Don't Call Me Hero (27 page)

“Oh, don’t hold back on account of me,” Grace insisted. “At least
someone’s
getting laid in this building.”

“There’s always Rich, you know.” Not that I approved of my friend going out with my neighbor. Grace Kelly was too much of an innocent, and he was too much of a commitment-phobe.

“Yeah, right. Like he even remembers who I am.”

“He’s a little thick sometimes, but you shouldn’t underestimate yourself, Grace. You made quite the impression on him.”

Her face had taken on a faraway look, and as uncomfortable as it made me to talk about Rich in that way, it at least got us off the topic of Julia and me.

“If it’s any concession, I think you’re good for her.”

“How do you mean?”

“There’s something different about her lately,” Grace mused. She tapped her fingers against her bottom lip, looking deep in thought. “She hasn’t been as … chilly when we run into each other.”

A small smile fluttered onto my lips. “I should get to work. Thank you though, for your discretion.”

Grace waved me off and went to unlock her apartment. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Damn that moral compass of mine.”

+ + +

Julia was still sleeping when I came home at the end of my shift. I wanted nothing more than to slip into bed beside her, but I needed a shower first. Around bar time, I’d gone on a call to the Ice House—a dive bar near the harbor—where I’d had a beer spilled on me by an angry patron who’d put up a fight when the bartender had cut him off. It wasn’t any fun coming home smelling like beer and cigarettes, especially when I hadn’t even gotten a buzz.

I took a quick, skin-scalding shower to scrub away the third shift grime. When I turned off the shower, I heard sounds coming from outside the bathroom door. I didn’t bother to full dry off; I rubbed a towel roughly over my hair and wrapped the damp cloth around my still dripping torso.

Julia was nearly dressed in her outfit from the previous day when I came out of the bathroom. She sat at the edge of my bed, slipping back into her shoes.

I tucked my lower lip between my top and bottom row of teeth. “Taking off?”

She gave me a cursory glance. “I have to go home and shower and get ready for the day.” She ran her fingers through stiff, sleep-matted hair. “Did that lead pan out?”

My shoulders slumped. She had more willpower than I gave her credit for.

“I guess so. We’re waiting for the judge to grant us another warrant so we can get the account information from the issuing bank.”

I had called Chief Plankton in Babbitt to get the account number where they’d direct deposited the radio money to. It had taken him a few days to hunt down the information I needed, but when I got the number, I started on the warrant paperwork right away. I knew it would be a waste of time to ask Wendy Clark to volunteer up that information.

I was thankful Chief Plankton hadn’t asked why I was still asking questions about the police radios. It was premature to tell him about our findings, especially since at this stage, everyone was still a suspect—even the other towns’ chiefs. David had pointed out that all of the neighboring law enforcement might have been working on this together. I didn’t want to feed into his conspiracy theory, but even I had to admit that anything was possible.

“Can I see what you’ve got?” she asked.

“Sure.”

Julia pulled her reading glasses out of her work briefcase. Her gaze poured over the e-mail I had printed out from Chief Plankton. “Babbitt’s chief must have made a mistake. This isn’t one of the city’s accounts.”

“Do you know every account number by heart or something?”

“It’s not like I memorized
pi
. If you see numbers enough times, they stick in your brain.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know what this account is associated with, would you?”

“No.” She shook her head and her raven locks fluttered around her face. “But I can tell you one thing—this number sequence doesn’t belong to a commercial account. It’s a private bank account.”

I frowned. “And that’s important because …?”

“Think about your own bank accounts. I assume you have a checking and a savings account?”

“Yeah, back in Minneapolis.” Not that there was a lot of money in either of them.

“And not only are the numbers associated with those accounts different, but they’re also structurally different, right? Checking accounts are usually a successive string of seven numbers and saving accounts have hyphens, kind of like a social security number.”

“This is all news to me,” I admitted. “I do everything online.”

Julia made a noise. “Which is probably why this went unnoticed for so long. People don’t recognize those kinds of details anymore because of digital transfers and direct deposit.”

“So you’re saying that like the difference between a checking and saving’s account, that there’s also a difference between personal and business accounts?”

“Exactly.” She stabbed her finger against the piece of paper. “And according to this, the other police agencies didn’t deposit a quarter of a million dollars into the city’s bank accounts. It went into someone’s personal account.”

“But whose?”

“Go get yourself a warrant, Detective, and find out.”

“So you think I’ve got something here?”

“It’s certainly not nothing,” she confirmed. She glanced at her watch. “Damn it,” she cursed. “I’m going to be late.”

“If you’re already late, then what’s the hurry? Cancel your work plans and play hooky with me,” I urged.

She pushed out a long breath. “God, that sounds nice.”

I tugged at the knot between my breasts which held up my damp towel. The material loosened until the towel slipped and fell to the floor. Julia’s caramel eyes drank in the view. I took a barefoot step towards her.

“Do you need anymore convincing?”

The tip of her tongue flicked against the cleft in her bottom lip. “I really shouldn’t.”

“Which is exactly why you should,” I countered.

“Aren’t police officers supposed to be positive influences? Help you decipher between what’s right and what’s wrong?” she asked in an amused tone.

I wasn’t going to back down, but she wasn’t making a move towards the door, either. I made a big show of turning my head this way and that. “I don’t see any cops in here.”

She retrieved my duty belt, which I’d discarded on the floor before my shower. She fished the handcuffs out of their compartment and let them dangle from one finger. “No?”

A slow smile spread across my face.

+ + +

“You’re shittin’ me.
More
numbers?” David groaned in frustration. “When are we going to get a break?”

Our second warrant—the affidavit to acquire information on the bank account the neighboring cities had deposited money into—had finally been approved by the judge. I’d also received confirmation from two other towns’ chiefs that they’d direct deposited money into that specific account number as well. Unlike the information on the city’s general fund, this file had come electronically. It took only a few taps of the keyboard to find the proof we needed. We now had the physical evidence that proved other cities had paid money for communication equipment that should have been free.

The one essential detail we didn’t have, however, was a name. There was no personal information on who had opened the bank account: no name, no date of birth, no home or business address. The only identifier we had connected to the account was a nine-digit number.

“This sequence,” I said, tapping the computer screen. “That’s got to be a social security number, right?”

David gave the number a second look. “Looks like it.”

“How do we figure out who it belongs to?”

“I have no idea. The Internet?”

“I know who’ll know.” I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and searched for the number I had only recently programmed into my contacts. She might have continually refused to go on a date with me, but at least she’d finally given me her phone number.

The phone rang so many times, I was worried the call would go to voicemail. “Detective, this had better be important,” she said in lieu of a hello. “I have quite the busy day. Against my better judgment, I was forced to call in sick yesterday, and now I’m playing catch up.”

Despite Julia’s censuring words, I could detect the warmth in her tone. I wanted to call her bluff and point out that she hadn’t been complaining about taking a day off when she’d had me handcuffed to my bed, but David was sitting right next to me.

“I’ve got a question,” I said.

“Yes. I want to make out with you.”

I flicked my glance in David’s direction and cleared my throat. “I’ve got a
work
question,” I clarified.

“Go ahead.”

“Information on that personal bank account came back, but there’s no name associated with the account, just a social security number. Now what?”

“Just a social security number?” she echoed.

“They’re doing a stellar job of covering their tracks,” I complained.

Julia hummed. “If that’s the case, it very well could be a fake social security number, or it might belong to someone who’s dead. You can easily get that information from the Social Security Death Index.”

“And if it’s a real number, and the person is still alive?”

“Then you need a warrant to petition the Department of Social Security. Make sure you’re precise in your affidavit detailing why you need the information.”

“So I guess this means more paperwork?” I groaned.

I could hear the smile in her voice. “Better get back to work, Detective.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The last time I had taken a bike ride out of the city had been in the wake of a vicious nightmare on the Fourth of July. Tonight, I drove into the countryside and beyond Embarrass’ city limits to erase the memory of that night. What a difference a few days made. The investigation was finally coming together, and I was starting to feel good about my role in this town. I was more than just a babysitter with a badge.

I drove past Julia’s house with a passing glance at the massive manor. The lights were all out and her car was missing from the driveway. I had the night off, and I thought about calling her, but I would have to pull my bike over for that. The pavement felt too good beneath my tires to stop, however, so I kept driving.

The farther north I drove, the more relaxed I became. If I kept driving northeast, I’d eventually hit the Canadian border. I didn’t think I had that much gas in the tank, but it might be fun to try.

I continued to ride along the abandoned county highway until I came across a black Mercedes parked on the narrow shoulder. I slowed down and idled my bike in the middle of the empty road. I flipped the visor up on my helmet.

“Julia?” I called out into the dark. “Julia?”

After no response, I rolled my bike to the shoulder and parked it behind Julia’s car. Intent to investigate, I pulled a travel flashlight out of one of my saddlebags and used it to peer through the tinted windows of her car. I could make out nothing except for her black leather briefcase on the passenger seat, but there was no sign of the driver herself.

I retrieved my cell phone from the inner pocket of my leather jacket and dialed her number. The first call went immediately to voicemail. I didn’t start to worry until the second attempt was forwarded straight to her recorded message as well.

I crouched down and inspected the loose gravel near the driver’s side door. The ground was still damp from the rainy summer we’d been having, and I could make out the precise holes of aggressive stilettos that had sunk into the earth. I followed the evenly spaced divots into a dense patch of forest, which led me to a grassy path. At the end of the trail I found a weathered cabin perched beside a small lake.

The cabin couldn’t have been more than one thousand square feet. There were no lights on inside, so I used my flashlight to peer through the dirty windows. With still no signs of life, I continued to follow the matted path. A few yards away I discovered a short series of wooden steps that led down to the lake and a floating pier. I found Julia sitting at the end of the wooden dock. Her chin rested on her knees and her arms were wrapped around her shins. She looked like she’d come straight from City Hall. She’d cast off her shoes, however; the heels were caked in thick mud.