That Touch of Ink (17 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Get out of here, Maddy,” Brad said again. “Call the cops, send an ambulance. The keys are in the ignition. Just go!”

“Who shot him?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s hurt—”

“I’ll wait with him. You need to get someplace safe.”

Brad eased Grant onto the ground and applied pressure against the wound. Grant closed his eyes but didn’t make a sound, didn’t fight Brad off.

“Know that I put you first, Madison. Always,” Brad said.

I knew the best way for me to help was to meet Tex at the bank and bring him here. I ran to the car. I turned the key and peeled out of the parking lot.

The dirt road around White Rock Lake was designed for one-way traffic, but there was no time for that now. I spun the wheel as tight as I could and drove the wrong way to Garland Road. Halfway to the bank I pulled onto the shoulder and called 911 to report the shooting. I told her all that I could. After I hung up, I sat in the car, breathing in, breathing out. Calming down. Or at least, trying.  

Flashing red and blue lights appeared in the rear view mirror. I watched them turn onto the dirt road around White Rock Lake. When the lights vanished from view, I pulled back on the road and turned into the bank lot. Tex’s Jeep sat in one of the customer spaces. I parked the brown sedan next to him and got out of the car.

“Where did you come from?” Tex asked from somewhere behind me.

“White Rock Lake. Brad drove me—”

“Damn it, Night.”

I held up both hands, and then pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the lake.

“About a quarter mile up East Lawther Drive. Grant Bonneville—the fake Archie Leach—was shot. Brad’s waiting with him. I called 911. I don’t know who the shooter was.”

Tex stared at me.

“I am not your problem. Those two men at the lake are.”

A wave of vertigo hit me and I stepped a few steps left, then right, trying to recapture my balance. Tex was immediately at my side with a hand on the back of my green tunic.

“Whoa. You okay?”

“I need to sit down.”

“Come with me.”

No sarcastic comments or reprimands came from Tex as he escorted me to his Jeep.

He unlocked the back and flipped the panel down. I turned around and leaned against it. He put his hands under my arms and lifted me up like an adult lifts a child, and then set me on the fuzzy black interior. My feet dangled above the ground, brown loafers swinging back and forth.

He pulled a bottle of water from the back of his Jeep and handed it to me. I twisted the cap off and drank half. When I finished, I recapped the bottle and held it against my forehead even though the water was room temperature.

“Didn’t you get my text?” I asked.

“I got here as soon as I could. You want to tell me what the fuss was all about?”

“I came here to deposit the rent checks. Grant Bonneville was behind the glass like he worked here. He acted like he didn’t recognize me, but it was him. I got out of line and went to the ATM machine and he followed me. He told me to act normal, that nobody else had to know we had unfinished business. I didn’t know what else to do so I faked my password a couple of times and the machine ate my card. I ended up with the manager. I showed him the five thou—” I stopped abruptly.

“It’s okay. I figured you kept the bill with the rent checks. I went by for them earlier today but they were gone. The next logical step was to look for you at the bank.”

“Hudson picked them up.” I looked down at my hands. “He’s getting out of town and he went to the apartment to say goodbye. When he saw the box was overflowing, he picked up the checks. He asked me to come over and he gave them to me.”

“Does he do that a lot?”

“Pick up the rent checks? Never.”

“Did he know you kept the five thou in there?”

“No.” I waited for more questions. When none came, I continued. “Something was up with the bank manager too. I felt he was detaining me until Grant could get to me, so I ran out the exit. Brad pulled up and told me to get in. He was driving the brown sedan. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“He pulled onto Lawther and parked under a row of trees. Somehow Grant found us. The two of them were having a Mexican standoff, and somebody shot Grant. I don’t know who, but it wasn’t Brad. There’s a third man.”

“Where are they now?”

“I don’t know, Tex. I called 911 and reported the shooting and came back here.”

Tex looked up at the sky for a couple of seconds and squinted. He ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled. He took a step closer, and then turned around and hoisted himself on the back of the Jeep next to me. Since I was in the middle, he didn’t have a lot of room.

He bumped me with his hip and I shifted to the left to give him space. His legs dangled next to mine, his knees apart, and his thigh pressed against mine even though I had readjusted myself.

“There’s this thing about you, Night,” he said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “You try to make it clear you can take care of yourself, but I think you underestimate the effect that has on the men in your life.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tex kept talking as though I hadn’t interrupted him.

“About a week ago, Hudson called me. Said he was worried about you and needed to tell me something. That was just about the last phone call I ever expected to take, but I have to say he got my attention. I went to see him that afternoon.”

He studied my face. I hoped it was unreadable.

“He told me something was going on with you. Said you asked a bunch of question about counterfeiting. He felt guilty about something you asked him to do, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. I can probably guess, but it’s neither here nor there. He told me he wasn’t going to jeopardize his freedom, not now, but he wanted me to know he was pretty sure you were in danger, and that you might do something stupid.”

“Hudson said that?”

“Those might not have been his exact words.”

“Hudson’s the person you had looking after me?”

“No, in fact, kinda the opposite. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“But you said—”

“He told me he cared about you.”

I blushed and looked down at the stripes painted on the parking lot asphalt.

“He said he was pretty sure I cared about you too, and that I was in a position to make sure you weren’t in danger. Trouble was, there was only so much I could do while I was dating Donna.” He rested on his palms and turned his face up toward the sun. “I’ve known for a while the thing with Nasty wasn’t going to work out. I don’t think she was all that surprised when I broke it off.”

I didn’t look at Tex.

“Hudson James is the last person I ever expected would come asking me for help. That’s you. That’s what you do to people.”

“I didn’t expect him to tell you about my problems. I thought that was just between him and me.”

On some level, I was offended that Hudson had broken my confidence, but I knew I’d get over it. He was doing what was right for him. I couldn’t hold that against him.

“I’m telling you what I can tell you. I’m not telling you everything because you’re not a cop, and you’re not working a case. I am. This part concerns you, and you have a right to know that I know.”

“Do I have a right to know anything else?”

“Not yet.”

“I can help you,” I said.

“I know.”

One of the uniformed officers called Tex’s name, and he held up his hand. He jumped off the back of the Jeep, bent down and adjusted the leg of his jean, then stood up and looked me straight in the eye.

“I’m trying to decide if I want you to or not.”

He crossed the lot and conferred with another officer. A few seconds later, he jogged back to me.

“Get in the car,” he said.

“But I have to talk to somebody here.”

“This trumps whatever you were told. Nasty just took a call from Stanley Mann.”

“Stanley Mann? He’s okay?”

“Not sure if he’s okay, but he’s alive.”

“Brad told me he was being tortured at Paper Trail. That Philip and a guy in a mask tortured him to get him to do work for them.”

“Which was what?”

“They wanted him to authenticate large denomination bills to sell to collectors. Nasty talked to him?”

“Yes. He identified himself, and somebody else came on the phone and demanded money in return for his safety.”

“Demanded—but that means—”

“Yes. Looks like Turlington was telling you the truth. While you were hearing his version of things, someone else was making the ransom call.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Did the caller identify himself?” I asked.

“No. He said, ‘We want our money in return for the numismatist.’”

“How much?”

“Don’t know.  Cocky bastards, calling it their money.”

“Did they say where they were keeping him?”

“No.” Tex hopped into his Jeep and started the engine.

“Where are we going?”

“Your studio. Get in. We’re losing time.”

“I need my keys.” I reached into the brown sedan. My handbag had tipped during the drive and rent checks spilled out onto the floor by the hundred dollar bills.

“Come on, Night, we gotta go.”

“Why my studio?” I opened the door and looked at him, trying to read his cop face. I couldn’t.

“You have a file on this Bonneville guy, right? Nasty saw it. I want to see it, too.”

“What do you mean, Nasty saw it?”

“That day I took her to your place to use the restroom. She told me she saw the file on your desk and checked it out.”

“Damn it, Lieutenant! Your girlfriend is going through my client files, and you’re talking about me with Hudson behind my back. What about my privacy? Why doesn’t your code about private citizens apply to me?”

“I didn’t ask Nasty to check it out. I didn’t know about that until just now. But a man is dead. Another’s been shot. Sorry if you don’t like my methods, but I’m going to catch these guys.”

Judging from the way Tex avoided the speed limits on the way to my studio I half-expected to find Stanley Mann tied up to my desk. He pulled the Jeep around back and parked across the two spaces. We slammed our doors at the same time and even though I was walking as fast as I could, Tex reached the door before me. I flipped through a set of keys and unlocked the door. He followed me to the office. I pushed piles of paper around the top of the desk, looking for the file.

“It’s not here.”

“Did you take it home?”

“No. I was going to, but I didn’t.” I sat upright and looked past Tex to the corner trash can for no reason other than I wanted to focus on something unimportant.

“I got distracted. Why—wait a minute. It was on my desk after Donna was here. I remember. It was open. Then I went home to meet Connie and go over the plans for her atomic kitchen. When she left I went to Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments.” At Tex’s confused look, I continued. “That’s where he lives.”

“He lied about his name. What makes you think he didn’t lie about his address?”

“Because the real Art Leach lives there too. He told me who the imposter really is. I’m surprised Donna didn’t tell you any of this.”

“I don’t think she knows most of it. She looked in his file. She knows the kind of things about him that you would have written in there. His decorating tastes. His deposit. Not the fact that he’s impersonating anybody.”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about. She was at Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments. When I went there the first time, when I thought Grant’s name was Archie Leach. The real Archie Leach–Art Leach–thought
I
was trying to pull something. He called the cops on me, and Donna arrived. She didn’t tell you?”

Tex propped himself on the wooden desk, his hands fisted, his weight resting on the back of his knuckles. His head hung low. After a few seconds, he lifted his head, stood up straight, and looked at me. His blue eyes were dark, his voice low.

“She never mentioned any of this. What else was there for her to tell me?”

“I’m going to tell you something that happened at Turtle Creek Luxury Apartments. It was told to me in confidence. Please respect that.”

Tex looked past me to the interior of my studio. When he spoke, his voice was cold, direct. “What happened out there?”

“There have been a few break-ins. Some staff members were robbed. When I showed up asking about Archie Leach, I ended up talking to an employee named Art Leach. Someone stole eleven thousand dollars in cash from his apartment. He didn’t report it.”

“Why not?”

“The money was tip money. He didn’t want anybody to know about it. Building security took me into their office and asked me a bunch of questions. When they told me they called the cops, I thought you were going to show up, but Donna showed instead.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

“Because it was me.”

“Give her some credit, Night.”

“I keep trying to give her credit, but it’s getting harder and harder to think of her as an objective cop. You have to see it. She’s been acting like she has some kind of hidden agenda. I don’t know what she knows or what’s driving her. Half the time it seems like she’s out to get me.”

“She’s out there now. You need talk to her, tell her what you know, try to help her.”

“She doesn’t trust me, Tex. I’m probably not the best person to try to help her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Night.”

I jerked at the voice. Tex spun around. Grant Bonneville stood in the doorway. His left arm was in a sling, a bandage visible through the torn fabric of his blood-stained shirt. A couple of buttons were undone down the front and a black protective vest covered his chest like armor.

“That makes you the perfect person to try to help her,” he said.