COLLATERAL CASUALTIES (The Kate Huntington mystery series) (27 page)

            “Today’s Sunday,” Manny said. “You sent the letter and the e-mail yesterday. I’m thinking we need to wait a couple days. Give the Secret Service some time to investigate.”

            “I agree,” Mac said. “And ta hell with actin’ normal. I don’t think you all should go to work tomorrow.”

            “So we just hang out
here
?” Sue said, looking around the bare room.

            Kate grimaced. “I’ve got two clients in the morning I really need to see. One was feeling suicidal on Friday. Anybody else feel compelled to go in tomorrow?”

            “I still have some prep to do for my court case on Wednesday,” Rob said.

            Kate turned to him on the cot. “Couldn’t you get a continuance?”

            “I can ask for one. The judge may or may not grant it.”

            “So we need to get Kate safely to her office tomorrow,” Rose said. “And Rob to court on Wednesday, if this hasn’t been resolved by then. Anybody else?”

            Sue shot her husband a sharp look. “No job’s worth getting killed for.”

            Kate felt a stab of guilt. Sue had been so relieved when Dolph retired from the police force and got his PI license. She’d confided to Kate that she could finally breathe easy because private investigators were rarely in physical danger. Things didn’t seem to be working out that way.

            “How will we know when the situation’s resolved?” Lilly asked.

            “Good question,” Dolph said. “Either Rose or I need to take our laptops into town periodically and check the news online. See if there’s any indication that our message has been received and acted on. I’ll also try to find out what detective has been assigned to Jamal’s case. That may make a difference in how we handle that whole issue.”

            “You got another safe house for us, Mac, in case we have to vacate this one in a hurry?” Skip asked.

            “Yeah, place in Catonsville. Another friend of a friend. They’re leavin’ on vacation tonight. Said they’d leave a key with the neighbor across the street, tell her somebody’s gonna come to house-sit.”

            Mac gave them the address, then signed off.

            “Uh, is there any way we can get something to keep ourselves entertained?” Sue asked. “Some board games, or maybe a small TV?”

            “We can’t use credit cards,” Dolph said. “In case they’re tracking them.”

            Sue’s face registered disbelief. “They can’t break into bank records, can they?”

            “If they’ve got a savvy hacker like your husband, they can,” Skip said. “Google ‘how to hack into credit card accounts’ sometime. You’ll be shocked at what comes up.”

            Sue turned to her husband. “Is it really that easy?”

            “No,” Dolph said. “A lot of those posts on how to do it are bogus. It’s not easy, but a really good hacker can do it.”

            “We need more groceries,” Rose said. “That’s going to use up most of our cash.”

            “I’ve got a credit card in my maiden name, Susan Barrett. I use it for business travel expenses.”

            “That may be enough degrees of separation,” Rose said. “Especially if we go far enough away from here to use it.”

            “I overheard some of the locals at the coffee shop talking about going to Middletown, Delaware to shop,” Rob said. “It’s about an hour’s drive from here. Another state should throw them off pretty good.”

            Rose nodded. “Sue, Kate and I’ll go to Middletown. Dolph, you go to town to check the news.”

            “I’m actually kind of tired,” Kate said, faking a yawn. “I think I’ll stay here.” She nudged Rob’s knee with her own. “Why don’t you go, Rob? You can help them pick out the TV... And call Liz,” she added in a whisper.

             Rob flashed her a grin. “Good idea.”

~~~~~~~

            Kate had decided to finish cleaning up from breakfast while the others were getting themselves organized to run their errands. She was scrubbing the cast iron skillet when Dolph, the last to leave, called out a goodbye from the doorway.

            She waved a soapy hand without turning around from the sink. “Ugh, this water stinks. I hope there’s nothing lethal in it.”

            Skip leaned over her shoulder to sniff. “I think it’s just sulphur. Won’t hurt us.” He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and rested his chin on top of her head. “You did a damn fine job of clearing the place out, darlin’.”

            She chuckled, grabbing for a paper towel to dry the skillet. She froze when she felt his body tense against her back. His forehead dropped to her shoulder. When he started shaking, she put the skillet down and lifted her arms behind her to wrap them around his neck. Awkwardly, she rocked them back and forth, tears now streaming down her own cheeks.

            When the shaking stopped, she turned in his arms and put her still-damp hands on either side of his face. Looking up into pain-filled eyes, she said, “It’s not your fault.”

            “I know.”

            Kate snorted softly. “Yeah, so do I, but I still feel guilty.” She took his hand and led him to the table. They sat down across from each other.

            “When I was a newbie therapist, Sally Ford taught me... You remember Sally?”

            Skip nodded.

            “She taught me a way to help clients deal with guilt. I’d always thought that guilt was a pointless emotion, but Sally set me straight. She said that its job is to stop us when we’re about to break a rule about how we’re supposed to act in a civilized world. But a lot of those rules get internalized when we’re kids. They’re often too simplistic or absolute.

            “So first you ask yourself what behavior you feel guilty about, then what rule is involved. Once you bring both out into the light of day, you decide if the rule is still valid or does it need modification. If the rule’s still valid, you have to change your behavior. When you’ve got your behavior and the rule in sync with each other, then the guilt has done its job. You can thank it and let it go.”

            Skip sat for a minute, thinking. “We’re both feeling guilty for involving innocent people in this mess.”

            “Yeah, that’s the behavior. Now what’s the rule?”

            Skip didn’t have to think very long this time. “You gotta protect the people you’re responsible for.”

            Kate reminded herself to walk softly. That rule had come from Skip’s father whom he idolized. “Was that how the rule was originally phrased?”

            Skip thought for a moment. “No. My daddy taught me to protect my family. But as a cop, I was told to ‘protect and serve’ everyone, especially the innocent victims of crime.”

            “Kind of a heavy load to carry,” Kate said.

            “Yeah, and before you say it, I will. I’m not a cop anymore.”

            “So it all comes down to responsibility. Who are we responsible for?”

            After a pregnant pause, Skip said, “And the answer is...?”

            “I don’t know. I’m not totally playing therapist here. I’m trying to sort this out for myself as well. Who do we take responsibility for? Our kids certainly, but even there we may not always be able to protect them from everything. Not without smothering them and not letting them live.”

            “My daddy also used to quote the Serenity Prayer at me on a regular basis.”

            “As in we shouldn’t take responsibility for that which we cannot control, only what we can control.”

            “And that’s the crux of the ‘yeah-but’ that keeps echoing in my head,” Skip said. “If I’d insisted Janice come with us, she’d still be alive. If I’d kept looking for Jamal, he’d probably still be alive.”

            Kate resisted pointing out that more likely
both
he and Jamal would be dead.

            “Now we’ve come to hindsight bias. Once we know the outcome, we assume we should have known it all along. We don’t have crystal balls to predict the future, sweetheart. We can only make the best decision possible with the information we have at the time.”

             “And you’re not doing any second guessing?” Skip said, his voice a bit defensive.

            “Of course I am, all over the place. If I’d refused to meet Miller for lunch, none of this would have happened. But I had no reason to suspect that lunch would bring all this to pass.”

            “So what’s your rule?” Skip asked.

            It was Kate’s turn to think for a minute. “It’s similar to yours. Like doctors, we therapists get it drummed into us to ‘do no harm.’ Now it feels like anyone who even says hello to me on the street is at risk.”

            “Bottom line,” Skip said, “We didn’t create this mess, as Rose pointed out. We’re just trying to deal with it.”

            “The people responsible are Delgado and his henchmen,” Kate said.

            Skip nodded. “You’re darn good at this, darlin’. You should consider doin’ it for a living.”

            Kate smiled, then sobered as her mind flashed to Miller’s intense face across that lunch table from her. Her chest felt hollow. “In a way, it’s a good thing Miller’s not around to know what has happened. It would have destroyed him. Like you, protecting those he loved and felt responsible for, it was a big part of how he defined himself.”

            Skip took her hand. “You really admired him,” he said softly.

            “Yes. I wish you could have met him. You would have liked each other.”

            He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

            “I love you,” she whispered.

            Skip stood and drew her up with him. He held her hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, under her palm.

            “Did this help?” she asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes with her other hand.

            “Yeah, I’m not totally okay yet, but I’ll get there. And just being with you helps, even when you’re not playing therapist.” He smiled down at her. “You’re healing balm for my heart.”

            “Oh, how romantic.” She gave him a teasing grin. “I’m Neosporin.”

            He chuckled, then bent and swooped her up in his arms. “I figure we got about half an hour before Dolph gets back.”

            She just smiled up at him.

            Unfortunately, the doorway between the rooms was too narrow. He couldn’t figure out how to get both his bulk and her through it at the same time. Even sideways didn’t work.

            He set her back down on her feet. “I’m batting a zero here in the romantic department.”

            She preceded him through the door, then turned and started unbuttoning his shirt. “I think your batting average is about to improve.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

            Dolph had called his wife’s office first and left a message on her boss’s voicemail. Then he punched in the number for the Towson precinct where he had once worked. The evening before he’d been too stunned by the news to think to ask who’d caught Jamal’s case. Now he was praying it was somebody he knew and liked, or more importantly someone who liked him.

            His prayer was answered. “Detective Anderson isn’t on duty at the moment, sir. Would you like me to relay a message?”

            “No, that’s okay. I’ll call her tomorrow.” He punched his former partner’s home number into the throw-away cell. After three rings, an answering machine picked up.

            “Hey, Judith, hope you’ll forgive me for calling you at home but I wanted to touch base about–”

            “That you, Dolph? I’m screening calls. Trying to get a little down time.”

            “Then I guess you don’t want to discuss some information on the case you just caught. The black kid.”

            “What info?”

            “The guy you’ve got the BOLO out on, the owner of the gun, Reginald William Canfield, the third. Do you realize who he is?”

            It took Judith a second to connect the dots. “Skip
Canfield
, of course. I didn’t make the connection, and I should’ve after the witness described him. Where is he?”

            “Don’t know exactly at the moment,” Dolph said. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t know
exactly
where Skip was at that moment–which room he was in, or he and Kate might be taking a walk.

            “He and I were together yesterday. We interviewed the boy regarding a case. Woman was poisoned by a doctored bottle of wine. The kid was hired to deliver the wine. He was describing the guy who gave it to him when somebody yelled at the other end of the alley. Kid got spooked and took off.”

            “So why was Canfield chasing him?”

            “Because we were worried that what did happen would happen, that the kid was in danger because he knew too much. I was right behind Skip, but the kid was too fast for us. We lost him.”

            “You got any suspects for the poisoning?”

            “Maybe.” Dolph hesitated, then decided he had to give her somebody else to chase besides Skip. “Might be the woman’s estranged husband. He matches the kid’s description, although it was pretty generic. White with a tan, five-ten, brown eyes, dark hair.”

            “Look, I know you got all that client confidentiality crap to deal with, Dolph, but I need names. A kid’s dead. Grandma claims he was one of the good ones, no drugs, good grades, trying to raise money for college.”

            “You’re preaching to the choir,” Dolph said. “He struck us as a good kid. I’m happy to give you names. Janice Browning was set up as a bogus suicide on Friday night, died early yesterday morning. Husband is Richard Browning. Probably still living at the condo they own together in Towson. Don’t know the address.”

            “Who’s the detective working that case? I don’t remember hearing anything about a poisoning.”

            “Well, that’s why we were investigating. The uniforms who responded reported it as a suicide. But the note found in her apartment didn’t ring true to those who knew her. We found out from her building’s concierge that the wine was delivered as a gift, with a verbal message from her husband.”