I finished my sandwich and took his advice. The hot shower felt good and I lingered in the water far longer than I should have, and then… Well, the hot stream of water felt good, better than good, so I decided to follow Kate’s lead. I put the stopper in the tub and added a splash of shampoo for a bubble bath. Okay, so it’s not something I’d ever admit to, but it did loosen up the shoulders.
After allowing myself a half hour of peace and quiet, I decided it was time to get to work. I hauled myself out of the tub, toweled myself dry, went into the bedroom to get dressed: all black seemed the appropriate attire for my new status… and kind of my own little nod to the dead kid, Stitch. So I grabbed a pair of black jeans, a black tee, and black boots.
Stitch… I thought as I pulled on the boots. Poor kid. If only I had listened to him and left him alone, maybe he’d still be alive… There you go again, Harry, second-guessing yourself, and you know what that’s worth: not even a cup of coffee these days.
If there’s one thing I learned as a cop, it was that you can’t let the crazy stuff get to you, let it haunt you. But haunt me or not, nothing was going to keep me from taking down Goliath. I’ll hunt that bastard until the day I die.
I stood, checked myself in the mirror, turned away unimpressed, tried to shake off the black mood, unsuccessfully, made myself another cup of coffee, then went into my living room and flopped down in front of the great expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows—the main reason I bought the condo—and took in the magnificent view of the Tennessee River… beautiful, even in the rain. The surface of the water was still, broken only by the raindrops that turned the great river into a vast bed of nails.
I grabbed my laptop from the side table and opened it. I’d planned to do some research, but the view through the windows had grabbed me and wouldn’t let go; intoxicating, it reminded me once again of how lucky I was to own the condo on Lakeshore Lane.
I’d gotten it at one hell of a good price, from an old duck who wanted to run off to Dove Mountain in Arizona. She claimed the dry climate there would help her bursitis. I think she even gave me a little discount on the place since I was a cop. I spent a small fortune renovating it just the way I wanted.
Finally, with pen in hand and notepad in front of me, I knuckled down and began my search for information about the Marsh case and human trafficking. Something inside me kept telling me that they—either one or both—were involved in Stitch’s murder… and Phoebe’s abduction. That being so, I figured a history lesson was as good a place to begin my investigation…
I am, after all, a private dick. The thought made me grin. I really was beginning to like the idea.
I tapped the keys and Googled Frank Marsh. Up popped page after page after page devoted to the case, much more information than I had time to go into in depth, but I managed to glean enough to confirm what August had told me: the man was a prime candidate for that new TV show, American Greed. And August was right: most of the one-hundred-three million was still missing. There’s one motive for Phoebe’s kidnapping. It would be a great way to pressure Frank… if only he gave a damn.
I moved on and Googled Human Trafficking. Again, I was gifted with more information than I could handle… I need to find someone who can handle all this crap for me. Hmmm, that’s something to think about.
I leaned back and stared unseeing out of the great window, thinking about Shady Tree, wondering if he was involved in some way. He wasn’t a killer, at least not to my knowledge. And there’s no way he would have killed his own kid—but he sure as hell was involved with a lot of people that wouldn’t think twice about it.
And what about that? I thought. If somebody’d killed my kid, I’d be all over him, in a heartbeat. I need to talk to Shady… find out what the hell he’s thinking. In the meantime, though…
I called Ronnie. Kate’s idea that I should hire him was a good one, and this was the right time for me to reel him in.
“What the hell happened to you last night?” he asked when he picked up. “It was all over the news this morning about you and a dead teen. What happened at that laundromat? Tell me you didn’t get into an argument over fabric softener.”
Between Ronnie and Kate, I got my fair share of ribbing.
“I was trying to find that girl, Phoebe. I found the kid at the laundromat. I was talking to him when some goon tried to warn me off, with his fist. I dealt with him and then took the kid to Denny’s for a chat. Well, that was the plan, but we were just getting out of the car when the goon reappeared—he must have followed us. He just walked up and shot the kid in the face; the poor kid died on the spot.”
“Geez, so then what?”
“Kate Gazzara came by and got me out from under that little rat Henry Finkle… Here’s the thing though: do you remember that guy Shady Tree? I told you about him one time. It was his kid that died. I’m thinking somebody didn’t want him talking to me.”
“What about the goon? Did they catch him?”
“Yeah, but the fat pig had an alibi. He claimed he was watching Mary Frickin’ Poppins or some other garbage at the movies. Don’t worry though, I’ll get the son of a bitch and make him pay, but that’s not why I called you. You’re not working, right?”
“Er… Right… Why d’you ask?”
“A couple things. Look, I’m at home. I have a proposition for you. Can you swing by say… now?”
The line was quiet for a minute, then, “Proposition? What proposition?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here… Are you interested or not?”
“Well, yes, but I haven’t had a chance to shower. Let’s say in an hour: eleven… make it eleven-thirty. That okay?”
“Sure. I’ll see you then.”