Renee Simons Special Edition (11 page)

"I'll be in day after tomorrow. Lady should be well enough to be moved by then."

After Drew rang off, Ethan came to the doorway and gave her a lopsided grin. "Was that any better?"

"Why do you care what I think?"

"Because I do."

She smiled back at him. "I believe there is hope for you, after all."

* * *

The reception area at the police station was spacious but crowded, with a noise level more subdued than she would have expected so many people to generate. She wanted to take a moment to look around and get her bearings, but Ethan strode to the front desk, forcing her to keep pace with him.

"G'day, Sgt. Herrera."

The sergeant looked up, eyeing them both before returning to something that resembled a log book.
Jordan
wondered if this was the "blotter" of TV and movie fame.

"Just can't keep out of trouble, can you
Caldwell
?"

"This wasn't my doing."

"That's a switch." He made an entry. "Sgt. O'Keefe's waiting for you. You sure don't need no escort back there."

They went through a pair of swinging doors. "What a warm reception,"
Jordan
remarked.

"He isn't exactly a fan," Ethan said.

"You've obviously been here before."

"More than once."

The doors opened on a large bullpen smelling faintly of human bodies and smoke, as if the air had been filtered, but not recently. Desks stood in pairs beneath the windows and took up the center of the room.

Here, too, the soft hum of voices accompanied the activities taking place. To her right, a typewriter clacked fitfully as a uniformed officer pecked away to the softly murmured responses of a carefully coifed matron seated at his desk. Her gray suit brought out the highlights in her silver hair. Pearls at her ears and throat completed a picture of refinement.

"I wonder what that lady is doing here," she muttered to no one in particular.

"That 'lady' deals crack."

Jordan
recognized Sgt. O'Keefe's voice. "You're kidding, right?"

"You know what they say about the strangeness of truth."

He led them into a room where two piles of books, presumably filled with photos, waited on a large table.

"Take your time," O'Keefe instructed. "Each of you pick one stack and work your way through, but don't compare notes. Write your page numbers on those pads. When you're done hit the buzzer on the wall behind you. We'll switch and see what comes up."

Only one entry caught
Jordan
’s eye. She couldn't place the name or face, but it raised an echo that vibrated in her memory. Willy "Boots" Woerner, the caption read - she marked the page number. She completed her books without finding anyone else familiar. The buzzer sounded behind her. O'Keefe entered, they talked for a minute or two as they switched the books and he left again.

By the time she'd gotten to the end of the last book, a stabbing pain ran from her neck down into the soft flesh between her left shoulder blade and her spine. Her eyes stung, as if grains of sand had worked their way behind her contacts. Her search had proved fruitless, except for noticing two guys named Aldo. Ethan had made some notes. Eventually the sergeant returned. The process had taken nearly four hours.

"We'll start with you, Ms. VanDien. Any luck?" He looked at the scratch pad.

"This man is the only one I may have seen sometime. I don't know where but I think it was long ago."

He opened to the proper page. "Boots Woerner, huh?"

"Maybe I saw something about him on television."

"This particular punk has been around for a while, but he's certainly not on anyone's 'Most Wanted' list." He wrote something on the scrap of paper and went to the door, handing it to someone waiting outside. "Get me whatever we’ve got on this guy."

They looked at the photos Ethan had picked - one of a man named Aldo Federico and another labeled Marvin Richards. Each had a list of misdemeanors and felonies to his credit and had done time in prison.

"These are the guys who came to the house last night. I know them from the project."

Jordan
gave him a silent thumbs up.

O'Keefe took notes. "Would you testify to that in court?" Ethan nodded. "Ready to sign a complaint?"

"Do I have to give you an answer now?"

"No, but what's the holdup?"

"My brother had some trouble on the
Cape
last night. The house is his and I want to talk to him first."

"That's within your right, of course, but the sooner we get these mutts off the street, the safer you'll be. They're VolTerre people. We need to send them a message."

Jordan
opened the book containing Woerner's photo, studying the small dark eyes staring blankly from beneath thick brows and the slim straight nose that seemed too aristocratic for the man's beefy face and thick neck.

Her mind traveled back to the days before her father's death, trying to call up names and faces she'd spent years forgetting. The harder she tried the less familiar the face became, forcing her to admit she didn't know him at all. Then what...? She read through his vital statistics.

"Not 'Boots'. His name wasn't 'Boots.'"

"'S'cuse me?" O'Keefe asked.

Unaware she'd spoken aloud she looked up at him. She cursed her carelessness and searched for an explanation.

"Whenever or however I came across this man, he wasn't 'Willy Boots Woerner.' He was 'Billy the Boot' - because of his deformed foot. That's what I remembered - not his face but his name. I must've read about him during my research."

She pointed to the description beneath his picture. "That kind of physical characteristic is rare. It must have made enough of an impression to stay in my memory." Not a lie, exactly, because while she'd never met him, her father had talked about him. Was the explanation sufficient to cover her slip of the tongue?

One sharp knock sounded on the door. A policewoman brought in a thick accordion file.

The sergeant searched the file, finally extracting a manila folder. After studying the contents, he looked up at her. "It's one of his aliases, all right. Brought it with him from his old stomping grounds in South Philly."

   Her heart sank to her gut, but she tried to keep her expression blank as O'Keefe confirmed her memories.

"He's been involved over the years with your pal, Conlon," O'Keefe said. He shoved the book closer to Ethan and tapped a finger on the photo.

"Conlon's not my pal. I keep telling you people that." He examined the photo. "I have seen this guy around the site. Wears a suit and tie but he's only a glorified gofer, as far as I know."

"Ever been to the site yourself, Ms. VanDien?"

"Once." She couldn't bring herself to flat out lie.

"Maybe that's where you saw him?"

"I don't think so."

"What were you doing there?"

"She was helping me."

She looked over at Ethan. His tone surprised her - hard, coming from deep in his throat, with his words delivered slowly and deliberately.

"Easy does it,
Caldwell
. I'm not accusing, just asking."

"Then watch how you ask. She's a bystander, nothing more."

"I wouldn't be asking at all if Federico and Richards hadn't specifically asked for you, Ms. VanDien." He gave her the look over his glasses that contained a hint of challenge. She nodded. "So, why did you go and how did you manage to get inside?"

"I went because Ethan can't. I got in because Terence Conlon took me."

The sergeant pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "And you managed that, how?"

As she explained she noticed Ethan's face. Despite his annoyance, he seemed to enjoy the retelling of her escapade. Unwilling to do herself further harm, she chose her words carefully. O'Keefe listened in rapt silence, a strange, almost dreamy expression clouding his eyes.

"So he thinks you're on his side?"

"Maybe he thinks he can harness my ambition to his cause."

The sergeant gathered the books together, arranging them in pairs alternating in a north/south, east/west pattern. He worked slowly, with total concentration, as if each step helped him sort the pieces of a puzzle. Finally, with nothing left to do, he looked up at them.

"Thanks for coming in. You've been a big help." He seemed to recite by rote words he'd used a hundred times.

"Sure thing, Sergeant." Ethan looked at her. As puzzled as he was over the sudden change, she shrugged.

"I'll see you out."

"We know the way."

O'Keefe's gaze focused briefly. "Oh, yeah, sure. Let me know how you want to handle the complaint."

Then they lost him again. "Have a nice day." He picked up the books and walked off. They looked at each other and laughed.

"What do you suppose I said?"

"He'll tell us when he's ready."

"You sound like you know him well."

"Well enough to know he's not given to bouts of insanity."

By the time they got back to the house, Drew had arrived and Ethan's sheltie was ensconced on a roomy pillow in the breakfast room. Her reunion with her master was appropriately warm and sloppy with yips and doggie kisses slobbered over Ethan's face and hands. He seemed to enjoy the whole thing immensely.

"She's still a little groggy," Drew said, "but getting stronger and more alert by the hour."

"Thanks for looking after her, Andy."

"After her brave defense, I could do no less." Drew reached down and scratched Lady behind the ears, receiving an appreciative lick in return. "Although I would have helped this little sweetheart in any case."

"I identified the guys who broke in," Ethan said.

"I did, too. They come from
Boston
."

Jordan
looked at Drew. Something about the way he stood, the way he held his head told her he was ready for a confrontation.

"They're part of VolTerre's so-called security force," he continued.

"So were these blokes, but what d'you know about VolTerre?"

Drew’s shoulders rose as he took a breath. "Do you imagine you could be in trouble without my wanting to help?"

Ethan pointed to
Jordan
. "And her?"

"She's helping me verify my research."

"Into me?"

"No!" They answered at the same time, drawing Ethan's penetrating gaze to her and then back to Drew.

"I have been investigating every aspect of the accident," he said, "including everyone connected with VolTerre. They're a bad lot.

"I've been building a case step by step, but I felt like a surgeon operating on a member of his own family. Rather than trust my objectivity out of hand, I asked
Jordan
to work with me. She's been going over all my research to make sure it's accurate and complete."

Ethan turned to her. "You and I have spent a lot of time together, even gotten into a scrape or two. I need to know what that was all about."

"Drew asked me to help you. To watch over you, since he couldn't." Semantics, she thought. She’d gotten caught up in Drew’s lie and no words would extricate her.

Ethan's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean,
Jordan
? Exactly."

"It means keeping an eye on you, and not letting you get too deep in trouble."

"Bloody hell! You've been spying on me, haven't you?"

"I've been trying to help."

"To help him,” Ethan said. His face was empty of expression, all except for his eyes, which blazed angrily.

"By helping you. Drew knew you wouldn't accept it from him." She reached out. "We care about you. Both of us."

"I told you once before - my brother cares about no one but himself." He gave her another searching look. "What's he paying you to baby sit me?"

"He's paying me to help research his book, to bring back the material he needs to do a good job. Nothing else."

"The fault is mine," Drew interjected. "I swore
Jordan
to secrecy, over her objections, I might add."

Ethan turned back to Drew. "What’s this book about?"

"About the accident and the organized crime activities that caused it. I hope it will put the responsibility squarely where it belongs, clearing you in the process."

"And make you some money - in the process?"

"We're going to need money to mount a defense."

The brothers were totally focused on each other now, leaving
Jordan
free to watch them and releasing her from Ethan’s angry scrutiny. Drew had relaxed a little as if relieved the confrontation he'd anticipated had finally begun. By contrast, Ethan had tensed. She understood the struggle between past resentments and his need to change.