Dark ambitions, p.19
Dark Ambitions, page 19
“Yeah—and I wasn’t there to help him. If I had been, he might still be alive.”
“Or you both could be dead.” Her features hardened slightly. “I learned to face reality early in my law enforcement career. The friends and families of crime victims often lament over what-ifs and if-onlys. The truth is, no one can see the future except God. All we can do is make the best choice we’re capable of with the information we have in the present.” Her eyes clouded. “And sometimes we make mistakes.”
Like she had.
She didn’t have to say that for him to see her regret.
He repositioned his hand to twine his fingers with hers. “If we’re exchanging philosophies, here’s mine: Living in the past doesn’t change it. The key is to learn from our mistakes and move on.”
Her lips twisted. “Point taken. But you didn’t make a mistake with Boomer. You had no idea he was going to show up—and you’ve done everything in your power since then to help him. There’s no reason for you to have any regrets.”
“Still—I’d feel better if we could figure out what’s on the flash drive . . . and what happened to him and Beth. If it was foul play, as we suspect, I’d like justice to be served for both of them.”
“We’re getting closer to those answers—and I’ll work this case hard until you tell me to stop.” She tugged her fingers free and gathered up a few crumbs from the table in front of her. “How long are you staying in Lexington?”
Her posture remained relaxed, but a subtle undercurrent of tension put him on alert. “I’m leaving tomorrow late afternoon and coming home after the service, which is at ten on Saturday.”
“Would you like some company?”
He tried to mask his surprise at the unexpected offer.
Was she offering to accompany him for personal—or work—reasons?
If it was the latter and those hours were billable, the trip would add significantly to his bill. And while he had the funds to hire a private investigator, paying just to have her company would be an expensive luxury.
As if she’d read his mind, she spoke again. “This is off the clock.”
A ripple of warmth swelled in his core and radiated throughout his body. “I accept—with pleasure. I can pick you up about three, unless you have to finish out the workday.”
“Three is fine. Swing by my duplex.”
Meaning she didn’t want to advertise to her colleagues that she was heading out of town with a client on a nonbillable trip.
“Got it.”
“I’m sure you do.” She flashed him a smile. “But who knows? Maybe we’ll learn a helpful piece of information at the service. The people who attend will be Boomer’s closest acquaintances, and we can talk to them afterward. It could be productive.”
True—but that wasn’t the reason she was going.
And she knew he knew that.
He gathered up his papers, closed his folder, and stood. “I should let you get back to work.”
“The next item on my to-do list is a call to Weston.” She rose too. “I’d like to talk to him again before we leave. Now that we have more information about the workings of the fuel operation at his base, I want to rattle his cage. Imply we know more than we actually do. If he’s got anything to hide, that should spook him.”
A sudden hum of unease thrummed in his fingertips. “Spooked criminals with a lot to lose can be dangerous—and two people associated with this have already died.”
“I know. I’ll be on guard—and carrying—until this case wraps up.”
That didn’t ease his mind much.
But Heather had dealt with plenty of people who had murder on their mind during her years in law enforcement.
He needed to let her do the job he’d hired her for.
“Okay.” He tried to mask his worry.
“I’ll walk you to the lobby.”
She led him down the hall but remained by the inner door once she released the lock and pushed it open. “I’ll let you know what happens—or doesn’t happen—with Weston. Expect a call from me later today.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
He nodded to the office manager, who’d ditched her holiday attire for a psychedelic patterned long sweater over hot pink leggings and changed the red and green streak in her hair to purple.
She gave him a cheery smile. “Be safe out there.”
“That’s the plan.”
Literally.
As soon as he got back to the camp, he was going to get his compact Beretta out of the gun safe.
And until this case was over, Heather wasn’t the only one who was going to be carrying.
17
That had not gone well.
As the door shut behind Heather Shields, Brad sank onto the edge of his desk and fished out his handkerchief. Mopped his brow.
The PI and her client might not have absolute proof he had anything to do with the document on Jackson Dunn’s flash drive, but the two of them had pretty much nailed the operation.
If they persisted—and found his fingerprints on any piece of it—he was hosed.
And they would if they dug deep. Traced his income sources in the first couple of years after he’d launched his business.
The offshore accounts helped—and the trail leading to his personal finances was concealed—but it was there.
However . . . it would take time to uncover it, and the five-year statute of limitations on the crime was running out.
Even if he snuck past that, though, his all-American hero image would be forever tarnished should an investigation be made public.
If that happened, he could kiss the statehouse good-bye.
He rose and began to pace.
It had been a mistake to succumb to the temptation of easy money, let the stories of get-rich-quick-with-low-risk schemes persuade him to cross a line he’d never before crossed.
But how else would he have found the financing to underwrite his dream? Venture capitalists didn’t fund untried concepts proposed by people without track records, and angel investors were hard to come by.
Still . . . if he had it to do again, he’d make a different choice.
It was too late for that, though. He had to deal with the current reality. Decide what he was going to do if the PI and her client amassed sufficient evidence to take this to law enforcement—or CID.
A knock sounded, and he spun toward the closed door. “Yes?”
His assistant stuck her head in. “Chuck’s on your landline. He said he’s been trying to reach you on your cell.”
“Thanks. I’ll pick it up.”
He returned to his desk as she retreated, took a steadying breath, and greeted his campaign manager.
“Finally. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for the past hour.” Frustration scored Chuck’s words.
“I was in a meeting. My cell was off, and I forwarded my landline to my assistant. What’s up?”
“I’ve been lining up appointments with key legislators for you next week. It’s important to get face time with them at the beginning of the session, and in light of all the positive press you’ve generated, they were happy to work you into their schedules. I’ve set up meetings for Wednesday through Friday next week. Do you have a minute to go over them?”
“Can we do this later?” Brad massaged his forehead. The dull throbbing that had begun halfway through his meeting with Heather Shields was escalating to a raging headache.
“I have to confirm the appointments ASAP or they won’t hold the slots.” Now Chuck sounded annoyed. “You’re going to have to give this race priority if you want to build and sustain momentum.”
“Fine.” Brad eased into his chair, trying not to jar his head. “I’m listening.”
While the man rattled off names and topics, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Whatever his campaign manager set up was fine.
Assuming there was a campaign by next week.
He started to sweat again.
There were ways to handle this situation—but none of them were pleasant. And he wasn’t going to make a mistake by rushing decisions, jumping to conclusions.
Best case, the PI would run into a wall and her client would cut off funding.
If that didn’t happen, he’d have to—
“. . . work with your schedule?”
He only caught the last part of Chuck’s question, but he could guess the rest.
“I’ll rearrange my commitments to accommodate the trip. Email me a detailed itinerary, with background on all the players.”
“Will do. Any preferences on transportation or hotel?”
“No. You know Jeff City better than I do. I trust your judgment.”
“As soon as I confirm everything, I’ll let you know. Would Lindsey want to come along?”
“Is there any reason she should be there?” Asking her to cancel her Wednesday yoga class or Friday morning hair and manicure appointments would be tricky. Both were high priority for her.
“Not unless I can set up a dinner with the secretary of state and his wife. Her presence would be useful for a quasi social event like that. She could just come for the evening if that pans out. Other than that, you’ll be in back-to-back meetings.”
“Let me run it by her tonight.”
“No later. We’re cutting this close already. Call me as soon as you have an answer.”
As Chuck broke the connection, Brad opened his desk drawer and rummaged around in the back for the bottle of aspirin he kept on hand but rarely used. Opened the top.
Most of the pills were disintegrating from the repeated jostling.
He could relate.
But he had to hold it together until he had an inkling of how the PI’s investigation was proceeding.
Hopefully, it would die soon.
Before he had to take drastic action.
Including his pastor, only eight people came to Boomer’s simple graveside service.
Not a very notable end for a man who’d served his country and saved countless lives.
Throat tightening, Heather huddled deeper into her coat on the gray Saturday morning and glanced at Rick as they stood side by side near the casket.
The stoic set of his jaw told her their thoughts were once again in sync.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked down at her—and she tucked her arm through his. A sign of support . . . and more.
Eyes warming, he covered her gloved hand with his, squeezed gently, then transferred his attention back to the minister.
While the cleric wound down, Heather gave the group another discreet perusal. It had been helpful of the man to ask each of the mourners to explain how they were acquainted with Boomer. She already knew a bit about Pauline Reynolds and the director of the food kitchen, but the wild cards were two of Boomer’s coworkers and an ice rink employee.
She needed to corner them for a quick conversation.
After reciting the twenty-third psalm, the minister closed his book.
“Jackson’s neighbor Pauline has provided homemade pastries, which are set up in the main building at the cemetery entrance. I invite you all to stop for a few minutes to take advantage of her hospitality, warm up with a cup of coffee, and share remembrances of Jackson. May our brother rest in peace.”
Following a murmured amen from the group, the minister stepped away from the casket.
Heather leaned closer to Rick. “I want to talk to the coworkers and rink guy.”
“I had a feeling you would.”
“If you could find out whether the rink guy is going to stop for coffee, I’ll do the same with the other two. If he’s not, try to detain him.”
“Got it.”
As the crowd began to disperse, she hurried toward Boomer’s colleagues.
“Excuse me . . . I believe you worked with Jackson.”
The thirtysomething guy and fiftyish man turned to her.
“Yes.” The older of the duo spoke for both of them.
“May I ask if you’re going to stop for coffee?”
“No. We both have family events today.”
“In that case, could you spare a few minutes here?” She gave them a cursory explanation of the reason for her request, and passed each a business card.
“Sure. We can hang out for a few minutes.” This from the younger guy as he pocketed her card.
They didn’t rush her—but neither offered anything she didn’t already know. Though the older man was Boomer’s boss and the younger guy had worked side by side on the assembly line with the ex-medic, neither knew many details about his life.
“I wish we could help you more.” Boomer’s line partner gave her an apologetic shrug. “But Jackson was quiet and kept to himself. He’d talk about sports and the headlines of the day, but never anything personal. The only thing he ever opened up about was his cat.”
Another gust of wind blew past, and Heather flipped up the collar of her coat. “Okay. Thank you both for talking with me.”
She shook their hands and swiveled around to find Rick walking toward her.
The rink guy was nowhere to be seen.
“Did we lose him?” She scanned the area. Other than the gravediggers waiting off to the side—and a solitary figure near a black car a hundred yards away, one hand resting on top of a gravestone, head bent as if in prayer—the place was deserted.
“No. He said he was going to stop for coffee. I thought you could talk to him there, where it’s warmer.”
Heather tried to mask her dismay. The guy might have said he was planning to have coffee—but he could also keep on driving.
Rick held out a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” She took it.
“His name and contact information. I got it in case he changed his mind about stopping.”
She exhaled. “You’d make an excellent detective.”
“Not my forte. Solving the mystery of a troubled kid at camp is more my speed. You ready to go?”
“Yes.”
He took her arm as they crossed the uneven turf toward his car, the frozen grass crunching under their feet.
True to his word, the rink guy was guzzling coffee and chowing down on Pauline’s sweets when they entered the room hosting the subdued reception.
“You want to do this together or go solo?” Rick stopped inside the door as Pauline lifted her hand in greeting and walked toward them.
“If you could run interference”—she nodded toward the woman—“I’d like to try and get him alone.”
“Done.”
He moved forward to greet the older woman while Heather veered off.
The rink guy appeared to be in his early twenties and was open and responsive—but he knew less about Boomer than the man’s coworkers did.
“Did he ever say anything at all about his private life? Mention anyone who was special to him?” Stifling a sigh, she closed her notebook and unbuttoned her coat in the too-warm room.
“No. We just shot the breeze. Only once did he say anything kind of personal. I told him my brother was in the Marines in the Middle East, and he said I should watch out for him after he came home because the junk that goes on over there can mess with your mind. I got the feeling he might have had PTSD.”
Further confirmation that Boomer had borne more than physical scars from his deployments.
“How did you get to know him?”
“He came to the rink a couple nights a week and every weekend. He was a real good skater.”
This was going nowhere.
After thanking him, she rejoined Rick.
“Any luck?”
She shook her head. “Nathan knows more about him than any of these people.”
“Like I said, he was always a loner—but the PTSD could have exacerbated that trait.” He lifted his cup. “Would you like some? There’s no tea in sight.”
“I’m fine. What did Pauline have to say?” She glanced at the older woman, who was talking to the minister across the room.
“That Boomer’s lawyer had been in touch with her, and that Boomer wanted her to donate his belongings to the charities of her choice.”
“Wow. He really was alone.”
“Yeah. Hearing a story like that makes me grateful for old friends . . . and new.” He captured her gaze—and an arc of electricity zipped between them as Boomer’s neighbor moved toward them.
“So did you decide to take me up on my offer?”
Pauline’s question registered somewhere in the recesses of her mind, but Heather couldn’t get her brain to engage as she stared at Rick.
“I, uh, haven’t told her about that yet.” Her client seemed to be having difficulty forming a coherent thought too.
Wrenching her attention away from him, Heather focused on the older woman. “Told me what?”
“That the two of you are welcome to take another look through Jackson’s apartment, in case you missed anything helpful on the first pass.”
She blinked.
Seriously?
Who knew what they might uncover if they had the chance to do a more thorough search?
Her spirits picked up. “Thank you. We accept.”
“If there’s anything useful, feel free to take it.” Pauline leaned closer and lowered her volume. “To tell you the truth, I’m not certain I buy the official version of what happened to Jackson. From what he told me about how he prepped for solo hikes, he was always careful—and I never saw any evidence of drug use while he was my neighbor, no matter what the police found near his body. You two seem committed to uncovering the truth, and I’ll be happy to help in any way I can.”
“Do you mind if we take his laptop?” That had the potential to yield gold, and extracting everything it held could require Nikki’s hands-on expertise. “I’ll be happy to ship it back after we’re through.”
Pauline waved the offer aside. “Take it. Once you’re finished, you can wipe the hard drive and donate it. That will be one less item for me to deal with.”
“What will you do with Rosie?” Rick tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash can beside him.
Relevant question. Boomer had loved that cat.
And it said a great deal about Rick that he’d cared enough to ask.
“I’ve already adopted her. She always did take a fancy to me. Jackson said so himself.”
