The Thrill of the Chase (Mystery & Adventure) (40 page)

Well, that was plenty of time. I could discuss it all with Jill, my mom, and – most importantly – myself. I could relax in my old office for a couple weeks, bounce ideas off of my wall, and finally come to a decision the hard way. And what with this past case in the bag, I now had enough money to cover self–employment for a couple months.

Of course, if I accept the offer, I'll never have to worry about
that
ever again either.

I cleared my throat. "Well, thanks for thinking of me, Chief – I'm flattered, really. Uh, yeah – let me think about it and I'll get back to you."

"Absolutely." Smiling for real, he got to his feet. "Again, thanks for all your help, Stikup. By the way, you are aware that you're most likely going to be subpoenaed, right?"

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, shaking his hand and grimacing. "I was trying not to think about it."

*  *  *

Monday, December 20th
- - -

The trials were not all that bad, even though I dreaded them every hour of every day leading up to them. In fact, in the hearings of the three thieves – Thawyer, Harris, and Sheldon – each pleaded guilty and my testimony was not deemed necessary. The charges were hefty: breaking and entering, assault & battery and murder in the first degree, and the cumulative sentence was twenty–five–to–life for both Thawyer and Harris. It seemed as though the pair would spend the rest of their days behind bars.

Sheldon, on the other hand, was sentenced to a year and six months. I was a little surprised to see him being tried as a minor. I had paid little attention to his file during the investigation, as he had been safely behind bars since nearly the beginning, but if I
had
perused the records, I would have seen that he was only seventeen. Juvie would be a nice place for him – to teach him the ways of the world.

Robert Mendoza also pleaded guilty. He confessed everything voluntarily and was sentenced to only six years of low security on good behavior. He might even have gotten less if it hadn't been for the kidnapping charge, which was inexcusable.

Rick Miles' hearing was the one that was somewhat interesting. Of all five men that we had arrested, he was the only one who pleaded not guilty. It was pretty much obvious from the beginning that he had no case, and if I was reading his lawyer correctly, she hadn't wanted to pursue much of anything aside from a plea bargain, considering the evidence we had against him. After all, Robert Mendoza had confessed in full, which left Rick with very little credibility.

On the third day of deliberation, I was finally called upon to give my testimony. The prosecutor – a man named Clinton who, as Slyder warned me, was Sam Dempsey's poster boy – basically had me reiterate the little speech I'd given to Kevin Slyder in his office. For the benefit of the court, I focused mainly on Miles' part in the story, so as to keep from confusing the jury with inessential details. After hearing my piece, Miles' lawyer tried to play up the circumstantial evidence, arguing that Rick had been coerced into everything and Mendoza was just dragging Rick down with him. The jury, however, felt otherwise, and Rick was sentenced to four years for insurance fraud.

What would happen to all the criminals' families was something with which I refused to concern myself – not because I didn't care, but because I knew I wouldn't be satisfied with what sanctions the government would grant to them. While I wasn't close or even remotely friendly with any of the criminals' immediate families, I knew that if
I
were to do time for whatever reason, I would want my wife, mother, sister – whomever – to be cared for adequately. As it was, Sandy and Patricia would have a hard enough time just because of the separation.

After his sentencing, Robert Mendoza – flanked by two court officers and his lawyer – had approached me in the courtroom aisle, his grizzled face passive – even humble. He'd managed a thin–lipped smile and extended his manacled hand to me in what could only be interpreted as a gesture of respect for the prey that had bested him. I'd momentarily considered spitting on his hand, but gritted my teeth instead and grasped his hand firmly. We didn't exchange any words: there was nothing I could say that would have been ample consolation, and likewise, nothing he could offer would have been ample apology. Yet somehow, with that gesture, we managed to forgive each other anyway.

There had been a lot of press coverage at the trials as the public was dying for information on the biggest scam to hit Swedesboro in over two decades. True to my character, I offered them very little, despite their constant badgering. Usually Kevin Slyder was there to save me, but more often then not, the reporters cornered me in hallways, or – even once – in the bathroom of the city municipal building. Dempsey, on the other hand, had a whole lot to say about the affair, and I knew for a fact that my name had been on his lips a lot during the days of the trials and following. Sure, all the publicity was nice for a change, but it was also nerve–wracking for someone of my social stature, and when all was said and done, I was greatly relieved when the whole ordeal had been completed.

All things considered, I'd gotten a relatively happy ending.

Nearly two weeks had passed since the big arrest, and during that time, I'd seen very little of Jill. We had crossed paths in the office a couple times, but there had been relatively little work to do after officially closing the case, so I'd only entered the building when demanded by necessity. Also during those eleven days' time, Scarlotti Benson had indeed announced his plans for retirement, a story that had been exploited all over local newspapers and even in the
Gloucester County Times
, a big paper.

Unfortunately, I'd had very little time to think about taking up Benson's job, as I had been worrying about – when not attending – the trials. Now that it was official, I had received no less than three calls from Kevin Slyder – urging me to make up my mind quickly, because the district was already looking to fill Benson's post – and one from Sam Dempsey himself, asking me if Slyder had approached me about taking the position yet. Apparently all was forgiven between us, although that still didn't change my opinion of the man. Working directly under him would certainly take some getting used to, and I'd have to learn to control my tongue.

Interestingly enough, regardless of his position as the presiding Chief of Swedesboro police, Kevin Slyder had very little say in the appointing of a new sheriff, which meant that I would still have to appeal directly to Dempsey if I wanted the position. Publicity had everything to do with my nomination, obviously. A month ago, my name wouldn't have been a worthy candidate even as a joke. In fact, Dempsey might have fired anyone for even suggesting me because my reputation as a pretentious asshole tended to precede me. On top of that, a lowly sleuth being promoted to district sheriff would have been unheard of.

But now I'd done a trick, and for that, I deserved a treat.

There was a lot of pressure to take that offer – so much, in fact, that I was growing increasingly more anxious. I couldn't organize my pros and cons and I didn't have an accurate scale with which to weigh them – not with all the media attention, Dempsey's persistence, the rise of potential competitors for the slot, and Kevin Slyder's hopeful anticipation all crowding my mind with every waking moment. And so, needing a quiet place to think, I headed over to the office on Monday, the 20th of December, sometime after lunch, five days before Christmas.

The day was quiet and beautiful, sunny and bright, warm in comparison to the previous weeks. The snow had been in a state of gradual melting for the past few days, and I could almost see the cracked cement walkway leading up to the front door of the office. The temperature inside was chillier than usual, but I could immediately smell that the furnace had been running up until recently. The lights were all off, the doors shut, the coat hangers bare, spare boots pushed neatly up against the baseboard.

No Jill.

I headed down the hall to my office, wondering if she was going to come in at any point that day. I
had
explicitly ordered her to take a few days off in the light of our recent success, but knowing Jill – Ms. Overachiever – she would probably stop by to file papers or to do whatever other unnecessary task she'd forgotten to do.

I was sort of hoping she would. It felt like eons since I'd last seen her.

As I entered my office, I slapped the light switch without thinking and immediately felt stupid for forgetting
again
, but – miraculously – the bulb overhead instantly flared to life. Surprised, but not unpleasantly, I clicked the switch up and down a few times – just to make sure I wasn't imagining things – and then chuckled. Jill must have gotten fed up with me postponing a trip to the hardware store and gone herself.

Sweet of her.

It was at that moment, as I crossed the threshold and came to stand in the middle of the room, that I noticed that something else about the office was different –
very
different, and completely out of place.

The room was
clean
. I mean really, really clean. Almost spotless.

The big desk seemed almost naked without the numerous stacks of paper hiding it from view. The oak surface gleamed with cleanliness, completely dust–free. There were no more brown rings from coffee spills, no more crumbs, no more empty candy wrappers. The "out" tray was empty, and although the "in" tray was not, the contents were no longer stacked precariously, as the nonessential items had been weeded out. The old telephone somehow seemed like it belonged there now, gleaming, just as clean as everything else.

The dusted curtains on the big window behind the desk had been pulled wide, the blinds and glass had been scrubbed, allowing sunlight to flood the office as a result. The rug had clearly been vacuumed, as well as the couch, and the old coffee table actually looked fit to eat off of. The trashcan was empty, waiting quietly beside the desk to be filled again. The old cabinet by the fireplace had been dusted; the glass panels in the upper doors had been Windexed and were now sparkling. The numerous books visible behind the glass were neatly reorganized and the drawers below the shelves were all closed instead of hanging open precariously.

Well,
that's
different,
I thought dazedly. My jaw had dropped, and all I could do was stare.

In a daze, I crossed to the cabinet and slid open the top drawer, only to find that the folders it contained were straightened and neatly alphabetized. I turned around again slowly, mouth still hanging open, taking in the fact that she had even dusted the old landscape that hung above the sofa – so much that the oil paint shone. As a matter of fact, the colors were much more vivid than they'd been when I'd purchased the landscape at a yard sale three years prior.

"Jill…" I breathed. When had she done all this?
Recently – probably this morning.

I turned back to the desk and froze as I noticed that there was a single piece of paper still left on its surface, tucked neatly beneath the corner of the desktop calendar. Knowing that Jill hadn't missed it by mistake, I crossed the room quickly and snatched up the piece of stationery, heart beating in my throat.

My hand trembled as I began to read:

*  *  *

Chance:

In a way, I'm glad you didn't come in while I was here, just because it's a lot easier for me to share my thoughts on paper than in person. You may argue, but I've never felt that I communicate well in conversation, so I'm leaving you this note as opposed to a visit or a telephone call. But at the same time, I'm sorry I won't get a chance to say good–bye in person.

Chance, I'm going away for a little while. I hope you won't be upset with me. My mother and I both need a very long vacation after recent events, and I've always wanted to visit Rome, so I think that's where we're heading. I'll be sure to send you loads of pictures and postcards! Oh, and don't worry – I'm not expecting paid vacation time! I just wanted you to know that it might be some time before I come home.

I'd like to thank you for the time that we've shared together. Almost two years have gone by – faster than either of us realized – and I can honestly say that I consider them time well–spent. You'll probably argue like you always do that I should have done something else with my time – like maybe actually making use of that business degree I slaved over for four years… Anyway, I am indeed grateful for the laughs, the experiences, and the friendship we've shared.

In all honesty, you have been my closest friend, Chance, ever since I took up the job as your secretary. You've always been kind to me, generous and sweet. You never asked more of me than I could handle, never got upset if I made a mistake, and – perhaps most importantly – never got annoyed with my little idiosyncrasies (I hope I spelled that correctly!).

I'd also like to thank you properly for saving my life. In all the confusion that night, I don't know if I ever told you just how scared I was that I wasn't going to see my mother or you ever again. I was petrified. I was so sure that I was going to be raped, murdered, tortured, I don't really know. And the entire time he had me captive, I kept thinking that it would take forever before someone finally noticed I was missing and called the police. But you noticed right away, Chance – your first thought was of me, and you raced in to save me, and for that, I can never thank you enough.