Lenam02 dangerous mist.., p.17
LeNaM02 - Dangerous Mistakes, page 17
part #2 of Leah Nash Mystery Series
The park was deserted under a clear night sky with a few stars beginning to appear. We followed the sidewalk that ran through the park, walking into pools of light cast by the old-fashioned lampposts, then out again into the shadows, all the way to the swings. Only to discover they weren’t there, apparently unhung and stored for the winter.
“Too bad. I guess we’ll have to go down the slide instead.” He pointed to a tall stand-alone slide with metal steps and handrails all the way up and a small platform at the top from which to launch yourself. It was the one relic of a less safety-conscious era that hadn’t been replaced since I was a child.
“You’re kidding.”
“Why not? We’re both dressed for it.” He was wearing jeans, like me, and we both had on winter jackets.
“All right, let’s do it. I’ll race you there.” I got there first, probably because I’d taken off before he realized we were in competition, and clambered up the ladder. The sharp cold of the metal bit into my gloveless hands. I sped up and reached the top, then swung myself onto the steel slide, its smooth and slippery surface hurtling me down until I shot off the end into the soft wood chips at the base. Nick was right behind me. Before I could get up from the half-crouch I’d landed in, he careened into me and we both wound up on the ground entangled and laughing. His face was so close to mine I could feel his breath on my cheek, and suddenly we both stopped laughing. He bent toward me and kissed me softly on the lips. I kissed him back for a second.
Then I pulled back quickly and jumped up, brushing bits of damp wood chips from my clothes and chattering nervously.
“Well, that was quite a ride. Not quite as high as I remembered it from the last time I went down the slide, but still high enough. That metal was really cold, wasn’t it? I wonder if you can get frostbite in under 30 seconds? You know, we used to take pieces of waxed paper and rub down the slide to make it more slippery, so we could go faster. Sometimes we’d sit on a square of it, too. We’d really fly off the ends then! My fingers are freezing. How about you? Are your hands cold?”
He had stood up too and was silent until I finally wound down.
“I’m not going to apologize, because I’m not sorry. But I won’t do it again. You’ll have to make the next move, Leah, if you want to.”
“Nick. It’s been a really nice night, but I—”
“But you don’t trust me. I understand. I can wait.”
I didn’t want to let him think there was even a slight chance I’d reopen that door.
“Nick, it’s not going to happen. I really had fun tonight. And I can see that you’re trying hard, and maybe you’ve changed. But so have I. I’m not willing to be that vulnerable to anyone, ever again. But, we can be friends. Real friends. After all, we already know the worst about each other, right?”
I put my hand on his and looked up, hoping the doubt and confusion I felt didn’t show in my eyes. I knew that getting back with Nick would be a very bad idea. But right at the moment, I was having trouble remembering why.
I was a little disappointed when he didn’t protest. Instead, he turned his hand over so it clasped mine and gave a firm shake. “OK. Friends it is. Hey! Your hands are like ice!”
“Yours aren’t much better.”
“Let’s stop at the party store across the way. It might feel good to wrap our hands around a warm cup of coffee. Then, I’ll take you back to your car.”
“That, my friend, is a great idea.”
Twenty-Five
Inside JT’s there was a bit of a rush. Several teenagers were attempting to convince the clerk that they had forgotten the IDs required to purchase the case of beer they’d hauled up to the counter. A whiskery-faced old man wearing a battered John Deere hat waited for his turn at the register, holding a pint of Jim Beam and a bag of peanuts. At the coffee station, we stood behind two women in scrubs who were pouring coffee into large containers, doubtless fortifying themselves for a long shift ahead at the hospital. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar figure at the back door give a quick glance right and left before stepping out. That was odd. Why would Cole take a break in the middle of a rush, and why was he so furtive about it?
“Oh, Nick, I left my phone in the car. I’ll just run out and get it. Can’t be a reporter without being in constant contact, right?”
Before he could answer, I was out the front door. With luck, I would catch Cole doing something illegal, like selling a bag of weed or something worse to one of the “special” clients Keegan had mentioned. Maybe I could even get video of it. Anything that would give me leverage enough to get him to give up the video of the night Garrett died. I circled around to the back, coming up behind a dense thicket of evergreen bushes that gave me some cover. I crept up as close as I dared, stooping down low in the poky shrubbery to stay unseen. About 20 yards away were two men. One of them was Cole Granger. The other was Dr. Hal Bergman.
They kept their voices low, so I could only make out a word here and there, but their posture and gestures made it clear they were arguing. I waited a couple of minutes, holding very still to avoid their attention. Then, I tried to move just a little farther forward to catch at least some of their conversation. A vicious branch nearly poked my eye out. I pushed it away. The branches and dried leaves around me crackled and rustled.
Both men turned in my direction. I flattened myself down as low as I could go. I lay absolutely still, unless you counted the way my heart was jumping around in my chest. My eyes were at ground level, so I could only see a pair of feet coming my way. I calculated how quickly I could escape the tangle of shrubbery and run toward the light and safety of the parking lot out front. He was only steps away. I’d never make it. I steeled myself to stand up and avoid the indignity of being hauled from the bushes. And I prepared to yell really loud. Just then the blaring of a car alarm rent the air with repeated whoops of ear-shattering sound.
The feet stopped. Cole muttered something. I heard the thud of a car door and the smooth start-up of a luxury engine. The alarm continued. Cole’s footsteps retreated. I waited a second, then backed my way out like a crawling baby in reverse. I hightailed it to the bright lights of the front parking area.
Nick was standing beside his car, fumbling with a key fob, as several people shouted advice on how to shut down the alarm. He saw me coming, and suddenly the horn stopped.
“There, got it. Sorry for the nuisance, everyone.”
I hopped into the SUV and he did the same. As we pulled out, I said, “Nicky, you just saved my butt. Thank God you hit the panic button by accident.” The nickname I had used in happier days slipped out of its own volition. I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
“Freud says there are no accidents.”
I stared at him. “Are you saying you did that on purpose?”
“I do know you, Leah. I saw you watching the clerk who left out the side door. And then all of the sudden you needed your phone? When you didn’t come back by the time I paid for the coffee, and neither did he, I put the cups in the car. Then I walked to the back edge of the building and looked around the corner. I saw him and another man arguing, but no you. I heard a noise and saw the bushes shaking. One of the men started walking toward the thicket, and I thought a diversion might be in order. So, I hit the panic button.”
I was speechless. For a second or two. “Were you this smart when we were married?”
He smiled. “And I brought you coffee then, too. Now, can you tell me why that butt of yours needed saving?”
As we drove to my car, I filled him in. When I finished, Nick let out a low whistle.
“So, you think the son Jamie killed his father?”
“I did. I’m not sure now. I never expected to see Bergman there. Now, I’m wondering if Cole and Bergman are partnered up. Bergman could be part of a much bigger drug distribution operation. That would explain his connection to Cole. But Jamie’s kind of a wild card. He was probably one of Cole’s customers in the past—and maybe still is. If Cole and Bergman are connected, then there’s a link to Jamie, too.
“You think both Jamie and this Bergman are linked to Garrett Whiting’s death?” He sounded doubtful. That was OK, I was pretty unsure myself.
“I don’t know. All of the leads were pointing in one direction: Jamie. But Bergman had a strong motive to want Garrett dead, and Jamie did too. Maybe they worked out something together.”
“Leah, if I were you, I’d just hand it over to the police.”
“That’s because you don’t know Ross. This will go nowhere if I don’t give it to him tied up with a big bow. And I owe it to Isabel to get it right.”
“That’s what it’s really about, isn't it? You know you’re a fraud, don't you? Underneath that tough reporter act, you’re a softie, an easy mark for anyone in distress.”
“I’m not. I just want to do the job right. And yeah, OK, I’d like things to work out for Isabel. I want to help her. Is that such a bad thing?”
“Helping is different from rescuing. You’re putting yourself at risk when you get so emotionally involved. You did what you told Isabel you’d do. Now, you can let it go to the police.”
“But that’s just it. I didn’t do what I promised. I said I’d follow it through to the end. It’s not the end yet.”
He sighed. “I can see there’s no point in arguing with you. But at least be careful. I might not be there to save you next time.”
And because I owed him, I let it pass.
But I didn’t make any promises, either.
“OK then. Thanks, Nick. For everything. You were great.”
True to his word, he made no move to swoop in for a goodnight kiss, for which I was very glad. Or so I told myself.
“Leah? Is that you?” My mother’s sleepy voice called down the hallway. No matter how quiet I was, she could always hear me coming in.
“No, Mom. It’s a psychotic killer.”
“Don’t be such a smartass. Good night,” she said sleepily.
I went straight to bed and fell immediately asleep. Until, that is, I sat up with a start at 2 a.m., fully awake, with the knowledge that I had dropped my phone in the bushes behind JT’s. Clearly, at some level, my mind had registered that when I scrambled out of the thicket, my phone wasn’t in my jacket pocket, bumping against my hip as I walked. But my subconscious has always preferred to wake me up out of a sound sleep, rather than alert me at the time the crisis happens. I couldn’t leave it lying in the bushes. I groaned, got up, put on my clothes, and crept silently out of the house. I didn’t worry about waking my mother when I started the car, because once she believes I’m safely moored at home, she sinks into a sleep that a hibernating bear would envy.
I didn’t pull into the lot at JT’s. Instead, I drove a little way down the street to avoid attention, parked, and got my flashlight out of the glove compartment. Then, I jogged up the sidewalk until I got to the outer edge of the party store’s property. The lone light in the back cast a glow that faded long before it reached the shrubbery. I walked quickly over, then crouched down and turned on the flashlight as I entered the bushes.
I soon realized I’d have to do this search on my hands and knees. I didn’t relish rooting around in the dead vegetation and debris, but I wouldn’t find my phone otherwise. I held the flashlight in my mouth and crept forward, my hands stretched out in front of me feeling the ground. I made one forward pass with no luck, then stood up and moved over a little to try another crawl heading from front to back. My hands were cold and wet and encountered old beer cans, candy wrappers, discarded cups and straws and a couple of slimy things I didn’t want to think about. The earth smelled dank and loamy, and the wet ground was penetrating the knees of my jeans.
I couldn’t give up. It had to be here. My light grew dimmer as the batteries in the flashlight weakened. I shook it impatiently as though that would re-energize them. It must have worked, because all at once I could see better. Then a voice I knew well spoke, and I realized the light source wasn’t from the flashlight I was holding.
“Whyn’t you come on out of there, Leah?”
There was nothing to do but back ungracefully out of the bushes. I turned and faced Cole, who was holding a Maglite flash in one hand. In the other he jiggled my iPhone on his palm.
I reached out to grab it, but he snatched it away.
“Not so fast. Ain’t there some kind of a reward? This is a valuable piece of equipment. And how do I know it’s yours?”
“Yes, how do you know it’s mine?”
“Well, outside of you crawlin’ around in the bushes lookin’ for it like a pig rootin’ out grubs, there’s the fact that I saw you lurkin’ in this very thicket earlier tonight. And when I come back out after you left, there it was.”
“Give me that!” I said, grabbing for it again. But his grip was tight and I wasn’t about to engage in hand-to-hand combat with him. I took a breath. “All right, Cole, what is it you want?”
“I want to know what you heard when you were sneakin’ around eavesdroppin’ on private conversations tonight.”
“I didn’t hear anything. You were talking too low.”
“And what did you see?”
“Just you talking to some guy. I couldn’t tell who it was.”
“Hmm. Now, I wonder why I don’t think you’re tellin’ me the truth?”
“Because you have a suspicious nature.”
“You are right. I surely do. It comes from a sad life of hard livin.’ But that isn’t why I’m doubt’n’ you, Leah. I think you don’t have confidence in my goodwill and changed ways. I think you don’t trust me enough to tell the truth, and that makes me feel real bad.”
“Right. Look, it’s 2:30 in the morning. You have my phone. Either give it to me, or don’t, but I’m not standing here arguing with you anymore.”
“Oh, I’m gonna give it to you, Leah. And I’m gonna throw in a free piece of advice, too. You best forget you saw anything at all tonight.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It pains me to hear you say that. I am not threatnin’ you. I am suggestin’ that there are things that are none of your business. There are forces at work you know nothin’ about. Sometimes it’s a good thing when the right hand don’t know what the left hand is doin.’ And sometimes we think we know, and we don’t. There are people in this world not as committed to nonviolence as I am. And they will not take kindly to your interference.”
He flipped the phone to me then, and I caught it with both hands. Before he left I played my only card, the only thing I could think of that might make him give me the SD card.
“What do you suppose Coop will say when I tell him you’re still dealing?”
“Now, why would you go sayin’ somethin’ like that?”
“Well, I just hear things, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“I understand you’re the man to see for weed, pills, a full range of high quality products. Is that really wise? It would be a shame if you got arrested again. That new circuit judge is really tough, especially on repeat offenders.”
“What’s this about, Leah? Are you still tryin’ to get hold of that SD card? I wonder what’s on it that could make you want it so bad you’re tryin’ to extort an old friend like me?” He shook his head. “That makes me right sad. ’Specially when you think about how I saved your ass not three hours ago. That nameless gentleman is not someone you want to cross.”
It almost sounded like he really was trying to warn me.
“Cole, I think there’s something on that SD card that ties Jamie Whiting to his father’s death.”
“You think Jamie killed his old man?”
“I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything except quit playing with me. This isn’t a game. I really need to see that video.”
“Now, I told you—”
“You told me you didn’t have it, but I don’t believe you. And now I have something to make it worth your while to find it.”
“You got nothin’. So what if you tell the cops you heard I was dealin’? Hearin’ don’t make it so.”
“With your record, I suspect the cops will definitely take some extra interest in you. Stop by unexpectedly and frequently. Coffee’s good here. Maybe JT’s is about to become Cop Central, the place to be for a late night cup of joe and a chat with the friendly staff.”
He squinted, and I could tell he was running the odds in his mind. What did I really know? How much trouble could I cause him? What would Bergman do to him if JT’s really did become Cop Central? After a few seconds, he said, “Like I said, I don’t believe we still have that particular SD card you want, but I’ll go take a look.”
“That’s really nice of you,” I said, following him in and to the office in the rear of the store. He didn’t ask, but I took a seat behind the desk on which sat a laptop computer. I waited while he got a step stool, reached to the top shelf of a wall cupboard, and pulled out several small plastic storage cases. He set them down on the desk and opened the first one. I saw it contained multiple SD cards.
“I thought you didn’t keep the cards longer than a couple of weeks.”
He didn’t answer, just flipped through the box, closed it and reached for another, searching until he found the card he was looking for. He slipped it into the computer and said “There. Anythin’ else I can get you?”
“Some popcorn would be nice.”
The bell on the door rang as he shook his head and went to the front of the store. I turned my attention to the video. I fast forwarded, stopping whenever anyone approached the ATM. In the early part of the evening, there was a mother with tired eyes who held a toddler on her hip; an older man who weaved back and forth and took multiple tries to steady his hand enough to put in his card; then later a shift worker in a hurry, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and punching in her numbers with the other.
And then nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Until a figure in a hoodie suddenly appeared on camera, head lowered and hood pulled forward so his features weren’t visible. He walked quickly to the machine, slid in a card and hesitated a second (trying to remember his father’s code?) before punching in the numbers. Even though his face was hidden, I was sure I was looking at footage of Jamie Whiting. The hoodie, identical to my own, the height, the build, the furtive air to avoid being recognized. It was him. And here was the link to the ATM slip.
