Please forgive me if I startled you, I just thought it would be terrible if something happened to your adorable baby girl.’ Now, by that time, I was pretty sure I was going crazy, but he kept on talking and telling me that he had been waiting for more than 120 years for someone who could hear him, and I was the first one that ever did. Other people who had lived in the house had claimed it was haunted, I knew that when we moved in, but I never believed in ghosts before that. I just ignored those stories because the rent was so low, but once I got to know Beauregard, none of it ever scared me anymore. And you know, yourself, he’s always warned us about problems and even helped us solve a lot of them.”

Indie had a slight grin on her face. “Yeah, he has. I remember that one Christmas, I was what, maybe ten? We didn’t have any money for Christmas presents or even a Christmas dinner, but he told you about some old house in the woods where he said you would find what you needed to make Christmas perfect. Remember that?”

“Oh, I certainly do. You and I went stomping out through the snow and found that old abandoned house, and we looked all through it for whatever it was he was telling us about. And then, just as I was ready to give up, you looked through a hole in the floor into the old storm cellar and found a big old wooden box. We drug it out and I remember I had to use an old broom handle to pry the lid up, and we found all those old silver plates.” She chuckled. “You know, after we sold those, I worried for over a month that some cop was going to show up and say we stole them, but Beauregard kept telling me not to worry. He said he had found out about them from the ghost of the old woman who had died there eighty years before, and that no one ever found them because they had been covered up with old rags. I guess the rags rotted away by the time we got there, right?”

“I guess so. All I really remember is that it was one fantastic Christmas. That was the year you bought me my first computer, do you remember that?”

Kim nodded. “And just for the record, I don’t think I ever told you, but Beauregard told me I should buy you—as he put it—one of those new information boxes.”

The two of them sat there for a moment and reminisced about that Christmas, but Indie wasn’t finished. “Mom,” she said, “how do you feel about being a grandma again?”

Kim gave her the biggest smile Indie had seen in many years on her mother’s face. “I would be thrilled,” she said, “and I can guarantee you that Grace would be in heaven. Trust me, she loves Kenzie to pieces herself, but every woman looks forward to the day when she’ll be a real grandmother. I think that she would be absolutely overjoyed.”

“You haven’t said anything to her yet, right?” Indie asked.

“Of course not,” Kim said. “An announcement like that needs to come from the proud parents. Trust me when I say I would never try to steal that joy away from you.”

14

Sam drove back into Clearwater until he spotted hotels, then turned into the parking lot of the Marriott on Harry’s instruction. They went inside and Harry secured two rooms, and then Sam left Harry and Kathleen alone so that they could talk. He went into his own room and was about to call Indie when he remembered that he had told her to hide. He wouldn’t be able to reach her until she called him from a throwaway phone.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than his phone rang, and he glanced at its display to see that it was Indie’s usual number calling. He answered quickly, almost afraid of what she might have to say. “Indie?”

“It’s me, Sam,” Indie said. “Listen, I don’t want you to get upset, but we’re back at the house. I thought that if somebody was maybe watching us, they might go after our mothers as well, so I called Mom and went by and grabbed them, and—well, Beauregard…”

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “Things are working out a lot better than we expected. We ended up in a confrontation with Michael, literally with a gun pointed at us, but I was able to talk him into letting us go. He’s made himself a fortune in the yacht business and doesn’t want to give it up. I made a deal with him to let Kathleen go with Harry, on the condition that she gives him an uncontested divorce and he gets to keep everything.”

“Oh my God, Sam,” Indie said, “are you serious? What a jerk!”

“Listen, Harry and Kathleen were happy to agree to it. The only problem is that they aren’t allowed to let their kids know the truth. The official story is that Kathleen has been having an affair with Harry, and Michael hired me to find out what was going on. When he confronted Kathleen, she admitted that she wanted a divorce and wanted to be with Harry, so he’s letting her go. He made her call the kids to come over and hear all this directly from her.”

Indie was quiet for a moment. “Sam,” she said finally, “I don’t think things are going to go as smoothly as that. Beauregard says you’re about to have some kind of problems there, and that I needed to be here in order to help you. That’s why we came back to the house.”

Sam sighed, and flopped backward onto the bed. “Did he say what kind of problems?”

“Does he ever? No, just that something is going to happen and you’re going to need me here. He did say that we are not in any danger. As much as I hate it, the fact is that he’s just never wrong.”

“Okay,” Sam said tiredly. “I’m not sure at the moment what the plan is, but Kathleen has to wait until next week to go and pack her things up. I would imagine Harry is going to stay here, but unless he needs me for something I’m going to try to come on home. Harry doesn’t think Michael will be any kind of problem, and he was so happy about getting to keep everything that I doubt he’s going to cause any trouble in the near future. I’ll talk to Harry and Kathleen in a little bit, and call you back then. Right now I think I’m going to go find me a cup of coffee.”

“Okay, Babe,” Indie said. “Call me when you know something, or I’ll call you if that stupid ghost decides to give me any more information.”

“I still don’t believe in ghosts,” Sam said. “I think maybe it’s time we get your mom to talk to one of those ESP experts. I’m not saying she can’t see the future, because she obviously does; I just don’t believe in Beauregard.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll let you have that conversation with her when you get home, okay?”

“Trust me, I will,” Sam said. “Love you, Babe.”

“Love you, too. Bye-bye, Baby.”

Sam ended the call and dropped the phone on the bed beside him. This was the first time Beauregard had ever tried to countermand Sam’s instructions, and he was frankly really upset about it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do unless he could convince Kim to seek professional help, and he wasn’t sure that was going to happen.

Sam lay back for a few minutes and let the events of the morning run through his mind. The whole thing had been crazy, and he couldn’t help worrying about the fact they seemed to be dealing with a man who was not entirely sane. Michael Watkins had broken an awful lot of laws in his plot to steal Harry’s wife and family, and though he couldn’t be prosecuted over it now, the risks must surely have weighed on his mind for years. That weight had, somewhere along the line, become too much and some part of him had snapped.

Hopefully, the arrangement they had come to would keep him happy, but even though he didn’t express it to Harry, Sam had his doubts. This was a man who showed clear signs of paranoia, and he was obviously terrified of losing everything he had achieved. Even without being prosecuted, he would be fully aware that if the truth ever came out, his reputation would be gone as quickly as if it had been flushed down the toilet. To Sam, that made him every bit as dangerous now as he had seemed to be before. He had the feeling that, sooner or later, he and Harry were going to have to deal with Michael.

A tap on the door roused him, and Sam realized that he had drifted off to sleep. He glanced at his phone as he picked it up and saw that it was almost half-past noon as he went to answer the door.

Harry and Kathleen stood there, and despite the stress they had gone through earlier, there was a glow of happiness about both of them. Sam couldn’t help smiling. “Well,” he said, “you two seem to be getting along well.”

“In some ways, Sam, boy,” Harry said, “it’s like we were never apart. This is probably the most unusual reunion that ever took place, but it’s been well worth the wait.” The old man winked at him. “And according to my blushing new bride, here, I’m every bit the man I ever was.”

Kathleen gasped and looked shocked, but she was definitely blushing as she gently slapped Harry on the shoulder. Sam chuckled as Harry pretended to wince, and then Harry went on.

“Well, anyway,” he said, “now that we’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, we thought we might ask you to join us for some lunch in the restaurant downstairs. Feeling hungry, old boy?”

“Now that you mention it,” Sam said, “I am. Give me just a minute to freshen up and I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be waiting.”

Sam went into the bathroom and made use of it, then splashed some water on his face and headed out the door. Harry and Kathleen were waiting beside the elevator as promised, and Harry pushed the down button when Sam appeared in the hallway. He caught up with them just as the doors slid open.

“Sam,” Harry said, “I’m under orders to tell you that my earlier comment was made in jest. I hope you didn’t take any offense at my sense of humor.”

Sam barely managed to keep his face straight. “Not a problem, Harry,” he said. “I suspected as much.”

The restaurant just off the lobby of the hotel was a very nice one, and a maître d’ looked down his nose at Sam and Harry as he showed them to the table. Neither of them were wearing a tie, and the light sport jacket Sam had on had definitely seen better days. They ignored him until he walked away, then Harry turned to Sam.

“Was it my imagination,” he began, “or was that fellow just a bit on the snooty side?”

Sam grinned at him. “I suspect he’s used to a more elegant type of clientele than he sees in us, Harry. In fact, I think that if Kathleen had not been with us, he might not have let us in.”

“Then that would have been his loss, because I intend to have the biggest steak they have available. I haven’t eaten very well the last few days, with the exception of breakfast at your house, and I’m feeling so much better now I’m ready to make up for lost time.”

“Medium rare,” Kathleen said, “with grilled onions and Worcestershire sauce. Am I right?”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “You still remember so much after all these years?”

“Well, I remember how you like a steak. Let’s see, you’re having steak, so you’ll want an iced lager, and you’ll have a baked potato and a small salad with Italian dressing.”

“Right again. Now, let’s see if I can do as well. It’s only lunchtime, so you’ll probably choose a petite New York strip, medium, with a salad and, oh, let me think, raspberry vinaigrette dressing. How’d I do?”

“Not bad, actually,” she replied. “That sounds exactly like what I want.”

Sam was looking over the menu, and the prices were a lot higher than what he was used to back home. Still, he got the impression that this was more of a celebratory lunch than anything else, so he decided to go all out. “I’m going for the prime rib,” he said. “You can never go wrong with prime rib.”

Harry blinked. “Now, don’t hold back, Sam,” he said. “Have two of them if you want, this is on me.”

“Harry, don’t tempt me. I happen to love prime rib, and I haven’t forgotten that you’re covering the expenses of this trip.”

A waiter came and took their orders, and the three of them had coffee while they waited. Harry and Kathleen were still catching up, but while they tried to include Sam in a lot of the conversation, it was pretty obvious that they were quite wrapped up in one another.

It wasn’t until their food arrived that Sam managed to steer the conversation to what was going to happen next.

“My concern,” he said, “is that Michael is going to eventually start worrying that someone is going to talk. To be honest, he strikes me as being somewhat paranoid. I don’t want him to decide he needs to give one of us an object lesson to make sure we hold up our end of this deal.”

“He seemed quite relieved,” Kathleen said. “To be honest, I don’t think he really cares that much about us, as long as he gets to keep his good name intact and all his money. I’m going to do all I can to assure him there won’t be any problems. I’ll wait until Monday to give him a call and see when I can go pack up my things, but I think the only thing that might cause a problem is if we said anything to the kids.”

“I agree,” Harry said. “I’ll admit, Sam, it grates me to not be able to tell my children who I am, but for now it’s probably the best way to handle things. Sooner or later the truth will come out. When it does, we’ll deal with Michael however we have to.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you here by yourselves,” Sam said. “I’ll stay as long as you do, and then…”

“Actually,” Harry said in his slow drawl, “I’m not planning on staying, either. Kathy and I have talked it over, and we both feel it would be a good idea to get out of the area. We’ll stay the night, since I’ve already paid for the rooms, but then tomorrow morning I was planning on flying us back to Denver. We can get a hotel there, and then fly back next week when it’s time for her to pack up.”

Sam grinned. “We can fly back to Denver,” he said, “but if you think for one minute that Indie is going to let you stay in a hotel, you’ve obviously forgotten just how tough my little wife is. You and Kathy are more than welcome to use our guest room, and that way I can keep an eye on you. Remember, Beauregard says it’s up to me to keep you alive and healthy.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Kathy said. “That’s the second or third time you’ve mentioned somebody named Beauregard. Who on earth is Beauregard?”

Sam sighed and grinned at Harry. “Should we tell her?”

“We might as well,” Harry replied. “Knowing Beauregard, he’s bound to put in an appearance while we’re there.”

Sam turned to Kathleen. “Beauregard is a figment of my mother-in-law’s imagination,” he said. “Unfortunately, he seems to be an alter-ego she created to deal with the fact that she can occasionally see bits and pieces of the future. I don’t know how she does it, but she insists that Beauregard is an old Civil War ghost she calls her spirit guide. Whenever she gets a glimpse of the future, she insists that Beauregard told her whatever it is, and she’s even been known to lapse into a Beauregard personality now and then.”

Kathleen was staring at him. “Your mother-in-law is schizoid?”

Grimacing, Sam said, “I don’t know if schizoid is the right term, but she does seem to have a second personality. Whenever Beauregard, what’s the word, manifests himself, it’s actually a little difficult not to believe she’s possessed. I mean, it’s weird, she talks like an old Southern gentleman and even her face looks—I don’t know, different.”

“Why are you so sure it isn’t a Civil War ghost?” Kathleen asked. “I’ve seen some pretty strange things, especially when we were living in Brazil. I knew an old woman down there who could talk to all kinds of ghosts, and sometimes you can actually see them. I saw that with my own eyes, so I’m not quite as skeptical, I guess.”

Sam smiled, but shrugged. “The only ghost I’ve ever seen is Beauregard, but only when Kim is supposedly possessed by him. I guess I’m just not willing to give up a lifetime of not believing in ghosts or the supernatural.”

Kathleen turned to Harry. “You don’t believe in Beauregard either?”

Harry pursed his lips and looked at her for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “He once gave Kim a message for me, something about not having seen me since we fought together at Valley Forge, and something about it gave me a chill. I’ve always been fascinated by Valley Forge and what the Continental Army went through, there, I’ve literally read everything I could get my hands on about it, and I have to confess that I’ve always felt as though I could almost remember being there. Some of the things I read seemed so familiar that I toyed with the idea of reincarnation, but I never really took it seriously.”

He let out a sigh. “Then one day, about ten years ago, I met this old woman in Europe. I was there to interview some witnesses to a terror attack, and she was one of them. I sat down with her and we started to talk, and she suddenly looked at me and said, ‘You are an old soul.’ I asked her what she meant, and she went on to tell me that I had lived several different lives, and that I was always involved in some kind of espionage work. I tried to brush it off, but then she put her hand on mine and said, ‘You were Tallmadge. When Nathan was hanged, Washington turned to you.’”

“Tallmadge?” Kathleen asked. “Did that mean something to you?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. At Valley Forge, General George Washington sent a spy, Captain Nathan Hale, into New York to gather information on British fortifications. He was captured and hung, of course, and gave us his famous line about only having one life to give for his country, but Washington then turned to Major Benjamin Tallmadge, Hale’s best friend, and asked him to organize a spy network. I recognized the names when she uttered them, but didn’t put any stock in it—not until Beauregard said that about not seeing me since Valley Forge. I’ll confess it sent a shiver down my spine at the time.”

Kathleen turned to Sam. “See? There are many things in the world that may be hard to understand, Sam, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”

Sam shrugged and managed to grin. “I’ll let you make up your own mind when you meet her.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Kathleen said with a grin of her own, and Harry laughed softly.

“Sam, Kathleen mentioned a bit ago that she needs a few things,” Harry said when lunch was finished, so Sam gave him the key to the Buick and went back up to his room. He was still tired, and the stressful morning had only added to that fatigue, so he stripped down to just his slacks and stretched out on the bed. He called Indie to let her know he’d be home the next day, then drifted off to sleep.

The phone in the room woke him a few hours later, and he reached out to grab the handset. “Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Kathleen,” he heard, and instantly became alert as he heard what sounded like panic in her voice. “Is Harry over there?”

Sam glanced around the room quickly, then turned back to the phone. “No,” he said, “why? Isn’t he there?”

“No, he left about an hour and a half ago because we forgot to get in some cigars while we were out,” she said, “and said he’d be right back, but Sam—I just got a call on my cell from the police. Michael’s been murdered!”

15

“Did you try his cell phone?” Sam asked, his mind and heart both racing.

“Yes, but he left it here. Sam, I’m worried. You don’t think he…”

“No, I don’t,” Sam said. “If Harry had wanted Michael dead, he never would have come to me. Did he take the car?”

“I don’t know. I—I just know he said he was going to get cigars, so I would imagine he had to drive somewhere. Sam, the police are coming here to talk to me, what do I do?”

“I’ll be right there,” Sam said. “Hopefully, Harry will show up and we can get this sorted out.”

“Okay,” Kathleen said. Sam hung up the phone and grabbed his cell while quickly getting dressed again. He hit the speed dial button for Indie and she answered on the second ring.

“Babe, we’ve got problems,” he said. “Harry’s gone AWOL and we just found out that Michael has been murdered.”

“Oh, God,” Indie said. “Sam, you don’t think Harry would…”

“That’s what Kathleen just asked me, but no, I don’t think so, but she said Harry went out a while ago to get some cigars, and hasn’t been back. The police contacted her on her cell phone and are on the way to talk to her now. I’m guessing he had to take our rental car; is there any way you can track it? Don’t those rental car companies put GPS in all of them nowadays?”

“Some of them do,” she said. “Which company did you use?”

Sam told her, and could hear her tapping on her computer’s keyboard. “No, unfortunately they don’t. Let me see if I can get a ping on his cell phone.”

“Don’t bother,” Sam said, “he left it in the room. Babe, I’ll call you back in a bit, I better get over next door before the police show up.”

“Okay,” Indie said, “but, Sam? Beauregard said something bad was going to happen down there, and that you were going to need me here in order to help. I can’t help but think this might be it.”

Sam grumbled under his breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it probably has to be.”

He ended the call and left his room, then tapped on the door to Harry’s. Kathleen opened it instantly and stepped back to let him in, just as the elevator chimed its arrival. Sam looked toward it, and was relieved to see Harry step out and head toward the room. He had a paper bag in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Harry, where the hell have you been?” Sam asked, and Harry’s smile vanished instantly.

“The nearest decent cigar store is way across town,” he said. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Kathleen got a call on her cell from the police. Michael’s been murdered.”

The look of utter surprise on Harry’s face was convincing, but Sam couldn’t help remembering that Harry had played many roles in his life. In his short stint as an international agent a year or so before, Sam had learned that acting ability was a prerequisite of the profession. While he didn’t actually believe Harry would have murdered Michael at this point, his investigative mind automatically identified him as the most likely suspect.

“What? When?”

“I’m sure we’ll find out shortly,” Sam said. “The police should be here about any minute. I was just coming over to wait with Kathleen, but we’ve been going nuts wondering where you were.”

Harry hurried along and Sam moved to let him into the room first. He tossed the bag onto the bed and immediately put his arms around Kathleen.

“First, are you okay?” he asked her.

“Harry, I don’t know what to think,” she said. “You didn’t—you didn’t go back there, did you?”

“No, I did not. That was going to be the second thing I said.” He turned and looked at Sam. “What do we do, Sam?”

Sam had entered the room and shut the door behind him. He picked up the bag Harry had tossed on the bed and dumped it out. Five thick cigars landed on the bed, and Sam looked up at Harry. “Where’s the receipt?”

Harry shrugged. “I paid cash, I don’t think I got one.”

“Okay, what was the name of the store? We need to be able to establish exactly when you were there, just in case Michael was killed while you were gone.”

“It was Clearwater Pipe and Cigar, on McMullen Booth Road. Like I said, all the way across town.”

Sam snatched out his phone and googled the number, then dialed it immediately. A man’s voice answered.

“Hi,” Sam said, trying to mimic Harry’s drawl. “I was there just a bit ago, and I think I may have dropped my wallet. I’m an old white-haired fellow with a goatee, you remember me?”

“Um, not really,” the man said. “How long ago were you here? I mean, like, I’ve been really swamped all day today.”

“Oh, it would’ve been in the last forty-five minutes or so. I look like a skinny Colonel Sanders, are you sure you don’t remember?”

“Nah, I’m sorry, dude. I get so many people in here I just can’t remember faces too well. And I haven’t seen any wallets lying around. Are you sure you didn’t drop it somewhere else?”

Sam sighed. “Maybe I did,” he said. “Thanks, anyway.”

He turned to Harry. “Sounds like a young kid, and maybe smoking something other than tobacco. He says he doesn’t remember you.”

Harry shrugged. “The place was pretty busy,” he said, “and he was running it all by himself. I frankly would have been surprised if he did. Still, I shouldn’t be needing an alibi, should I?”

“Of course not,” Kathleen said. “You were here with me the whole time.”

Harry turned and looked at her. “Darling, while I appreciate the vote of confidence, I will not have you lying to the police. I didn’t kill Michael and I haven’t been anywhere near him since we left that house this morning, so there shouldn’t be any problem. We’ll just wait and see…”

There was a tap on the door, and Sam turned to open it. A casually dressed man stood there, holding a police ID case out in front of him. “I’m Detective Lawton, Clearwater PD. I’m looking for Kathleen Reed.”

“Yes,” Sam said, “please come in. She’s right here.”

Lawton looked at Sam for a moment. “And you would be?”

Sam reached into his pocket for his badge case and showed his ID. “My name is Sam Prichard,” he said, “and I’m a licensed private investigator from Denver, Colorado.” He turned and pointed to Harry. “This is Mr. Harry Winslow, he’s my client.”

Lawton glanced at Sam’s ID, then at Harry before turning back to Kathleen. “Mrs. Reed?” he asked as he entered the room. “I’m Detective Jerry Lawton. I called you a bit ago about your husband.”

“Yes, Detective,” Kathleen said. “How can I help you?”

Lawton cocked his head and looked at her. “Well, first, you could tell me why you seem pretty calm about your husband’s death,” he said bluntly. “You told me on the phone that the two of you were separated and getting a divorce, but you certainly don’t seem to be very troubled by learning that he was murdered.”

Kathleen looked him in the eye. “My husband and I have not been close for some time, Detective, though we’ve only just agreed to divorce. Can I ask what happened?”

Lawton watched her face for a few seconds more, then nodded. “Couple hours ago, we got a call from one of his neighbors saying they’d heard gunshots coming from the house. A unit responded and found the front door partially open. They knocked and announced themselves but received no response, so they entered the house and found Mr. Reed on the kitchen floor, surrounded by blood. One of the officers felt for a pulse, but that’s when they realized that he had apparently been shot through the head. I was called out and put on the case, and I called you immediately to find out if you were all right.”

Despite her statement of a moment earlier, Kathleen went pale and put a hand to her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “I left the house with these gentlemen about mid-morning and haven’t been back yet. My agreement with my husband was that I would return one day next week to start packing my things.”

“Wait a minute,” Lawton said. “Are you saying you and your husband decided on divorce today?”

Kathleen nodded grimly. “Yes,” she said. “There’s a very long story behind it, but I suspect it’s all going to come out now.” She looked at Harry. “Perhaps we should give him the short version for the moment?”

“As you wish, my dear,” Harry said. He turned to Lawton. “Detective, I’ll arrange to show my bona fides a little later, but I am a retired agent of the United States government. Thirty years ago this lady was my wife, but we were each led—by the man you know as Mr. Reed, I might add—to believe the other was dead. Reed convinced her that she and her children were in danger, and helped her to hide and change her identity. He kept her from learning the truth and they eventually married. I learned of this only in the last few days, and hired Mr. Prichard to help me find her. We arrived at their home this morning, at which time Mr. Reed held us at gunpoint until we reached an agreement involving his retention of all of their marital assets. At that point we left the house and came here.”

Lawton’s face was a study in incredulity. He stared at Harry for a moment, then turned his eyes to Sam. “Is this for real?” he asked.

Sam nodded slowly. “He’s told you the exact truth,” Sam said. “The man you know as Michael Reed was actually born Michael Watkins. He and Mr. Winslow worked together in the intelligence field thirty years ago, but Watkins seems to have had some feelings for Mrs. Winslow. While Mr. Winslow was out of the country on a clandestine mission, Watkins convinced Mrs. Winslow that he had been killed and that foreign agencies knew who she was and were a danger to herself and her children. She can fill you in on the details, but he took her to Brazil for several years and helped her to build a new identity. Later, he brought them back to the United States and began building his yacht business. About a year and a half ago, Mr. Winslow and I were instrumental in stopping a terrorist attack out West, and he made the news. Mrs. Reed learned at that point that he was alive, and that created tensions between her and Watkins, or Reed, as you know him. All of this came to a head when Harry found out she was alive, and we showed up at their house this morning.”

Lawton’s mouth was hanging slightly open. “And now Reed is dead. I’m pretty sure you can understand how this whole thing looks to me, at the moment, right?”

Sam sucked in his bottom lip and nodded his head slowly. “I’m quite sure I can,” he said. “However, you should be aware that Mr. Watkins, or Mr. Reed, was still doing some work for the National Security Agency. I’m quite sure there were a number of people who would’ve wanted him dead. Considering the fact that Mr. Winslow had his wife back, I have my doubts that he would be on that list at this moment.”

Lawton looked from Sam to Harry and back. “And I’m quite certain you’re going to tell me that Mr. Winslow has been here with you the whole time, right?”

“Actually, no,” Harry interrupted. “Kathleen and I went and did a little shopping earlier, and then I actually just returned to the hotel from a trip across town to purchase some cigars. Kathleen and Sam remained here while I did so.”

Lawton whipped around to look at him. “How long ago did you leave the hotel?” he asked.

Harry gave him a sad grin. “I’d say I was gone about an hour and a half,” he said. “I had looked up the tobacco shop in the phone book and thought I knew the way, but I’m afraid I got lost and had to drive around a bit before I found it.”

Lawton shook his head. “Okay, this is all a little too weird,” he said. “Mr. Winslow, are you going to object to a gunshot residue test? One of these officers can do it right now.”

Harry shrugged. “I have no objection,” he said.

One of the uniform officers stepped forward and asked Harry to hold out his hands, palms upward. When the old man complied, the officer took some adhesive strips and rolled them over his hands. Each strip went into a separate plastic bag that was then sealed, and he ended up with eight separate bags.

Lawton watched the process in silence, but when it was finished, he looked up at Harry, and then to Sam and Kathleen. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you all to come down to the station. I’m going to need complete statements from all three of you, and we’ll need to know what tobacco shop that was you went to, as well.”

Harry and Sam looked at one another, and then Harry nodded. “Of course, Detective,” he said. “We are happy to comply.”

16

Kathleen’s cell phone chose that moment to ring, and she answered it to find her daughter on the line.

“Mother!” Beth shouted, and Kathleen could tell she was crying. “Mother, they just called me, the police called, and they said Daddy is dead! Mom, what on earth is going on? Is it true? Is it really true?”

“Honey, I just found out a bit ago myself. There’s a detective here now, talking to Harry and me, but I really don’t know anything more than you do. Let me try to find out and…”

“Mom, was it him? Was it your boyfriend? Did he kill my dad?”

“No, Beth,” Kathleen said, “he didn’t. I don’t know exactly what’s going on at the moment, but you’ve got to stay calm. I promise you, I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

“But he had something to do with it, right?” Beth demanded through her sobs. “I mean, come on, what are the chances something like this could happen the day he shows up and ruins all our lives?”

“Beth, stop that,” Kathleen said. “Listen, honey, I know this isn’t going to be easy, but I’m afraid you’re going to be finding out some things over the next few days that are going to be hard to swallow. I know that you and Harold are going to have a hard time with some of it, but I have to ask you to trust me.”

Beth made a scoffing sound. “Trust you? Do you mean the way Dad was supposed to be able to trust you?” There was a loud bang, and the line went dead.

Kathleen lowered her phone and looked at Harry. “Beth heard,” she said. “Of course, she’s blaming us.”

Harry nodded. “I suppose it’s natural at the moment,” he said. “Of course, the one bright spot in all of this is that we are now free to reveal the truth, I suppose.”

“Which is precisely why we’re going down to the station,” Lawton said. “If I’ve gotta be honest, that’s the very thing that makes you my number one suspect, Mr. Winslow.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry said. “I completely understand, though I can assure you I had nothing to do with his death.” He grinned. “Besides, if you speak to any of my former coworkers, they’d tell you that if I killed Michael, I would have made sure there was no evidence that pointed at me.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lawton said, “you were a spy, right? Some kind of secret agent dude?”

Harry continued to grin at him. “Yes,” he said. “I was exactly that.”

Kathleen’s phone rang again, and she knew instantly it would be her son. “Hello,” she said.

“Mom,” Harold said, his voice shaky but controlled. “Beth just called and told me that Dad is dead?”

“Yes,” she said. “The police contacted me a little while ago, and there is a detective here now. Beth thinks Harry did it, but I…”

“Can’t say I’m not thinking the same thing,” her son said to her. “I mean, it would seem like an awfully big coincidence, wouldn’t it? We find out you have a boyfriend, and the same day our dad is killed?”

“Harold, I’m sure it must seem that way, but it’s not like that. Listen, right now we have to deal with the police, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. Please, try not to believe the worst.”

She listened to whatever Harold said next, then hung up the phone. Her face reflected how upset she was, but she didn’t say anything.

Lawton sucked in his cheek and just looked at both her and Harry for a moment, then insisted they head down to the station. Sam picked up the keys to the Buick that Harry had laid on the bed when he returned, and the three of them followed the detective out to the parking lot.

As they climbed into the Buick, Harry caught Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror. “I left the pistol you gave me under my pillow in the hotel before I left, Sam. If it turns out Michael was shot with a thirty-two, you can produce the gun and allow them to do a ballistics test. It won’t match.”

“I was gonna ask where it was,” Sam said.

“And while we’re at it,” Harry went on, “you might want to hold onto this for me.” He passed something up between the seats and Sam opened his hand to receive it. He glanced down to see what looked like a gold, tubular cigarette lighter. It was about four inches long and quite heavy.

“Your lighter,” Sam asked. “Sure, no problem.”

“It’s not just a lighter, Sam, boy,” Harry said. “If you open the lid backward, you’ll see what I mean. It’s a single-shot thirty-eight caliber pistol. The trigger is the big fake diamond on the side. Just open the cover, that takes off the safety, then point it at the target and slide the diamond toward the base. One shot, and it’s only good inside twenty-five or thirty meters, but it’ll get the job done if you’re up close and personal.”

Sam looked at it for another moment, then dropped it into his jacket pocket. “Harry, forgive me for what I’m about to ask, but did you go and kill Michael? And if you did, be honest with me, I’ll still stand beside you and swear you didn’t do it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say I did, Sam,” Harry said with a grin, “because I didn’t. I’m as shocked about this as anyone, but whoever did it certainly picked the perfect moment, didn’t he? Is there any doubt in your mind I’ll be arrested before this day is over?”

Sam swore under his breath, something he rarely did. “Not a whole lot,” he said. He started the car and followed Lawton out of the parking lot, turning toward downtown. “So, the problem now is how do I prove you’re innocent? I’ll go down to the tobacco shop and show photos of you, try to get someone to say they remember you being there at the right moment, but you’ve been a professional killer in the past. Lawton is going to say you had plenty of time to go back to the house, kill Michael and still make it to the tobacco shop. And unfortunately, he’s correct. Unless that tobacco shop was in Orlando, you probably did have time.”

“I certainly had time,” Harry said. “But I just as certainly didn’t do it. Naturally, I’ve no idea who did, but I can tell you some things about him.” He held up a hand and ticked off points on his fingers. “Number one, he was either in the house this morning when we were or he has it bugged. Michael was killed in his own home, only hours after the most likely suspect there could ever be was sitting across the room from him, and facing down a gun, I might add. Number two, anyone who knew or worked with Michael should have expected him to be out of the country today, but our killer was apparently certain he’d be home and alone. Number three, whoever did this has actually had it planned out for some time, but seized upon an opportunity to give the police an easy target. Number four, the killer wanted Michael found as quickly as possible, probably because he wanted to be sure I was discovered and named as a suspect right away. And number five…”

Sam looked at him in the mirror again. “Number five? Go on.”

“Number five,” Harry said after a moment, “the killer is almost certainly a spook, like me and Michael. Which means that he’s not going to take any chances about me having an alibi. He’s either going to kill me, or that poor young man at the tobacco shop.”

Sam’s eyes snapped wide open as he looked at his old friend in the mirror. “What was the name of the shop again?”

“Clearwater Pipe and Cigar, McMullen Booth Road,” Harry said. “Why…”

Sam floored the Buick and raced up alongside Lawton while honking his horn. The detective looked at him, surprised, but pulled over when he saw Sam waving frantically. Sam pulled to the curb behind him and jumped out of the Buick, running up to the detective’s car.

“You need to send officers to the Clearwater Pipe and Cigar store on McMullen Booth Road,” Sam said in a hurry. “I have reason to believe the killer may go after the clerk there.”

Lawton stared at him for a moment, then picked up the microphone attached to the radio under his dashboard. “Dispatch, this is twenty-six,” he said.

“Go ahead, twenty-six.”

“Dispatch, send a car to Clearwater Pipe and Cigar, McMullen Booth Road. Make sure the clerk is okay.”

“Twenty-six, ten four.”

The dispatcher ordered a patrol car to go to the store, while Lawton looked up at Sam. “Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“Mr. Winslow believes the killer might well be an intelligence agent, and could possibly be tailing him. If he’s correct, the killer won’t want Harry to have an alibi. He’ll want Harry to be the only possible suspect, and that means eliminating any witness that could put him somewhere else when Reed was killed.” Sam closed his eyes and smacked his hand on the detective’s door. “If he’s right, that kid is probably already dead.”

Lawton’s mouth was hanging open again. “Do you even realize how crazy you sound right now? Just where did you get your PI license, out of a Cracker Jack box?”

Sam scowled at him. “Ten years with the Denver Police Department, six of them as a detective. Don’t get cocky, Lawton, because it’s quite possible this case is going to turn out to be way over your head.” He smacked the door again, then turned and walked back to the Buick. He slid behind the wheel and put it back into gear as Lawton pulled out from the curb.

The Clearwater PD was on Pierce Street, not very far from the hotel, but traffic and one-way streets caused the drive to take almost 20 minutes. Sam pulled in the parking lot behind Lawton and found a space that wasn’t reserved for official vehicles. Harry and Kathleen slid out of the backseat as Sam got out of the front, and they all followed Lawton into the building and directly to his office.

No one said a word until they got inside the office and Lawton shut the door, and then the detective turned and looked Sam in the eye. “You called it,” he said. “Our officers arrived at the tobacco shop and found the clerk, a twenty-four-year-old man named Jim Clayton, who happened to have a wife and two little kids, dead and stuffed under the counter. His neck was snapped, but the door was open and there were customers wandering around the store. They didn’t even know he was there. CSI should be there any minute, maybe we’ll get some answers.”

Sam shook his head. “Dammit,” he said. “I spoke to him a few minutes before you arrived, to ask if he remembered Harry. I wish I’d known to warn him, he might still be alive.”

Lawton cocked his head. “You called the tobacco store, but you didn’t mention that while we were at the hotel?”

Sam started to speak, but Harry cut him off. “He didn’t mention it because the young man said he didn’t remember me,” Harry said. “The place was quite busy when I was there, and I’m not sure the lad even really looked at my face.”

Lawton sat down in the chair behind his desk and pointed at three others scattered around the room. Harry, Kathleen and Sam pulled them closer and sat down.

“So, Mr. Private Eye, you already knew your client had no alibi at that point, right?”

Sam shook his head. “No,” he said. “I only knew that the clerk didn’t recognize Harry from my description. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t remember him from a photograph, or that another customer in the store might not be able to confirm Harry’s presence there.”

Lawton grinned, but there was no humor in it. “And now I’ve got two murders on my hands, but still only one suspect. Six years you were a detective, you said? Well, I’ve been doing this for more than ten. Don’t try to teach Grandpa, Junior. No alibi is still no alibi, no matter how you try to cover it up.”

Sam started to bristle, but Harry put a hand on his arm. “Detective,” Harry said, “might I suggest that you verify my story about my past before we go any further. If you would simply call the DHS headquarters in DC, the personnel division can confirm that I have just retired from there. If you identify yourself as a police detective and give your badge number, they’ll connect you with someone who can confirm that I have been an active intelligence agent in the past.”

Lawton looked at him. “And that’s supposed to tell me exactly what? I don’t care if you used to be the President of the United States, right now you’re a murder suspect, and you’ll be treated like every other murder suspect.”

“Young man,” Harry said softly, “no matter what you might think of me at this moment, I can assure you that I still pull enough weight with the federal government to make your life quite miserable. Now, I have no intention of doing anything to interfere with your investigation, but I will be damned if I am going to be treated with such disrespect by a small-town policeman whose opinion of himself is way too high. You can either make the call I’ve asked for, or I shall make it myself. If I do, somebody is going to want to know why you haven’t confirmed my identity, and that is probably going to become quite unpleasant for you.”

“Oh, I’m scared,” Lawton said, his face a mask of mock fear. He stared at Harry for a moment, then shook his head and reached for the phone. “Fine, what’s the number?”

“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Sam said. “Either call directory assistance or google the number for yourself. If you dial a number Harry gives you, you could claim he had someone waiting to answer.”

Lawton glared at him, but then turned to a computer and typed for a moment. He dialed the number that came up on the screen and identified himself when someone answered.

“I’m sitting here with a Mr. Harry Winslow, who claims he used to be a spy.” He listened for a moment, then nodded his head. “Yep, that’s him, white hair and all. Yeah, I can hold.”

The hold music was apparently loud, because Lawton held the phone away from his ear for a moment. The rest of them could hear it playing, a fairly recent hit song by John Legend. A moment later, the music ended suddenly and Lawton clamped the phone back to his ear.

“Yes, that’s…” Lawton trailed off as the voice on the other end began speaking. He listened for several seconds, then tried unsuccessfully three times to interrupt before he finally got to speak. “Okay, look,” he said, “I’m currently interviewing Mr. Winslow as a suspect in a murder investigation. He’s giving me some long-winded story about how the victim, Michael Reed, stole his wife thirty years ago and he’s just now found out she wasn’t dead and buried.” He listened again for a moment. “I’ll let him call you when I’m…”

The voice on the other end of the line suddenly became louder, and Lawton’s face grew dark. “Fine,” he said testily. “Here he is.” He held the phone out to Harry and glared at him. “They want to talk to you.”

Harry leaned forward and took the receiver, putting it up against his ear. “Harry Winslow,” he said. He listened for a couple of seconds, then smiled. “Jonas, you old goat, how have you been? Yes, it’s true. I found out that Michael Watkins actually convinced her I was dead and that the KGB was going to come after her and the children. He took her to Brazil and got her a new identity all set up, and they got married sometime later. She found out I was alive after the Lake Mead incident, and then he started threatening her if she tried to contact me. I found out she was alive just a few days ago, when Michael left something inside my apartment to bait me into coming after them. I hired Sam Prichard—yes, that Sam Prichard—to help me track her down, and we showed up at her door this morning. Shortly after we sat down to talk, Michael came in and pointed a gun at us, but we talked him into a deal where we keep our mouths shut and he would get to keep the fortune they built together. Kathleen and I left, and I can assure you he was alive and well at that moment.” He listened for another moment, then chuckled. “Whoever did it seems to have seized upon the opportunity to let me take the fall. Even the only possible witness who could swear I wasn’t there at the time is dead under suspicious circumstances, so this is going to be quite a conundrum, I’m sure. This young detective doesn’t seem to want to believe any of this, so you might put a bug in his ear.”

Harry listened for another moment, then passed the phone back to Lawton. The detective put it to his ear. “Lawton,” he said. “This is all really true?” He listened to whatever the other man was saying for a moment, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “All right, fine,” he said after a moment. “None of that changes the fact he’s currently the only suspect we’ve got. Frankly, it seems to me that if somebody had stolen my wife that long ago and I found out about it now, I might want to kill the son of a bitch, myself.” He listened again for a couple of minutes, not even interrupting once, and his eyes slowly got wider. When he finally spoke, it was simply to say goodbye and hang up.

“Well, well,” he said. “According to that fellow, who claims to be in charge of classified employee records, you used to make James Bond look like an amateur. Of course, that doesn’t mean a whole lot right at the moment, but I guess I should at least listen to what you got to say. You want to tell me more about this whole crazy wife-stealing situation?”

17

Harry started talking, then, with Sam and Kathleen adding in details as needed. Lawton sat at his desk and made notes, but the look on his face was one of total disbelief. The whole story took almost an hour, and then another half-hour for Lawton to type it up for their signatures.

“At the moment,” Lawton said, “I don’t have anything to hold you on. We are interviewing the neighbors around Reed’s house, and tracking down everyone we can find who’s been to that tobacco store today, to see if maybe they saw anything. Could be you’re correct about that clerk, that somebody killed him so he couldn’t give you an alibi, or it could be you whacked him yourself so he couldn’t tell us you were there an hour earlier than you claimed. Whatever the case, I don’t want you leaving Clearwater. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m going to have more questions for all of you before this is over.”

Harry extended his hand, but Lawton refused to shake it. After a couple of seconds, Harry simply shrugged and walked out the door with Kathleen and Sam following. They got back into the Buick and Harry suggested they go find some dinner.

“Hey,” he went on, “at least I wasn’t arrested. That’s got to be something good, right?”

“It’s good at the moment,” Sam said, “but if we don’t find the real killer soon, I’m afraid your luck isn’t going to hold out much longer. Lawton wants to close this case, and he isn’t all that concerned about making sure he’s got the right guy, as long as he’s got somebody who looks guilty. Right now, that somebody would be you. I’m not a lawyer, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t want to try to defend you on this case.”

“Sam, boy, I know plenty of lawyers if I need one. What I need right now is the best private eye in the world, and that’s you. There is a killer out there, and he’s got to be caught before he manages to frame me completely.”

Sam nodded as he made a left turn. “I agree,” he said, “but at the moment, I haven’t even got the slightest idea where to start looking. Kathleen, do you know of anyone in particular who might’ve wanted Michael dead?”

“Besides me, you mean?” Kathleen asked. “I’m afraid not. Of course, there’s always the people he dealt with in his dark work. That’s what he called it when he did special jobs for the CIA or NSA, ‘dark work.’ I always thought it sounded a little egotistical, you know?”

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I don’t suppose he kept any kind of journals or records about that work, did he?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Keeping any kind of record of his clandestine assignments would be a violation of security. There’s no way he would ever do that.”

Sam shook his head. “Harry, is there anybody you could contact who might be able to give me leads? Someone who might know what kind of people Michael might have pissed off in the last few years?”

“I can certainly try,” Harry said. “I’ll get on that as soon as we get back to the hotel.”

“Good, you do that,” Sam said. “Kathleen, I’m going to need to speak to your kids. Would you see if you can arrange that? Under the circumstances, it would be best if I could meet them somewhere else, but they could always come to my hotel room if necessary. You can be present if you want, but I’d want Harry to stay away.”

Kathleen nodded. “They’re upset,” she said, “but I’m sure they’ll be willing to cooperate with you. I doubt either of them really knows anything about this, though.”

“I agree, they probably don’t,” Sam said. “The thing is, sometimes people know things they don’t even realize they know. I’m just looking for a starting point, something to nudge me in a direction that might do some good.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll get them to sit down with us, but then the rest is up to you. I don’t think either of them is very happy with me at the moment.”

“That might change when they learn the truth,” Sam replied. “I realize it’s going to be hard for them to accept, but they’re going to need to know just who Michael really was, and what he did to your family. And I can tell you without a doubt it will be better coming from you than letting them learn it from the news.”

Sam suddenly turned the car into the drive-through lane of a fast food restaurant. “Tell me what you want,” he said. “I don’t think we have time to go sit down anywhere; I need to talk with your kids tonight, and pretty soon.”

Sam relayed their orders to the teenager behind the intercom, paid for and picked up the food and headed on to the hotel. He parked the car, but it was suddenly mobbed before Harry and Kathleen could get out. A half-dozen reporters who had been hanging around the front door had spotted the Buick, and some of them had obviously talked the desk clerk into revealing what kind of car they were driving. The car was surrounded, and questions were being shouted.

“Mrs. Reed,” yelled one reporter, “did you kill your husband?”

“Did you have someone do it? Did you hire one of these men to kill him?”

Sam climbed out and pushed a camera out of his face. He flashed his ID for just a second, then spoke loudly. “Back off, back off, or you could be charged with interfering in a police investigation.”

“Shove that,” said a burly man. “Haven’t you ever heard of the freedom of the press?”

Sam shot him a look that could have peeled paint. “Of course I have,” he said. “Haven’t you ever heard of keeping details out of the press so that only the perpetrator will know them? These folks are under orders not to say anything at this time, so you can all go home for a while.”

“Yeah? And who are you, their lawyer?”

Sam grinned and reached into his pocket for a stack of business cards. He passed them out to the reporters. “I’m not an attorney,” he said, “I’m a private investigator. This gentleman is my client, and it’s my job to prove that neither of these people had anything to do with the death of Michael Reed. Unfortunately, I am still not allowed to say anything at this point, but I promise to call a press conference as soon as I know something tangible.”

“Prichard,” mused one of the ladies. “Oh my gosh, Sam Prichard from Denver? You’re the one who stopped the terrorists from nuking Lake Mead, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t talk about that one either,” Sam said. The reporters tried to ask more questions, but he brushed them off. They had to settle for passing him their own business cards and begging him to call when he was ready to give the press information.

That got most of them to back off so Harry and Kathleen could get out of the car, although their pictures were taken a few more times before they got inside the hotel. From the way the desk clerk avoided looking at them, it wasn’t hard to figure out who had tipped the press about their car, but Sam let it go. They hurried to the elevator and up to their rooms, then gathered in Harry’s room to eat quickly.

They were hungry, so the burgers and fries disappeared rapidly. As soon as they were done eating, Kathleen took out her phone and dialed her son first.

“Hello?” Harold answered.

“Harold, it’s mom,” she said unnecessarily. “I need your help.”

“My help? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that,” she said. “The police have just released us, but Mr. Prichard, the private investigator, he’d like to talk to you and Beth. The police detective is so sure Harry did this that they’re not even bothering to look at anybody else or any other possibilities, so Mr. Prichard is doing everything he can to find the real killer. He’s hoping maybe one of you kids can give him some kind of insight into what might have led up to this.”

“Wait, what? I thought Prichard was working for Dad? Isn’t he the one that found out you were having an affair and told Dad about it?”

“Son, I’m afraid that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the lies your father told you, and forced me to tell you today. I’ll explain it all when you get here, I promise, but we desperately need your help to prove Harry didn’t kill him.”

Harold was quiet for a few seconds. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want me to try to help the man who the police think is the number one suspect in the murder of my dad?”

“No,” Kathleen said. “I want you to help Mr. Prichard.” She took a deep breath. “And when you come, there are a lot of other things I need to tell you, as well, things I need to say to you and your sister at the same time. Do you think you could round her up and bring her along?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said. “She’s sitting across the room from me now, crying her eyes out. Where are you? I’ll bring her along, the kids can stay with Janine for a bit.”

Kathleen gave him the name and address of the hotel, along with the number of Sam’s room, and he promised to bring Beth and be there within half an hour. Kathleen hung up the phone with a deep sigh.

“I’m about to turn their entire world upside down,” she said. “Do I really have the right to do that?”

“You’re not the one who’s doing it,” Sam said. “The truth is that Michael did it, years and years ago. It’s just that the repercussions haven’t managed to catch up with anyone until now.”

“Sam is right, Kathy,” Harry said. “None of this is your fault, you must remember that. You, the kids, me—we are all Michael’s victims. What we have suffered all these years, what these kids are going through now, all of that is his doing.”

She tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace of pain. “I know,” she said. “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier at this moment. My God, Harry, Beth didn’t even really know you when it all happened, and Harold was only three; it didn’t take long before his memories of you merged with the new memories he was making with Michael. As far as these kids know, he was the only father they ever had, and it just never seemed like a good idea to tell them he wasn’t. I was always afraid it would confuse them, cause them trauma they couldn’t handle. It’s not going to be easy to get them to accept the truth, now.”

“They’ll accept it,” Harry said. “Beth already noticed the resemblance between me and her brother, and he said I seemed familiar. All that will make sense to them once you tell them the truth.”

Harry gave Kathleen the envelope with the letter and photos in it, and she and Sam went over to his room to wait. Sam busied himself with the little in-room coffee maker for a moment, and then they waited at the little table with the sounds of percolation in the background.

The coffee was ready just a minute before there was a knock on the door, and Sam opened it. Harold and his sister stood there, and Sam motioned for them to come on in. Since there were only two chairs at the table, Kathleen had moved to sit on the bed and she patted the surface beside her, inviting Beth to join her. The younger woman sat down beside her mother, and Harold sank into one of the chairs.

“I just made coffee,” Sam said. “Any takers?”

“I’ll have a cup,” Harold said. “Just black, nothing in it.”

“Nothing for me,” Beth said. The look in her eyes told him that she was in no mood to accept any kind of hospitality. She wasn’t there to answer questions as much as to get answers. Sam was sure he could understand. He poured a cup for himself and Harold and then sat down at the table.

“I do need to talk to you both about what’s happening right now,” he began, “but before we get into that, your mother has some things she needs to tell you.” He raised his eyebrows at Kathleen, and she let out a sigh as she lowered her eyes to the floor for a moment. When she raised them again, it was with a look of determination in her face that would have done credit to a soldier on the battlefield.

“What I’m about to tell the two of you,” she began, “is going to sound very far-fetched, but I swear to you that it’s the absolute truth. This is all going to come as a shock, and I wish—oh, how I wish I could make this easier for you, but I can’t.”

Harold cocked his head to the right and lowered his eyebrows as he looked at her. “Mom? Whatever it is, just spit it out.”

“Oh, God,” Beth mumbled under her breath. “Mom, don’t tell us you were involved in Dad’s death. Please, tell me that’s not what you’re about to say.”

“No, of course not,” Kathleen said. “Good Lord, I almost wish it was that simple.” She took a deep breath. “Harry, Beth, no matter what you think of what I’m about to tell you, I need you to just sit there and listen. Don’t interrupt me right now, don’t ask questions just yet, just listen. Can you do that?”

Both of them nodded, so Kathleen steeled herself to go on.

“Michael Reed was not your father,” she said slowly. “Harold, you were three and Beth, you were just two, when Michael came to me one day and said that your father, your real father, had been killed on a secret mission for the government and that the KGB—those were Russian bad guys, back in the days of the Soviet Union—he said the KGB was out to kill all of us, because that’s how they punished foreign agents. If they caught or killed an American agent, then they would send a death squad to wipe out his family, as well. In order to protect you kids, he said it was necessary for us to disappear that very day, and he had made arrangements to take us to Brazil and get whole new identities.”

“Wait a minute, just wait a damned minute,” Beth interrupted. “Are you going to tell us that old man you’re running off with is our father?”

“Of course he is,” Harold said. “Same name as me, and you noticed how much I look like him. I can even see his eyes and his chin on you, Sis. You even hinted at it this morning.”

“Yeah, but I was just being a smartass,” Beth said. “I thought Mom was gonna say she cheated on Dad back then, too, and that’s where you came from.” She turned it to look at her mother again. “But this…”

“Yes,” Kathleen said. “Harry Winslow is your father. He was also…No, he is also my husband, and the only man I ever truly loved. When I thought he was dead, when I thought he’d been killed and left us at the mercy of the KGB, when Michael was standing there yelling at me that the only thing I could possibly do to protect you was to disappear with him at that moment, I—I panicked, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to do, and there was no one else I could turn to. We packed up a few things and got into Michael’s car, and two hours later we were in the air on a diplomatic flight to Brazil. We started our new lives that day, with Michael there every single minute, watching over us, taking care of us, playing with you kids. He stayed with us for two weeks while I got settled in, then he had to leave for a few days. He was gone almost a week, and I’ll tell you in a minute what that was about.”

Tears began to run down her cheeks. “After a while, when the shock and pain and grief started to wear off, I buried myself in you kids. You were all that mattered to me, then, and I was so very grateful to Michael that he had kept us safe, that he was almost always there for us. When it hurt the worst, those first few weeks when I just couldn’t function very well, he even brought in a nanny to take care of you whenever he had to be away. All I saw was how wonderful he was being, so when I finally started to feel like I could survive and live through it all, it seemed natural for us to sort of gravitate into being a family. It wasn’t long before Michael and I were lovers, but I didn’t want to present that kind of example to you kids, so I suggested we get married.”

“I know you said to hold our questions,” Harold said, “but I have to ask one. If this is true, then where has old Harry been all this time? I mean, didn’t he even bother to come looking for us?”

Kathleen smiled sadly. “Michael was thorough,” she said. “I only found out the truth year before last, when Harry turned up in the news. I was in shock, I couldn’t believe he was still alive, and I asked Michael how it could be…That’s when he told me the truth. Not only did he convince me that Harry was dead, but that week he was gone, he also made Harry believe that we were. Our house had burned down a couple of days after he left, and the fire department found three bodies inside. A woman, a little boy and a baby girl. Michael said they were bodies he got from the morgue, and that the CIA had manipulated medical and dental records so they would be identified as us, so when Harry got back from his mission, Michael was there to attend our funerals with him. Of course, now we know that the CIA didn’t have any idea what Michael was doing, but that’s what he told me at the time. Still, for more than thirty years, Harry has thought we were dead.”

“Then how the hell is this happening?” Beth demanded. “Why has he suddenly shown up in our lives again, now?”

18

Kathleen reached under the pillow on the bed and withdrew the envelope Harry had given her. “For the first few years, I always had it in mind that someday I would tell you about Harry. I used to write him letters, and I’d put pictures of you kids in them and talk about what was going on in your lives, and I thought that maybe someday I’d give you all those letters and let you see just how much he meant to me. This is one of them, from when we were still in Brazil.” She swallowed hard, then went on. “When I found out Harry was alive, that’s when Michael showed me who he really was. He told me that if I contacted Harry in any way, he would kill Harry and then he would kill me. He even threatened you kids, and I can tell you that he was cold-blooded enough to hurt anyone if he thought it would benefit him.”

“Dad? Come on, Mom,” Beth said, “Dad wouldn’t ever really hurt anybody.”

Kathleen smiled, but scoffed. “Sweetheart, let me tell you how little you actually knew about him. Michael Reed wasn’t his real name; it was Michael Watkins. Just like Harry, he was an American secret agent; that’s how he was able to forge all the paperwork and pull off all the necessary magic to do all this. He’s been working for the CIA or some other agency since before you kids were even born, and one of his main jobs is to force people to go along with what our government wants, even if that means he has to kill them or someone close to them. Trust me, he was a killer. Before you kids came to the house this morning, he had a gun pointed at me, Harry and Mr. Prichard. He shoved it down into the chair he was sitting in just before you arrived, but he made sure we knew he could get it out in a hurry if he needed it. Yes, if he thought it was necessary, he could have killed any of us.”

She shook her head to get back on track. “Anyway, I started sneaking off on little trips to DC. I wasn’t going to contact Harry, but I just wanted to see him, I just wanted to see with my own eyes that he really was alive and well. Well, Michael found out, and somewhere along the line he decided that he wanted to bring all this to a head.” She waved at the envelope in her hand. “He took this out of the box I kept it in up in the attic and went to DC, broke into Harry’s apartment and left this for him to find.” She handed the envelope to Beth.

Beth opened it, and Harold rose and stood so that he could look over her shoulder. They read through the letter together, and then looked at the photos of themselves and their parents. Harold sat back down without a word, while Beth simply looked up at her mother with wide eyes.

“Anyway,” Kathleen went on, “when Harry found that, he went to Mr. Prichard. Mr. Prichard is a private investigator, like we told you, and he managed to track us down. They showed up at our door this morning, because Harry just wanted to know what had happened. Michael was supposed to be on his way to Japan, so I let them come in and sit down so we could talk, but then Michael showed up with a gun. At first, he said he was going to have to kill Harry and Mr. Prichard, and maybe even me; he said he’d kill all of us before he would give up everything he built with the yacht business. It was Mr. Prichard who talked him into the whole divorce idea, but once we assured him we’d keep our mouths shut—we weren’t even going to be allowed to tell you kids the truth—and with the threat that something would happen to you or Mr. Prichard’s family if we ever did talk, he finally agreed to let us go. That’s when he made me call you both to come over.”

Beth and Harold looked at each other for a moment, then Harold looked at Sam. “Not that I don’t believe my mother,” he said, “but I’m sure you can corroborate all of this? You’ve got evidence to back it all up?”

“I do,” Sam said.

Harold nodded. “All right, then,” he said, “but you don’t believe Mr. Winslow killed my—killed Mr. Reed?”

Sam sighed. “I’ve known Harry for a couple of years now,” he said, “and we’ve fought side-by-side on more than one occasion. He can be as cold-blooded as anyone in his line of work when he has to, but I’ve never met a more honorable man. I’m convinced of two things: first, all he wanted was to be able to see your mother and get to know you two, and second, and this is from what I know of him personally, if he had killed Michael he would have made absolutely certain that he had an airtight alibi. He certainly wouldn’t do it at the moment when he would be the only viable suspect.”

Harold shrugged. “Or maybe he’s counting on you believing that.”

Sam shook his head. “That wouldn’t make any sense. Just my opinion isn’t going to be enough to keep him from being arrested for this murder. And as it stands right now, unless I find evidence that can clear his name, I have no doubt he’s about to be arrested and charged.”

“Maybe I don’t understand how this sort of thing works,” Beth said suddenly, “but isn’t it that police detective’s job to figure out who did this?”

“It should be,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, Detective Lawton is more interested in solidifying his case against Harry than looking for any evidence that might clear him. Look, you guys, I’m not going to deny that Harry had motive. If somebody had done to me what Michael did to him, I’m not 100 percent certain I wouldn’t track the bastard down and kill him, but even I would be smart enough not to do it the very day everybody finds out I’m around. Harry and Michael both had what they wanted, without bloodshed. Now, I’ll admit it’s possible that the two of them might have eventually come to the point where one of them had to go, but it wasn’t going to be today.”

“Unless old Harry thought maybe he wouldn’t be a match for my dad, so he ambushed him,” Beth said, her eyes glaring at Sam. “Maybe he was afraid Dad would come after him later, and decided to get rid of him now.”

“Once again, I’ll fall back on how illogical that is. Harry would be smart enough to know that if Michael turned up dead today, he’s the only suspect that the police are even going to look at. What I have to do is find out who else might have wanted Michael dead, and I’m hoping maybe you can help me with that.”

The two of them looked at one another, and then back at Sam. “Why in the world would we have any ideas?” Harold asked. “Look, Mr. Prichard, as far as I knew my dad sold boats. Now, if Mom says he was some kind of secret agent, then I guess I believe her, but you’ve got to remember that we never saw any sign of that side of him.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, and that isn’t what I’m asking. I want to know if you can think of any other situation that might have left someone angry at Michael, maybe angry enough to be violent.”

Harold looked at his sister. “Beth? What about Daniel?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Daniel couldn’t be violent with anyone who might be able to fight back,” she said. “The one time he and Dad got into it, he just covered his face with his arms and started crying.”

“That may be,” Sam said, “but Michael was killed by a gunshot. Having a gun in your hand can make even the biggest coward feel brave and tough.”

“I can’t see Daniel ever even touching a gun,” Beth said. “He was always scared to death of them, even when his father tried to take him hunting when he was a kid. He wouldn’t even buy toy guns for our son, Reggie; he said playing with toy guns would lead to violence when he grew up.”

Harold looked at her for a moment, then turned back to Sam. “I can only think of one person who might’ve hated my—Michael,” he said. “About ten years ago, back when he first started dealing in yachts, he had a partner. Guy’s name was Alan Ellison, and he wanted to keep the business small, but Michael was getting chances to list and sell some of the big, multimillion=dollar boats. He didn’t want to pass up the chance at million-dollar commissions, so he found some way to force Alan to sell out to him. I was around a couple of times when they argued about it, and I remember Alan saying something about getting back at him someday.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I never really thought the guy was violent, but I guess you never know for sure about people, right?”

“That’s absolutely true,” Sam said. “Any idea where I can find Alan now?”

Beth huffed. “I do,” she said. “He was always kind of like an uncle to my kids, and he still drops by every now and then. He lives down in Bradenton.” She gave Sam an address and phone number, and he wrote them down. “I can tell you he didn’t do this, though, he’s just not that kind of guy. I don’t think he has a mean streak in him anywhere.”

“And you’re probably right,” Sam said. “It still can’t hurt for me to check him out, though. What about your ex-husband? Where do I find him?”

Beth rolled her eyes, but she rattled off another address and number. Sam wrote that information down as well, then looked at Harold once more. “Anyone else you can think of?”

“Not off the top of my…” He trailed off, and then looked at Sam with a curious expression. “You know, this might sound crazy, but I remember something Michael said a couple of months ago. He’d been out riding the motorcycle I gave him, and I guess he had a run-in with some motorcycle gang over around Melbourne. One of them wanted to buy his bike, but he said it wasn’t for sale and I guess it started a fuss. I kind of laughed it off, because I remember him saying he left six outlaw bikers laying in the parking lot of a bar.” He shrugged again. “If the stories you’re telling me are true, then maybe that wasn’t just an old man bragging.”

“Any idea what club they were with? Or what bar it happened at?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Like I said, I thought he was full of crap so I just ignored it. Let’s see, it would have been back in late June or early July. That’s all I can remember, right now.”

“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get,” Sam said. “Maybe there was a police report about an altercation, something like that. Any other ideas?”

Both of them shook their heads, and Harold looked at his mother. “Mom,” he said softly, “the one thing I want to say to you right now is that I’m sorry you went through this. I’m not sure what to think about old Harry right now, but if he really is our father, we probably need to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. I gather he’s around here somewhere?”

Kathleen nodded. “Our room is next door,” she said. “He’s waiting for me there.”

Harold looked at his sister and gave her a wry grin. “What do you say we take them both down to the restaurant and get to know our real dad a little bit?”

Beth glared at him for a moment, but then she seemed to deflate. “If everyone is so sure he didn’t do this, I guess I can give it a try.” She looked at her mother. “Don’t expect me to call him Daddy or anything like that, though. Michael may have been everything you claim he was, but all I remember is how good he was to us. Whether he was really my father or not, he was still my dad, and I’m not going to stop calling him that.”

Kathleen nodded with a smile. “That’s completely understandable, Beth,” she said. “I’m quite certain Harry will understand, as well.”

Harold got to his feet. “Shall we?” His mother and sister rose and the three of them walked out the door together. Sam sat back in his chair, picked up the cup of coffee that had already gotten cold and swallowed it down, then took out his phone and called Indie.

“Hey, Babe,” she answered. “How’s it going down there?”

“It’s going,” Sam replied. “We got through the police interview without Harry getting arrested yet, but I suspect it’s going to happen. Kathleen got the kids to come over and talk to me, so I got a couple possible leads to check out.”

“Really? You think one of them might be the actual killer?”

“I doubt it. We’ve got Beth’s ex-husband, who seems to be a typical bully except that he’s afraid of guns. Then there’s Michael’s ex-partner, but the issue between them happened years ago so it’s doubtful it would suddenly come up today. The only other thing I’ve got to go on is a possible altercation Michael had with a motorcycle gang some time back, but I can’t see that leading to this type of a murder. Still, I got nothing else so I’m going to check them out.”

“Yeah, at least it’s something. If there’s anything I can do…”

“Well, maybe you and Herman can figure out who I need to talk to about the motorcycle gang thing. From what Harold said, it must’ve happened in late June or early July over near Melbourne. Michael told him that he left several of the bikers laying in the parking lot, so there ought to be news stories or police reports on something like that.” He let out a sigh as he flopped back onto the bed. “Indie, I almost feel like I’m out of my depth on this one. Michael was a spy; he undoubtedly had enemies we’ll never be able to identify. The trouble is, if I don’t figure out who really killed him, Harry is likely to spend the rest of his life in prison for a murder he didn’t commit.”

“Sam, come on,” Indie said. “It sounds like all they’ve got to go on is the possibility that Harry had motive. Unless there’s some kind of physical evidence you haven’t told me about?”

“No, right now that’s all they’ve got, but look at the news the last couple of years. Look at how many people have spent decades in prison after being convicted on evidence just as flimsy as this. It’s great that a lot of them are being exonerated by new evidence now, but Harry doesn’t have that many years left in him. I can’t see him surviving years in prison while I spend all my time trying to prove he didn’t do it.”

“I know you, Sam,” Indie said. “You’ll figure it out, you always do.”

Sam sighed. “I hope so. I almost hate to ask this question, but I don’t suppose Beauregard has had anything to add?”

“Not that I know of. I haven’t heard anything out of Mom today, and I’m sure I would have. Want me to call and ask her outright?”

“No need for that,” Sam said. “Just let me know if the old spook decides to give us anything.”

They spent a couple of moments exchanging sweet nothings, then Indie put Kenzie on the phone. Sam talked to his daughter for the three minutes her attention span permitted, then promised his wife he’d call her again before he went to bed, and hung up the phone.

19

This is the first time my family has truly been together in over thirty years, Harry thought. My wife is beside me, my children sitting across the booth, but I feel like a stranger to all of them.

“I know this has to be hard on both of you,” he said aloud. “Despite everything, I can tell you that Michael was basically a good man. I know that you both loved him and have many fond memories of him, so you won’t hear me speaking evil of him.”

Harold shrugged his shoulders. “From what Mom says, you have every right. What he did to you was wrong. If something like it happened to me and Janine, I’m sure I’d be pretty bitter.”

“Oh, I’m not saying I don’t feel anger,” Harry said. “I most certainly do, because I missed out on watching the two of you grow up, I missed out on so many things in your mother’s life—I’m simply saying that I won’t subject the two of you to that anger. No matter how I feel about Michael, he was obviously good to you. Those memories belong to you, and I have no right to tarnish them. If you will both allow, we will simply put the fact of what happened on the table, and leave my feelings out of that. It’s not the past I want to talk about with you, it’s the present and the future.”

“God,” Beth said suddenly, “this is going to be such a nightmare. How am I going to tell my kids about this? They loved their grandpa, they’re completely devastated by his death. Now I have to tell them they have another grandfather that they’ve never even heard of before? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Well, I would certainly not expect you to do so today,” Harry said. “Those children need the chance to grieve for their loss. Let’s not confuse them right now; let them get through the funeral and start to adjust, and then we can tell them the truth together. Would that help?”

Beth looked at him, but her eyes revealed nothing of her feelings. “I suppose it might,” she said. “It’s still going to come as a major shock to them, though. I don’t know if they’ll ever really accept it.”

“Of course they will,” Harold said. “I’m not saying it won’t take some time, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about people, it’s that we adapt. We’re just all going to have to work together on this. It’s not something we can just throw out there and expect everyone to be on board with it instantly.”

“I agree,” Harry said. “There’s nothing that needs to be rushed. It’s certainly going to take some time for all of us to adjust to this.”

Harold turned and looked at his mother. “You know,” he said, “it just dawned on me that no one is asking you how you’re handling it all. You doing okay, Mom?”

Kathleen smiled. “It’s all been a little overwhelming, I’ll admit that. There’s something I need to say, though, and I hope it won’t upset you kids too much.” She glanced at Beth, then turned to look at Harry. “I fell in love with this man many, many years ago. Even hearing that he was dead didn’t change that, and even though I did come to love Michael, I never stopped loving Harry.” She turned back to her children. “But you both need to understand that when I found out Harry was alive and that Michael had deceived me for all those years, any love I felt for him simply faded away. Michael told me he did this because he was so in love with me that he couldn’t bear the thought of us not being together, but the pain-and-suffering he put me through—no, that he put us through, because you kids were devastated when your daddy was suddenly gone—that isn’t what you do to someone you love. When I learned the truth, I wanted to leave Michael right then and let Harry know that we were still alive, but he told me that he would kill me and Harry if I tried. He even told me that, if I managed to contact Harry and let him know, then he would kill the two of you to punish me. Now, whether he would have carried out that threat, I really don’t know, but simply hearing him say it was enough to make me hate him. Naturally, I promised never to contact Harry, and I didn’t. I tried to be sneaky, though, and I got some fake IDs to use in traveling, so I could go and just watch him from a distance. I never would have contacted him, but Michael didn’t believe that. He found out what I was doing, and he set this whole thing up to draw Harry here with the intention of killing him. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Prichard, Harry at least would be dead, and probably me and Mr. Prichard as well.” She looked down at the table between them. “Like Harry, I’m not going to try to ruin your memories of Michael. I simply need you to understand that I do not share your feelings of loss, now that he’s gone. To me, frankly, it’s an incredible relief. If that makes you hate me, I can’t help it, but you deserve to know the truth.”

Harold cast a glance at his sister, raising his eyebrows. “Sis,” he said, “I don’t know about you, but I think I can understand where Mom is coming from. I don’t believe she’d lie to us, but I’ll admit I’m having a little trouble reconciling my memories of Michael with the man who would do these sort of things.” He looked back at his mother. “Still, just the fact that we are all sitting here right now tells me that there are probably a lot of other things we don’t know.”

Kathleen looked from Harold to Beth. “Beth? Can you understand?”

Beth had the paper wrapper from a soda straw in her fingers, slowly ripping it into tiny pieces. “I guess I can,” she said. “It’s just so hard for me to imagine Dad doing these things. I mean, all my life, as far back as I can remember, he’s been the kindest, gentlest man I’ve ever known. It’s hard for me to believe the things you’re telling me, but I’m like Harold; I don’t believe you would lie to us about it. That makes it all even more confusing.”

Harold nodded his head and then leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. “Okay,” he said, “so all of that is out of the way, for now. Harry, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” He grinned. “Whatever you can, anyway, I’m sure there are plenty of things you’re not allowed to talk about.”

Harry chuckled. “I see you inherited my sense of humor,” he said. “Yes, there are some things I can’t tell you, but what I can tell you is this: you and your sister were the two best things that ever happened in my life, after meeting and falling in love with your mother. Harold, you were my little cowboy. I used to get down on my hands and knees in the floor, and you would jump onto my back and ride me like a pony. Whenever I was home, you were always right there with me, and some of the best parts of me came from trying to be the best example I could possibly set for you.” He looked over at Beth. “You were my princess. Your mother used to get so frustrated at me, because every time I went somewhere I’d come back with another stuffed animal for you. There were times we couldn’t find you in the crib, because I piled them up in it and you would pull the whole pile down on top of yourself. I remember a particular stuffed bunny rabbit that you just adored, and you would keep it cuddled close to you just about all the time. When you started walking, you would come to me in my chair in the living room and throw the bunny up into my lap, and that was your way of telling me it was time to pick you up. I’d pull you up into my lap and hold you close, and you used to grab hold of my mustache and pull it, and the only way to make you let go was to give you a kiss. The whiskers would tickle you, and you would start giggling so hard, and it was just delightful.”

He paused and looked at his hands, folded on the tabletop. “Those memories, they’re what got me through that first few months. Whenever I wasn’t working, I’d just sit and remember those times with the two of you. I think about when the four of us would sit down to eat dinner, with Beth in her high chair and Harold sitting in a chair beside me, sitting on a couple of big books so that he could reach the table, and you, Kathy, straight across from me with that beautiful, loving smile you always wore.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Beth said softly. “I can’t imagine how I would survive if something happened to my kids. I can’t imagine that I’d want to survive.”

“Oh, there were times when I didn’t want to. I thought about ending it all, more than once, but it always seemed to me that would be dishonoring your memories. The three of you had brought such joy into my life, I didn’t feel that I had the right to end it just because you were gone. I owed it to you to keep you alive in my memories. That was all I could give you, at that point, so I suffered through the pain and forced myself to smile whenever I thought of you.”

Harold shook his head. “This is so weird,” he said. “I’m sitting here listening to you, and it sounds like the sort of things a man would say as he sat in a cemetery, looking at the graves of the people he loved.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Harry asked. “Can you imagine how strange it feels to me? I’m saying those things that would normally be said at a grave, and yet my lost loved ones are actually getting to hear them.”

Beth looked at him, her eyes softening slightly. “Yeah, it must. Like I said before, I don’t know how I can handle it if I were you.” She turned her eyes to her mother. “Mom, why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you ever tell us that he wasn’t our real dad, that Harry was really our father?”

“When Michael came to me and said Harry was dead,” Kathleen began slowly, “he had all this paperwork about how the KGB—they used to be notorious for hunting down and killing people, back then—he said the CIA had evidence they were going to come after us. In order to avoid that, we had to go into something like witness protection. We would each be given new identities, but it meant we had to completely abandon the past. Everyone we knew had to think we were dead, and that had been arranged. He explained that our house would burn down and that bodies would be found in the ashes, bodies that had died in accidents and such. They would be positively identified as the three of us, so that meant we could never go back and take up our old lives again. I wasn’t allowed to even speak of my family, or of Harry, not to anyone.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Unfortunately, that included both of you. That first few months, whenever you would cry and ask for your daddy, I just told you he went on a trip. When Michael was around, he would spend a lot of time with you kids and you gradually started to think of him as your dad. When I realized that, I suggested to Michael that we should get married; he’d been asking me for a while, and I finally gave in. After that, you both called him Daddy and there was just no way to explain it to you without causing confusion or, as I believed at the time, putting us at risk.”

“But you said, those letters, you were planning to give them to us someday and tell us about Harry, right?”

Kathleen smiled sadly. “Yes, that’s what I thought at the time,” she said. “The thing is, as you both grew into young adults, I started to think that telling you might be cruel. I mean, as far as I knew, Harry was dead. You wouldn’t be able to go look him up, you’d never get to meet him; there was just no way to ever give you any kind of closure on it, so I finally just put them away. I guess I should have gotten rid of them completely, but they were the only connection I had to Harry. I just couldn’t quite give them up.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harold said, “I can see all that. What I want to know is why you didn’t come to us after you found out Harry was alive and Michael threatened you. I would’ve protected you, Mom. I would’ve done whatever it took to keep you safe.”

“Harold, I…” Kathleen trailed off, and Harry reached over and took her hand in his own.

“Harold, it wasn’t herself she was worried about,” he said. “She said Michael had threatened the two of you. She was worried that if she said anything to you, and he found out about it, he might actually harm you in order to keep his secret. She’s your mother, she couldn’t take that chance.”

Harold spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. “Look, maybe I’m not a spy, but I’m a pretty tough guy. I think I could’ve handled it.”

Harry grinned and cocked his head to one side. “How would you have handled it? Confronted him face-to-face? We’re talking about a man who can kill someone twice his size with a single blow of his hand, a man who knows how to make dozens of essentially untraceable poisons, a man who can fire a killing shot from more than half a mile away or make a bomb out of stuff he could find in the average kitchen. If you had threatened him in any way, that would have made you a danger that he had to eliminate. I’m sorry, son, but you would have only put all of you in even more danger. She made the right decision in not telling you.”

“Okay, maybe so,” Harold said. “Still, we might’ve been able to help her in other ways. She said she was sneaking off to try to see you, but he found out. Maybe we could have helped her keep it a secret.”

Harry shook his head. “If she had come to you for help with that, Michael would have found out about it. He would have seen it as a conspiracy working against him, and something terrible would’ve happened to all of you.”

“Look,” Kathleen said suddenly, “all of this is moot, now. Michael is dead and the truth is out. We can spend years thinking about what might have been, or we can simply accept this God-given chance to have our real family back together again. Who’s with me on that?”

Harry immediately raised a hand, but surprisingly, it was Beth who raised hers next. Harold looked at her for a moment, then sighed and held his own hand up into the air.

“Look, Harry,” Beth said, “this is all going to take some getting used to. I don’t doubt what Mom has told us, but while you may be my father, I don’t know you. The trouble is, that wasn’t your fault; I mean, it’s not like you ran out on us or anything. Somebody lied to you and told you we were all dead. I can’t hold it against you that you weren’t there while I was growing up, know what I mean? So, all that being true, the only thing I can do is say, yes, let’s all get to know one another properly. I like what you said earlier about my kids, letting them get through the funeral and some of the grieving process before we spring this on them, but I don’t think we should wait too long. Maybe a few days after the funeral, we can all get together for a cookout or something. How would that sound?”

Harry smiled and dipped his head. “I think that sounds wonderful,” he said, “providing, of course, that I’m out of jail by then.”

“Jail?” Harold asked, startled. “You actually think you’re going to be arrested over this?”

Harry pointed toward the lobby entrance, and they all turned to see Detective Lawton standing in the doorway with two uniform patrol officers. “I’d say it’s about to happen,” he said. “That man in the suit is the detective in charge of the case, and the look on his face when he spotted me sitting here tells me that he hasn’t dropped by for a friendly chat.”

Lawton chose that moment to come walking toward him, the officers following dutifully. He stopped a couple of feet away from their table and looked directly at Harry.

“Mr. Winslow,” he said. “You are under arrest for the murder of Michael Reed.”

“So soon?” Harry asked. “I thought it would take you at least another day to put together a case against me.”

“And it might have,” Lawton said, “if we hadn’t found a witness who saw you enter the house only a couple of minutes before the gunshots rang out.”

20

Sam was sitting at the table in his room, looking down at the pad on which he had scribbled a few notes. He’d spent the past thirty minutes on the phone, starting his effort to clear Harry’s name.

Alan Ellison had answered the phone on the first ring, but it only took a few minutes for Sam to eliminate him as a possible suspect. Ellison worked for the state of Florida, and had been giving a presentation on boating safety in Miami all day. His presence there was easy to confirm, so Sam thanked him for his time and ended the call.

Daniel Jacobs had been a little harder to reach, but Sam had left a couple of voicemails for him and he called back about ten minutes later.

“Mr. Prichard?” Daniel asked. “Daniel Jacobs. On your message, you said it was urgent that I call you. What can I do for you?”

“Daniel, thanks for calling me back,” Sam said. “I’m a private investigator, and I’m working on a case in Clearwater. I’m sure you knew Michael Reed?”

“Yeah, I know that SOB,” Daniel said. “What’s he done now?”

“Daniel, Mr. Reed was murdered sometime earlier today. I understand that you and he had had some altercations, and I wanted to ask if you had any ideas about who might have wanted him dead.”

“Murdered?” Daniel asked, the surprise in his voice sounding quite genuine. “Holy cow, that’s a shocker. I can’t believe anybody could manage to do it, he was one tough bastard. Any idea what happened?”

“All the police are saying right now is that he was shot through the head,” Sam said. “I don’t suppose you went to pay him a visit today, did you?”

“Me? You gotta be kidding. The one thing I always make sure of is that I’m as far away from him as I can be! We got into it one time, and he beat me half to death, and then…”

“And then what?” Sam asked. “Did something happen between the two of you after that?”

“Man, are you sure he’s dead?” Daniel asked. “I don’t want to be opening my mouth if he’s not dead, you feel me?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s dead. One of my best friends is probably going to be arrested for the murder, even though he didn’t do it.”

Sam heard Daniel curse under his breath. “Okay, it was like this,” he said. “Me and my ex got into an argument, it was over something stupid. Freaking Reed was my father-in-law, he just happens to show up while she’s yelling at me in the front yard, and next thing I know I’m down on the ground and he’s kicking the snot out of me. Cracked five ribs, broke my wrist, busted my nose, had both eyes swollen shut—I mean, I was in some serious pain! One of the neighbors called the cops and they came down and arrested him, asked me if I wanted to file charges and I said hell yeah, and they loaded me in an ambulance and took me to the hospital. Want to guess what happened three hours later? Michael freaking Reed comes walking into my hospital room just as free as a bird and shoves a gun in my face and tells me if I ever yell at my ex again, he’s gonna blow my head off. And then he says if I tell anybody he came to see me, he’ll kill me for that, too. He’s one crazy bastard, man.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sounds like it. Somebody treated me like that, I might decide to go after him and put a bullet through his head.”

“Do what? Man, don’t be talking crazy like that. I didn’t kill him, I can guarantee you that. You can check, man, I’ve been at work all day.”

“I’ll check, can count on that,” Sam said. “I think I remember you worked at the hospital, is that right?”

“Hospital? Hell no! I manage the gas station at Tarpon Springs Road and Tampa Avenue. And if you don’t believe me, check the security cameras. I had to be there all day because I’m training a new guy.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “You still didn’t answer my original question. Do you have any idea who else might have wanted Michael Reed dead?”

“Just about anyone who knew him, probably,” Daniel said. “A guy like that, he’s bound to make enemies. I mean, he actually threatened to kill me, and man, if you’d been there you’d be just as sure as I am that he really freaking meant that! That dude is crazy, man, or at least was.”

“But you can’t think of anyone in particular? Never heard of someone else who had a serious problem with him?”

“No, man, sorry. I just pay my child support and visit my kids when I’m supposed to, and stay as far away from him as I can.”

Sam thanked him and hung up the phone. The possibility that it had been either of these two men who killed Michael had been slim to begin with, and Sam had known they were long shots, but he had to eliminate all possibilities.

He dropped his pen onto the table and leaned back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. This part of detective work was always time-consuming and frustrating. Working a murder investigation was bad enough when you had the resources of an entire police department to work with, but a private investigator was limited. Sam thanked God every day for Indie and Herman, and he even grudgingly acknowledged an appreciation for whatever kind of aberration Beauregard truly was—because, as much as he hated to admit it, Beauregard’s tips actually paid off—but the majority of the work and the deductive process had to be on him.

Back home, he was usually lucky enough that he could work with one of the local police detectives on a case; the chances of getting Lawton to cooperate with him weren’t going to be very good, though. Sam needed information about the crime scene, any kind of information about Michael’s past, business associates, etc. and these were things that the local police were likely to deny him access to.

His phone rang suddenly, and he picked it up. There was a local number on the display but he didn’t recognize it, so he answered gruffly. “Prichard.”

“Jerry Lawton,” said the familiar voice, “the police detective. Where is your boy Winslow?”

“Downstairs in the restaurant,” Sam said. “Why?”

“Because we got a witness who described him perfectly, and saw him go into Michael Reed’s house just minutes before the gunshots were heard. He’s got a concrete motive and now we can place him at the scene of the crime as it was happening, so the State Attorney got the judge to go for a warrant. I’m coming into your hotel right now to arrest him.”

The line went dead and Sam jumped up quickly. He had kicked off his shoes and taken off his shirt while he made his calls, so he hurriedly pulled the shirt back on, buttoned it and tucked it in, while sliding his feet into his shoes. He grabbed his phone and slipped his jacket on as he went out the door. The elevator chimed as he got to it and an elderly couple stepped out. Sam smiled at them as he slipped inside and hit the button for the ground floor.

When it opened again, Sam hurried out and headed for the restaurant, but he was too late. Harry was being led out in handcuffs already, and Sam saw Kathleen trying to follow. He spotted Lawton and stepped in front of him.

“Who is this witness?” Sam asked. “I’m gonna want to talk to all of your witnesses, you know that.”

“Prichard,” Lawton said, “you go bothering any witnesses, I’ll charge you with obstruction of justice. I don’t need you interfering and messing up my investigation.”

“What investigation? Doesn’t it strike you a little odd that you even have a witness who claims to have seen Harry? You’re talking about a man who spent many years slipping in and out of foreign countries and accomplishing missions that most people wouldn’t even believe, but he’s gonna be stupid enough to let a witness spot him while he’s trying to commit murder?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lawton said. “Look, maybe he was some kinda superspy back in the day, but now he’s old. Ain’t you ever heard of Alzheimer’s? Happens to you when you get old, makes you forget things. Maybe he just forgot to put on his superspy disguise.”

“Oh, good grief,” Sam said. “Let me ask you this: you said you had a witness who saw him go in. Did anyone see him leave?”

“What would that matter? All we need to know is that he was seen going in just before Reed was killed.”

“Think for a moment, would you? You’ve got witnesses who claim to have heard gunshots, and what’s the normal reaction when you hear a gunshot? You look in the direction it came from, right? So, now you’ve got witnesses who heard gunshots and looked in the direction they came from, did they see anyone leave the house? Did any of your witnesses see Harry leaving the house?”

Lawton glared at him. “At the moment, all we got is that he was going in just before the gunshots. Nobody saw anyone leave the house afterward, no. Hey, I got it, maybe Mr. Superspy suddenly realized there might be people watching, so he snuck out through the back. That would make sense, right?”

“Only if Harry was an alligator. Reed’s backyard was pretty small and backed up right to the water. You need to be asking yourself how witnesses could see somebody go in, but not see them leave. I’m pretty sure you’re dealing with a professional killer, here, somebody who could show up looking like Harry in order to throw suspicion on to him, then disappear without a trace.”

Lawton shrugged and gave Sam a wide-eyed look. “Well, isn’t your old buddy there supposed to be a professional killer? Sounds to me like he’s guilty as hell, and using you to try to build him a reasonable doubt defense. If you can convince a jury he wouldn’t do things this way, he might walk.” Lawton grinned suddenly. “But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Sam grimaced and shook his head. “What about bail?”

“He’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning on the nine o’clock docket,” Lawton said. “I would imagine bail will be pretty stiff, though, we’re talking about capital murder.”

The detective turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there with Kathleen beside him. Her children had come out of the restaurant and were standing just behind the two of them, but neither had said a word. Sam watched the police car drive away with Harry in the back, then turned to face Kathleen and her kids.

“What was that all about,” Harold asked, “with that detective?”

“He says they’ve got a witness that saw Harry go into Michael’s house just a short time before the gunshots were heard. I was pointing out to him that if people hear gunshots, they naturally look in the direction they came from. That would make you think that one of them should have seen Harry leaving, but nobody did. Makes me think it wasn’t Harry they saw, after all. Why would he take a chance of witnesses seeing him? For that matter, why would he use a gun that people could hear, when I happen to know that he has a pistol with a sound suppressor? If he was going to commit murder, that would probably be the gun he would want to use, but he left it in the hotel room when he went to get his cigars.”

“Did he have any other guns?” Beth asked. “Maybe he just thought, ‘oh, hey, I’m out by myself, why don’t I go kill Michael?’ Maybe he just took a chance and it blew up in his face when somebody saw him.”

“No, the only other gun was mine, and I’ve had it the whole time. I realize you don’t know him yet, but if you understand Harry, none of this makes any sense at all.”

“So what can you do, Sam?” Kathleen asked. “How can you help him?”

“I don’t know, yet,” Sam said, “but I can promise you I won’t give up until I find a way.”

“I’ll pay you whatever it costs,” Kathleen said suddenly. “If Michael is dead, then I’ll end up with most of everything. We both had wills, and I doubt he had a chance to change it today.”

Sam put a hand on her shoulder. “Harry’s got me taken care of,” he said. “We’ll go to his initial appearance in the morning, and you might be able to bail him out. I would imagine your house is probably closed off for now, as a crime scene, but you can contact the police department to find out when you can go back inside. I’d really like to get a look in there, see if I can spot anything this CSI team might have missed.”

“Well, I have a key. Do we actually have to have permission to go in there?”

Sam nodded. “Until the police crime scene tape is removed, yes. They should be done by sometime tomorrow, I would think. For tonight, we might as well just get some rest.”

“Mom,” Beth said, “do you want to stay here at the hotel, or come home with me and the kids? They’re pretty upset about Dad—about Michael, I mean, but I know they’d love to see you.”

“No,” Kathleen said. “I think I just want to stay here tonight. I’ll go with Sam to the initial appearances in the morning, and I’ll call you both afterward.”

Harold and Beth gave her hugs, and Harold shook Sam’s hand. “Mr. Prichard, if there’s anything I can do…”

“I might take you up on that,” Sam said. “Thanks for keeping a cool head through all this. I think it’s helped your mother and your sister a lot.”

Harold shrugged. “Sometimes,” he said, “you just have to deal with whatever reality the world hands you. It isn’t always easy, but it’s still reality.”

21

Sam went back to his room and called Indie to tell her the news. She was naturally upset, but understood that, under the circumstances, it was logical for Harry to be arrested. She wished Sam luck on finding the real killer, cautioning him to be careful, and then the conversation turned to simpler things.

When he got off the phone, Sam took a shower and climbed into bed, even though it was not yet nine o’clock. He often did some of his best thinking in bed, and this case was giving him plenty to think about. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any great epiphanies during the night, so he rose early the next morning and got dressed and ready for court, then called Kathleen next door.

She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Sam,” she said.

“Hey,” Sam replied. “Feel like going down for breakfast?”

“I’ll have to pass. Detective Lawton called before you did, and they’re sending a car to pick me up to take me to the Medical Examiner’s office. I have to identify the body.”

“Oh, crap, I should’ve thought of that. Call Lawton back and tell him I’ll bring you.”

“It’s too late for that, I think. You go on and have your breakfast, then do whatever you can think of to help Harry. I’ll get a cab afterward and meet you at the courtroom, okay?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to at least go with you? Identification—it can be pretty rough.”

“I’m a big girl, Sam,” Kathleen said. “I can handle it, trust me. You need to be concentrating on figuring out how to prove Harry didn’t do this.”

Sam sighed, but nodded into the phone even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay, I’ll see you at the courtroom, then.”

Sam went down to the restaurant and ordered breakfast, and tried to think of what his next step should be while he ate. He thought about calling Indie, but he didn’t have any news to give her yet. Better to wait until after court, at least then he could tell her something.

When he was finished with breakfast, he drove to the courthouse and found Kathleen waiting for him in the lobby. “How bad was it?”

“Worse than I imagined, but I got through it. I had to identify him by a tattoo on his arm and a couple of scars; his face was simply destroyed when he was shot.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said.

“Like I said,” Kathleen said with a shrug, “I’m a big girl. But it might give me nightmares for a few days.”

They found their way to the proper courtroom and waited for it to open, then filed inside with dozens of others and managed to find seats in the front row, right behind the defense table. They had been sitting there for almost 20 minutes when a number of handcuffed and shackled prisoners wearing orange jumpsuits were led in and seated in the jury box. Harry was among them, and smiled when he saw them sitting there.

The judge came in a few moments later and they all had to stand, but then they were told to sit down once again by the bailiff. Various cases were called, and it was almost 10:30 by the time Harry’s name was called out. He was brought from the jury box to the defense table, where a young woman stepped up beside him. The two of them whispered back and forth for a moment, and than the woman told him to stand and face the judge.

“Please state your name for the record,” the judge said.

“Harold Winslow,” Harry said.

“This is a capital murder case,” the judge intoned, “State of Florida versus Harold David Winslow. According to information filed by State Attorney Benjamin McCall, there is sufficient evidence to charge Mr. Winslow with the murder of Michael William Reed yesterday afternoon, and to establish not only motive, but opportunity.” He looked up at Harry. “Mr. Winslow, do you understand the charge you’re facing?”

“I most certainly do, Your Honor,” Harry said.

“If you are convicted of this charge, you could become eligible for the death penalty. Do you understand this as well?”

“I do.”

The judge looked at the young woman standing beside Harry. “Ms. Bigelow, is this your client?”

“No, Your Honor,” she said. “I was simply appointed for the initial appearance.”

“Mr. Winslow, do you have an attorney of your own?”

“Not yet, Your Honor,” Harry replied. “I haven’t had opportunity yet to try to secure one.”

“And are you seeking bail, Mr. Winslow?”

“I would certainly like to, Your Honor.”

The judge turned and looked at the State Attorney, sitting at the other table. “Objections?”

McCall looked at Harry for a moment, then turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, we feel that bail would not be advisable in this case. Mr. Winslow is a former government agent, and we therefore consider him quite a flight risk.”

The judge glanced down at the file in front of him, then looked back up at McCall. “According to the information you gave me, Mr. Winslow is retired from government service. At his age, I don’t think he’d be all that hard to find if he tried to run away. Do you have any other reasons for requesting the court to deny bail?”

McCall sighed. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

The judge turned back to Harry. “I’m going to grant bail, and set it at 250,000 dollars. Can you afford that figure, Mr. Winslow?”

“I believe so, Your Honor.”

“Very well, bail is so set. Upon your release, you will be required to provide a local address, because I’m ordering you not to leave the state of Florida. Arraignment will be set for thirty days from today at nine AM. That’s a Monday, according to my calendar. If you fail to show up, of course, a warrant will be issued for your arrest and your bail will be revoked. You will be able to call a bondsman once you are returned to the jail.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Harry said. The case was dismissed for the moment, and Harry was led back to the jury box.

It only took another half-hour to get through the rest of the cases, and then the prisoners were led back out of the courtroom. Harry winked at Sam and Kathleen as he passed them, and made a gesture with his hand that indicated he would call shortly.

Since it was already after eleven, Sam suggested they go and find some lunch. Kathleen agreed, and directed him to one of her own favorite restaurants. It was close to the waterfront, so it took him a few minutes to get there, but when he saw the menu he was glad he had let her suggest it. Sam was a steak lover, and there were some on this menu that he never heard of before.

“Try the wildfire porterhouse,” Kathleen said. “It’s a little spicy, though.”

“Spicy is good,” Sam said. “I’m just not sure I can eat the whole porterhouse steak at the moment. What else is really good here?”

Kathleen laughed. “Absolutely everything. If you like it spicy but don’t want a steak that big, they have the wildfire ribeye, as well. It’s every bit as good.”

“That’ll work, then,” he said. The waitress appeared and took their orders, hurrying back with their drinks.

“My phone has been ringing this morning,” Kathleen said as they waited for the food to arrive. “Friends and some of Michael’s business acquaintances; I’ve got about three dozen voicemails. His death is likely to shake up the yacht community, he was pretty well known in those circles. A lot of people really liked him.”

“If Harry ends up going to trial, the whole story is going to get out. That could be pretty rough on you and your kids and grandkids.”

Kathleen rolled her eyes. “We’ll deal with it if we have to,” she said. “At least my kids are somewhat willing to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. If you can find out who really did this, or at least prove that Harry didn’t, I suspect they’ll come to love him eventually.”

“I’m certainly going to try. Harry’s quite a character, but he’s been one of my best friends for the last few years.”

Kathleen smiled at him. “You’re the kind of man he always gravitated toward. How did you meet Harry, anyway?”

Sam chuckled. “Believe it or not, our association started out at gunpoint. He was working undercover, actually running a drug ring back in Denver, when he got wind of a potential terrorist attack that could have killed hundreds of thousands of people. I was looking for a missing child at the time, and it turned out her father was involved with the drug ring. Harry had a partner in the undercover work who had gone bad, as he put it—tried to get his hands on this terrible poison that was slipped into the country along with the drugs they were naturally importing. Harry pulled a few fast dodges to try to keep it from him, sending that little girl’s father off to Timbuktu with it while he tried to handle the situation, but I messed it all up when I tracked the father down in Arkansas. I ended up with the poison and no idea who to trust, so Harry kidnapped my—well, she was just barely even my girlfriend at the time, her and her daughter, and used them to force me to meet him. When I did, he started telling me that he was the good guy and I could trust him, but it was when Indie told me he had actually handed her his gun that I decided to give him a chance. He took us all to a safe house, but then the other guy attacked with some mercenaries and Harry and I managed to fight them off side-by-side. We caught the bad guy, got rid of the poison and Harry finally told me the truth about who he was. Since then, he’s called me in a couple of times when he had a situation that required, as he put it, ‘the Sam Prichard touch.’ He’s had my back every time, and we became pretty close.”

Kathleen was nodding. “That’s Harry,” she said. “Once he considers you a friend, he’s a friend for life. And if he actually calls you in on things like that Lake Mead situation, it’s because he sees in you something far above what normal men can do. He told me yesterday that you are better than any agent he has ever worked with.”

Sam blushed a bit and shrugged. “You just do the job that’s in front of you,” he said. “I learned that from Harry.”

An hour later, Sam reflected that she had been absolutely correct. The steak was delicious, and his mouth was still tingling as they walked out to the car.

Sam’s phone rang as he was getting behind the wheel, and he answered it to find Harry on the end of the line. “Come get me, boy,” the old man said. “They can’t handle me here, they’re kicking me out.”

“You made bail that fast?” Sam asked. “Back home, it would have taken you at least six hours.”

“Like I said, they want rid of me. I think someone told them my history, and the guards here are a little scared of me. The bondsman did his part, and I’ve already signed out, so I’ll be sitting out front on the bench. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me have my damned cigars in there?”

Sam laughed. “We’ll be right there, Harry!” He started the car and headed for the jail.

Sure enough, Harry was sitting on the bench in front of the jail puffing on a cigar when they pulled up. Kathleen hopped out and opened the back door, then slid inside so Harry could sit beside her.

“I suppose you haven’t miraculously found the killer yet, am I right, Sam?” Harry asked.

“Not yet,” Sam said. “I’ve talked with Beth’s ex-husband and Michael’s ex-partner, but both of them have legitimate alibis. Harold told me something about Michael having some sort of clash with a motorcycle gang a couple months back, I’ve got Indie working on that angle. I don’t really put much stock in it, though. My gut feeling is that whoever we are looking for is a professional, somebody on the same level as you and Michael. That naturally makes me think of a foreign agent, and I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for somebody like that.”

“I’ll call some friends at Langley, see if there had been any rumors that might involve Michael Reed. The problem is that I don’t have an official security clearance anymore, so they may be reluctant to tell me anything. At this point, I’ll confess I’m a lot more interested in proving my own innocence than finding out who killed him.”

“I’m feeling the same way,” Sam said. “I’ll take us back to the hotel, then I’m going to call Lawton and try to convince him to let me see whatever he’s got. There might be something in there that will help me prove you didn’t do it. If that fails, I’m going to go try to bully my way into the crime scenes at the house and the tobacco shop. Maybe I can spot something they missed, something that will at least cast doubt on their case against you.”

“There is one way I can help,” Harry said. He took out his cell phone and dialed a number with his thumb. “Jonas? Harry Winslow again. Listen, I…Yes, that’s true. I made bail this morning, right after my initial appearance in court. Hell, no, I didn’t do it! That’s my problem. If I had, I’d know what evidence they had against me and could fight it. As it stands now, we don’t know anything, and that’s why I’m calling you. That detective, Lawton? He’s not showing any signs of willingness to cooperate with my private investigator. Think you could put a bug in his ear? Get him to share information with Sam Prichard?” He listened for a moment, then smiled. “I think that’ll work, Jonas. Listen, I appreciate it. What does this make now, about a dozen favors I owe you? Well, call me whenever you need one of them paid back. I’ll be ready.”

He put the phone back in his pocket and looked at Sam in the rearview mirror. “You’ve just been designated a Special Investigator for the Department of Homeland Security. That gives you all the authority you need to demand access to Lawton’s case files. If he refuses, all you got to do is speak to his captain.”

Sam grinned. “Harry,” he said, “you just made my day.”

22

Sam dropped Harry and Kathleen at the hotel, then called Indie as he drove toward the police station. “Hey, Babe,” he said. “Well, Harry’s out of jail. He’s been officially charged with murder, but the judge granted him bail. Any luck on the motorcycle gang angle?”

“Well, yes and no,” Indie said. “I found the incident, but it turns out all six of those bikers were arrested that same day, and they’re all still in jail. It seems every one of them had warrants outstanding for them, mostly for petty stuff like selling pot or shoplifting. These aren’t the kind of bikers you normally think of in connection to something like murder. They’d be more like wannabes, I think.”

“Well, it needed to be checked out anyway,” Sam said. “Harry called somebody at DHS, and he got me appointed as a Special Investigator. I’m on my way to the police headquarters to talk to the detective in charge of the investigation. I want to see the case file, maybe I can spot something they haven’t.”

“Good luck,” Indie said. “I checked out that detective, Lawton, and you might like to know that he’s been reprimanded twice for improper procedures and once for failure to cooperate with federal authorities. This is a guy who doesn’t play well with others.”

“I already figured that out about him. With this appointment, though, I can go over his head if I have to. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get what I want, and maybe I can actually figure out what’s going on, here.”

“Okay, I hope so. Hey, Kenzie wants to talk to you.”

“Hi, Daddy,” Kenzie said. “I miss you and I love you.”

“Oh, sweetie, I love you and miss you too. Are you taking care of Mommy for me?”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “We’re gonna go get pizza for lunch, and then we’re gonna go shopping.”

“Pizza, wow. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Uh-huh, here’s Mommy…”

Indie came back on the line. “Well, that was short.”

“Yeah, I guess talking to Daddy takes a backseat to going for pizza. You guys have fun and be careful, okay?”

“Same to you, Babe.” They said goodbye and ended the call, and Sam turned into the parking lot of the Clearwater Police Department.

He showed his ID to the receptionist at the front desk and told her that he wanted to speak to Detective Lawton. She didn’t even bother to call ahead.

“Go through that door,” she said, pointing at a door to the right, “and he’s in the fourth office on the left.”

Sam smiled and thanked her, then opened the door and stepped through. His hip twinged as he did so, and he started to wish he had brought his cane along, but he had left it at home. Most days he could get by without it, and it hadn’t given him any problem in several days, so he just limped steadily along and bore through the pain.

Lawton was at his desk and didn’t look a bit pleased when Sam stepped through the door.

“I’d ask what I owe this pleasure to,” he said, “but seeing you is no pleasure. What do you want, Prichard?”

“You should have been notified by now that I’ve been appointed Special Investigator for the DHS on this case against Harry Winslow. I’m here to look at your case files.”

“Yeah, I got a phone call. You want to see my file? Fine, come on in and pull up a chair.” He picked up a folder from his desk and thrust it out at Sam. “That’s it, that’s the whole thing, and everything in it tells me your buddy is my killer.”

Sam took the folder, which was about an inch thick, and sat down in the same chair he had used the day before. “That’s what I’m here to see,” he said. He opened the folder and picked up the first sheet of paper, which was the initial report of the nine one one call.

Call received 12:41 PM from Mrs. Carolyn Garrett, 691 Bay Esplanade, who reported hearing gunshots from a neighboring house a few minutes earlier. Officers dispatched.

The next page was the report of the two officers who had entered the house. They had arrived at 12:56 PM and approached the door, finding it standing ajar. Officer Mendez, the senior of the two officers, had knocked on the doorframe and called out announcing their presence, but received no response. He knocked again, announced their presence once more, and when no response was received, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He announced once more that police officers were present and then both officers began walking into the house with weapons drawn.

The living room was clear, so they moved further. A door at one end of the living room led into what appeared to be a den, and the officers spent a couple of moments looking around, then went back to the living room to another door that led to a hallway. A door directly opposite was standing slightly open, so they pushed it further and looked inside at what looked like an office. There were two desks, each of which held a computer and stacks of papers, but there was no sign of any human presence. They backed out and moved through the hallway again, coming to the dining room, which was also empty.

As they approached the kitchen, both officers noticed a metallic smell, as well as the odor of recently fired gunpowder. At the kitchen door, they saw a male figure lying on the floor, and saw a large pool of blood spreading from the area of his head. Officer Conklin, the junior officer, stepped into the room and carefully approached the prone man, then reached down to feel for a pulse on his throat. It was at that point that he got his first look at the victim’s face, at which time he turned and ran out of the house to vomit on the front lawn.

Officer Mendez stepped forward and looked at the victim’s face as well, and it was his instant opinion that the victim was deceased. He called his dispatcher and reported finding what appeared to be a dead body, the probable victim of homicide, and requested instructions. He was told to secure the scene and wait for paramedics, detectives and crime scene investigators to arrive.

The next item in the folder was a packet of photos, and Sam pulled them out to look them over. The first couple of photos were taken from a short distance, merely showing the body lying on the floor and the spreading pool of blood. The next photograph was taken up close, however, and Sam’s eyes went wide when he saw that the face of the victim had been completely obliterated, just as Kathleen had said. It was nothing but a bloodied mass, and Sam estimated that it must’ve taken at least three or four bullets to do so much damage. It was no wonder she had to identify him by a tattoo.

He glanced at the other photos, and then put them back in the envelope. He read through Detective Lawton’s initial report, and then read the CSI report. It told him there were apparently several shots fired, because a number of 9MM bullets were recovered from walls and cabinets. The medical examiner on scene had estimated that five shots had actually penetrated the victim’s face, entering almost dead center through the left eye, just below the right eye, directly to the left of the nose, immediately under the center of the nose, and through the point of the lower jaw. All five bullets had exited through the back of the skull, though the lowest one had also shattered the top cervical vertebra and ripped through the spinal cord.

Well, Sam thought, that explains the damage to the face. Whoever shot Michael apparently felt he needed to be wiped completely out of existence.

The next couple of pages detailed Lawton’s meeting with Harry, Kathleen and Sam, and the subsequent interview of the three of them at the police station. Sam skimmed through them and found that Lawton had been meticulous in his notes.

The next page listed the neighbors who had been questioned, including Mrs. Garrett. She only reported hearing the gunshots, but another neighbor, Caitlin Stoddard, reported seeing what looked like an elderly man with white hair entering the house just a few minutes before the shots were heard. She did not see a vehicle approach the house, nor did she notice one parked anywhere near it at the time. She said that she had seen a white-haired man with a beard walking across the lawn of the house and up to the door. She further stated that she had looked at the house after hearing the gunshots, but saw no one depart.

Another neighbor, Robert Seacrest, said he had heard what sounded like an argument coming from inside the house just seconds before the shots went off. He claimed he had been out in his yard, which was directly across the street from the Reed house, spraying for weeds at the time, and heard what he believed to be two men shouting at each other. He couldn’t make out most of what was said, but was quite certain he heard the words “wife” and “mine,” and thought he heard the name “Harry.”

The next page was the report of Lawton’s visit to Mrs. Stoddard. After his interview with the three of them, Lawton had gotten the report from the canvassing officers and immediately driven out to see Mrs. Stoddard. When he showed her a photograph of Harry Winslow, he said that she responded immediately that he was the man she had seen entering the house shortly before hearing the gunshots.

“That’s sloppy, Lawton,” Sam said. “You showed a witness a single photograph and asked if that was who she saw. Don’t you know how unreliable eyewitness testimony is? A good defense attorney will tear her apart on the stand, and you along with her.”

“We might not even use her,” Lawton said. “Did you see the lab report yet? Remember the GSR test? Turns out your boy had gunshot residue on both hands.”

“So does almost everyone else in this country,” Sam said. “If you’ve ever fired a gun or shaken hands with someone who did, you’ve got gunshot residue on your hands. The damn stuff lasts almost forever and never washes off, which is why the FBI doesn’t even bother to test for it anymore. If that’s all you’ve got, I’d have to say your case is pretty weak.”

“Weak?” Lawton squealed, leaning forward. “I’ve got a clear motive, I’ve got a witness who puts him at the scene at the time, and I’ve got gunshot residue on his hands. I’ve also got the fact that, by his own statement, he was at that tobacco shop right about the time the clerk was killed, so we’re seriously considering charging him with that murder, as well. If I can find one witness who saw him there, that’ll be enough to clinch it. You add all that together, I think I’ve got a pretty good case!”

Sam looked back at the folder. There was another sheet that said the fingerprints on the body matched those on file for Michael Reed. Sam made a mental note to check with Harry about that, since it seemed to him that the fingerprints should come back to Michael Watkins, but then he remembered Harry’s comment about there always being people who would alter records. Since they knew Michael was still doing work for the government, it was probably likely that his fingerprint records had been updated at some point to fit his new identity.

Sam suddenly felt a tingle in his gut, so he started going through the folder again from the front. Nothing had changed, of course, but he had a nagging feeling that he might have missed something. He looked over all of the pages again, carefully, but didn’t see anything that jumped out at him. He closed the folder and started to hand it back, but then stopped.

He opened it again and took out the packet of photos. One by one, he looked them over carefully, and suddenly he realized what his subconscious was trying to tell him. He looked up at Lawton, his own eyes wide.

“This body isn’t Michael Reed,” he said.

23

Michael Reed stood at the picture window in his living room and watched as the Buick backed out of the driveway. Prichard had come through, just as he had expected the man to do. It had been touch and go for a few minutes, though, and Michael almost thought he was going to have to suggest the plan himself.

He was glad he had not needed to do so. That would have made it less believable when the news of his murder came out, at least to Prichard. The idea was to give everyone, especially his handlers at NSA and CIA, a firm and undeniable reason to believe that Michael was dead, and there was nothing that could convince them of that as well as a legitimate motive in the hands of a man who would be capable of such a thing.

Yes, Michael Reed was about to die, and Harry Winslow was going to spend the rest of his life in prison because of it. Michael felt no sympathy for his old friend, however; there was no room for empathy in his line of work, and especially not at this point.

He took out his phone and dialed the number from memory. “Ron? It’s time,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready,” Ron said. “To be honest, I’ve been ready for a while. The pain is getting pretty severe, lately.”

“Well, it’ll be over soon. See you at the Gator House?”

“You bet. Give me an hour or so, sometimes it’s hard to get a taxi.”

“No problem,” Michael said. “When you get here, I’ll go ahead and do the final money transfer. Once you’ve seen that, we can conclude our business.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Ron said.

The two men said goodbye and Michael slipped the phone back into his pocket. He had at least forty minutes before he needed to get into the boat again, so he went to the bar and poured himself a drink. The whiskey went down smoothly, and as its warmth spread to his body he felt a sense of relief that it was all finally coming together.

Almost a year earlier, back before Kathleen had begun sneaking off to spy on Harry, Michael had been called up for a mission into Moscow. The job was a simple one: all he had to do was pick up a defector and escort him through the city and onto a diplomatic flight back to the States. It should have gone without a hitch, because the defector had been fully vetted. Langley and DC were both completely convinced that he was legitimate, and would be bringing information they desperately needed about Russian activities throughout the former Soviet Union. Satellites had captured enough troop movements to make it appear that war was imminent, and the type of war being rumored might well put the USSR back together again. The defector was supposed to have information that could help prevent that from happening.

Michael had gone in posing as a Russian businessman named Yuri Castronova, and had no difficulty with the insertion. He was dropped just outside the city shortly before sunrise with a collapsible hang glider. Once out of the low-speed, low-flying plane, he simply squeezed the trigger that caused its wings to slowly spread out. By the time they caught the wind, he was already moving horizontally and shortly was able to flare into a running landing. Luckily, the moon was just bright enough to let him see the ground before he became a permanent part of it.

The drop site had been prearranged, and a car was waiting for him not far away. He had memorized the route and drove quickly toward his target, arriving just as the sun came up. The defector lived in a small house, and it was he who answered the door when Michael knocked.

“Dmitri?” Michael had asked, using the codename he had been given. The defector smiled and nodded, welcoming him into the house. Michael stepped inside without hesitation, and wasn’t expecting the feel of a gun barrel against the back of his head.

It all happened so quickly that he was taken completely by surprise. The man holding the gun had been behind the door and stepped out as it closed. Michael froze and held his hands out and to the side.

“What is going on?” he asked in Russian. “Have I come to the wrong house?”

“No,” said the man with the gun, speaking English. “You are exactly where we want you to be. You are in no danger whatsoever, as long as you don’t try anything. All we want is to speak with you, and to make you an offer we believe you might find quite lucrative.”

Keeping his hands high and out, Michael turned slowly. The man with the gun stepped back a bit to allow it, and then motioned for Michael to sit down in a chair to his left.

Michael sat as instructed, and then laid his hands on the arms of the chair. “What kind of offer?”

“First, let us explain that we know who you are. You are Michael Reed, and you have for several years been involved with several different American espionage agencies. You may deny it, of course, but we are quite certain of our information.”

With a gun pointed loosely in his direction, Michael didn’t feel inclined to argue. His own pistol was still tucked in the back of his pants, but there was no chance of reaching it before he would be shot dead. For a moment, it seemed wise to simply go along with his captors.

“I won’t deny it,” he said. “Now, what kind of offer did you have in mind?”

“As I said, one that will prove quite lucrative to you if you accept. We know that you have been involved in a number of highly classified operations over the last decade or so, and so you certainly possess information we would like to have, and which your government would hope to keep from us. Most of the information we are looking for concerns things that have already happened, rather than anything to come in the future. We would be willing to pay quite well for answers to certain questions concerning that information.”

“Do I look like a traitor to my country?” Michael asked. “If the alternative to cooperation is a bullet through the head, you might as well take better aim and pull the trigger. I’m not talking.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then cocked his head slightly to the left. “Ten years ago, you were part of a rescue operation in the Sudan. In that operation, a high-ranking Sudanese official was killed by someone using only his bare hands. Our intelligence services believe that you were the one who performed that assassination, and that it was probably quite difficult to do. If you will confirm that information, I will give you access to a British bank account that contains almost one million American dollars. This is information that cannot do any harm to your country, but will help us to close a file that has been open for far too long.”

Michael had been ignoring the gun and keeping his eyes on the man’s face. The small telltale signs of deception did not seem to be present, and Michael was surprised to realize that the man was almost certainly telling him the truth. Since that was the case, there was still a strong possibility he would survive this encounter. Since it was also true that confirming his participation in the mission could not do any harm to American interests that he could see, he saw no point in passing up the opportunity to collect such a reward.

“It was me,” he said. “Was it difficult? Yes, simply because the man you’re referring to was large and powerful and an excellent fighter. I’ll even admit that, for a moment there, I thought I was going to be the one left dead on the floor. If I hadn’t gotten the chance to crush his larynx, he probably would’ve killed me first.”

The man with the gun nodded. “That is exactly as we suspected. Thank you for confirming it.” He looked at the man who had opened the door and nodded his head once. The fellow took a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and passed it to Michael.

Michael glanced at it. It contained the name of a bank in London, along with the account numbers and password that would be needed to access the account through the Internet. With that information, he could transfer any money in it to any other account he chose. The last line on the note showed a balance of just over 950,000 dollars.

He looked up at the man with the gun. “Hell,” he said, “got any more easy questions like that?”

“Actually, yes, and each one will get you another such bank account.” There proceeded from that point a question-and-answer session that lasted almost two hours, and left Michael with eleven separate bank accounts holding just short of nine million dollars in total.

“Now,” said the man with the gun, “there is one more thing we should discuss. We should like very much to continue this type of relationship with you. You are a man with many talents, and some of those talents would serve our interests quite well. There are, of course, many situations in which it is ill advised to use our own operatives; since you are currently acting as a freelancer with the different agencies of your own government, we are hoping to entice you to take some work for us on the side. Will this interest you?”

“As I told you,” Michael said, “I’m no traitor. I’m not interested in becoming your double agent, or acting against my own country.”

“That is not something we would ever ask you to do. On this, you have my word. However, we have learned that you are a man who can produce information that others cannot, and can orchestrate situations so that they result in an outcome you desire. There will be occasional instances when we might need a source of such information, or a particular outcome to a troubling situation, and you have the requisite skills that we would need in order to achieve those goals. We would be willing to pay you quite well, as you can see.”

Michael carefully dissected the things he had said, then looked into his eyes. “You referred to me as a freelancer,” he said. “That’s not actually correct. I’m still on government payroll.”

“That does not concern us,” the man said. “As you can see, the bank accounts we provide you will be untraceable. You can do with them whatever you wish, and we’re certain that a man of your talents will find ways to access the money when you want to. Your government need never know about it.”

The conversation lasted another couple of hours, and then Michael was allowed to leave with the “defector.” This was a man who would provide the United States with certain information that they would consider valuable, despite the fact that it was of no genuine importance to the Russian government. He would use that information to insert himself into the American intelligence community, at which time he would be capable of sending genuinely valuable information back to Mother Russia. This, Michael was assured, was the only thing he would ever be asked to do that might in any way be detrimental to American interests. The addition of one more bank account containing another 10 million dollars convinced him to agree.

Of course, double agents, even part-time ones, are eventually discovered. Over the next few months Michael took care of three separate situations for his new friends in Russia, and he began to worry about the day he would be found out.

It was around this time that he began to admit to himself that he liked what he was doing. Working for his country had always been exciting, but he had felt like something was missing. He had tried to fill that void with business, amassing a fortune as a yacht broker, but the fear of discovery was ruining his enjoyment of his wealth. Add that to the issues he had with Kathleen sneaking off to peek at Harry, and he began to wish for a way to simply drop out of his life.

The problem with that was that the American intelligence services wouldn’t accept his death unless they had what they considered concrete proof. Simply having a body wouldn’t be enough; there would have to be a completely logical explanation for the how and why and when of his demise, and it suddenly dawned on Michael one day that Harry Winslow could do him one last favor.

If Michael were reported murdered, and at the hands of someone with an obviously clear and viable motive, even the CIA would be unlikely to doubt it. Michael knew that he was smart enough to create a situation in which Harry would be arrested and ultimately convicted, and then he would be free to assume yet another new identity, one that would bear no connection to any government agency, anywhere. That would leave him free to continue taking these freelance jobs, and he could even expand his clientele until he was available for hire to many different countries.

Of course, there still had to be a body. Michael had immediately started searching for someone who, in death, could play him convincingly, and he stumbled across the right man purely by accident. It was during a visit to his own doctor’s office that he met Ronald Denham, and the look on Ron’s face as he was walking out of the office caught Michael’s attention. Ron was the right build, the right size and approximately the right age; without even thinking about what he was doing, Michael jumped to his feet and followed Ron out of the building.

He caught up to Ron in the parking lot and took him to a nearby coffee shop. There, he learned that Ron had just been informed that the cancer he had been fighting for years had come back after the last remission, settling in his kidneys but also spreading to other parts of his body. There was no hope, and he had a maximum of three to four months of life left. While they talked, Ron began to cry, talking about how his wife and children would have nothing when he died.

“What if,” Michael had said to him, “there was a way you could provide for them that would last the rest of their lives?”

24

Lawton leapt to his feet. “Do what?” he demanded. “What kind of crap are you trying to pull? We ran his prints, there’s no doubt that’s him.”

“Lawton, I sat face-to-face with that man while he held a gun pointed at me not three hours before he was supposedly killed. I got a good look at him, and as a former police detective, I have a tendency to carefully examine and just about memorize someone I’m having a weapon-involved confrontation with. The clothing on this body looks to be the same, but whoever did it missed something. Lawton’s fingernails were freshly trimmed; it looked like he’d just had a professional manicure. Look at the fingernails on this body.” He took the photograph he was holding and spun it around, shoving it in front of Lawton’s face.

The right hand was in clear view in the photo, and it was easy to see that the nails had not been trimmed in some time. Each fingernail bore a white half-moon at its tip, about an eighth of an inch long. Lawton stared at it for a moment, then looked up at Sam with a sneer.

“What, you expect me to take your word for it? I told you, Prichard, we ran his fingerprints. They confirmed that the deceased is Michael Reed.”

“Have you forgotten everything Harry told you? This is a man who can change identities the way most of us change our underwear. On top of that, we happen to know that he was still doing clandestine work for the NSA and CIA, so it probably wouldn’t be very hard for him to get his fingerprint records altered. I don’t know who this dead man really was, but he wasn’t Michael Reed.”

“So now you want me to believe that Reed is faking his own death? Now, considering this fantastic deal you all supposedly made with him yesterday morning, why would he want to do that? That would mean he had to walk away from all his money and his yachts and all that other crap he was so determined to hang onto.”

“That must have only been a smokescreen,” Sam said. “Whatever he’s up to, there’s no doubt in my mind he had this planned out. He admitted to us that he planted that envelope in Harry’s apartment, as a way to draw Harry down here; we thought he originally wanted to kill Harry, but it’s obvious now that what he was really after was someone to take the fall for his own faked murder. He went out of his way to reel in the best possible suspect, a man with as clear a motive as you could ever hope for, then arranged it to look like he’d been murdered and set Harry up to take the fall. Remember that lady said she saw a white-haired man go in, but never saw anyone leave? I can tell you why. It’s because that white-haired man she saw was probably Michael in disguise. He wanted to be seen, he wanted a witness to say they saw Harry go in the house just before the gunshots were fired. Whoever the real victim was, he was undoubtedly already in the house and dressed in Michael’s clothes at that point.”

“But that’s crazy,” Lawton yelled. “If he killed somebody to make it look like he’d been murdered, how did the fingerprints match up?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Sam said. “Reed had this all planned out. Whoever that poor schmuck was, he was somebody who looked like Michael Reed enough that, as long as you didn’t see his face, you’d think it was him. Well, the face got taken care of, didn’t it? Reed had to have picked this guy some time ago, far enough back to give him time to get those fingerprints switched. Somehow, this guy had the same tattoo and scars, but those can be arranged. He might have paid this guy a fortune to let himself be marked that way.”

“Yeah, you can put a tattoo and a scar on somebody, but you can’t change their fingerprints. This is stupid!”

“You don’t have to change the prints on the body, you simply substitute that guy’s fingerprints for your own in the appropriate databases. Witness protection does it all the time for people they need to hide. Trust me, there are people working for the government who can do that sort of thing, and some of them will for the right incentive. Reed would know them, and he would know how to get them to do it for him. Once Harry showed up and we all left, he probably called the guy over and found some excuse to get him into his own clothes, then made himself up as Harry and went outside, let Mrs. Stoddard see him, then went straight back inside and shot the poor man through the face.”

Lawton was staring at him, and Sam could see the beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. “I—man, this is crazy. Even if it was true, do you know what would happen if I went to the prosecutor with this? I’d end up in the loony bin, that’s what. Nobody would ever believe anything like this, it’s too crazy.”

Sam scowled at him. “You think I don’t know how crazy it sounds? Unfortunately, I’ve had to deal with these kinds of people before, so I don’t get the luxury of pretending things like this don’t happen. Trust me, they do, and that’s what we’re dealing with now. Michael Reed is not dead, he’s your killer. He probably had a tracer on my rental car, so after he killed this poor guy, he checked out where Harry had gone. If Harry was at the tobacco shop around the time the victim was killed, that would be an alibi. That’s why that kid at the tobacco shop had to die.”

Lawton was staring at him. “Just assuming for the moment this makes any sense,” he said, “how the hell do we find him? I’ll tell you now, there’s no way the State Attorney is going to buy this; if you’re right, the only way to get the charges dismissed against your buddy is if we can produce this guy in court and prove this whole crackpot theory.”

Sam sucked in his cheek for a moment. “It’s not gonna be easy,” he said. “This man is a master of disguise, and he can become just about anyone. I need to get back to Harry and see what kind of help we can get from the feds. I’d keep this under your hat, for now, but I’ll be back in touch shortly.”

He got up and walked out of the office without another word, leaving Lawton standing there staring after him. The detective picked up the photograph and looked at it again, then fell backward into his chair.

Sam got to his rental car, but then froze. If Reed was actually tracking the car, it was the last thing Sam wanted to be driving. He took out his phone and googled taxicabs, then called to have one pick him up. It arrived about ten minutes later and he slid into the backseat.

“I need the nearest car rental agency,” he said. The driver nodded once and the car took off again. The ride lasted about ten minutes more, and then the cab pulled up in front of an Enterprise office. The meter said sixteen dollars, so Sam handed the man a twenty and got out of the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he drove out in a new Dodge Challenger and headed for the Marriott. As soon as he left the parking lot, he took out his phone and called his original rental company and told them where to pick up the Buick. Then he called Harry.

“Sam, boy? How’s it going?” Harry drawled.

“Crazy as ever,” Sam said. “Did you get a good look at Michael yesterday?”

“I did,” Harry said. “Why might you be asking a question like that?”

“Did you happen to notice his fingernails?”

“Yep. Looked like he’d just had them done, didn’t it?”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m not the only one who saw that. Well, I just got a good look at the crime scene photos of the body, and the nails haven’t been trimmed in at least a week.”

There was silence on the line for a couple of seconds, then Sam heard Harry mutter under his breath, “Son-of-a-bitch. We’ve been completely set up, Sam.”

“And then some. The body looks like his, it has the same tattoo and scars, the fingerprints come back as his, but I know for a fact that the dead man they found in the kitchen floor is not Michael Reed, or Michael Watkins or any other Michael that we know of. It looks to me like he wanted to disappear again, but he wanted to make sure you were charged with his murder. I’m trying like mad to figure out a motive for this, but it’s pretty much eluded me so far. Any ideas?”

“It means he’s gone dark,” Harry said. “He’s sold out, gone rogue. Remember Long? He went dark when he discovered that there were factions in the CIA that were literally out to destroy our national sovereignty. In this case, Michael has probably sold out to a foreign power. He needs everyone, especially the CIA, to think he’s dead.”

“That’s why he wanted you to find out about Kathleen,” Sam replied. “After what he did to you, the police would naturally consider that sufficient motive for murder. All he had to do was put on a white wig and a Colonel Sanders beard and mustache, then add some looser clothes and a neighbor was happy to positively identify you as the man she saw sneaking into the house just before the gun went off. ME says the body was shot at least five times in the face, so there’s no facial identification. He must’ve chosen the victim weeks ago, then got his prints and had them substituted for his own. Fingerprint identification would hold up in court with no problem, and between the witness, your motive, your lack of alibi and some gunshot residue they found on your hands, they probably have enough to get a conviction.”

“Sam, get rid of the car,” Harry said suddenly. “Michael must be tracking it…”

“Already did, already did,” Sam said, talking over Harry to make him hear. “He’s probably tapping our phones, too, so now he knows we’re on to him. Damn, I should’ve thought of that!”

“Well, don’t fret about it now. Do you have a different car?”

“Yes, and I’ll be there in another five minutes. We need to get you and Kathleen stashed somewhere safe while I try to track him down.”

The phone in Sam’s hand beeped, and he glanced to see that Indie was calling.. “Hold on,” he said, then switched over to the other line. “Indie? Everything okay, Babe?”

“Well, maybe,” she said. “You told me to let you know if Beauregard had anything to say. Are you ready?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“He says, ‘you already lost the first hand, but there are three more to play. The dealer has stacked the deck against you, but you have an ace in the hole. The last hand will be winner take all.’ Any idea what that means, Sam?”

“Three more hands to play, but I already lost the first one? That explains the cigar store clerk; I just have to try to keep anyone else from getting killed, so that means I can’t lose another hand. Any clue what he means by an ace in the hole?”

“Sam, you know he doesn’t give any clear information,” Indie said. “Mom just called and said I had to give you that message.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Listen, I can’t go into it right now, but this thing has gotten strange down here. I’ll tell you when I can, but for now the less you know, the better.”

“The less I know,” Indie repeated. “Sam, are you okay?”

“I am for now,” he said. “The trick is to stay that way. I’ll call you when I can, Babe. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Indie said. Sam clicked the phone back over to Harry.

“Harry? You there?”

“Right here, Sam. I was just bringing Kathy up to date, and she thought of something. Remember he mentioned that girl, the secretary, Heather? Out of all the people who have called Kathy today to express condolences or ask what happened, she should have been one of the first. Nevertheless, she hasn’t called at all.”

“Which could mean he either let her in on the plan, or he’s used her up and she’s quite possibly dead. Where does she live?”

Sam heard Kathleen’s voice in the background, and then Harry said, “1371 Pine Brook Drive, in Clearwater. She lives with her mother, who was an old friend of Kathy’s.”

“Okay, I think it might be worth checking on her. I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“All right, but I’m taking Kathy out of here right now. Call me when you know something, and we’ll meet up.”

Sam cut off the call and punched the address into his phone’s GPS system. A moment later, a woman’s voice began giving him directions. He took the next right turn and made his way back toward Pine Brook Drive.

It took him almost 10 minutes to get there, and he pulled up in front of a small, pink stucco house. There was one car in the driveway, a small Nissan, and he parked behind it. Several dogs in the backyard began barking as he slid out of the car and limped toward the front door, then knocked on it when he got there.

There was a TV playing inside the house, but he heard no signs of movement so he knocked again, louder. When there was still no response, he tried to look through the small window on the door, but there was a curtain covering it. He made his way across the front of the house to a big picture window and looked inside, then leaned on the windowsill as his shoulders slumped.

There were two women sitting on a sofa, one of them obviously much younger than the other. The younger woman, whom Sam assumed to be Heather, looked like she’d been crying. He tapped on the window and the older woman turned and looked at him. She nodded when he pointed toward the front door and he made his way back to it.

The door opened and the older woman looked out. “What are you,” she asked, “some kind of peeping Tom?”

Sam showed his ID. “I’m a private investigator, Ma’am,” he said, “My name is Sam Prichard. Is Heather here?”

“Heather’s not doing too well today, I’m afraid. She just found out her boss was murdered, and apparently they were a lot closer than I thought they were. I’m Annie, her mother, can I help you in some way?”

“It’s actually Michael Reed’s murder that brings me here. Mrs. Reed was concerned about Heather when she didn’t call to offer condolences or ask what happened. The circumstances surrounding this case are very strange, and it’s possible that Heather could be in some danger.”

Annie looked at him for a moment then turned and called to her daughter. “Heather? There’s somebody here who needs to speak to you.” She stepped back and motioned for Sam to enter, then led him into the living room. He sat down in a chair across from Heather and looked at the girl, and it was obvious that she was grieving.

“Heather, my name is Sam Prichard and I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into the death of Michael Reed, and I understand you worked for him.”

25

“What have you got in mind?” Ron asked. “I don’t want to get involved in anything nefarious…”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Michael had told him. “Look, Ron, I’m a man who’s simply unhappy in his life. I’m very wealthy, but that isn’t making it any better, and if anything, it makes it worse. What kind of challenges are there in life if a man can afford anything he could possibly want? I need a challenge, but that means I need to just start over completely, with no ties to my past at all. The only way I could possibly do that is if everyone thinks I’m dead.”

Ron looked him over for a moment, then grinned. “I think I know where you’re going,” he said. “You and me, we look a lot alike. You’re thinking of me taking your place when I die?” He shook his head. “It’s a pretty wild idea, but it would never work. Even if they are pretty sure they know who a body is, they still go through all kinds of identification procedures. Your family would have to come and identify your body, they’d run my fingerprints, all that kind of stuff.”

Michael held up a hand to stop him. “Strangely enough, I can handle those things. I have contacts that could put your fingerprints into all the big databases in place of mine, so that would confirm that it was my body. I also have some scars and a tattoo, and we could duplicate those on you pretty well. The only thing is, your face wouldn’t match up, so—I’m afraid I’d have to destroy your face.”

Ron simply stared at him for a few seconds, as if thinking it over. “And what would be in it for me?”

“I’m thinking 10 million dollars,” Michael said. “That ought to let your family live quite well for the rest of their lives, especially if you set it up in a trust and let them live on the interest, probably 300,000 dollars or more per year.”

Ron’s eyes had gone wide, and he swallowed hard. “How soon are we talking about? The doctor says I’ve got maybe four months left…”

“I’m going to be honest,” Michael said. “We’d probably have to do it a little earlier, but not for at least a couple of months. I know a plastic surgeon who can do the scars, and getting a tattoo is no big deal. Look, Ron, the fact is that you’re going to die anyway. I’m trying to give you a way to use it to make sure your family will be okay when you’re gone. The only thing is, they cannot know anything about our arrangement. No one can.”

It took Ron less than an hour to think it all over and decide to agree. The doctor had warned him that his last few weeks would be very painful, so the thought of checking out early wasn’t necessarily frightening. As a sign of good faith, Michael transferred one million dollars from one of his hidden accounts to a new account he hurriedly set up in Ron’s name, and gave him all of the access codes.

Ron would only tell his family that he had once made a very lucrative investment, something he had kept secret because he was saving it for a rainy day.

* * * * *

Michael finished his drink and slipped out the back door, then into the boathouse a moment later. He knew from past experience that none of his immediate neighbors were likely to be out in the back, so he didn’t worry much about being seen taking the boat out. To keep noise down, he used the electric trolling motor until he was far enough away from his own home, then started the Johnson outboard and gave it throttle.

It was almost four miles to the Gator House, but the Johnson made short work of it. It was only as Michael was preparing to ease into a slip at the docks that he began to wonder if Ron would actually show, but his fears were unfounded.  Ron was wearing the suit Michael had brought him and sitting on a bench not far from where he tied up the boat, and Michael climbed out to walk over to him.

“Ron?” Michael asked. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Like I said, it’s just really starting to hurt. I’m ready to get this over with.”

Michael nodded. “I understand,” he said. He took his phone out of his pocket and punched an icon, then showed the screen to Ron. “If you’re sure, all I’ve got to do is enter my pin number and the rest of the money will be transferred right now.”

Ron looked up at the sky for a moment, then turned back to Michael and smiled. “I’m absolutely certain,” he said. “And I appreciate you letting me see you do this part.”

Michael smiled at him. “Not a problem.” He turned the phone back to himself and entered the number,  then hit the submit button. A moment later the screen displayed the transfer of five million dollars from one of his secret accounts to another account he had helped Ron set up.  They had already left instructions with an attorney that would cause that money to be placed in a trust for the benefit of Ron’s wife on the first of the following month.

Ron smiled back. “I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Let’s do this.”

The two men got up and walked down the docks to the slip, and Michael helped Ron climbed into the boat. He started the Johnson again and backed out, then turned the boat and headed back toward his house. He pulled it into the boathouse with the trolling motor a short time later, and led Ron inside.

“Now, this has to be staged just the right way,” Michael said. “I’m going to change clothes and sneak out by going through the backyard and the gate into my front yard. As soon as somebody sees me, I’m going to come on into the house and…”

“Put me out of my misery?” Ron asked with a grin. “Don’t worry, I remember. We have to have an argument, and then you’ll do it. Quick and painless, right?”

Michael nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You’ll die instantly with the first shot.”

Ron nodded, still grinning. “I appreciate that. Besides, it’s a good day to die.”

Michael grinned back at him and left the room. He went into his office and opened a file storage box that sat on top of his credenza. He lifted out a stack of file folders and then pulled out the bag that was underneath it all.

Five minutes later, he walked out wearing a white wig and a false white beard. He went into his bedroom and put on a blue suit that matched closely to the one he had been wearing that morning, then stuffed the machine pistol into the back of his pants and slipped out the back door. He made his way across the back of the house to the small section of fence that separated backyard from front, then peeked through a gap between the boards. There was no one in sight at the moment, so he opened the gate and slipped through, then stood behind a bush until he saw someone come out of the house across the street.

That was perfect, he thought. That old biddy loved to spy on her neighbors, so he stepped out from behind the bush and made a show of creeping stealthily across the yard toward his front door. As he got up to it, he saw in the reflection of the sidelight windows that the woman was watching him closely as he opened the door slowly and put on an act of slipping inside. He pushed it almost closed and left it, then walked toward the kitchen where he had told Ron to wait.

Ron was leaning against the counter, one hand pressed to his lower back. “We all set?” he asked, and Michael nodded.

Ron forced himself to stand upright and turned to face Michael. “What the hell are you doing in here?” he shouted. “Get out, or I’ll call the police.”

“I’m here to kill you,” Michael shouted back. “She’s my wife, you can’t have her.”

Ron looked like he was trying his best to suppress a laugh, but even though there were tears flowing down his face, he delivered his final line perfectly. “Harry! Harry, put down the gun!”

Michael had one hand up under his jacket and suddenly pulled it out with the machine pistol in it. Ron let his eyes focus on the gun and a smile spread across his face.

As promised, the first bullet went through Ron’s left eye, killing him instantly, but the weapon was set to automatic fire. Four more bullets obliterated his face, while a few others went wild and struck the cabinets and walls.

For Ron, it was all over. The pain, the worry about his family, all of that ended the moment Michael squeezed the trigger.

For Michael, on the other hand, a new life was just beginning. He snatched off the wig and beard, ran into his bedroom and gathered up the clothes she had been wearing earlier and stuffed all of these things into a trash bag. He took the bag with him as he hurried out to the boathouse, then took off the suit he was wearing, leaving him in a pair of swim trunks. He stuffed the suit and his socks and shoes into the bag, put on swim fins and a mask and snorkel, and slipped into the water.

It took him only fifteen minutes to swim down to the vacant house, towing the bag behind him as he went. He swam into the boathouse and climbed up inside, then used towels he kept there to dry himself as thoroughly as he could. Luckily, he kept his hair short, so it wasn’t obvious that it was wet. He put on his suit again, then put his swim gear into the bag and carried it inside. He went into the garage, tossed the bag into the passenger seat of his Lamborghini, and then backed out into the street. The Chevrolet would eventually be discovered, but just like the house, there was no way to officially connect it to him. He followed Bay Esplanade up the coastline until it curved around, then turned onto Eldorado Avenue and made his way back down the island to the causeway.

Once he was back on the mainland, Michael picked up the tablet and checked the location of Harry’s rented Buick. It was moving, and as he watched, it turned off the street and came to a stop. Michael pointed his car in that direction, googling the GPS coordinates to find that the car was parked at the Marriott, so he checked on where the car had been for the last hour.

Damn Harry. At just the time Michael’s neighbor would swear she saw him entering the house, Harry was at some cigar shop. The last thing he needed right now was for Harry to have an alibi, and anyone who could confirm his presence at the cigar store at that moment would be one. There would have been no way he could make it from Michael’s house to that store so quickly, and the sound of the gunshots would clearly establish the time of death.

It took him almost 20 minutes to get to the cigar store, and he quickly put the nasal expanders and glasses back into place as he got out of the car. There were only a couple of customers inside, but the clerk was occupied when he entered. Michael carefully reached over while the young man was diverted and turned off the open sign, then waited until the other customers left before locking the door.

Finally, and with no one the wiser, he was alone with the clerk. He pretended to look around for a minute or two longer, then walked up to the counter and smiled.

“Hi, there,” the young man said. “How can I help you?”

“Like this,” Michael said as he thrust a hand out quickly and grabbed the boy by his throat. He dragged the boy toward him, quickly stepped around the counter and snapped the kid’s neck, then bent down and stuffed him under it. He glanced around and spotted the DVR that recorded the security cameras, pressed its eject button and snatched the tape as he stood and quickly hurried toward the door. He was out and back in his car only seconds later, and was on the street less than half a minute after that.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said aloud. “No alibi for you, old buddy. You are going down for the murder of Michael Reed.”

He drove the car across Tampa and into the old scrapyard he had purchased under yet another dummy corporation. The place had been shut down for a couple of years, but all of its equipment was still in operating condition, and it would actually reopen under his proxy company in about a month. His remote let him open the big bay door and he drove inside, then up a long ramp and onto the dump tray of an Arjes VZ950, a monstrous machine that was capable of shredding any vehicle into a million unidentifiable pieces. He turned off the ignition and picked up the tablet, then got out of the car and climbed down the stairs to start the 800 horsepower diesel engine that powered the behemoth.

The dump tray lifted the car and dropped it into the big wheels full of tungsten carbide teeth, and they began chewing at it. There were some muffled explosions as various parts full of fuel, oil or pressurized gas were crushed and run into sparks, but the machine was built to handle it. Michael didn’t even look back as the 400,000-dollar Lamborghini Aventador was turned into trash, but simply crossed the building and got into the nondescript Chevy truck he had left there in preparation for this moment.

The police scanner Michael kept in the truck suddenly picked up the dispatcher’s order for a car to visit the cigar store, and he felt a grin slide across his face. “Well, well,” he said to himself. “I wonder which one figured it out first, Harry or Sam?” Ten minutes later, he heard the officers report back that they had found the clerk dead of a broken neck.

All he had to do now, Michael figured, was wait. “His” body had already been discovered and there was no doubt the police were already looking at Harry, especially if he and Kate were stupid enough to tell the detectives the truth. They would, of course, because that’s just who they were. Michael caught himself chuckling, and not for the first time he wondered why he hated Harry Winslow so much.

He used to think it was because Harry had what he wanted, but that situation had ended thirty years before. He had wanted Kathleen, and he got her, but apparently no romance really lasts forever. They’d been happy for the first few years, but he had known Kate was disillusioned with him by their tenth anniversary. They hadn’t really been the happy couple everyone thought they were for at least the last ten or twelve years, which was why Michael always chose gullible young secretaries. They were so easy to manipulate.

All that was over, now, though. As far as the entire world knew, Michael was dead, and Jonathan Brandon was about to become a major international information broker. The whole world was his potential client list, now, since even the Russians were likely to believe he was dead. There was no one left for him to answer to, and that was exactly how he wanted it.

26

The girl nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I was his secretary and personal assistant. You know, answer his phones, set appointments, that sort of thing.”

“Heather, had Mr. Reed been acting strange at all lately? Was there anything in his demeanor that seemed odd to you, maybe just a little off?”

Heather stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. “Not really,” she said slowly. “He had to get ready for a trip to Japan, and he seemed a little anxious about it. Other than that, he was perfectly normal.”

“Heather, just a few hours before he died, Michael hinted that you and he might have been involved in a romantic relationship. Is that correct?”

Tears that had been barely held back suddenly began to flow as the girl nodded her head. “Yes,” she said. “He and his wife, they haven’t been—well, getting along very well, for a couple years, I guess. We work together a lot, and one day things just—happened. He said they were going to be working out the details on getting a divorce, and then we wouldn’t have to hide it anymore.” She sobbed. “This is so unfair, it’s just not fair. He said I made him happier than he’d ever been.”

Sam sat there and watched the girl for a moment, then reached into his pocket for a business card. He handed one to Heather, and another to her mother. “Listen, I know this is going to sound odd, but if either of you hears anything unusual about him, or about what happened to him, please give me a call. We’re not really sure what’s going on at the moment, but Michael wasn’t the only one who was murdered yesterday. It’s possible that you could be in danger. Please, if you hear anything at all, no matter how strange it seems, please give me a call.”

“We will,” Annie said, eyeing him curiously. When Sam stood to leave, she followed him to the door and stepped outside, pulling it shut behind her. “There’s something funny about this, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling us.”

Sam looked into the woman’s eyes for a moment, then nodded his head. “I wouldn’t say anything to Heather,” he said softly, “but there is reason to believe that Michael is not dead. It’s possible that he actually faked his own death, but we don’t understand exactly why just yet. If we’re right, he’s going to want to eliminate anyone who might be able to give him away. Depending on how much she knows, that could include Heather. You might want to consider taking her out of the city for a while.”

Annie stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I think that might be a good idea. I’ve been thinking about visiting my sister in Miami for a little while, now, anyway.”

“Good. I’d suggest leaving soon, and if I were you, I wouldn’t tell anyone where you’re going. Be especially careful not to say it over the phone, okay?”

Annie swallowed, but nodded her head. “Sounds like good advice. Thanks for letting me know.”

Sam nodded, then turned and walked back to the Challenger. He slid inside and fired it up, then headed toward town as he took his phone out of his pocket once more. He called Harry and the old man answered instantly.

“Talk to me, son,” Harry said. “What did you find?”

“The girl is okay,” Sam said, “but she’s pretty torn up. Apparently Michael told her all the standard lies, he and his wife didn’t get along and they were going to get a divorce so he could marry the poor girl. I got to talk to her mother alone for a couple of minutes, and suggested it might be a good time for a vacation. I think she’s going to take my advice.”

“Good, at least she’s okay. We’re looking for a place to roost for a bit. Kathy says you should meet us around six at the restaurant she took you to. We’ll let you know then if we found a place.”

“Okay, no problem. I’m going to stay at the Marriott for now. I’m trying to figure out how to draw Michael out. In order to save your ass, we’ve got to prove he’s still alive. Can you think of anything your fed buddies might do to help us?”

“Already working on it,” Harry said. “I got through to the director, my former boss, and managed to convince him to take this seriously. He’s twisting the arms of people at the Company, trying to find any information we might be able to use. You know, a list of wounds Michael suffered over the years, medical record details that might prove the body they have is not him. He’s also passing on the warning that Michael may have gone dark. Considering the things he would know, that’s a frightening thought to a lot of people at Langley.”

Sam nodded into the phone. “Okay, that could help. By the way, when Indie called, it was to tell me that Beauregard has spoken again. He says I already lost the first hand, which explains the tobacco clerk being killed. Unfortunately, he says there are three more hands to play, and I dare not lose any of them, but he also said I have an ace in the hole. Any idea what that could be?”

Harry laughed. “I would suppose it’s me,” he said. “I’m guessing it means you’ll need me to give you pointers on how to deal with a spook. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? A spook telling you to use me to help you find a spook?”

Sam grimaced. “You could be right, but I’m not sure. It’s like there’s something about this I should be able to figure out, but it hasn’t hit me yet. What worries me is that he says there’s three hands, which means at least three more lives are hanging on what I do next. Do you know what I’d give to be able to say that old soldier had been wrong in the past?”

“Sam, boy, I don’t know where Beauregard came from, but considering how many times he’s helped you save the day, I’m not going to even blink at taking his advice. Whether he’s real or not doesn’t matter; somehow, your mother-in-law manages to get advance notice on bits of what’s going to happen and warn you about them. Do you have any idea what I would have given for something like that?”

“Yeah, well, you know what they say about a gift, right? Sometimes it’s hard to tell one from a curse.”

“Hold on a moment, Sam,” Harry said. “Call coming in.”

The phone went silent, and Sam drove along until he came to the hotel parking lot, then pulled in and shut the car off. He looked around carefully but saw no one watching, so he got out of the car and walked as quickly as he could with his cane to the front door, still holding the phone to his ear. He rode the elevator up to his floor, and was inside his room and sitting on the bed by the time Harry came back on the line.

“Sam,” said, “that was Leon McCabe, an old associate and friend from my days at CIA. He had some information to give me, but it’s off the record. Seems Michael has been making people nervous for a little while back at Langley. They’ve been using him as a facilitator, a guy who makes things happen without any connections to the government. Facilitators are pretty important in my line of work, but sometimes they can blow up in your face. You see, facilitators often learn things, things that can leave Uncle Sam and his people vulnerable. Michael knows where a lot of bodies are buried, both literally and figuratively. He has information that could compromise currently active agents in the field, or mess up some long-term operations, and unfortunately, that information is worth a lot of money in the right circles. I guess there’s been talk lately that Michael isn’t enjoying the trust of some of the people he works with up there.”

“Well, that could explain a lot. Remember Grayson Chandler? He used information to build a power base that almost let him control the world.”

“Yes, and it’s funny you should mention him. There was somebody who helped us out in that situation, remember? Leon suggested he might be able to help us once again. He worked with Michael on a couple of things about ten years ago, just before he went rogue. After you helped him expose Chandler and stop his plans for world domination, Kenneth Long was welcomed back into the fold. He happens to be in Nassau at the moment, but he’ll be flying in to Tampa at 7:30 this evening. He’ll be expecting you to pick him up and fill him in, any problem with that?”

“No problem at all,” Sam said. “You think he might know Michael well enough to help us find him?”

“Well, he’s at least dealt with him a lot more recently than I have, and he understands how those who seek power actually think. From what I understand, the current director of CIA has been using him like an Internal Affairs agent; he keeps the different factions from building too great a power base, and he’s the first one to go after any rogue agent. His participation is purely unofficial, mind you; Langley doesn’t currently believe our hypothesis about Michael faking his death, at least not officially. Leon just happened to know how to reach him and asked if he might be willing to come and evaluate the situation. If you can convince Long, there’s a good possibility Company HQ will get involved.”

“And would that mean you’re in the clear?” Sam asked. “Would that get the charges dropped against you?”

“Unfortunately, probably not. The CIA is prohibited from interfering in any domestic situations, especially those involving justice. They can go after one of their own while he’s on US soil, but they can’t so much as give me a letter of reference in this case. If Michael gets away, my survival will probably depend on finding a lawyer who can convince a jury of our theory, and without any physical evidence…”

“And all we have is my personal conviction, based on the fingernails of a corpse. What about those medical records? Think there’s any chance we’ll be able to use them?”

“If I were planning to pull something like this, and had the strings to get fingerprints changed, I can pretty much guarantee that my medical records would also confirm the identity of the corpse. I would even go so far as to make sure the dental records matched, and before you ask, I already had Kathy call Michael’s dentist and request a copy of them. We get to pick them up tomorrow morning. She says he got a couple of crowns about three years ago, so hopefully the records will confirm that and be different from the dental work on that body.”

“It might be hard to tell. Remember, the dead guy’s face was shot up pretty bad, including around the mouth.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist, son,” Harry said. “Surely he didn’t blow all of his teeth out. If there’s even one intact tooth, it can be compared against Michael’s dental x-rays. That might be enough to back up our theory and get the State Attorney’s attention.”

“Then it’s worth a try. I’m back at the hotel, now, I’m going to kick back for a little bit and try to think about how to draw him out. I’ll meet you guys for dinner as planned, then head for the airport after that. It’ll be good to see Ken again. Just hope he’s forgiven me for that fiasco in Rome.”

“Fiasco in Rome? The way I remember it, Rome was an unqualified success.”

“Yeah, except for the part where I never got around to telling Ken about how I set it all up until after it was over. Don’t worry, Harry, he and I are good. He came by and visited with us a couple months after all that, while he was finally making peace with his daughter. If anyone can help us figure this out, he’s probably the one.”

Harry agreed, and they ended the call. Sam suddenly felt himself yawning and figured he had time for a nap, so he set an alarm on his phone and stretched out on the bed. Falling asleep wasn’t hard, considering how tired he was; his worry about Harry the night before had kept him from sleeping very well.

Sam had been asleep for half an hour when he was awakened by the ringing of his phone. He rolled onto his back and reached for it on his nightstand, then glanced at the display. The call was from a restricted number, so he answered cautiously.

“Prichard,” he said.

“You arrogant bastard,” he heard, and he recognized the voice instantly. It was Michael Watkins. “Do you honestly think you can stop me? There is absolutely no evidence to back up your ridiculous claim, I made certain of that.”

“I’m sure you tried,” Sam said, “but no plan is perfect. It’s like they say in combat; a battle plan survives only until contact is actually made with the enemy. Well, guess what, you son-of-a-bitch! You have met the enemy, and he is me. After what you did to Harry and his family, setting him up to take the fall for your murders is just going too far. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve been happy to let you get away with whatever you want, play your power games to your heart’s content. But you messed with my friend, and that means you have to go down.”

Michael laughed, and Sam’s jaw clenched with anger. “Do you honestly think you have a prayer of catching me? I’ll grant you, you’ve had some lucky streaks in the past, but you’re out of your league with me. I know everything you’re doing, and I’m always a step ahead of you. You went to see little Heather? You should know by now she meant nothing to me, she was just a convenient plaything. I’m not surprised you went to check on her, though. Kate has a soft spot in her, even for those who had betrayed her. You needn’t have bothered telling her mother to get her out of town, she’s in no danger from me. I’m finished with her, and there’s no way you can use her against me.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sam said. “Now, the question is, what do you want? You must’ve called me for a reason.”

“What do I want? I want you to back down, that’s what. Remember, Sam, I can still get to your family; you need to let this go, and you need to let it go now.”

Sam breathed heavily into the phone for about four seconds, forcing himself to stay in control. “If I didn’t have enough motivation to bring you in before,” he said menacingly, “you just gave it to me. I’m coming for you, Michael, and I’m going to bring you down.”

“You see what I mean? You’re arrogant, Sam. You apparently think much more highly of yourself than you should. Tell me something, Sam, just between you and me: did you already tell that idiot police detective about your theory?”

“Of course not,” Sam said, “he’d never believe it.”

“Oh, oh, Sam, I think I detect a fib. You hesitated for just a half a second or so before you answered me, which means you were trying to decide quickly what was the best thing to say. What was it your wife told you a while ago? Three more hands of poker to play, and you can’t afford to lose any of them?”

27

Michael had called Sam after listening to the recordings from his phone. He’d gotten quite a chuckle out of hearing about the old ghost again; there definitely were stranger things in the world than man could conceive, and it was interesting to note that one of Sam’s greatest assets was either a genuine ghost or a crazy woman who could see the future. It didn’t really matter, though, since the ghost never seemed to make a lot of sense until you could look at his warnings in hindsight.

No, the real problem was that Sam was actually one hell of an investigator. Michael didn’t believe he could actually be caught, but the last thing he needed was for Sam Prichard to come up with any solid evidence that he was still alive. It wouldn’t take CIA very long to figure out exactly what was happening if he did.

Then there was the issue of Kenneth Long. He was definitely a formidable opponent, and Michael didn’t need any further problems. Both he and Sam would have to be distracted, and Michael knew exactly how to do it.

He picked up his phone and punched a number. The voice that answered was the same one that had cleaned up the Hornsby mess. “I got another job for you,” Michael said. “Prichard’s family. Shoot the wife, but don’t kill her, and don’t touch the child. If one of the other women gets in the way, try to disable, rather than kill.”

“That means leaving witnesses,” the killer said. “You know I don’t like to do that.”

“So don’t let them see your face, nothing that could identify you. You know how to handle this kind of situation, and I’m definitely paying you enough, right?”

The killer sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “No fatalities.”

Michael put down the phone and picked up the tablet once more, then clicked on the link that would allow him to hear the recordings that were made by Sam’s phone while it was off. The app he had installed on all of the Prichard family phones was capable of using the phone’s microphone to record all sounds within about twenty feet, even when it wasn’t in the middle of a call or was tucked into a pocket. He skipped through a lot of the conversations between Sam and Harry and Kate, ignored the recordings from the courthouse and such, but then he heard Sam talking to Detective Lawton.

Harry had pulled some strings and gotten Sam appointed as Special Investigator on the case, which meant Lawton had to share information with him. That didn’t worry Michael so much, until the point where Sam suddenly insisted that the body in the photos couldn’t be Michael’s. He actually felt a moment’s frustration as he realized that he had forgotten to look at Ron’s fingernails. Maybe Sam had been right, and there was always a mistake. Sam had pointed it out to Lawton, but the detective was at least smart enough to realize that the State Attorney wouldn’t believe it.

He grinned. “See, Sam? I knew you were lying about that.”

Still, it might be enough to make Lawton believe Sam’s theory about Michael faking his own death. He put the truck in gear and headed toward the police station as he picked up his phone again and dialed a number.

“Detective Lawton, please,” he said when the call was answered. The receptionist put him on hold for a moment, and then Lawton came on the line.

“Detective Lawton. How can I help you?”

“Actually,” Michael said, disguising his voice to sound younger, “I think maybe I can help you, Sir. You know that guy who was murdered yesterday? I’ve been afraid to come forward, but there was an old man who called for an Uber ride and had me drop him off right at that guy’s house, just a little while before he was supposed to have been killed. Could you maybe meet me in your parking lot in about ten minutes? I’m a little scared to come inside the station, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Lawton said, “I can meet you out there. What’s your name?”

“Um, do I have to give it? Like I said, I’m kinda scared.”

“Well, yeah, I really need it. Don’t worry, though, I won’t let your name get out to the press or anything. You have my word on that.”

Michael let out a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “My name is Steve, Steve Jamison. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, I’m driving a white Chevy HHR.”

“No problem, Steve,” Lawton said. “I’ll be out there waiting for you. Just pull right up when you get here, and I’ll get in the car with you so we can talk privately.”

“Okay, thanks,” Michael said, and then he ended the call. A moment later, he parked on the street just across from the parking lot of the police station, taking care to stay out of the line of sight of any security cameras, and reached behind his seat to pull out the sound-suppressed AR-15 that was stashed there. He kept it down and out of sight until he saw Lawton appear, then looked around to make sure no one was watching. There was no one else in sight, so he quickly raised the rifle and sited on Lawton through the scope, squeezed the trigger once and then dropped the gun into the passenger floorboard. He had the truck in gear and was moving again only five seconds after firing the shot.

* * * * *

Indie was sitting on the sofa watching TV with Kenzie and her grandmas when she heard the cars pull up into her driveway and immediately reached for the snubnosed .38 she kept in a drawer of the end table as she headed for the door. Sam had purchased a few of the small pistols and placed them around the house, then showed each one to Kenzie and explained to her clearly why she should never touch them, and he had taken Indie out to the firing range and taught her to use them. He often bragged that she was a better shot with them than he ever would be.

Someone knocked on the front door as she approached, and she carefully peeked through the peephole, then breathed a sigh of relief and shoved the gun into her pocket. George, the gray-haired black man who had been Harry’s personal driver while he’d been stationed in Denver, stood on the porch with a smile on his face. There were five men with him, and Indie could tell they were security types. She opened the door and smiled back at George.

“Well, if you’re here, I’m guessing Harry sent you?”

“Indeed he did, Ms. Indie,” George said. “This is unofficial, mind you, but a lot of us in the local office are still loyal to Mr. Harry. He called a bit ago and asked us to make sure you and your family are taken somewhere safe, right now.”

Indie blinked, but didn’t argue. If Harry Winslow thought they needed to be hidden, there was no doubt in her mind that Sam would approve. “Have I got ten minutes to pack?”

“Yes, but we need to move pretty quickly. Mr. Harry believes there is a clear and present danger.”

“No problem,” she said. She turned around and saw her mother and Grace watching her. “Grab your bags and give them to George, then get Kenzie and go with him. I’ll get our stuff and be right behind you.”

The women did as they were told and they were all in the armored limo less than five minutes later. George slid behind the wheel as two of the security men climbed in with them and a third got into the shotgun seat up front. The other two were in a separate vehicle, a Ford Expedition, that followed behind them.

“So, where are we going this time?” Indie asked. “Back to the cabin?”

“No, Ma’am,” George said. “Mr. Harry says the man that they are dealing with has been watching you folks for a while, so he would probably know where that is. We’re going to a safe house Mr. Harry set up one time that’s never even been used. Nobody else could possibly know about it, so anyone he sends after you would never find you there.”

“Does it have a TV?” Kenzie asked suddenly, and George chuckled.

“Yes it does, Ms. Kenzie, and I’ve got a whole stack of new Disney videos for us to watch.”

Kenzie squealed with happiness and clapped her hands. She and George shared a love for Disney movies, and every time they had spent time with him, the two of them parked on the couch and watched as many as they could.

Kenzie was in her car seat, squeezed into the big back seat between her mother and her grandma Kim, and Indie looked down at her precious little daughter. “You like Disney movies, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Kenzie said. “Me and George like them a lot.”

“Yes, I know you do. Tell me something, Kenzie, what would you think if maybe Mommy and Daddy were to have a little baby brother or sister for you?”

Kenzie looked up at her with a smile on her face. “I think I’d teach ’em to watch Disney movies!”

* * * * *

Michael was certain no one had seen him shoot Lawton, or drive away, so he didn’t worry about ditching the truck. He drove for about fifteen minutes, then pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center and made sure no one was watching again as he put the rifle back behind the seat once more. He was about to pick up the tablet again when his phone suddenly rang, and he recognized the number of the killer in Denver. “Yes?”

“I went to do what you said, but there’s been some interference. Just as I got there, I saw the women and the kid get hustled into a limousine, with enough high-powered security I can’t get near them. What do you want me to do?”

Michael swore. “I want you to get a bullet into that woman, but if you can’t do that, at least follow them and find out where they’re going. Maybe you’ll get an opportunity, just keep your eyes open.”

The killer ended the call, and Michael swore once again. Damn Harry! He had anticipated what Michael would do and gotten in the way.

He looked at the tablet in his lap and tapped the icon to check where the Buick was at, and then became frustrated when he realized it was back at the rental agency. Sam had obviously figured out that he was tracking it, and had already gotten rid of it. There was no way to tell what he might be driving, now, and he would surely be smart enough not to use a credit card Michael could trace.

Michael wasn’t out of tricks just yet, though. He brought up another program that tracked the GPS information on Sam’s phone, and saw that it was moving. As he watched, it came to a stop at what proved to be a shopping center, and a quick inquiry on Google told Michael that the main store there was an electronics shop that sold computers and cell phones. Sam was undoubtedly buying a throwaway phone, which meant Michael wouldn’t be able to listen in on calls he made with it.

Not being able to listen in on his phone calls wasn’t that big a handicap, though. At least Sam still had his original phone in the car, so he could keep tabs on where it was at. He decided to sit tight for a while. Sam, Harry and Kate were planning to meet up for dinner, and Michael knew where they were going. He could make a point of being there before they arrived, and maybe that would put an end to the whole mess. By the time Kenneth Long arrived, it might already be over, and without Sam to fill him in, Long wouldn’t even really have any clue about what was going on.

Yeah, things were looking up. He could afford to take a few minutes to let himself rest and relax, so he leaned the seat back and allowed himself a short nap. He’d be awake in plenty of time to carry out the next phase of the plan, of that he was certain.

28

The phone had gone dead, and Sam immediately called Harry. He hurriedly told the old man what Michael had had to say, while Harry tried hard to get a word in edgewise. When he finally stopped talking, Harry began.

“I expected this, Sam,” he said, “which is why I took the liberty after we last spoke of arranging for your family’s safety. I had to call in a few loyal old friends, but they are all currently headed to a safe house that even the CIA doesn’t know about. Indie will contact you once they get settled in, but Michael won’t be able to get to them.”

“That doesn’t change the fact he threatened my wife and daughter,” Sam said. “Harry, if we don’t find him, we’ll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. I can’t handle that, and neither can my family.”

“I agree, Sam, boy, we’ve got to take him down. This tells me, however, that he’s still in the area. He wouldn’t be trying to bully you into backing down if he was already gone. That means we’ve got a little time.”

“Maybe a little,” Sam said, “but remember that he’s probably listening to every single thing we say. He knew what Indie had told me on the phone earlier, about playing poker. I’ll call you back, I need to get hold of Lawton as soon as possible.”

He ended the call and immediately dialed Lawton’s cell phone number. It rang seven times before going to voicemail, so he ended the call and dialed the police station instead.

“Clearwater Police Department,” said the receptionist. “How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak with Detective Lawton, please,” Sam said. “It’s urgent.”

There was a moment’s hesitation on the line, and then the receptionist said, “One moment.”

A man’s voice came on a moment later, but it wasn’t Lawton. “You’re looking for Detective Lawton?”

“Yes, and it’s very important I speak with him immediately. My name is Sam Prichard, I’m a private investigator. I was in to see him earlier, and…”

“What is your business with Detective Lawton?” the man on the line asked.

“That’s between me and him,” Sam said. “Is he available?”

There was another slight hesitation. “Look, Mr. Prichard,” the man said. “I actually know who you are, but I needed to be sure it was really you. Detective Lawton is currently on his way to the hospital for surgery. He was shot in our parking lot about ten minutes ago.”

“Shot?” Sam almost shouted. “By who? Did you get the shooter?”

“We’re not releasing any information at this time,” the man said. “You can understand that, right? I’m Detective Embry, and I’m heading the investigation into the shooting. As I said a moment ago, I know who you are, that you’re working for DHS at the moment; you said you were in to see Lawton today?”

“Yes, just a few hours ago. We were talking about the Michael Reed murder.”

“Yes,” Embry said, “I’ve been going through his notes on it. Maybe you can enlighten me about something. One of the last things he scribbled down is a puzzler. It looks like he wrote RIP, then drew several lines through it, like he was trying to scratch it out. Any idea what that would be about?”

Sam started to answer, and then suddenly froze. If Lawton had been shot, there was no doubt in his mind that Michael had done the shooting, but that would only make sense if Michael somehow knew that Sam had told him the body couldn’t be his. He held his phone away from his ear for a moment, then pulled it back. “I’m afraid not,” he said as calmly as he could. “That wouldn’t make any sense to me, either.”

“Well, I thought I’d ask while I had you on the phone. I understand you were appointed by DHS because the suspect in that case is a former agent of theirs?”

“Yes, that’s correct. I do some work for them occasionally, and they called me in on this because Mr. Winslow is also a close personal friend of mine..”

“Yeah, I caught that. Listen, I may need to talk to you again. Is this your cell number?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Sorry to hear about Lawton, and call me if you need anything from me, or hear anything I might need to know.”

Sam hung up without saying anymore, and looked at the phone in his hand. There were, he knew, numerous ways to use your own cell phone against you. There were even ways to turn it on from a distance, so that you weren’t aware someone was listening in to what was happening around you.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed into the bathroom to freshen up, then grabbed his gun and jacket and headed down to the elevator. When he got to the ground floor, he walked straight out of the building and to the Challenger, got into it and drove quickly out of the parking lot. There was always the possibility that Michael had discovered it and put a tracker on it, but he wasn’t as worried about Michael knowing where he was as about who he was talking to and what was being said. He tossed the cell phone onto the console and kept his eyes peeled for an electronics or cell phone store.

Thirty minutes later, Sam had bought a cheap throwaway phone and activated it using a credit card number that Harry had once given him. He hadn’t even been sure it would work, but it did, and meant that there was almost no way anyone could find out about the purchase or activation. He carried it out of the store and stood some distance from the car as he used it to call Harry.

The call went to voicemail. Sam used his best impression of Harry’s southern drawl to leave a message.

“Harry, old son? This is Walter Sweeney, an old friend of Beau’s. Just wondering how you been, old buddy. Give me a call when you get this.” He knew the number of the burner phone would show up on the caller ID, so he ended the call and hung up.

He stood in the same spot for almost 15 minutes, but then the phone finally rang. As cheap as it was, it had caller ID but Sam didn’t recognize the number that came up on the display. He answered it in the hope that Harry had gotten the message, and was rewarded when he heard the old man’s voice.

“Since you took the trouble to call me on a burner,” Harry said, “I have to assume that you heard about Detective Lawton.”

“Yeah, I did,” Sam said. “The fact that he was shot at this time is too big a coincidence. It tells me that Michael is almost certainly able to listen in through my phone, even when I’m not actually on it.”

“Indeed he can. There’s actually a pretty simple way to do it, remind me to teach it to you one of these days. In the meantime, however, we have bigger problems. I’m currently using a cell phone I liberated from the purse of a lady walking down the street, so we need to speak quickly. Are we still on for dinner?”

“Yes, but let’s change the location. If he’s been tailing me or tracking the Buick, he’d probably know where Kathy and I had lunch. Let’s try somewhere else.” He looked around for a moment and spotted a billboard. “Clear Sky Café, on Mandalay Avenue in Clearwater Beach. We’ll meet up there.”

“All right,” Harry said. “See you there at six. No, wait—let’s make it 8:30, and you can bring along your friend. We won’t starve if we wait a couple extra hours. And, incidentally, Kathy and I have both removed the batteries from our cell phones. We’ll put them back in periodically, just to check for messages, but we thought it a good idea not to give Michael an ear on what we’re doing.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sam said. “I’ll see you then.”

Sam hung up from that call and immediately dialed the number of the burner phone Indie always kept in her purse. It rang six times before she answered, and she sounded out of breath when she finally did.

“Sam?”

“It’s me, Babe,” Sam said. “Keep this number, it should be good for a little while.”

“Okay, good,” Indie said. “Now, can you tell me what on earth is going on? Harry sent some people down to grab us up, and we’re on our way to a safe house somewhere. George was with them and said we should leave our regular phones at home, so we did.”

“I know,” Sam said. “Harry told me, but not until after he’d done it. We are dealing with a pretty bad situation down here, and we both wanted to be sure it couldn’t get to you.” Sam took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s what’s going on. After we met with Michael yesterday, a witness saw someone fitting Harry’s description going into his house just a few minutes before gunshots were heard. When the police arrived, they found a body on the floor with its face blown away. Fingerprints identify the body as Michael Reed, but while we were face-to-face with him, I happened to notice that he recently had his fingernails neatly trimmed. This morning I got to look at the crime scene photos of the body, and the nails were long and un-manicured, so it can’t be Michael. It was a hell of a job, though, because Kathleen had to go down this morning and identify the body. Without knowing any different, she confirmed it was Michael based on a tattoo that he wears and a couple of scars, which seemed to be perfect. I told the police detective what I suspected, and now he’s been shot. I think Michael has been tapping my cell phone, even listening in when I’m not using it. That’s about the only way I can imagine he could have known for sure that I shared my theory with the detective.”

“Oh my God, Sam,” Indie said. “I’m getting scared, Babe.”

“Well, I’ve got some help coming. Remember Kenneth Long? One of Harry’s friends knew that we’d been involved with him in the past, and found out he was in the Bahamas. He gave him a call, and Ken is flying in tonight to help me with this.”

“Okay, well, that will make me feel a little bit better. At least I know he’s probably just as bad as Michael when it comes to all the intelligence stuff. Or maybe I should say he’s just as good.”

Sam chuckled. “I think you could get away with saying it either way. Anyway, I know for sure that Michael is alive, because he called me a while ago. Of course, there’s no way to prove it, but he tried to make me back off by threatening all of you again. By the time I called Harry, he had already anticipated it and made the arrangements you were talking about. When Ken gets here, we are all going to go and sit down and talk this over.”

“I’m going to text you a link,” Indie said, “to an app that will automatically record every phone call you get. Put it on your phone in case he calls again.”

“Good idea, but I wish we’d thought of it sooner. Probably too late, now, though. Odds-on, Michael is reading my text messages as well. If he sees a link to an app like that, he probably won’t call me again.”

“True. Okay. So, I take it you lost another hand? That’s why the detective was killed?”

“I assume so, but the last I knew he wasn’t dead. They said he was going into surgery, so hopefully he has a chance. I’ll try to find out more in a while, but I just wanted to touch base with you on a secure line.”

“I’m glad you did, I was getting worried. Sam, this means you’ve got only two hands left. Hey, real quick, did you know a local PI named Frank Hornsby?”

“Hornsby? Yeah, he’s a sleaze ball. Why?”

“Probably nothing, really, but I heard on the radio a while ago that he was found dead this morning. I guess the mailman saw him laying on the floor and called police. His neck was broken, so they are calling it a homicide.”

“I can’t say that’s going to be any great loss,” Sam said, “and he probably had plenty of people who wanted him dead, so I doubt there’s any connection to this case. Just let me know if you hear anything else, though, okay?”

“I will. Did you ever figure out what was your ace in the hole?”

“Not for sure,” Sam said. “We’re thinking maybe it’s Harry himself. As far as I can tell, he’s the only thing I’ve got going for me right now. The police aren’t going to believe that Michael is alive, not as long as those fingerprints keep saying he’s dead, and I’m not sure how I can draw him out to catch him. I’m not even sure I would know him if I saw him; he’s undoubtedly capable of disguising himself beyond my meager ability to recognize him.”

“Well, you talk to Ken and Harry, maybe the three of you can come up with something. I’ll be somewhere safe with Kenzie and our moms, and I’ve got my computer with me if you need anything.”

Sam’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Your computer! Michael said he had managed to hack into it, and could track it anywhere. You need to hide it someplace, Babe, till this is over.”

“He said what?” Indie said incredulously. “Don’t worry, as long as I don’t let it get online, it can’t be traced. If he put any kind of a tracking bug in it, Herman can find it and root it out. I won’t chance going online until I know I’ve cleaned it up.”

Sam sighed. “Okay, Babe, you’re the expert on computers. Just be careful, all right? I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you, to any of you. And if Beauregard has anything more to say, call me on this number immediately.”

“Really? You’re willing to accept his advice now?”

“Let’s just say Harry had a talk with me, and made some good points. As many times as Beauregard has saved my ass, maybe I need to give him a little more respect. Whatever he is, everyone of us owes our lives to him at least once. Even Harry, in a way.”

“We-ell, since you said that, I should probably tell you that Beauregard just a few minutes ago said the final bet in the game will come when you have to choose the exact right moment to squeeze your trigger, and that you shouldn’t be afraid to bluff.”

Sam blew a breath out in a rush. “Harry said that too,” he said, “about not being afraid to bluff. Damn. That means it’s going to come down to him or me. Babe, do me a big favor. When Kenzie says her prayers tonight, make sure you both say one for me.”

“Sam,” Indie said, “we always do. And this time, I can promise you we are going to say some extra ones. You have to come home, Sam, you have to come home safely.”

Sam’s eyebrows lowered half an inch. “Indie? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She hesitated just long enough for Sam to be certain she was lying, but he decided to trust her and didn’t push. “No, no, of course not. It’s just that I love you, Sam, we both do, and we need you to come home safely. Promise me you will?”

Sam smiled into the phone so that she could hear it. “Of course I will,” he said. “Just ask Beauregard.”

29

Sam got back into the Challenger and just cruised around for a while. A glance at the clock on the stereo told him it was only 5:30, so he had two more hours to go before picking up Long at the airport. He cruised around the city, just taking in the sights.

After an hour of that, he picked up his regular phone and called the police department again. Detective Embry, the receptionist said, was out on a call but she would relay the message and ask him to give Sam a call when he got a chance. His phone rang again in less than ten minutes, and he answered it to find Embry on the line.

“Thanks for calling,” Sam said. “I just wanted to check on how Lawton is doing.”

“He’s out of surgery,” Embry replied, “but he’s in the ICU. This is all off the record, of course, so keep it to yourself. He was hit three times, twice in the chest and once in the head. The head wound may have done some brain damage, they’re not sure yet. The one that almost killed him was the one that nicked his aorta. The doctors said it was a miracle he didn’t bleed out internally before they got him into surgery.”

“Is there any prognosis?”

“Well, they think he’s going to survive, but a lot depends on the brain damage. The bullet apparently caught him as he was falling, and basically just took a small chunk out of the top of his skull, but it did some damage to the top of his brain, too. The doctors say it’s possible he won’t even notice the bits they had to take out, but we won’t know for sure until he’s awake and actually starting to recover. They say that won’t be for a day or two, at least.”

“Man, I’ll be saying my prayers for him. Does he have a family?”

“Jerry? Yeah. A wife and three kids. His youngest is only four.”

“Damn. All right, thanks for letting me know. Any further developments?”

“Nothing concrete. A witness popped up who claims to have seen the shooter, but we don’t know if it’s legitimate or not. According to the witness, the shooter was around fifty, about five foot ten and 160 pounds, and fired the shot from a pickup truck across the street.”

“Just curious, but why do you have doubts? That sounds like the kind of thing a shooter might do if he was going after a cop.”

“Because the witness also said the shooter had pale white skin and pink eyes, like an albino. I’m having trouble believing that there could be an albino cop killer, considering that almost every albino is so nearsighted they’re essentially blind. If the shooter was parked across the street, we’re talking about 100 meters. That may not be much, but it would at least require some reasonable eyesight.”

“Yeah, I guess I see your point. Still, it would’ve probably been a disguise. Maybe the albino part was a mask, something that could be snatched off in a hurry.”

“We’re considering that,” Embry said. “I’ll let you know if there’s any news—oh, wait a minute. I got the autopsy report back on Reed a little bit ago. The guy would have been dead within a month, even if he hadn’t been shot. Seems his insides were eaten up with cancer. Medical examiner says he would have been terminal.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Well, go figure,” he said. “Any sign of that in his medical records?”

“Just got the order from the judge to get them. I’ll let you know, but it probably won’t be before tomorrow.”

Sam thanked him and said goodbye, then hung up the phone and stuffed it into the box the disposable had come in, wrapped it up in the bag and shoved it into the glove box. He should still have been able to hear it if it rang, but that should have been enough soundproofing to keep Michael from being able to listen in on it when it was inactive.

He was letting his mind wander as he drove around the city, and it finally came around to Beauregard’s latest utterance.

The final bet in the game is when I have to choose the right moment to take the shot. That sounds to me like a face-to-face confrontation, with each of us aiming at the other. If I choose the right moment, I get my man and still manage to live through it. If not… Sam let that thought trail off.

He said I shouldn’t be afraid to bluff. What in the world could that mean? What kind of bluff can I pull that would draw him out into the open?

He rolled a dozen different scenarios around in his head, but nothing seemed to fit the concept of a bluff, at least not to the point that he believed Michael would expose himself over it. He decided to discuss it with Ken and hope the old assassin could come up with a viable idea.

At seven, he pointed the car toward the airport and followed the signs to get to the terminal parking lots. He parked and limped inside just in time to see the arrival of Ken’s flight posted on the board, so he made his way to the debarking area, where passengers would come down into the terminal before heading for baggage claim. He wondered if he would even recognize Ken, but it turned out not to be an issue. Fifteen minutes passed, and then Ken came strolling toward him.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite private eye,” Ken said. He broke into a smile and spread his arms, and Sam opened his own so that they could exchange a manly hug.

“Good to see you, Ken,” Sam said. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, me, too. Leon says this is off the books, because even he isn’t sure he believes it, but I told him if Sam Prichard says it’s so, that’s good enough for me. What’ve we got going on?”

“Let’s get your bags, then we can talk in the car. We’re meeting Harry and his wife for dinner.”

Ken hefted the thick carryon in his hand. “I travel light. Did you say Harry and his wife?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story. Come on.” He led the way out to the parking lot and to the car, and Ken tossed his bag into the back seat before climbing into the front. Sam got behind the wheel and started the car, then motioned for quiet as he approached the gate and paid the parking fee to get out.

Once they were out on the road, he looked over at Ken and grinned. “So, how much do you know?”

“Leon said Michael Reed was supposedly murdered in his home, and that Harry Winslow is the prime suspect. He also said that you have come to the conclusion that the body they’ve got at the morgue isn’t Michael, even though every form of identification seems to say it is. You want to let me in on the rest of the story?”

“Here’s the short version. Thirty-odd years ago, Michael Reed was Michael Watkins, and he and Harry were best buds. They worked together, and I gather they were pretty close, but Michael apparently had a thing for Harry’s wife, Kathleen. He arranged for Harry to be sent on a secret mission into Cambodia or somewhere, and while he was gone, he told Kathleen that Harry had been killed by Russian agents and the KGB was coming to kill her and her children. Apparently he had whatever documentation was necessary to convince her, because she let him take her and the kids to Brazil and set up all new identities for them. A few months later, and remember that she thought she was a widow, they got married.”

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Ken said. “Are you sure Harry didn’t kill him? I would have.”

“I’m not sure he wouldn’t have gotten the job done eventually, because—well, you know Harry. In this case, though, I’m absolutely certain he didn’t kill Michael because Michael isn’t dead. A week or so back, maybe less, Michael went to DC on the day that Harry was being retired and left an envelope in his apartment. Inside the envelope was a note Kathleen had written, sort of a ‘making memories’ kind of thing, and two pictures that showed the kids a few years older than they would have been when they supposedly died, and another picture of her and Michael all cuddly on a beach somewhere.”

“I’ll say it again, son-of-a-bitch! And this went on for how long?”

“More than thirty years. Harry went just a bit berserk when he saw that stuff, and then he came to me. It took Indie almost no time to track them down to their place here in Clearwater. Harry and I got into a private jet and flew down night before last, and yesterday morning we knocked on the door.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“Kathleen answered the door, and she was definitely surprised to see Harry standing there. She let us in, and told us how all this had gone down, but that she had found out Harry was alive back when he and I worked on that Lake Mead thing. I guess she confronted Michael about it, and that’s when he told her that if she said anything or tried to contact Harry, he would kill both of them.”

Sam paused for a moment as Ken shifted in the seat so he was facing him. “So Harry definitely had motive. Is there any actual evidence that he was involved in the killing?”

”Just a witness who claims to have seen someone fitting Harry’s description go into the house just before the gunshots were. Anyway, while she was explaining all this to us, Michael walked in—I forgot to mention he was supposed to be on a plane, headed for Japan at the time—and pointed a gun at us all.”

“You get yourself into the damnedest little messes, don’t you? What happened then?”

“Well, we listened to him go on and on for a bit about how he decided to bring it all to a head, so that it would never come back to bite him in the ass. He wanted Harry and me to just walk away, forget all about it, and he made it plain that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone we were close to, in order to force us to cooperate. The thing is, It seemed to me that all he was really after was a way to keep the wealth and position he had built for himself, so I pitched the idea of him and Kathleen getting a divorce that let him keep it all, along with a pledge to never, ever tell anyone the truth. Since we all knew he could reach out and touch us anytime he wanted to, I figured there was a chance I could sell him on it, and he agreed. He even went so far as to tell Kathleen to come back next week to pack her things, just to take a small bag with her for the moment, and then he made her call her kids and bring them over to the house. She had to tell them that Harry was her boyfriend, that the two of them were having an affair and that Michael had found out, so they were getting a divorce.”

“These kids are what, now, in their thirties? How did they take it?”

“Well, the daughter went a little nuts on her mom, but her son took it in stride. Everything seemed to be working out when we left, but then Kathleen gets a call—while Harry was out running around hunting for cigars, no less—that Michael had been murdered, and the police detective wanted to speak with her. She told him where she was, at the hotel, and he got there just a few minutes after Harry got back.”

“Okay, I’m going to ask again, are you certain Harry didn’t kill him? This is all pretty circumstantial evidence, I grant you, but it sure looks convincing to me.”

“You want to hear the story? Then shut up and let me tell it. Okay, so anyway, we all talk to the police detective and Harry even admits he wasn’t in the room when Michael was apparently murdered, that he was out running around town by himself. Next thing you know we’re headed downtown, but we’re talking on the way about how it looks like Harry has literally been set up to take the fall on this, and it dawns on me that the only witness that could possibly give him an alibi is the clerk at the tobacco store. If the killer wanted Harry to take the fall, there couldn’t be an alibi. I got the police detective to stop, and he sent squad cars out to that tobacco shop.”

“Let me guess,” Ken interrupted. “The clerk was dead, right?”

Sam nodded. “Neck was broken, and he was stuffed up under the counter. So the detective interviews the three of us, and finally we leave to head back to the hotel. Kathleen calls the kids, who by this time knew that the man they knew as their father was dead, and they come over to talk. Naturally, they think Harry must’ve done it, so Kathleen and I talked to them alone for a while. Once they began to get a grasp of the real, true story, which didn’t go over very well with either of them to be honest, they finally decided to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. They took him and Kathleen down to the restaurant to talk, and that’s when the detective called and said he had a warrant for Harry’s arrest, because of this witness who came out of the woodwork, somewhere, and said she had seen a white-haired old man with a white goatee going into Michael’s house shortly before the gunshots were heard. They had done a GSR test on Harry’s hands, and of course it came back positive. Gunshot residue never goes away, you should know that.”

“Right. FBI says they found it on people who have never even touched a gun.”

“Which is why they don’t test for it, anymore. Anyway, Harry got arrested and Kathleen got called to identify the body the next morning. She went to the morgue and looked at it, but the face had been completely blown away so she had to rely on identifying marks. The body had a tattoo that she recognized, and some scars that Michael had, so she confirmed the identification. After that, she and I met at the courthouse to be present at Harry’s initial appearance. The judge set bail, and Kathleen and I went to have lunch while we waited for the bondsmen to do their jobs. Harry called us right after lunch and said he’d made bail, so we went and picked him up and I took them back to the hotel. After that, I headed for the Police Department to look at the file on the case.”

“Wait, what? The detective let you see the case file?”

Sam grinned. “Harry had called up to DHS and rattled some chains, so I was appointed as their Special Investigator for this case. I don’t think the job pays anything, but it opens doors like a bulldozer. By the time I got to the station, the detective already had been informed that he was to give me whatever cooperation I wanted. He handed the file over without a bit of argument, and I went through it. Most of it was standard police procedural stuff, but the crime scene photos were there. Now, I had spent quite some time sitting within fifteen feet of Michael Reed while he pointed a gun at me, so I had pretty well memorized the guy. One of the things I noticed clearly was that he had just recently trimmed his nails. In fact, they were so perfect it looked like he had a manicure, and of course he’s a rich guy so I figured maybe he did. The trouble was when I looked at the crime scene photos of the body, the nails were long and a little bit rough. They definitely had not been trimmed in at least a week.”

“So? Everybody knows fingernails keep growing after you die.”

“Actually, they don’t. What gives that appearance is the fact that the skin around the ends of the fingers begins to shrink back as it dries out. And even then, that effect takes days to show up, not just a few hours later. Those fingernails are incontrovertible proof, to me, that that body was not Michael Reed. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling the detective what I believed. I don’t think I actually sold him on it, but he at least reached the point that he was willing to consider the possibility. The only thing he did say was that he couldn’t take my opinion to the prosecutor without getting hauled off to the crazy house, and I can understand why he felt that way. Fingerprints, personal identification, next of kin all said it was Michael Reed; who did I think I was to try to overrule all that evidence?”

Ken grunted. “If you tell me you believe Michael Reed is alive, I’m going to go with you. I’ve seen you in action, you don’t miss much. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “This afternoon, I get a phone call from a restricted number. Bet you can guess who was on the other end of the line.”

Ken’s eyes widened slightly. “Then we have confirmed that Reed is alive. I’m sure the police aren’t checking missing persons that might match his description; they’d have to believe what you’re telling them in order to do that. What’s your game plan?”

30

Michael woke up at just before five, thanks to the internal alarm clock he had developed over the years, then climbed out of the truck and walked into a fast food restaurant to use the bathroom and freshen up. He was back in the truck ten minutes later, and headed toward the restaurant Kate had taken Sam to for lunch. He wanted to be inside before the rest of them arrived.

He got there with plenty of time to spare, then picked up a bag he had kept in the truck and began putting on a disguise.

They can do wonderful things with latex, nowadays. A skullcap with dark brown hair in a male balding pattern went over the top of his head, covering his hair and fitting so snuggly against his skin that it would take very close examination to see where they met. His nose was covered by another prosthetic, but this one used adhesive to keep it in place, as did another that he stuck to his chin and jawline. That one even had stubbly whiskers, as if he hadn’t bothered to shave that day. An inflatable cushion went down the front of his pants and he tucked his shirt in over it, and suddenly he was an entirely different person. Without the jacket of his suit, he didn’t look anything like Michael Reed.

He withdrew a pistol from the bag and shoved it down the back of his pants, then climbed out of the truck. He checked once more to be sure no one had seen him make the transformation, then walked into the restaurant and let the hostess seat him at a table near the back. It was a good line of sight to the door, and he would be able to see them easily when they arrived.

For appearances’ sake, he went ahead and ordered dinner, and when it arrived he realized that he was genuinely hungry. He hadn’t taken any time to eat during the day, so he had been fasting since dinner the night before. He forced himself not to eat too quickly, though, so that he could stay long enough to see his quarry come to the door.

It was after 6:30 by the time he realized that they weren’t coming. He should have expected it; he cursed himself for telling Sam that he was listening to his phone calls, because they obviously had changed their plans. He signaled the waiter for his check and gave the man 100-dollar bill, told him to keep the change and hurried out to the truck again.

He picked up the tablet and checked the GPS location on Sam’s phone again, and realized Sam was just cruising around aimlessly. They had probably decided to let him pick Long up first, then meet for dinner somewhere else. Unfortunately, Michael wouldn’t be able to get to the airport in time to spot Sam’s new car, so he decided to scan the recordings from his phone again to see if there was a clue about where they might meet.

He picked up where he had left off, after hearing Sam’s conversation with Detective Lawton, then skimmed through several minutes of nothing but engine and street noises before he came across another conversation. This one was with Heather and her mother, and Michael suddenly felt a chill. Heather had told Sam about her job and her relationship with Michael, which wasn’t that big a deal, but if Sam were to think for a few minutes about what she’d said, he’d be back to ask more questions that just might create a problem. If that happened, Heather would become a potential star witness against him, and could easily confirm Sam’s theory about the body not being Michael’s.

It was time to do something about her. He allowed himself to feel the slightest twinge of regret as he put the truck in gear and headed toward Pine Brook Drive. Even that was going to take a while, since the restaurant was in Tampa, and he’d heard enough to know that they might already have left for Miami, but it was a loose end that had to be tied up. If she was gone, he had a contact in Miami that would have no trouble finding out where her aunt lived and taking care of the problem for him.

He got to the neighborhood about forty minutes later, and cruised slowly past the house. He was in luck, because there were lights on inside. Heather and her mother had not left town yet. He went around the block and came at the house again from another direction, stopping the truck at a point where he could see the house clearly, but where it would be difficult for anyone else to see him.

He thought about getting out of the truck and approaching the house, killing both women inside, but he could hear the dogs barking. They would almost certainly get even louder if someone came sneaking up toward the house, and the last thing he would need would be neighbors looking out to see why the dogs were making a fuss. He decided to wait a bit and hope for an opportunity to present itself, then reached behind the seat and pulled out the suppressed AR.

He waited almost 15 more minutes, and then Lady Luck smiled on him. Heather came out the front door holding a suitcase, but instead of going toward the car in the driveway, she put it down and sat down on a bench on the porch. It looked like she was crying, but Michael didn’t let that stop him. He picked up the rifle and aimed it carefully, using the high-powered scope to draw a bead directly on her forehead.

He let his breath out slowly, then squeezed the trigger, but Lady Luck was fickle. Just as he fired—a three-round burst that was accomplished by a simple modification to the sear pin—Heather leaned forward and got to her feet. All three bullets penetrated the window behind her, and she suddenly screamed as she ran into the house.

Michael swore and dropped the gun into the floorboard, then started the truck and took off. He didn’t plan on going far, but he didn’t want to be parked so close when the police arrived in a few minutes. He drove down a few blocks and turned around, so that he could watch from the truck when they arrived.

Ten minutes later, when no police cars had come screaming toward the house, Michael began thinking about trying again. He was about to put the truck into gear when a car suddenly roared around a corner and slid to a stop in front of the house.

Even without being able to look to the scope, Michael was certain that the car held Sam Prichard and Kenneth Long. He was convinced of it a second later, when two men jumped out and ran toward the front door.

Seconds later, Heather’s mother came running out and dove into the car, and immediately afterward Michael saw both men hustling Heather between them. They stood watch as she got into the back seat with her mother, then they hurriedly got into the car and it sped away.

Michael put the truck in gear at last and hurried to follow, keeping some distance between them. If they were taking Heather with them, he might get the opportunity to eliminate every possible threat to his plans all at once.

If he did, this little setback would be well worth it. He kept his eyes on the Dodge Challenger as it slowed down to the speed limit, but was careful to keep a couple of cars between them. The last thing he needed was for Sam to figure out that he was being followed.

Unfortunately, Sam Prichard was pretty sharp. It was only about ten minutes later when he made a surprise turn, but Michael was smart enough not to fall for it. He cruised past the intersection at normal speed, then found a place to pull over so that he could watch Sam’s movements on the tablet.

Suddenly it occurred to him that Sam and Harry were no longer alone. With Kenneth Long on their side, the three of them made up a formidable force. It would be very difficult for Michael to take them all out, at least by himself.

He picked up his phone and dialed a local number. “Vito?” he said, once again disguising his voice. “You don’t know me, but we have some mutual friends. One of them was Michael Reed, and I’m sure you heard he was murdered yesterday. Well, I’m zeroing in on his killer and the people helping him, but I need some backup. Yes, no problem. I can pay.”

* * * * *

The limousine had driven all the way to Colorado Springs, and the killer had managed to keep it in view the whole time. Along the way, he had been formulating a plan, something so daring and crazy that he thought it might actually have a chance of success. When the limo and its escort had peeled off an exit, the killer had followed.

He had no doubt he had been spotted, but at this point he was counting on it. He hung back just far enough to cast a little doubt about whether he was intentionally staying with them, but by the time they had made three consecutive turns, he knew they would be certain. He wasn’t a bit surprised when the escort car suddenly spun sideways and two men jumped out and aimed guns at him.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he shoved his foot to the floor and laid down in the seat so that he was out of the line of fire. The old Dodge truck he was driving was pretty stout, and the two men didn’t even have time to jump out of the way before it plowed into their SUV.

One of them was caught between the grill of the Dodge and the side of the SUV, while the other was crushed between his door and the car itself. The killer sat up and looked through his bullet-riddled windshield, then backed up and went around the wreckage of the car. The limo was just disappearing around another corner, as he picked up the Mac 11 submachine gun and used its barrel to break the rest of the glass away.

He pressed the accelerator all the way down once again and fishtailed around the corner, just in time to see the limo turn into a driveway. He slid to a stop just behind it as three more bodyguards leapt out, but the Mac made short work of all of them. None of the bullets penetrated the car, even bouncing off the glass, but once the guards were down, the killer put the truck in park and stepped out. He had picked up another Mac, along with a hand grenade. No matter how armored the body of the car might be, a grenade underneath it would almost certainly do the job.

He had completely forgotten his orders. The longer the chase had been, the angrier he had become.  If his employer wanted Prichard to be distracted, he was pretty sure killing his entire family would get the job done. He kept the Mac pointed at the car as he approached, then put a finger in the ring of the grenade and prepared to roll it under the car.

That was when the driver’s door flew open, and a pistol was thrust out through the opening. The driver was already squeezing the trigger, and while the first two shots missed completely, the third one caught the killer in the throat. He stumbled backward as he dropped the gun and the grenade, his hand going to his throat to try to stop the bleeding, but it was far too late. Only seconds passed before the loss of blood to the brain was enough to bring him down.

The limo door closed, and everyone inside stayed when they were until police arrived seven minutes later. At that point, George finally stepped out to speak to them, but first he bent at the waist, put his hands on his knees and vomited. It was the first time he had ever killed anyone.

Of the three guards who had been in the limousine, only one had suffered a fatal wound. The other two would survive, but the two in the SUV had also died. The police had their hands full trying to keep the scene secure with all the neighbors standing in the yard and trying to see, and it would be more than two hours before they finally had all of the information they needed.

George was allowed to sit back down in the driver’s seat, and he finally looked at his passengers. They were safe, that was true, but he was terribly worried about what the little girl had seen.

“Ms. Kenzie,” he said softly, “are you okay?”

The child looked up at him and George was astonished at the calm in her face. “I’m okay,” she said, “and so are Mommy and my grandmas. Don’t cry, George. You had to shoot that man, you just had to. You’ll be okay.”

George managed a smile through his tears. “As long as you are all safe,” he said, “I’m sure I’m gonna be fine.”

“You will. Sometimes my daddy has to shoot people, too, and sometimes he cries about it. But he says you just gotta do it, sometimes, and then he’s okay again. You’ll be okay in a little while.”

George continued smiling, as he stared at the little girl in her mother’s arms.

31

“Ha!” Sam said. “I wish I knew. Did I ever tell you about Beauregard?”

“Yeah,” Ken said. “That’s the ghost that tells your mother-in-law what’s going to happen, right?”

“Right. Well, Beauregard says I’m playing poker with Reed, and that each hand I lose will cost a life. So far I seem to have lost two, and the first one cost me the tobacco shop clerk, the second seems to have been the detective, Lawton. Now, he isn’t dead yet, but it’s quite possible he’s going to have enough brain damage that he might as well be. Still too soon to tell. Beauregard says there are still two more hands to play, which means at least two more lives hanging in the balance. And then the last message I got from him says the last hand will come when I have to decide when to shoot, and I shouldn’t be afraid to bluff, but I can’t figure out what kind of bluff would do me any good in this game.”

“There’s something about games with us, isn’t there? When we first met, I used chess to explain to you what was going on, and now you’re dealing with a highly trained government agent who might very well be either a traitor or a psychopath, and you have to consider your interaction with him as a poker game. Sounds like we got kind of a pattern going, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t care if we play monopoly,” Sam said, “as long as I figure out a way to win. In this case, winning is going to mean proving Harry didn’t kill this guy, but it could also mean bringing Michael Reed to justice. Harry thinks the reason he’s doing this is because he’s decided to go rogue. Apparently Michael knows where, as Harry puts it, a lot of bodies are buried both literally and figuratively, and could seriously cash in on that kind of information.”

“Harry’s probably right. When I went rogue eleven years ago, I never did stoop so low as to sell information that could hurt my country. I sold plenty of it back to my country, information they needed but didn’t have any way to get on their own. A man like Michael Reed, though, he’s going to be looking at turning all that information into his retirement account. He’s out to accumulate an awful lot of money in a short time, then retire to Barbados, or the French Riviera, somewhere like that. He’ll have yet another new identity, a small army to make sure nobody can get to him and enough money to live that lifestyle for 100 years.”

“Sounds like a dream, but the price is too high. Ken, we’ve got to stop this guy if we possibly can.”

“We can,” Ken said. “He’s just as evil as Chandler, but not nearly as smart. I worked with him once, so trust me when I say that. This guy isn’t nearly as smart as he thinks he is, even if he is brighter than the average person. He’s got a weakness, and we have to find it. Any women in his life, other than the one he stole from Harry?”

“His secretary,” Sam said. “She’s a sweet young thing, early twenties I would guess, and he seduced her. The usual lies, about how he and his wife were going to get a divorce and he was going to marry the pretty young girl, but I’ve seen her and I’m convinced she has no idea he’s still alive. He even told me himself that he was done with her, so I don’t think we can consider her any kind of weakness.”

“Okay, and he doesn’t have any other family. He’s walking away from everything he had in this life, so we can’t use any of that against him. Damn, he isn’t making it easy, is he?”

“Not even a little bit. So far, the only mistake he’s made that I can find is forgetting about the manicure. If the nails on that body had been neat and trimmed, I never would’ve figured it out.”

Ken stared out the windshield for a moment, then turned to look at Sam. “There’s got to be something else, something we can use. Something even the police can’t turn a blind eye to.”

“I agree, but I don’t know what it…”

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone, the one inside the glove box. He put a finger to his lips to tell Ken to be quiet, then reached over and snatched the glove box open, grabbed the bag and dumped it out in his lap. He got the box open by the fourth ring and answered the phone.

“Sam Prichard,” he said.

“Mr. Prichard? This is Annie Keller. You said to let you know if—if anything came up about that man?”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Yes. What’s happening, Annie?”

“Well—listen, I know this might sound crazy, but I think someone just tried to kill Heather.”

“What? What happened?”

“Well, we’ve been getting ready to leave to go visit my sister, but we had to make arrangements for the dogs and stuff, and Heather’s been—well, you saw how she was this afternoon, she hasn’t gotten any better. She decided to go outside and sit on the porch for a few minutes, but then she said it was too hot and wanted to come back in. Just as she started to get up off the chair out there, something came through the window right behind it, and now there are three little holes in the wall. She screamed and ran inside, and I heard a car take off really fast…”

“Are you still at the house?” Sam asked.

“Yes, but we were about to…”

“Stay put, and stay inside. I’m on the way. I’m only about two or three minutes away, I’ll be there in no time.”

Sam cut the call and shoved the phone back in the box, and Ken finished wrapping it in the bag and putting it back in the glove box. “What was that?” he asked.

Sam had whipped the car around and then fishtailed around another corner before he answered. “Heather Keller, the secretary? It seems somebody just took a shot at her. Michael had told me earlier that he had no reason to bother her, that she was in no danger from him, but he must have remembered something. We’ve got to get to her, and quickly, or she’s going to be dead.”

Ken reached under his jacket and pulled out a Glock nineteen, carefully checked to be sure there was a round in the chamber, and then kept it in his hand. He didn’t say anything as Sam raced through the residential streets, and when Sam slid the car to a stop in front of the little house, he was out even before Sam got the car into park.

Sam followed, drawing his own weapon and looking around as he got out of the car, and the two of them quickly but carefully made their way to the house. When they got there, Sam knocked on the door.

“Annie? Heather? It’s Sam Prichard. Come on, we need to get the two of you out of here quickly.”

The door started to open, and Annie peeked out before swinging it wide. Heather was right behind her, still crying but looking terribly frightened.

“Annie, run for my car and get into the backseat as quickly as you can. Leave the door open, my friend and I will bring Heather right behind you.”

Annie looked at them and their guns for a moment, then seemed to steel herself and rushed out the door toward the car. She snatched open the passenger door and flipped the seat forward, diving inside as quickly as she could.

Back on the porch, Sam and Ken each grabbed Heather by an arm and kept her tight between them as they hurried her along the walk. When they got to the car, they folded together behind her as she climbed into the backseat, and then Ken told them both to get down, to keep their heads down and stay out of sight.

Sam hobbled quickly around and got behind the wheel again while Ken got back into the passenger seat. The car was still running and Sam slammed it into gear without even bothering to put his seatbelt on, and they raced away with the seatbelt alarm ringing incessantly.

From down in the backseat, Annie cleared her throat. “Mr. Prichard, can you tell me what on earth is going on? Why would anyone try to shoot my daughter?”

“Because the person who shot at her is Michael Reed, himself. What I told you earlier turned out to be true. Michael is not dead, but he’s already murdered at least two people and possibly more while taking his own death. He actually had the gall to call me earlier today, and he told me Heather wouldn’t be in any danger from him because she didn’t know anything that could hurt him, but I’m guessing there might be something after all.”

Sam whipped the car around a couple of corners and kept watching to see if they were being followed, but there was no obvious sign of pursuit. He slowed down to the speed limit and started making his way toward his appointment with Harry and Kathleen once again.

“Heather,” he said after a moment, “do you understand what I’m saying? Michael isn’t dead, but he’s faked his own murder. In order to do that, he had to kill someone, and he’s trying to frame another man for it so he killed someone else to make sure that man wouldn’t have an alibi. This afternoon, the police detective in charge of the investigation was shot and may die yet, simply because I told him what I knew, that the body they have identified as Michael’s isn’t him.”

“Yeah,” Heather said haltingly. “I understand, I just can’t believe it. Why would he do that? Why would he kill anybody?”

“Sweetheart,” Ken said, “something you need to get through your head right now is that your boyfriend never was who he claimed to be. He’s actually a government agent, and one of those who sneak into other countries and kill people as part of their job. Killing someone, to him, that’s like you making sure your files are all in order.”

“But he was always so gentle. I mean, I never even saw him get mad at anybody. Never, not once. The closest I ever saw him come to getting angry was when his wife would call and interrupt something he was doing, but even then he would just make a face and go on like it was no big deal.”

“Well, somehow or other,” Ken said, “you’ve become a big deal to him, big enough that he figures he needs to kill you so it won’t become bigger. Can you think of anything he might have said or done in the last few weeks that he might not want you to tell anybody about?”

“No, nothing. It’s been nothing but business as usual. I mean, my job is one of the easiest jobs in the world. All I do is answer the phones and take messages, sometimes I set appointments for him, things like that.”

“Well, keep thinking,” Sam said. “Whatever it is he thinks you know could be the thing that brings him down.”

Ken glanced over at Sam, and saw him watching the rearview mirror closely. “Somebody on us?” he asked softly.

“About three cars back,” Sam whispered. “It’s made the last couple of turns with me, and always backs off to let another car get between us.”

“Normal surveillance technique. Try a surprise turn.”

Sam nodded, then a moment later, just before it would be too late to make a right turn, he whipped the wheel around and cut to the north. He watched the rearview mirror until he saw the offending pickup truck continue straight on the street he’d turned off of.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Just coincidence, I guess,” he said. Still, he continued north for several blocks before turning east once more. His route took him to North Keene Road, and he turned south when he reached it. A few moments later he turned right again onto Highway 60, which would take them across the causeway to Clearwater Beach.

It was almost nine o’clock by the time they arrived at the Clear Sky Café, and the four of them got out of the car. They started to enter, but then Annie turned to Sam and held something out. “I don’t have a pocket,” she said simply. “Would you mind to hold these for me until we come out?”

Sam looked and saw that what she was holding out was a pack of cigarettes, and he reached out and took them from her without comment. He slid them into his shirt pocket and then they all walked inside. There, they were met by another surprise. Harold and Beth were sitting with Harry and Kathleen, but fortunately Harry had had the foresight to get a large table. The waitstaff had made it by putting two tables together, but it was big enough for everyone to sit down.

“Ken,” Harry said as he and Harold rose to shake hands. “It’s good to see you again, and I appreciate your coming to help.”

“I owe you guys,” Ken said. “You need me, I’m there.”

Harry introduced Harold and Beth to Ken, Sam introduced Annie and Heather, and then they all sat down again.

32

“I’ve been bringing the kids up to speed on all this,” Harry said. “Beth is a little skeptical, but Harold is just as observant as you and me. He saw Michael’s fingernails as well, so…”

“So if the ones on the body they identified as Michael are noticeably longer, then you’re right. It can’t be him.”

Heather looked up sharply at Harold, but didn’t say anything. She seemed to be trying to figure out just where she fit into all of this, and seeing the widow of the man she’d been having an affair with sitting directly across from her wasn’t helping. She lowered her eyes to the table in front of her once again, and kept them there.

Sam explained quickly about the shots that were fired at Heather, and Harry agreed that he had done exactly the right thing by going to grab her and her mother. “Obviously, the girl knows something that Michael considers damaging. If we can figure out what that is, it could be the key to solving this entire puzzle.”

The door opened, and Sam looked up instinctively at the new customer. A chubby, balding man walked in and sat down in a booth near the door, and after looking him over carefully, Sam dismissed him. He turned back to the people at his table.

“We’ve asked, but she doesn’t seem to remember anything significant.”

Kathleen leaned forward and reached across the table toward Heather, extending a hand. “Heather, I need you to understand something. Michael was—he was something of a monster, and he was an absolute genius at getting people to do whatever he wanted. I hold no animosity toward you, none at all. I’ve known for several months that you were sleeping with him, but trust me when I tell you you weren’t the first. Every time he’s been in business, he’s always made sure he had a pretty young secretary. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what a man like him wants from an office girl.”

Heather kept her eyes down for a moment, but then slowly raised them to look directly into Kathleen’s. “I figured you’d hate me,” she whispered. “He said the two of you were unhappy, that you were going to get a divorce, and that all he was waiting for was for you to sign the papers. I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s okay, Heather, really. No, we weren’t happy together, but what you don’t know is that Michael did some terrible things a long time ago that made me believe my husband—my real husband, this man sitting beside me—was dead, and that the only way I could keep my children safe was to flee out of the country with him. He managed to make it all so convincing that I fell for it, and I spent more than thirty years thinking that my husband Harry was dead, but a couple of years ago I found out the truth. Believe me, we were not happy at all after that. So, yes, I know exactly how he could manipulate a girl into doing what he wants.”

Heather looked into her eyes for another moment, and then she began to cry softly. “Oh, I’ve been such a fool,” she said. “He was just so nice to me, and it made me feel good. He never even tried to pressure me into—you know, sex. It all just sort of seemed to happen naturally.”

Beth was staring at the girl, and suddenly she started shaking her head. “My God,” she said, “we never knew him at all, did we? I never would have believed he would do something like this.”

“Like I told Heather,” Kathleen said, “she wasn’t the first. Wealthy men seem to have a need to prove their virility by seducing younger women. It’s just part of their nature, I guess, at least for some of them. Michael always had pretty secretaries, and he always found reasons to take them on trips with them. Like I said, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

“So the man we thought was our father,” Harold said, “is not only a philanderer, he’s also a murderer and probably a traitor to our country.” He shook his head. “I find myself wishing that he was actually dead.”

“Well, he’s not,” Ken said. “I can tell you that makes him a direct and extreme danger to each and every person at this table. Harry, you have a vested interest in proving that he’s alive, and the rest of you now know enough that his memory is ruined for all of you. Heather and her mother are in danger because he obviously thinks she knows something that can prove our case. Harry, are you armed?”

“Me? Why, I’m out on bail, I’m not allowed to carry a gun. Of course I’m armed, what kind of fool do you think I am?”

“Okay, so that makes three of us…”

“Four,” Harold said. “I’ve had my CCL for years, I never go anywhere without a weapon on me. And before you ask, yes, I know how to use it.”

Ken grinned at him. “Okay, four of us who can at least shoot back. Now all we have to do is figure a way to draw him out.”

Everyone was silent for a few seconds, each of them thinking, but then Heather whispered, “Manicure.”

Sam leaned toward her. “What did you say?”

“You were talking about his fingernails. That was another part of my job, because I used to be a manicurist. I had to do his nails every week, I just did them the day before yesterday.”

Sam and the others all stared at her. “Heather,” Sam said, “are you absolutely certain it was day before yesterday?”

The girl nodded. “Yes. It was the last thing he had me do before I left for the day, and we did it a couple days early because he was supposed to be flying to Japan the next morning and I would have a few days off.”

Sam, Harry and Ken all looked each other. “That’s it,” Sam said, “that’s the proof we need.” He reached into his pocket for his phone, but the one he pulled out was the burner. “Crap, I need my other phone. Be right back.” He stood and started toward the door, heading toward the Challenger to get his phone out of the glove box.

The customer who had come in looked up at him and smiled, and Sam smiled back. The man was holding the menu, and something about the way he was holding it struck Sam as odd. His fingers were curled against the back of the menu, so that it looked like his thumbs were simply clamping it into his fists. The incongruity of it made Sam glance closer, and he got a good look at the man’s left thumb.

The nail on that thumb was perfectly manicured, and Sam suddenly froze midstep. His eyes shot from the thumb to the face, and suddenly he could see the features of Michael Reed under the rubber prostheses covering the nose, chin and forehead.

Michael saw the recognition and reacted instantly, flinging the menu into Sam’s face as he swung his legs out of the booth. He was on his feet while Sam was still staggering back, his hip causing him to stumble, and Sam saw him reach behind his back and under his shirt.

He’s going for a gun, Sam thought, and threw himself forward as hard as he could. He wrapped his arms around Michael and the two of them fell onto the table, breaking it and causing it to fall. They slid down it to the floor, but Sam lost his grip and suddenly Michael’s gun was pointed at his face once again.

The door flew open again, and four men burst into the restaurant. Each of them was holding a submachine gun, but they seemed confused when they saw Michael pointing a gun at Sam’s head.

Michael looked up at them and indicated the people at the table with his head. “Them! Get them,” he shouted.

Back at the table, everyone was on their feet and Sam saw Michael glance up at them. The four men looked up, also, and out of his peripheral vision Sam saw each of them suddenly go wide-eyed. He turned his head to look and saw Ken, Harry and Harold all standing there with pistols leveled in their direction.

One of the men who had entered suddenly yelled, “Screw this,” and then he ran out the door. The other three raised their guns and pointed them toward the table, but all three pistols fired at once. Michael’s reinforcements dropped to the floor, and Sam knew that at least two of them were already dead from the size of the holes in their faces. The third one had taken a bullet in his chest, and was lying on the floor, moaning.

All three guns suddenly turned toward Michael.

“Ah-ah!” he shouted. “One wrong move, and Sammy here gets a third eye.” He grabbed Sam by his shirt and hauled him to his feet, then reached under his light jacket and grabbed his Glock. He shoved it down his pants as the waitress and cook came rushing out from the kitchen, then hurried back inside when they saw the guns and the fallen men.

Michael pulled Sam in front of him and moved his gun to the side of his head. He looked around him at the others. “You all think you got it figured out, don’t you? You all think this is going to be the end of it, right?” He laughed. “Hey, Ken, how have you been? I’ve got to admit I was surprised when I heard you were coming in on this.”

“Michael,” Ken said, “let him go and put the gun down. You know damned well that if you shoot him I’m going to kill you before you can get out that door. The only chance you’ve got to stay alive right now is to drop that gun and let Sam go.”

“Oh, good Lord, you’re still just as arrogant as you ever were. I got fifteen rounds and there are only seven of you. Only three of you have weapons, and with Sam here in the way, none of you can draw a bead on me. I could probably drop all three of you, then finish off the rest at my leisure, but this has gotten messy enough already.” He pressed his gun harder against Sam’s ear. “Now, all of you just need to stand right there. Me and Sam are going out the door, and if nobody gives me any trouble I’ll let him go in just a minute. Understood?”

No one spoke, and Michael started dragging Sam backward. There was a quick bump as Michael’s back hit the door, and then they were stepping backward onto the sidewalk. Sam could still see Ken and the others standing around the table with their guns drawn, but then Michael suddenly let go of him and stepped back. Sam turned around to face him and saw the gun pointed directly at his head.

“So much for letting me go, right?”

“That’s how it goes, Sam,” Michael said. “Don’t worry, the rest of them will be joining you in a few minutes. Once I shoot you, they’ll come running out. It’ll be like shooting ducks at an arcade.” He grinned and reached out with his free hand to thump the cigarettes in Sam’s pocket. “Wanna light one up before you go? Those things will kill you, you know.”

Sam glanced down at the cigarettes, forgotten until that moment. He looked up at Michael again. “Yeah, if I can,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he reached into the pocket and took out the pack, shook a cigarette out into his hand and stuck it between his lips. He patted the pocket for a moment, then started patting all the others. Finally he grinned and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket.

“Hey, now,” Michael said, “pull that hand out slowly.”

Sam did, and then held up the lighter Harry had given him the day before. He cupped his hands around it and put it up to the end of the cigarette, and flicked the cover a couple of times as if he was trying to get it to light. He looked up at Michael. “Just give me a second, it’ll work,” he said, then went back to clicking the cover.

I have to know when to take the shot, Sam thought, that’s what Beauregard said. He was carefully watching Michael in his peripheral vision, praying for one moment of opportunity, and then it came. For a split second, Michael took his eyes off Sam and leaned slightly to the right as he looked toward the café door.

Sam flipped the cover open backward, then thrust his hand out with the lighter pointed directly at Michael’s head and pulled the diamond back with his thumb. The explosion that resulted shocked him, and the recoil made him drop the lighter, but then he looked at Michael.

The man was still standing on his feet, still pointing his gun at Sam, but there was a streak of blood running down his nose from the neat round hole in the center of his forehead. His eyes rolled up, and the gun clattered to the sidewalk as all of his muscles relaxed at once.

Behind him, Sam heard the commotion as Harry and Ken fought to be the first out the door. Ken won, but just barely, and Harry and the others were right on his heels. Ken, Harry and Harold all had their guns in their hands still, but they lowered them when they got to Sam and saw Michael lying dead on the concrete in front of him.

“Damn, Sam,” Ken said. “I saw him take your gun, what the hell happened?”

Sam still had the unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and he reached up to take it out as they all gathered around him. Beth and Heather were whimpering, but the rest were simply staring down at the body of the man who was supposed to have already been dead.

Sam looked at Ken and held up the cigarette, then pointed down at the still smoking lighter-gun. “I bluffed,” he said.

Ken’s eyes were wide. “Yeah, you did,” he said, “and it looks like you won the pot.”

33

The police arrived fifteen minutes later, and at Sam’s insistence Detective Embry was called out. When he arrived, Sam finally explained what the strange doodle on Lawton’s notes had truly meant, that Michael Reed was still alive and had faked his own murder. The whole group was taken to the station for interviews, and it was Heather’s statement about giving Michael the manicure Sam had noticed that finally got Embry to believe the story.

Both Sam and Harry suddenly got phone calls, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect since they came just as Embry finished with them. Sam answered his phone to find his wife on the line, and the first words out of her mouth almost gave him a heart attack.

“Sam,” she said, “first I need you to know that we are all okay.”

“Oh, God,” he said, “what happened?”

It took almost 15 minutes for her to explain it all, how a crazed gunman had apparently followed them all the way from Denver to Colorado Springs, then launched a one-man attack that took out all of their security. The police had told her that they had recovered a hand grenade at the scene, and it hadn’t taken her long to figure out what the killer had planned to do with it. Sam listened with his mouth hanging open through the whole thing, but finally he managed to close it when she told him how George had saved the day.

When he finally got off the phone, he saw Harry grinning at him. “Let me guess,” he said. “That was George on the line?”

“Indeed it was,” Harry said. “I gather Indiana has already told you what happened?”

Sam nodded his head slowly, and then walked over to Harry and pulled him into an embrace. “Thank you, Harry,” he said. “Thank you for keeping my family safe. I’m so sorry about the men you lost, that was terrible, but thank you for my family.”

“Now that we’ve proven our case, this whole thing falls under National Security. Those men died in the line of duty, and they will be honored for their sacrifice. Had Michael’s killer managed to reach your family, you probably would not have been in any condition to handle him when the time came. Since you were the only one who could, those sacrifices were an unfortunate necessity.”

Sam could only look at him, unable to speak any further.

Over the next few days, during which Sam was required to remain in the area and assist with closing the investigation, they learned that the fingerprints on the real Michael didn’t turn up in any database, but even though the back of his head was blown away by the secret derringer, his face was still easily recognizable. Enough people could make a positive identification to settle the issue.

A search of missing person reports had turned up the fact that a Ronald Denham, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer, had disappeared a couple of months earlier.

Sam and Ken went to Fort Lauderdale to interview Denham’s wife and children, his only surviving relatives, and learned that he had recently come into a substantial amount of money. He had given his wife a healthy sum, almost 100,000 dollars, and told her more would be coming soon. He and his wife were separated, but he had visited the family every few days and told them about some mysterious investment he had made that had made him the money he had already given them, and was going to provide for them after he was gone.

Gradually, Sam was able to put together a timeline. Michael had met Denham at the doctor’s office on the day he had learned that the cancer was terminal. At that point, Michael appeared to have put his plan into action. They were able to find the tattoo parlor that had put the tattoo on Denham, and located a cosmetic surgeon who, after intense questioning, finally admitted to creating a couple of realistic-looking scars by scraping off the upper layers of skin and flooding the tissues with steroids.

It finally became completely clear that Michael had offered Mr. Denham a large sum of money to take his place in death. Kidney cancer is insidious, and people often don’t even know they have it until it’s far too late. Denham would have looked fairly healthy to those who knew him, but the autopsy had revealed that he probably had less than a month to live. With the money he got from Michael, he had established a trust fund that would support his family for many years after he was gone. The money was eventually found, but due to the vagaries of trust law, that money could not be touched and would still benefit his family.

Getting Harry down to Florida had been the trigger. By planting the envelope in his apartment, Michael was certain Harry would turn to Sam and that Sam would find him within a few days. He hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly, but thanks to the fact he had someone recording all of Sam’s phone calls and reporting to him, he was alerted in plenty of time to make the arrangements he needed. The police were able to find a couple of witnesses who had seen Michael picking up Mr. Denham in a boat on the day of the killing.

They also found Michael’s abandoned scuba gear in the boathouse of the vacant place down the street. From that, they figured out that Michael had left his home by swimming down to the vacant house, and some barely visible tire tracks in the garage proved that his car had been parked there at some time.

They never did find the car, or any trace of it.

The only thing that had given Michael away was his failure to notice Denham’s fingernails. If he had, he probably would’ve gotten away with it all and Harry would be looking at life in prison, or worse.

After a couple of days, the police department held a press conference to reveal what they had learned, and Sam was required to attend since he was the one who had actually figured out what was going on and taken Michael down. He stood beside Detective Embry as Embry read off the prepared statement, and then the reporters began shouting questions at Sam.

“Mr. Prichard, you’ve done a lot of work for the government over the past couple of years. Do they often call you when they have a rogue agent?”

“I wouldn’t say often,” Sam said. “I’m not at liberty to divulge any details, but this is not the first time I’ve had to deal with an intelligence operative who’s gone bad. This particular case, though, started out as a simple matter of trying to help an old friend reconnect with his family.”

“Mr. Prichard, is it true that Michael Reed deceived Mrs. Winslow? Was she ever aware that her original husband was still alive before all this happened?”

“Well, that’s probably a question you should be asking her, but she actually found out he was alive about a year and a half ago, when Mr. Winslow and I were the subjects of a news program. I guess she saw his picture and recognized him, but Mr. Reed actually threatened her to keep her from making any contact with him. Mr. Winslow only found out that his wife and children were still alive about a week ago, and he came to me to help them track them down.”

“Mr. Prichard, if it’s true that Mr. Reed was a trained intelligence agent, how were you able to overcome him?”

“Michael Reed was actually holding me at gunpoint at the time, but I had a single shot pistol in my possession. I managed to get it out and use it when he took his eyes off me for a split second.”

There were dozens of other questions, and Sam tried to answer them all, but Embry finally put a hand over the microphone and said that was enough. Sam followed him back into the police station, and they sat down together in Embry’s office.

“How did I do?” Sam asked. “I hope I didn’t overstep any bounds.”

Embry chuckled. “Man, you did fine. I have stood in front of that firing squad so many times it’s ridiculous, I was more than happy to let them get you in their sights today. You handled them like an old pro, but I guess that’s pretty much what you are nowadays, right?”

“You’ll never catch me admitting to back,” Sam said. “Harry Winslow gave me some advice once, and it is probably the best advice I’ve ever received. He told me that all I ever have to do is do the job that’s in front of me, and that’s how I get through these things. I just look at the situation in front of me and do my best with it.”

Embry nodded his head and grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever put it into words, but that’s pretty much how I live, too. One day at a time, one step at a time, just deal with whatever the reality is at the moment. Because, sometimes, reality isn’t what you think it is.”

“Now you sound like the old pro,” Sam said with a grin of his own. “Have you ever had to deal with spies and such before?”

“Not on the job here,” Embry said, shaking his head. “I know a little more than the average cop, though, because both my father and my uncle were in intelligence in the military. I grew up hearing stories about what it was like to be an agent, and some of the things I’ve heard about you go right hand-in-hand with the stories I heard back then.” He leaned forward suddenly and extended a hand. “Prichard, put ’er there. There aren’t a lot of men whose hand I really want to shake, but yours is definitely one of them.”

A week later, the charges against Harry were formally dismissed and the investigation was closed. Ken had stuck around through it all, and it was finally time for Sam to go home. Harry was going to be staying in Florida with Kathleen for a while, though she had decided to sell the house and share an apartment with Harry.

Sam wasn’t finished in Clearwater, though. He had held onto the Challenger until he was ready to leave, so when the police were finally done with him he drove himself to the hospital and managed to convince a nurse to tell him where Detective Lawton’s room was.

Lawton looked up as Sam walked into the room and scowled. “You come to rub it in? Do the old ‘I told you so’ bit?”

“No,” Sam said with a chuckle, “but let’s face it, I could. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I’ve been shot before, myself, and I know it ain’t no fun.”

Lawton shrugged. “The docs say I’m almost back to normal. Doesn’t look like I’m going to suffer any real problems, even though your boy managed to blow out part of my brains.”

“Yeah, but you’re a cop. Everybody knows a cop doesn’t need all of his brains.”

“Up yours,” Lawton said, but there was a bit of a grin on his face. “Listen, Prichard, I owe you an apology. You were right, and I was just too stubborn to see it. If I had actually listened to you, I might have smelled a rat when I got a call that lured me outside.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Sam replied. “Just, maybe try to learn something from this experience. You may never have to deal with people like Michael Reed or Harry Winslow again, but don’t be so quick to think things are cut and dried if you do. One thing I’ve learned about government agents is that they are never what they seem to be.”

“Now, ain’t that the truth. I had a big fuss with the IRS a couple years ago, and those agents? Talk about monsters, I was wishing for stakes and garlic. Vampires, every one of them, I’m telling you.”

“You think IRS agents are bad? Wait till you have to go into some other country and deal with the CIA and all the other alphabet-soup groups. Then you can talk to me about monsters.”

Lawton seemed to shudder. “No, thanks,” he said, “I’m planning to leave all that stuff for you. Don’t even bother to call me for help, because I ain’t coming.”

Sam laughed, and stayed for almost an hour. By the time he left, he felt like he had gained another friend.

Harry, Kathleen and Ken drove Sam to the airport, where he was treated to a return flight on the private jet. They were able to go with him directly to the tarmac beside the plane, and then it was time to say goodbye.

“Ken, it’s been good to see you again,” Sam said. “I really appreciate your help through all of this.”

“What help? Hell, I got here just as you figured it all out. Next time you call, I’m going to wait a couple days. By the time I get here, you’ll be celebrating and I won’t have to do anything at all.”

Sam laughed and turned to Harry. “Well, Harry, I don’t know what to say. Are you going to be staying in Florida for good?”

“Oh, it’s definitely good,” Harry said. “Don’t you worry, Sam, boy, you can’t get rid of me that easily. They may think I’m retired, but I’ll guarantee you Uncle Sam isn’t quite done with me yet. Trust me, they’ll call me up for something or other, and I’ll need your help once again.”

“And I’ll come,” Sam said, “but can you at least try to leave homicidal maniacs out of the equation? I’ve looked down all the gun barrels I ever care to see.”

“I shall certainly try,” said Harry with a laugh.

Sam turned it to Kathleen. “Kathy,” he said, “it makes me pretty happy to see Harry having so much. I wish you two all the best, especially with thirty years or more to catch up on. When I get home, I have to catch up on a week or so, and sometimes that takes me months.”

Kathleen laughed heartily. “I know what you mean,” she said. “That just means Harry has to stick around for another thirty years, so I can enjoy all the time I was supposed to have with him.” She leaned forward quickly and kissed Sam on the cheek. “Thank you, Sam Prichard. Thank you for bringing Harry back to me, and thank you for not letting him be taken away. I will be forever in your debt, so if you ever need anything…”

“Thank you,” Sam said simply.

He turned and walked onto the plane, taking a seat at the window so he could wave at them as its copilot closed the hatch and the plane began to move.

EPILOGUE

He was back in Denver in an amazingly short time, and it was a relief when he claimed his Corvette from long-term parking and headed for home. Kenzie came squealing toward the door as he entered, and he happily scooped her up into his arms for the hug he had been craving.

It was early enough when he arrived that they all sat down to dinner together, and then spent a quiet evening—well, fairly quiet, except for Kenzie’s excited shouts—watching one of the latest Disney movies on television. Sam enjoyed every bit of her antics, but by the time the movie was over and Indie carried her up to bed, the quiet was welcome.

When Indie came back downstairs, she crawled right into his lap in the recliner and simply held him for a while. Sam closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, He was enjoying the company and comfort of his family so much that he didn’t even bother to unpack until the next day.

It wasn’t much later that Indie climbed back off of him and took his hand to lead him to bed. Sam didn’t offer any resistance, and even less when they closed the bedroom door and she began removing his clothes. A moment later, he returned the favor by removing hers, and the two of them fell into bed with their arms, legs and lips all entangled.

The next morning, Sam was awakened by a kiss on his cheek, and he opened his eyes expecting to see Kenzie, but it was Indie who had kissed him. He opened his eyes and smiled, and that’s when he realized that she was holding something in front of his face. It took him a second to focus, but then he saw the white plastic stick with a plus sign showing in bright blue.

His eyes went wide and he looked up at his wife. “Baby? Is that…”

Indie began nodding vigorously, her smile so wide that Sam was sure it must hurt. He threw his arms around her and pulled her down into the bed, and the two of them lay there together, cuddling and kissing, until Kenzie finally opened the door and peeked inside.

“Guess what, Kenzie,” Sam said. “Mommy’s gonna have another baby. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Kenzie’s face broke into a smile and she ran and jumped onto the bed, then began bouncing up and down. Sam watched her with a smile on his face, thinking that she was acting out exactly what he was feeling.

A few minutes later they all got up and got dressed, and Sam noticed his bag on the floor beside the bed. He picked it up and opened it, ready to toss the clothes into the hamper.

And that’s when he found it. A small package was inside his carry-on bag, wrapped in simple paper and with a note attached. He opened the note with Indie standing beside him and read it.

I thought you should have this. I probably won’t be needing it in the future, but you never know when you might need an ace in the hole again.

Harry

Sam smiled, and unwrapped the package. Inside was the shiny gold lighter that concealed a single-shot gun.

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David Archer

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Table of Contents

Books 9-12

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BOOK 9

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

BOOK 10

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

BOOK 11

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2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

BOOK 12

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

EPILOGUE

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