His new job was so simple it seemed surreal somehow. All he had to do was keep an eye on the equipment, which involved reading dials and looking at lights. The programming was all on tapes. He had to stop the tape at prescribed times, to give news and weather updates, but that was it. The night programming was a syndicated show, that had its own announcer already on the tape.
It had a lot of advantages. First off, as Shaffer had said, there was a computer there, so he could write while the programming played out. It also put him on the same basic schedule as Lulu, for which he was very happy. He'd gotten used to having her review his writing. Her comments were remarkably insightful, and more than once she'd pointed out ... and then solved ... a problem he hadn't noticed at all.
It was easier to adjust his schedule than he'd thought it might be. He wondered if he'd had a night job in the past that he couldn't remember. He went to work before Lulu, and got off before she did, too. He almost always ended up at The Early Girl for breakfast. He didn't "fit in" there, yet. He was still an outsider. But that was okay, because sitting alone in a booth let him read over the printout of his night's work, while it was still fresh in his mind. Scribbled notes to himself between the lines would be processed later that evening, at Lulu's quite often, and that would have it fresh in his mind for continuing the story at work after that. Plus, her flirty behavior always had him primed to write "the good parts," when he was alone and his boner wouldn't embarrass him.
Things were working out much better than he'd thought they would.
Life went on for Mitch Connel, too. He still thought about Kris fairly frequently. He'd sat with him at breakfast a time or two, while the man looked over sheets of print that were from his book. He was obviously able to create pages and pages of text, assuming he didn't just use the same ones every day for show. Kris wouldn't let anyone but Lulu look at them. She'd come by, pick up a page, her eyes scanning rapidly down it. She might point to something and make a comment that was always cryptic, to Mitch, but which usually had Kris hitting his forehead with one palm and saying, "Of course! Thanks, Lulu."
Mitch was still certain that Kris was hiding something. He just had no idea what it was. He was beginning to feel that it was something that didn't have anything to do with the car that was still under the ice. It was obvious no one else had been involved in that accident. The insurance company was still stalling on getting the car out of the river, even though they now had Farmingham's social security number.
It was no big deal, really. There were no incidents or unsolved crimes in the region that seemed to be tied to the stranger. At least nothing Mitch could identify.
Detective Harper plugged the ear buds into his ears and tried to act like he was doing something completely normal. Technically, he wasn't supposed to have the tape he was putting in the portable tape player. The original was FBI property - evidence, technically, though it would never be used in court. It was rare for a recorded interview to be played for a judge or jury. The constitution ... and the defense attorney ... demanded that the actual witness be questioned in court.
But the tapes
could
be used to refute testimony in open court, if it was different from what was on the tape.
Defense attorneys therefore hated the recordings intuitively. They were usually made when the investigation was still fresh and the witness, or suspect, in this case, was still high on the emotions created by the incident. That emotion was clearly audible on the tapes, if they were done right. Listening to a victim's sobs could tear your heart out, if you weren't used to hearing that kind of thing. And the casual lies of a suspect, later proved to be lies, often made them sound like soulless, uncaring bastards ... which most of them were. Defense attorneys didn't want a jury to hear either kind of damaging evidence. They much preferred making the victim tell the story so many times that they just sounded dead and uninterested when the jury was listening. If done right, the crime would sound like it was no big deal, even to the victim. And the suspect had to be coached ... trained to speak ... or you didn't put him on the stand at all.
But Harper had made the tape in the first place, and he always made a copy before putting recordings into the evidence locker. The fact that the feds had seized the original didn't mean he couldn't listen to the copy. Not as far as he was concerned.
Harper hit the play button and listened to the voice of Curly Higginbotham, somewhat drowsy from the pain medication he had been given in the hospital, where the initial interview had taken place and the tape had been made. There wasn't much before he invoked his right to have a lawyer present during questioning, but what there was made Harper's ears prick up.
The tape started with Harper saying his name, Curly's name, and the date, as well as what the investigation was about. Harper, like most people, didn't think the voice on the tape sounded like him.
"You got yourself into some trouble this time, Curly," he'd said.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," came Curly's whining voice. He sounded sincere, which was odd, since all three of the men had rap sheets pages long.
"From what I can tell it was a pretty good plan," said Harper. If he could get Curly to brag about the plan, it was almost as good as a confession.
"It was a good plan!" said Curly. "Better than ... " He stopped talking.
"What was supposed to happen, Curly?" came Harper's voice.
"We didn't do nothing," Curly said. The tone changed there. It was a routine lie and it was delivered in a routine voice.
"Whose idea was it, Curly?"
"I ain't saying no more until I got a lawyer!" The hiss of the tape cut off there.
He replayed it five more times, listening only to Curly's comments before he invoked. There was something about the incomplete sentence: "Better than ... " that made Jim's hackles stand up. Better than what? Better than the last time?
He looked at their rap sheet. The last time Curly had been busted was for an incident where he tried to shortchange a blind man selling magazines, oddly enough. His brothers were with him, but had not been charged, because it was Curly who had handed the man a one dollar bill, claiming it was a twenty. They'd claimed it was all an honest mistake - there had actually been a twenty in Curly's billfold - when the beat cop who saw the whole incident arrested him. He'd gotten probation.
He couldn't have been talking about that incident. Nobody would compare a kidnapping plan to what had probably just been a spur of the moment attempt to rip off a blind guy.
Everybody seemed to think that the planning these three had done on this caper was beyond them ... that somebody else had to be involved ... somebody smarter.
But what if they'd tried something like this before? What if they'd learned things from other attempts?
With what he knew was a pure hunch, Harper decided to look at any cold kidnapping cases there might be in the files.
He trusted his hunches.
"I can't believe I let you con me into this," said Lou Anne.
"What are you talking about?" asked Jessica, trying to sound hurt. "You get a free gift for doing it."
"The last thing I need is some kinky sex toy for Ambrose to find and ask about," said Lou Anne.
"It isn't just sex toys!" said Jessica heatedly. "This is a passion party, and this is classy stuff, Lulu. And you know my apartment is way too small to have a party like this in."
"Well, it's a pain in the ass, if you ask me," said Lou Anne. "I hope you're not planning on any of us prancing around in next to nothing. Kris is here, you know."
"What? What's
he
doing here?"
"He's taking care of Ambrose for me so I can host your stupid party!
That's
what he's doing here."
"But of
course
we're going to want to try things on," moaned Jessica. "What fun is it to look at something on a hanger?" She frowned. "Did you tell him what kind of party it is? I don't want him peeking. I had to work hard to get some of these women to come."
"I only told him we wanted privacy. He agreed to keep Ambrose in his room. He'll probably read to him or tell him stories or whatever."
"He sure spends a lot of time over here," said Jessica suggestively.
"I'm just his editor, kind of," said Lou Anne. "Besides, I think he's lonely."
"I don't see how he could be lonely, as much as he's over here," said Jessica. "And he comes to the diner in the mornings too."
"So do you."
"I'm your best friend."
"Look," said Lou Anne, facing her friend. "Nothing's going on, okay? He just writes when he's here. We flirt a little bit and it helps him with his story, okay? That
doesn't
mean anything's going on."
"Well, maybe we can change that tonight," purred Jessica, her eyes bright. "I've seen some of the stuff Brenda sells and it's hot! You wear one of her outfits around him and you'll get laid for sure!"
"And who said I
want
to get laid?" Lou Anne asked archly.
"I do," said Jessica firmly. "You
need
to get laid. If he's spending all this time around you and you haven't gotten him going then you're losing your touch. You need some practice."
"You're
awful!
" squealed Lou Anne. "I'm doing just fine, thank you. The last thing I need is some man to turn everything upside down again."
"That 'I don't need a man' crap won't work with me, Lulu," laughed Jessica. "You're as hot blooded as I am, and I'm about to go nuts from lack-a-nookie. You obviously like him or you wouldn't let him come around. And you flirt with him! You said it yourself!"
"He thinks I have a hot ass," said Lou Anne. "That's all."
"And how do we know this?" asked Jessica.
"He said so.
That's
how we know," groused Lou Anne.
"Let me get this straight," said Jessica. "He said you have a hot ass, and he's still walking around upright? Girl, you got it bad for this guy. Don't even try to lie to me."
"I do
not
have it bad for him!" hissed Lou Anne. "He's just a sweet man who had something horrible happen to him and he's trying to do his best to get his life back. So he paid me a compliment. Big deal. I
do
have a hot ass, you know!"
"And when was the last time that ass got a workout?" asked Jessica slyly.
"I believe your saleswoman will be here any minute," said Lou Anne, ignoring her friend's jibe. "If you're so concerned about this going well, shouldn't you be paying more attention to the preparations?"
"Everything is ready to go," said Jessica, not put off a bit. "I'm much more interested in hearing about Kris and how he thinks your butt is to die for." She giggled.
"It
is
to die for," came a bass voice. Both women jumped and whirled to see Kris standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "So is yours, Jessica."
Jessica's face darkened, but that wasn't what told everyone in the room she was embarrassed. It was her hysterical giggle that explained how unprepared she had been for him to say that.
Kris folded his arms. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so, by the way. Officer Connel seems to be fascinated with your ass too."
"What?" Jessica squealed.
"Oh good grief," moaned Lou Anne. "Please tell me he didn't say something to you."
"He didn't have to," said Kris. "Every time I see him and Jess in the same room, he spends most of his time staring at her."
"When have you seen us in the same room?" said Jessica, her voice argumentative.
"Twice this week at The Early Girl," said Kris.
"I just stopped in there to tell Lulu something!" squeaked Jessica.
"And his eyes were glued to your ass both times," said Kris. "Maybe he was just admiring your belt, though. It's hard to tell sometimes."
"I don't wear a belt," said Jessica, looking confused.
"Well, there you go," said Kris, grinning.
"I think your romance novel is bleeding over into real life," said Lou Anne. "Mitch has a girlfriend. Sure, he flirts with us, but that doesn't mean anything."
"Well, I haven't seen Mitch's girlfriend," said Kris. "But I'll bet Jess has a better ass than she does."
The doorbell sounded then, breaking up the conversation.
"Jess, you get the door," said Lou Anne. "And you," she said, turning to Kris. "You're not supposed to be out here. Where's Ambrose?"
"I just needed to get some water for us, before the festivities begin," he said. "You don't want us to die of thirst in there while you and your friends talk about your deep dark secrets, now do you?"
