Flashpoint (13 page)

‘That probably scared the hell out of you and I apologize. It's not loaded anyway. My dad died seven years ago and she had a stroke. She's never been the same since. A form of dementia. I've got this uncle who got her to listen to all these crazy right-wing talk shows. He's a big conspiracy nut. And he's the one who gave her this gun.' He started down the stairs, then winced. ‘I had enough guns in Iraq. That's where I got shot and got the misery.' He tapped his hip.

When he was on the ground he put out his hand. He could have crushed a ball bat with his grip. ‘Mark Coleman's my name.'

‘Dev Conrad. I work with Senator Logan.'

‘You tell my mom that?' He was grinning.

‘I did.'

‘And I bet she gave you a speech.'

‘Pretty much.' I smiled. ‘I got the impression we couldn't count on her vote.'

He shook his head and glanced back at the house. ‘The doc wants me to put her in a nursing home but every one I looked at … I wouldn't do that to her. You walk in the door and they smell. I'm not even sure what it is. A mixture of things. But the stench is terrible. And half the people sit around tables all drugged up. I just couldn't do that to her.'

‘I don't blame you.' He was an admirable guy. ‘I'm trying to help Senator Logan.'

‘Yeah, he needs some help. I voted for him, by the way. I'm pretty much an independent – but all these right-wingers … My dad was a union man. He could never figure out why all his friends voted for the other side and neither could I. Which makes it so weird to me with my mother and all. If it wasn't so sad it'd be funny. Bush was behind 9/11. She really believes that.'

I wondered how often he went to the city. He had the lonely man's need to talk to somebody.

‘You spend a lot of time on the yard lately?' I asked because of the rake that leaned against a plastic bag full of what appeared to be leaves. There were three bulky bags, in fact.

‘Yeah. I keep busy. Since the wife left two years ago I've been remodeling the whole house inside. She used to like to work outside but after she left—' Unfinished sentences were often more eloquent than finished ones. ‘Well, I do all the yard work myself now.'

‘I ask because from your yard you can see the turnoff that leads to the senator's cabin.'

‘Oh, sure. In fact, every once in a while, especially during the summer, I'd see him and he'd honk and I'd wave.'

‘Have you seen the senator around here in the last couple days?'

‘No, I guess I haven't.'

‘Or how about anybody making that turn?'

He pursed his lips. ‘Hmm. I guess I'd have to think about it.'

‘But you have been out in the yard.'

‘Oh, sure.'

‘You ever walk down by the river?'

‘Sometimes. When the weather's nice.'

‘How about the last few days?'

‘Don't think so. It rained a lot.' Then, ‘Wait. I think I did see somebody.' His forehead was rutted in thought. ‘Well, I heard them, I guess. Didn't see them. When I walk down the slope in back I get pretty close to the Logan cabin if I follow the river. I heard two voices. They were pretty mad. Two women, from what I heard.'

‘Two women?'

‘Right.'

‘No men at all?'

‘None I could hear. I was looking for a stray kitten. Our black one on the back porch had a litter a while back and the little ones are just learning to get around for themselves. The one I called Tootsie disappeared couple of days ago. Something's probably grabbed her and killed her by now but I keep looking for her anyway.' I wondered if he'd said something like this right after his wife left him.

‘Could you tell anything about the two women?'

He had a wholesome big boy grin. ‘You sound like a cop.'

‘I was an army investigator. I had to ask a lot of questions.'

‘Well, I'll be glad to help the senator any way I can.'

‘Did either of these women call the other by a name?'

‘No, I'm afraid not.'

‘Any guess as to their ages?'

‘No. Not really. Just two women.'

‘Think about it. Younger or older?'

‘There was this music playing. Some kind of rock – the new stuff. I hate it. Anyway, it was just loud enough so all I could tell was that they were mad at each other.'

To my right I heard the front door open and I looked in time to see his mother's return to the stage. ‘That man has a gun, honey. You be careful of him.'

‘He's fine, Mom. Nothing to worry about.'

‘One of my programs said that a federal man would come on my property with a gun and take me away.'

‘Not today, Mom.'

‘You're young, honey. You don't know how the world works. Your dad didn't either. If you'd start listening to my programs I wouldn't have to worry about you so much.'

‘You don't have to worry about me at all, Mom. Now you go back inside and sit down, and I'll come right in and fix you a cup of tea.'

His patience and tenderness made me wonder what had gone wrong with his marriage. But maybe he'd been shorn of both patience and tenderness in the days of his return from Iraq. At the rate troops were committing suicide, home was as frightening as the war had been. Maybe even more frightening.

He offered his hand and we shook. ‘I better get inside.'

‘Thanks. I appreciate your time.'

She was still on the porch waiting for him. He turned around and headed back into his more recent tour of duty.

I was a hundred yards from the green and white City Limits sign when I saw the unmarked black car behind me. Police. The landscape here was mostly light manufacturing or the remnants thereof. You had metal buildings but you didn't have people walking among the metal buildings. Instead you had large forbidding padlocks on gates and
CLOSED
signs on the perimeter fencing.

He gave me a burst of siren that had the proper effect on my heart rate and mind. I drove another hundred yards until I found a place wide enough to accommodate both cars. Then I sat there the way he wanted me to do. He sat there, too, letting me sweat it out some. At least, hoping I was sweating it out. Now that the annoyance of being pulled over had passed, all I was concerned about was how long he'd been following me. He knew the turf. He could make himself invisible.

From what I could see of him in my rearview he was a young-looking black man in a gray suit, white shirt and blue-and-red rep tie. A
Gentleman's Quarterly
cop? He was talking on his phone and I had no doubt he was talking about me. Hammell had set him on me for sure and now he was coordinating with Hammell just how hard he was to lean on me.

He was maybe six feet and slim and he walked with military crispness up to my car window. I hit the window button then handed him my wallet with the driver's license facing him.

‘Thank you, Mr Conrad. That isn't necessary.' He wasn't going to play any games. He was here to deliver a message. He showed me his badge and ID. Detective William Farnsworth.

I withdrew the wallet.

‘You are performing the activities of a licensed private investigator but as far as the police department can find, you don't have any license.' His short dark hair had touches of gray, Obama-style.

‘I'm not sure what you're talking about.'

The smile was patronizing. ‘Then you're good friends with the man you just visited?'

‘Is that any of your business?'

‘You were asking him questions because you're working for Senator Logan. And you're not working as a consultant. You're working as a detective. You have a good record as an army investigator but that doesn't give you any authority to work as an investigator out here.'

They'd spent some time on Google.

‘Detective Hammell would like you to limit your work here to your work as a consultant.' He had leaned in a little closer to talk to me. His aftershave had a spicy scent. ‘I really need your word that you'll cooperate.'

‘I'm afraid I can't give you my word.'

He stood up. His face disappeared. Cars passed by in opposing lanes. Gawkers gawked.

His hand came down with a business card in it. Followed by his head. ‘Take this.'

‘What is it?'

‘The name and number of a reputable local investigator. Detective Hammell would like you to use him. That way you won't get into trouble.'

‘That's not exactly a recommendation.'

‘What's not?'

‘That Hammell recommends him.'

‘Detective Hammell is trying to do you a favor.' For the first time anger flashed through his words. The suit and button-down shirt and carefully cut hair might say corporate but the words were now pure cop.

‘I'll take the card but I doubt I'll call him. And I suppose that means that you'll keep following me around.'

‘Me or somebody else.'

‘I have a right to—'

‘You have no right. So give it a rest. You understand?'

I'd pressed the wrong button.

‘Get out of the car.'

‘Hey, shit, c'mon.'

‘Out. Now.'

When I was standing next to the open door he said, ‘You carrying a gun?'

‘Not carrying. It's in the glove compartment.'

‘Let's see it.'

‘It's a Glock. You probably know what a Glock looks like.'

He held out his hand, palm up. ‘The Glock. Now.'

So I leaned in and across to the glove compartment, dragged out the Glock and handed it to him.

‘Let's see the permit to carry.'

‘It's in my wallet.'

‘Let's see the wallet.'

He watched me as if half expecting I was going to pull a second gun on him. I opened the wallet so the permit was visible and held it up for him to see.

‘Uh-huh.'

‘That enough for you?'

‘Yeah.'

‘I'd like to go.'

‘So would I, actually. But I have to keep tailing you. And the next time I think you're asking questions only a licensed investigator should ask, I'm going to arrest you.'

‘Bullshit. I have a right to talk to anybody I want to. A legal right.'

‘Maybe and maybe not. But I'm going to arrest you. You've got the big fancy lawyer. If he's such a hotshot he'll probably be able to help you get out of our jail.'

A teenage boy in a passing car shouted something and then flipped us the bird. I flipped it right back.

‘Very mature, Conrad.'

He pretty much had a good point.

‘I'm going to make this official, Conrad. Detective Hammell, my immediate superior, wants to find the person who killed the Cabot woman. The medical examiner says she was killed around ten last night, by the way. Finding the killer is Hammell's only interest. He's an honest man. If Jane Tyler has told you otherwise then she's telling you lies. The problem they have is strictly personal and doesn't get in the way of the investigation. Detective Hammell is interested in Senator Logan for several obvious reasons. He knew the woman and she was found dead in his cabin. That's for starters. So don't think there's any kind of vendetta going on here. You can believe this or not, but both Detective Hammell and I voted for Senator Logan because the douche bag who ran against him wanted to cut the budget so much we'd have to lay off a third of the force. I want to make all this clear.'

He returned gun and wallet. ‘I'm not harassing you. I'm trying to keep you out of trouble with the police. I'm doing you a favor.'

His buffed and shined black shoes kicked up some dust as he turned and started back toward his car, but then he stopped and walked back to me. ‘You may not know this yet, but a woman came to the police station last night and testified that the night before the Cabot woman died she saw her having a very angry argument with a man she says was Senator Logan. This took place in the parking lot of the Regency hotel around midnight. The woman works in the kitchen of the hotel. If I were you I'd think about hiring a professional investigator.'

I sat in my Jeep for a long minute absorbing what he'd told me. He followed me all the way into the city and right up to the parking lot of Jane's office.

A woman testified that Robert and Tracy Cabot had been in an argument in the parking lot of the Regency.

What the hell else was Robert keeping from me?

‘D
id he give you his name?'

‘Farnsworth.'

‘Bill Farnsworth. Right. Great guy and very good cop.'

‘I was hoping you'd tell me he was running drugs and pimping ten-year-olds.'

‘Sorry, I can't help you there,' Jane said. ‘He's a good man. Despite my argument with Hammell, most of his people are good. The chief here is mostly a figurehead. Country club connections. In fact, he and Hammell argue a lot about sending officers to night school to study criminology and keep up on the technology. Hammell knows how important that is. We had a very corrupt and stupid police force here for years. And I knew that firsthand. I had a somewhat wild older brother and one night when he was sixteen they caught him drinking a beer behind the fence at a football game. And they beat him up so badly they broke his nose and two of his ribs. The bastard who did the beating was later arrested for trying to run his wife down with the family car and burglarizing several stores. A real sweetie. Hammell's changed all that.'

‘All right, you've convinced me Hammell's a good cop. But what if his son goes crazy some night and really tries to hurt you?'

‘That's why I got my carry permit. He'll be sorry.'

We were in her private office. More historical photographs on the wall, an area with two bookcases filled with bulging legal tomes. And a desk as empty as George W. Bush's brain. The large window behind the desk overlooked a lovely asphalt parking lot where two men were unloading a furniture truck and eyeing the building next door – a medical supply house, according to the sign.