Remembering Dresden (Jack Turner Suspense Series Book 2) (19 page)

“I suppose I could,” Jack said. “But first, maybe you could check with the owner of the arcade, see if they’ve got some surveillance cameras that picked all this up as it went down.”

“Oh, they’ve got cameras at the Fun Spot all right. None of them work. I’ve had some dealings with that place. Usually, kids trying to break into the machines. I noticed the cameras and asked the owner about it. He said they haven’t worked for years, and he doesn’t have the money to repair them. So, you’re pretty much all I’ve got.”

“When would you like me to come down?”

“The sooner the better. If we know what these guys look like, we might be able to pick them up right away. You didn’t see what kind of car they drove in?”

“No.” Jack really didn’t want to do this. That’s not how this afternoon was supposed to go.

“So, whatta you say, Jack. What time can you be down here? I’ll make sure I’m here then.”

“Give me an hour?”

“That’ll work.”

The truth was, Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with these guys a second time. If it was a case of mistaken identity, and he left it alone, it might just go away. Did he really want to get mixed up with them, on any level, and take a chance that whoever sent them might now have a reason to come after him on purpose?

Senator Burke Wagner looked at his watch as his frustration mounted. It was 1:06pm. Where was Vandergraf? Their lunch appointment had been set for 1pm.

He looked through the glass window of the
Chez Bruchez
, eyeing the montage of walking legs just visible at street level. Then realized how absurd it was, as if he’d recognize Vandergraf’s shoes.
Chez Bruchez
was the only high-end French restaurant in Culpepper. Here, patrons got to pay twenty-plus dollars for a half-empty plateful of something they couldn’t pronounce correctly. But they earned the privilege of telling others they had eaten lunch at the
Chez Bruchez
.

Wagner leaned back in his chair and looked at himself in the mirrored wall. Two decades in a sedentary job hadn’t gotten the better of him. Look at that waistline. He worked out two days a week, played racquetball on a third. Still had all of his light brown hair. Well, almost all.

“Sorry, I’m late,” said a voice over his right shoulder. Wagner turned in time to see Vandergraf take his seat, then unfold a linen napkin across his knee.

“Drove in from outside of town, got stuck behind an old man on a tractor. You know how that is. Single lane, curvy roads, no place to pass.”

Wagner did know how that was, which was why he always allowed five to ten extra minutes when his route involved the country roads outside of town. “Is that the first slow farmer you’ve come across since moving here to Culpepper?”

“Well, no…” Vandergraf looked into his eyes. He got the message.

“Ever eaten here before?” Wagner had never met his young aide here. He wondered if Vandergraf might need help to place his order.

“No, actually, I haven’t, but—”

“Can I help you, Messieurs? Are we ready?” asked a tall, thin waiter with a thick French accent.

Wagner wasn’t convinced it was authentic. “We’ll probably need a minute, Jacques. My aide here has been running a little late.”

“That’s okay, Jacques. If you’re ready, Senator, go ahead. I think I know what I want. Let me just take a look here and see if they have it.” Vandergraf’s eyes scanned the surface of the menu.

“Right, Jacques, well, I’ll have…”

“The usual, Monsieur Wagner?” Jacques smiled.

Wagner had only ever tried three items on the menu and had only really liked one. “Sure, Jacques. I’ll have that. And a glass of Chablis? Pick a good year.”

“Very good,” Jacques said.

“Certainement, Jacques,” Vandergraf said. “Je voudrais … hmmm … je voudrais
La Canard a l’Orange
, s’il vous plait. Avec Chablis.”

“Tres bien, Monsieur,” Jacques replied.

“And, Jacques, non presse.”

“Very good, Monsieur. I understand.” Jacques gave Vandergraf a satisfied grin, wrote down his order, turned and walked away.

Clearly, Vandergraf didn’t need his help. Wagner had never learned French. Back in college, he’d thought about taking it, but his father hated the French.

“I spent two high school summers in Paris,” Vandergraf said. “Come here often?”

“Every now and then,” Wagner said. “Did you get my voicemail?”

“The one about Mr. Herndon coming through with flying colors? I did. I can’t say I’m surprised. The way I left him after our meeting, he seemed pretty persuaded. So, I’m glad to hear it.”

“You mentioned in your text,” Wagner said, “that something fairly urgent had come up. Something we shouldn’t talk about on the phone.”

Vandergraf looked at his watch. “They should have gotten back to me by now.”

“They? Who are they?” Wagner said.

“Earlier today, I gave a pretty urgent assignment to two young men I hire for very specialized kind of work. I’ve used them before a few times, and they’ve always come through. They’re not very bright, but then, these assignments are never very complicated.”

“Anything I should know about?”

“I’m not sure, that’s why I wanted to meet in person. This has to do with your instructions regarding plausible deniability. I certainly understand the concept of not sharing certain details of my work with you, to protect your reputation and your ability to remain detached from any activity that might damage it. You pay me very well to exercise good judgment. But the situation I’ve just become aware of crosses into territory we haven’t covered before. It has to do with your father.”

“My father?” Wagner said. “What kind of situation would come up that might involve my father? He’s been dead for over ten years.”

“I remembered that, sir. Nevertheless, it has. I have no idea what it’s about, and very few details to offer. I do know how rigidly you guard any information that has to do with your family’s past, and I perfectly understand that.” He looked at his phone. “I had hoped these men would have called me before we met, so I could include how the situation was resolved as part of my update. They should be getting back with me any minute.”

“You do know,” Wagner said, “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” Vandergraf said. “And that’s intentional on my part. Seems like the very concept of plausible deniability suggests that I play it safe, and err on the side of telling you too little, not too much.”

Vandergraf had a point. But he had also piqued Wagner’s curiosity.

“Maybe I could handle it this way,” Vandergraf said, “if you learned that someone was asking questions about your father with a police detective, would that be of little concern to you, or would you want me to do whatever I had to do to make it stop?”

Wagner’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t good, not good at all. No matter what it was. He did his best not to let his depth of concern alter a single feature on his face. “I’m leaning toward you doing whatever you have to do to make it stop. Within reason, of course.” Wagner knew he had better set some boundaries.

Vandergraf picked up on this in his reply. “Perhaps I over-spoke. When I said doing whatever I had to do, I wasn’t referring to—to use an old German metaphor—the final solution. Although, that might be necessary in any assignment as a last resort. But I do feel better hearing your reply. It lets me know I probably handled this in a way that would meet with your approval. If you knew the whole story. Happily, we can leave it at that.”

“So, the situation is handled then?” Wagner said.

Vandergraf picked up his phone again. “Hopefully. I believe it should be.”

Just then Jacques walked up with their glasses of wine. “Your lunches will be out shortly, gentlemen,” he said and walked away.

Vandergraf’s phone began to vibrate. He picked it up. “Finally.” He looked at Wagner. “I better take this outside.”

Wagner nodded.

“Hold on, Paco. I’ll be right with you.”

Wagner watched Vandergraf navigate quickly through the tables and chairs toward the steps, then up the steps and out the front door.

Out on the sidewalk, Vandergraf un-muted the phone. “Okay, Paco. Please tell me you’re calling to say mission accomplished.”

A long pause. “I wish I was.”

His voice seemed shaky. “What happened? You didn’t get caught?”

“No.”

“You made sure there were no people, no one recording things on their phones?”

“Yes.”

“Then…what? What went wrong?”

“I don’t know how to say this. The target, this Professor, he was not like I expected.”

“What do you mean?”

“He looked like I expected, but he didn’t act like I expected.”

“What are you saying? Stop dragging this out. What happened? Just tell me.”

“Basically? He kicked the crap out of us. Both of us.”

“What?”

“He didn’t look like nothing. Like I could have whupped him without Jeff even being there. I warned him like you said. He didn’t seem to even know what we were talking about. I didn’t really know what we were talking about, so it’s not like I could ask him. I figured, maybe he’s just playing stupid cause he knew what we were about to do. You know, act innocent and maybe we would go away. So it was time for the beat down, only he suddenly becomes Jason Bourne, and we’re the ones getting the beat down, me and Jeff. I can hardly breathe without pain. Man, I think it’s my ribs. Jeff’s nose is broke. His eyes are all swelled up. You didn’t pay us near enough for this.”

Vandergraf couldn’t believe it. Stupid idiots. This thing was supposed to be quick and easy, over and done. “So, you think he didn’t understand the warning? Is that what you said?”

“That’s what it seemed like. But like I said, he could’ve just been acting. All I know is, I don’t want to get around that guy anymore unless we go in there with guns. He even took my blade. I’ve had that thing for six years.”

Vandergraf had looked up this guy Jack Turner at the university’s website. He looked very average, definitely not like somebody who could go “Jason Bourne” on someone. “All right, Paco. Don’t worry about it. I’ll put Plan B into action.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t involve you. You got your money, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t call us for a little while. We need some time to heal up.”

Vandergraf hung up the phone, put it back in his coat pocket. He headed down into the restaurant to face the Senator. Just as he reached their table, Jacques came up and set their lunches down on a stand. Vandergraf sat. Both men eyed each other dubiously as he set their plates before them.

“Enjoy,” he said.

After he left, Wagner said, “So…is it handled? Everything the way it needs to be?”

“Not quite, sir. My guys dropped the ball. But don’t worry. It’s just time to implement Plan B.” The problem was, Vandergraf had no plan B. He better come up with one pretty quick.

Officer Tony Campbell was surprised to see that history professor, Jack Turner, back at the station. Twice in one day. Vandergraf wouldn’t be happy about that. Of course, Campbell was happy to have some action, anything to keep himself relevant so they’d keep sending that monthly check. But he couldn’t call Vandergraf back unless he had something substantial to say.

Turner walked straight to Hank Jensen’s desk. Campbell wanted to listen in but another officer kept pestering him and he missed most of the conversation. Hank and the professor headed over to Boyd’s office, just long enough to duck their heads in for a chat. Then Hank escorted the young professor down the hall to one of the interview rooms.

Campbell noticed a thick notebook under Hank’s arm and realized what it was. The mugshot book. So that’s what this was about. Hank had asked him to come in and look at potential suspects. But why? It’s not like the Senator’s father would be in that book. He had to find out what was going on.

He decided to head back to his desk but keep an eye on the interview room. It wasn’t far from the coffee pot. When the two men came out, Campbell would suddenly feel the need to refresh his coffee mug. He was just about to sit when he heard the interview room door open. Hank walked out, closed the door and headed back toward his desk.

Maybe he should get that coffee now. He waited till Hank sat in his chair, then got up. “Hey Hank, isn’t that the college professor involved in that shootout last year? The one Sergeant Boyd saved?”

“That’s him.” Hank started tapping the keys on his keyboard.

“Wasn’t he just in here a couple hours ago?”

“He was.” Hank didn’t look at him, just kept on typing.

Campbell got the distinct impression Hank didn’t like him very much. Or maybe it was just Hank getting all hoity-toity now that he was Sergeant Boyd’s boy. “What’s going on?”

Hank stopped, turned and gave him a look that suggested he wanted to say, “None of your business.” Instead, he said, “He was in here a little while ago to talk about something with Sergeant Boyd. A private matter. On his way home, he stopped in at the Fun Spot Arcade for a few minutes and got jumped by two thugs.”

“Really? I didn’t see a mark on him.”

“That’s because he whupped them. Both of them. Apparently, he’s got some Muay Thai skills. Anyway, I left him in there to see if he can pick either one of them out. Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t. Just passing time. Working on something pretty boring. I remember that situation last year got pretty exciting. The most action I’ve seen since I started to work here.”

Hank turned back to his screen, started tapping the keys again. “Well, sorry to disappoint you. But I don’t think this is anything like that.”

“Oh well, you know me…always looking for a little excitement.”

Hank didn’t answer. Just kept tapping away.

Campbell backed out of the space, turned and found the nearest exit. Once outside, he tapped the button on his personal cell for Vandergraf.

After a few rings, Vandergraf said, “Officer Campbell. Twice in one day. I’m kind of busy. Can we make this quick?”

“Sure. I’m pretty busy too. Just thought I’d let you know, that history professor, Jack Turner, came back to the police station again. He’s here right now.”