Chapter 8

Nickie sat at her desk in the station as she clicked on the printer icon. "Oh, shit," she said as she realized she'd tossed her coat on the machine. Almost toppling the bottle of water on her desk, she leaned over and grabbed it before everything jammed.

Off all other cases? Focus all of her energies on finding Eddy Lynx and taking down Fu Haizi? Was this good or bad?

Since the original copy of the press photo taken with Jun Zheng and her father remained stuck to her captain's old school dry erase board, she printed another to keep in her possession. In the photo, Zheng and her father weren't communicating or even facing each other. Anyone looking at it would assume the two men didn't know each other. However, there were unlikely coincidences and there were unfathomable coincidences. She didn't believe in either, and this fell into the latter category. As the printer grunted, she opened the top right drawer of her splintered desk.

Glaring at her was the business card from FBI Special Agent Hurst. Although written in pencil, his personal phone number stared at her as if it was written in neon orange.

He had taken the initiative to run the check on the department mole that was ratting out her every move. He'd offered.

She should call him. She needed to call him. It was the ethical thing to do. Integrity and all that.

If she knew for certain he wasn't siphoning information to Jun Zheng, she would call without hesitation. He'd helped her. Been on her side. If it weren't for him, she would still be hanging with backstabbing Eddy Lynx, solving cases as a team for the good of the world.

Hurst's predecessors had moved to the dark side. How did she know he hadn't done so, too? She grabbed the card, plopped it on her desk and dialed.

"Good morning, Detective Savage. I was just going to call you."

Another unbelievable coincidence. Nickie said, "I wanted to let you know that I recently discovered Detective Eddy Lynx is the department mole. I wouldn't have learned this without the intel you provided. Thank you."

"Yes. I have eyes out there keeping a watch for him. No sign of him thus far."

He did? Why?

"I had the hospital call me as soon as they woke him from the coma. They notified me, also, of his disappearance."

"Oh." He knew Eddy was in the hospital?

He must have recognized the confusion in her tone because he continued with, "He was the last person to see Jun Zheng before his escape from county."

She sighed, but tried not to let him hear it. He had not only given her the intel that led her to Eddy's guilt, Hurst had also allowed her to keep Jun Zheng in her custody when he was wanted for federal inquisition. Now, he was free.

"Well." She sounded stupid. "I just wanted to make sure you knew and to thank you for your help." Stupider.

"Everything okay, Detective?"

"Yes, of course. Always."

"Keep my card, Nick." His voice softened from his stiff special agent tone to his touch of unguarded speech. "I'm here for you, 'kay?"

"Yes. Um. Again, thank you."

Her suspicions weren't going away anytime soon, and she was scum for having them.

"Detective Dude!" The voice came from the commons area.

Her face winced like fingernails had raked over a chalkboard. Forcing her eyes to glance up, she spotted the nosy desk clerk, Lucinda, with her arm outstretched in front of Slippery Jimbo. He waved a hand around her like he and Nickie were long lost friends or something.

Great.

Nickie walked around her desk. Lucinda didn't even bother to look over her shoulder to see if Nickie was okay with him showing up. The nerve. "Hey, hey, hey," Nickie yelled at Lucinda as she left her office and entered the commons area.

Lucinda ignored her and took Jimbo's shoulders, attempting to turn him toward the elevator he'd come out of.

"You can't touch me, loser," Jimbo said to Lucinda. "I have rights."

Loser? "Hey, Slippery Jimbo, only I can call her a loser." Nickie took Lucinda's fingers and peeled them from Jimbo's shoulders. Lucinda fought her like it was okay to do that. "What the hell are you doing?" Nickie barked at her. "Let go of him, loser."

"You told me, and I quote, this man was to never, ever, ever, in his life enter this station, ever, ever, without your permission." Lucinda's snarky tone was more than Nickie could tolerate.

"Is this true, Detective Dude? I'm hurt, man. Really hurt."

"Permission," Nickie snapped and pulled Jimbo along by the sleeve of his nasty shirt. "My office. Move." She lowered her voice and added, "That shit grin is going to get your ass kicked, Jimbo. Get rid of it."

"Will do, Detective Dude. It's the least—" He turned his head and said as loud as he could. "—an informant can do for his detective, Detective Dude."

Pulling him along, she dragged him into her office and shut the door.

"What are you doing here?" Even though they entered the heat of the summer, his hair was greased back and he wore his knee-length light brown trench coat. "Hey, you got your cast off," she said, taking the edge from her snark. The broken arm he'd earned on her behalf. The sleeve of his coat did little to hide the skinny arm and peeling skin that came from wearing a cast for weeks. "Here," she added and took the stuff from one of her guest chairs and set it on the other. "Sit."

His eyes went right to the printer and picture of her father and Jun Zheng. She snatched it from the tray, then walked around her desk and stuffed it in the desk drawer.

"There's word out."

Eyeing him, she sank in her chair and contemplated. Less was more, so she waited him out.

He looked around at her office and her mess a little too long, but she was patient. "It's not that I saw anything personal," he said, still scanning her stuff.

"Personally," she corrected.

"What's personally?"

"You said personal. That's not right. It's personally."

"I said not personal. I ain't seen nothin' personal."

She rubbed her hands over her face, then along the top of her hair. "Okay, Jimbo. You have two minutes. Ready, go."

"Sheesh, man. Okay. People—"

"What peo—? Never mind. Continue."

"People," he enunciated, "have said they've seen Zheng around."

Her body stiffened at the idea that Zheng had been close, but she leaned back in her chair, slung one boot on her desk, then the other.

"Not me personal, but people. Ya know," he said as a statement.

"No, I don't know, Jimbo. Why don't you explain?"

Beads of sweat formed along his upper lip and his greasy hairline. "Around."

"Like Phil the barber's place around?"

"That place?" he asked and tapped his fingers on the armrests of her guest chair. "No, no. That place has been empty ever since Phil..." He used his forefinger to run a line from one side of his neck to the other.

"Where, then? When?"

"Get Lucky's. T & As." He shrugged and looked up and to his right. The sign of a lie. "The usual."

"You know this doesn't help me. Why are you telling me this? Why are you here?"

He looked around as if someone might be listening through the walls. "Zheng is a bad man, Detective Dude."

No shit.

"I want you to be on the lookout. Be safe, man. Keep your eyes open."

Keep your eyes open. That was what Phil the barber had said days before he was murdered. Murdered by Zheng, she was sure of it. Using Eddy Lynx's gun.

"So, how's the missing cop case?"

As if she would answer that. Interesting. "Speaking of, I have something for you to do since you've come to me with shit I can't use."

His eyes perked up like a kid in a candy store. Irritating. "Keep your eyes open for said missing cop. Maybe look around more than the usual spots. Ask around to your cryptic friends who seem to have spotted Zheng, yet remain nameless."

"Oh yeah, Detective Dude. I can do that. How much?"

"For a guy who's brought me zip, you don't get to ask me that. See what you can dig up, then we'll talk dollars."

* * *

Nickie sat next to Duncan in the passenger seat of his Jaguar. The windows were down, and the Maryland air was clean and fresh. Duncan found himself taking cleansing breaths for more reasons than the clean, fresh air.

"Pulling up to this house with you next to me is an entirely different experience," she said. Her demeanor was disconcertingly calm and collected. He could not say the same for himself.

It was apparent even from this distance that the home was enormous, ten thousand plus square feet at least. He wasn't sure if he could think of it as a home, although. Stone, not brick, with tall white pillars standing guard along the corners and adorning the front door. A museum would be more accurate, or possibly a prison.

He slowed his car to a stop in front of a ten-foot black, wrought iron fence. On the other side was a long drive that led to the residence.

Lining the drive were a few dozen evergreens that towered over twenty feet each in two straight rows like rigid soldiers. His expertise in the military was with explosives. With it came a trained eye. He spotted a number of cameras in the trees and along the fence. Shifting the Jag into neutral, he pulled the emergency brake so he could get out and ring the buzzer. Nickie took his hand and signaled for him to wait.

It took only a short moment, and the gate opened. They were being watched. He trolled up the smooth asphalt, approaching the narrow side that wound around the east of the home.

"Don't take that way," Nickie said, apparently reading his mind. "Go to the front." She pointed to a circle drive that surrounded a large fountain spraying water over a plethora of tiger lilies and lotus flowers.

"Are you sure?" The circle drive clearly was meant for show.

"When I come for a visit, I park with my side wheels on the first step." Her smile was as disconcerting as her demeanor and brought him back to scowling.

He parked and exited the vehicle, surprised that she paused long enough to allow him the time to walk around and assist with her car door. She stretched and yawned as she stood. In all the time they'd been together, he'd never seen her do this before. She was on stage. She was on stage and performing as such.

"Shall we?" she asked and tucked her arm in his.

They climbed the steps to the biggest door he'd ever seen. He painted for politicians and Oscar award-winning actresses. He'd seen big. A metallic lion glared at them from the center of the door, a circular knocker hanging from its teeth. Nickie rapped on the wood with her knuckles. "It's a formality," she mumbled. "They know we're here."

The door opened almost immediately. An older gentleman who looked as if he may have come straight out of a role as the butler in a 1930s movie answered the knock. Behind him was an enormous foyer surrounded by two symmetrically placed adjoining hallways. A flowing staircase led to a third-floor landing several dozen yards long that hovered like a cantilever.

"Detective Savage," the man said slowly before turning to Duncan. "Mr. Reed."

Transparency was overrated. Duncan had to dip his head in order to achieve eye contact with the man. He held out his hand. "Good day to you, sir. And your name is?"

The eye contact was short lived as the butler turned his gaze and answered. "My name is Clarence."

Brushing off the formalities, Nickie sniffed and asked, "Is he here?"

"Mr. Monticello is not available, Detective."

"He's not available, or he's not here?"

Without attempting to hide his disdain, the butler answered, "He is not here."

Imitating his tone and posture, Nickie retorted, "And when will he return?"

"Any moment now," he answered as if she hadn't just mocked him.

"Great. We'll take a walk down memory lane while we wait."

Her statement seemed to bewilder the butler. His back stiffened and he looked up to her as if she said she was planning a happy hour on the grounds. "You may wait in the front library, Detective."

"I grew up here, doc. I'm going to show my husband around. Don't worry your pretty little head. The cameras will be recording my every move, including your attempt to get me to stay put."

He didn't move out of the way, so Nickie stepped around him, pulling Duncan's arm as she did. She didn't get far. Her feet stopped and her neck craned from one side of the stone foyer floor to the other. As her eyes grew larger, her nails dug into the flesh of the bicep she held onto.

"This." Her voice shook as if the floor was opening beneath them.

Both Duncan and the butler followed her gaze to the floor. On it was an expansive stone creation spanning the length and width of the area. It was the largest stone artistry Duncan had ever seen. Grays, blacks and browns in different shades created an artistically embedded falcon.