Lie Catchers (12 page)

They idly watched the passengers from Parker’s plane disembark, when Parker spotted a familiar face. “Jesus!”

“What?” Ivor asked.

“They sent Nilson.” Shaking his head, Parker pointed to a tall blond figure pushing through the crowd, looking irritated at the slow-moving crowd.

“My boss sent Special Agent Anton Nilson.”

“A Swede,” Ivor said, chuckling. “You know what Norwegians consider ‘diversity,’ don’t you?”

Parker shook his head,

“Allowing Swedes in town.”

Parker laughed as he raised his hand and shouted, “Nilson. Over here.” To Ivor he said, “The good thing is I can connect up the two of you before I leave.” He shook hands with Nilson and introduced Ivor. “Excellent timing, Nilson. I thought they’d send someone tomorrow or the next day.”

The man threw back his shoulders. “You’ve got a shooter and a dozen suspects, says Oldshack.”

Parker turned to Ivor. “Our boss is SAC Bertrand Newcastle; our nickname for him is Oldshack.”

Nodding, Ivor said, “I’ll be happy to take you to town, Special Agent Nilson.”

“While SA Browne pokes around in Seattle and Fresno, I’ll sort out this mess.” Nilson pointed to Parker. “You send me the money trails on all the suspects along with the alibi info from Seattle and I’ll have this solved before you step back on a plane.”

Parker struggled not to protest. Nilson had been a street agent for as many years as Parker had desk duty. His reputation was legend as a no-nonsense, hard-working investigator. He’d hit Petersburg like a steamroller.

When Ivor rolled his eyes, Parker grinned, relieved. But his pleasure was short-lived. Maybe if Parker had done a better job, Liv wouldn’t have been shot. How much of the Petersburg fiasco was Parker’s fault?

As if he’d read Parker’s mind, Ivor stuck out his hand. “You’ll be back as soon as you can, Special Agent Browne. I’ll tell her.”

As he headed for the tarmac, Parker’s worries whirled in his head. Even if Nilson was on the job, it felt wrong for Parker to leave Liv and his father in a town with a killer.

Add to that the bigger question: Once he left Petersburg would he ever get back?

****

Petersburg, 1932

The Investigation Stalls

(The Murder of Sing Lee: A Retrospective

by Liv Hanson)

Gus learned he’d become addicted to Petersburg two weeks into his investigation, on the day he denied himself a morning visit to the bakery for a dose of caffeine, a cinnamon roll, and Greta Bjornson. Stunned by the intensity of his withdrawal symptoms, he scratched one more routine off his schedule: his daily constitutional down Nordic Drive, always interrupted by pleasant conversations with dozens of men and women he’d interviewed. Next he’d have to eliminate the couple hours of coffee and conversation with scores of people who came and went at the Country Store. No quick chat with Greta on her second bakery delivery of the day, the sight of her sweet face recharging him for a busy afternoon. No interesting talks with Alf Forden, the Country Store manager. He couldn’t watch children sneaking into the back rooms of the store to explore Sing Lee’s rabbit warren of storage spaces, reminding Gus that everyone in town had access to Sing Lee. He wouldn’t observe boys rushing into the store, holding up the grouse they’d shot with their 22’s, expecting Alf to give them two bits per bird and a piece of candy.

The townspeople had taken to sitting down with Gus in the Country Store, trotting out theories about Sing Lee’s death and listening respectfully to his responses. They praised him for his persistence, then invited him to the town bar or to their homes to talk more about the case. Not once had he gone to the Bucket of Blood for a respite beer. Politely, he’d refused every invitation, until the plea came from Greta. How could he say no to the chance to meet her sister, for the opportunity to leave his cold hotel room in favor of hours of time with Greta in a family home? So he went. Twice.

The realization Petersburg had entranced him came the night before as he sat down at his hotel desk to write his daily report, when thoughts about Greta’s smile and bakery smells seemed more important to capture into words than how his investigation had hit a dead end. When he finished the couple pages of interviews and observations, he looked back at what he had written in the early days of his investigation and what he wrote yesterday. Repetition. Nothing new on the case. No fresh observations, except the investigator suffering a case of withdrawal. He paced in his room, sweating, feeling shame and ineptness, but most of all his heart ached when he couldn’t be with the people of Petersburg. Greta. Alf. The children. The earnest, supportive citizens of the town.

He was finished. He had no new leads.

And now he had to tell his boss and all of Petersburg, that someone else, someone more objective than he, would have to take over the case.

****

Liv shut off the tape-recorder and lowered her head to the back of her couch, trying not to wiggle. Despite the pain pills, her shoulder burned. Hell, even when she blinked, the movement fired up the wound. Damn thing.

Gus and I are in pain while the Petersburg murders remain unsolved. I may never see Parker again and poor Gus is denying himself access to Greta.
With a sigh, she put down the tape recorder.
I shouldn’t be writing under the influence of drugs.

She glanced at the get-well cards standing open on her wardrobe and four vases of flowers lined up on the window ledge, all from people who’d dropped by the store, leaving their well-wishes with her mother.
Turned out I didn’t need to write the Sing Lee articles to be noticed in Petersburg. Getting shot did the trick.

The few people Liv had spoken to on the phone expressed disbelief, fear, and vulnerability. Veiled was their burning question: What had she done to bring a shooter into town? By the end of each conversation, Liv was left with a feeling of guilt, an uneasiness that compounded by the hour. With too much time to think and pain killers in the mix, her brain went into overdrive.

Did I bring this on? Maybe a guy doesn’t like the way I dance. Is some woman jealous of my relationship with Tuck? Could a man be seeking revenge because I’m the sister of the chief? Does my closeness to Parker piss someone off? What if my stupid articles in
Giggler
put a guy over the edge? Would the Sing Lee articles enrage people? Suppose the stuff I’m doing with salmon oil is cutting into another entrepreneur’s plan. Dammit, why in the world would I want to stay in a town that wants to get rid of me?

A knock on the door startled her, so Liv jerked. “Ouch. Who is it?”

“Me,” yelled Ivor. “You decent?”

“I’ve got my robe on over my PJ’s and I look like hell. I wouldn’t call that decent.”

“I’ll use my key.”

“How you doin’, Sis?” Ivor asked when he entered the room. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “Got someone to see you. I dropped Parker at the airport and picked up his partner. This is Special Agent Anton Nilson. He wanted you to be the first person he visited after I checked him into the B&B.” Ivor withdrew to the side and gestured to a tall, curly blonde-headed man with a minimal chin and close-set eyes. The man smiled, but Liv could tell he wasn’t practiced at the art.

“Special Agent? I thought Parker was a Seattle detective.”

Ivor jumped in. “A cover, Liv. The alleged murder crossed state boundaries, so the Feds are involved in the task force. When they found evidence on Everett that he had money stashed in a foreign account, Treasury stepped in. SA Nilson and SA Browne are from the office in Fresno, California. We’ll let the town know they’re Federal agents; I’d like you to keep the Treasury part to yourself.”

“Parker’s Treasury?” She pressed her fingers to her glass ochre and black pendant and took a breath.

Ivor came to the couch and sat down next to her feet. “His office is in Fresno, California.”

She made eye contact with Nilson. “Are you taking over the investigation?”

“No, ma’am. SA Browne and I are working together. Sorry you were injured, ma’am.”

“Please call me Liv.”

“I’m on board because someone shot at you or SA Browne.”

Patting Liv’s slippered foot, Ivor said, “The Feds have been involved from the beginning.”

“Because it’s an interstate crime.”

“Right.”

“Why keep that fact hidden?”

“Best not to tip off our suspects.”

Nilson cleared his throat. “The shooting not only blew our cover but clarified for the department SA Browne needed assistance.”

Liv wanted to protest, but she clamped her mouth shut. Wasn’t she the one who’d critiqued Parker’s methods? Why in the world would she argue against back-up? “Agent Browne was working under difficult circumstances, Anton.”

“Oh?”

Liv thought about Gus Stockton, anguishing over his growing list of suspects in the murder of Sing Lee. Was every murder investigation so complicated? “We think the bullet that hit me was meant for Agent Browne.” The impact of her words sank in. Parker could have been killed.
We were walking to my apartment, on fire for each other and he might have died before we had a chance to…
A tear fell to her cheek.

“Liv?” Ivor asked, eyebrows knit. “Is it the pain, honey?”

“Yes,” she lied. It
was
pain from the wound as well as from the thought of losing Parker. “Parker Browne was working tirelessly to find Everett Olson’s killer. He’d picked me up at Lito’s Landing so he could follow up on a question session at my mother’s.” She paused for Ivor to show agreement. “Parker could have waited until the next day to question me, but he was trying to be efficient along with being a gentleman and escorting me to my home.”

“That’s true.” Ivor stood and headed for the kitchen. “Let me get us some coffee and hunt up some cookies.”

“Nothing for me.” Nilson sat down in a chair next to Liv’s. Out of his breast pocket, he pulled Liv’s chart. “Agent Browne faxed this to the office a few days ago.”

Liv nodded, but didn’t like the idea of her chart, the one she’d composed for Parker, in this man’s hands. What would the Swede think of the detail in the spreadsheet?

“I don’t understand something, ma’am.”

Liv didn’t move, the throb in her stitches reminding her it was time for another pain pill, the empty feeling in her stomach warning her that Parker might never come back to Petersburg. “What don’t you understand about my data sheet, Anton?”

“Ma’am, I’ve been an investigator for my whole career.” He took a deep breath. “Never have I seen this kind of detail rendered by a witness.” His eyes bored into hers, but he spoke quietly, as if he didn’t want Ivor to hear his words. “We’ve been passing this sheet around the Fresno office. It’s pretty unusual.”

Liv straightened her back and winced at the lightning bolt of pain from her shoulder. “Parker asked for a detailed account, Anton. I am a writer, a researcher; factoid-prone.”

The agent gazed at the sheet of paper, his head shaking. “It’s carefully done, ma’am, more like the work of a guilty person, someone who knew ahead of time she’d be required to account for every minute in this week.”

Liv leaned forward, ignoring the pain in her arm, carefully matching the intensity and modulation of Nilson’s voice. “You work fast don’t you Special Agent Nilson? You whip into town with a plan to show up Parker Browne by having the murderer picked out beforehand. Is this when you slap the cuffs on me and take me to Fresno for questioning?” She smiled inside, thinking she’d at least see Parker there.

Nilson blinked. “Well, I…”

“If I’m guilty of Ev Olson’s murder, then who shot me last night…or tried to shoot Parker? You think I have an accomplice, someone who missed Parker and shot me by accident? Who might that be?” Liv glanced at Ivor as he walked into the room with the coffee, a puzzled look on his face. “Ivor, this is rich. In the time you’ve prepared our coffee, Special Agent Anton Nilson has accused me of bewitching Parker Browne so he won’t arrest me as the killer of Everett Olson. In addition, he’s convinced I have an accomplice I ordered to shoot me in the dark of Sing Lee Alley so I look less suspicious. Isn’t that amazing?”

Balancing a tray of coffee and cookies and a glass of water, Ivor looked from Liv to Nilson repeatedly, settling, finally on Nilson. “She’s been shot, for Christ’s sake, and she’s on pain medication.” He put the tray on the table next to Liv and addressed Nilson. “You should know that Petersburg has taken a liking to Parker Browne and his father. The agent was making progress on the case before someone took a shot at him and/or my sister.” Ivor handed a mug of coffee to Liv and pushed the cookie plate within her reach. The water in Nilson’s glass sloshed a bit when Ivor handed it to the agent. Liv caught Ivor’s tiny grin when Nilson jerked back to avoid getting splashed.

Ivor plunked down in a chair, grabbed his mug of coffee and a handful of cookies. “Have a seat, Nilson, and let’s pretend none of the previous conversation occurred.” He lifted his coffee toward Nilson and Liv, and with a sly smile, said, “Welcome to Little Norway.”

****

Parker sighed as he eased into his chair, exhausted. He gazed at his hourglass, the only artifact he’d brought from his former office. With its rich mahogany base and top, the big hourglass was too elegant for his cubicle’s gray metal desk, but he’d kept it to remind him of a decade of Internet crime-fighting. Computer work had a way of stealing time. He used to hunch over the screen longer than he’d planned, muscles stiffening from disuse and eyes smarting from staring at the computer screen. So he’d learned to flip over the hourglass as soon as he started a project. When the last grain of sand hit the bottom pile, he’d stand up and stretch, walk around the office floor and grab some water… anything to recharge his body and mind, before he’d sit down, turn the hourglass over and begin, again.

No need for an hourglass in Petersburg or Seattle. He couldn’t remember a time in the last two weeks when he wasn’t on the move, except for the slow dance with Liv.

He smiled at the memory.